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I love you, I'm sorry - John Wick

I have seen that "I love you, I'm sorry" , has been very popular ever since I posted it, so ...

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Oh my gosh! do you know those NSFW alphabet trends people would do for characters on tumblr? could you do one for elijah, please? thank you!

Elijah's Love Letters {NSFW Alphabet}

18+ ---- {Masterlist}

~Thanks for the request anon ♡♡ I already wrote one of these and forgot to post it! thanks for reminding me~ xoxo

2.5k words - Warnings: descriptions of sex and preferences.

A is for Aftercare (What is their aftercare like?)

--- Elijah is a gentleman, so of course, he is very attentive and loving in aftercare. He is a very selfless lover who wants to make sure you're okay. He will get you something to drink, bring a warm washcloth to clean you up, and if it was a more intense encounter, he will carry you to the bath, getting in with you.

B is for Body Part (Favorite body part of theirs and also their partners)

--- He is a big fan of your eyes, he loves to look into them as they dilate in pleasure while he's fucking you. He's a closed off person in general, so when he gets you in bed he pours all his feelings into the experience. He wants to see your every emotion and he will gaze into your eyes to read every feeling that's expressed.

--- I think his favorite body part of his is his hands, he enjoys them in and out of the bedroom. His hands are strong and he enjoys using them to touch you. Whether he is running his fingers through your hair, caressing your skin, or burying them inside you, he likes the intimacy that is expressed with his hands.

C is for Cum (Anything to do with cum)

--- He's a bit of a neat freak and also a gentleman, so he doesn't love the thought of cumming on you, even if you want him to. He prefers the intimacy of cumming inside you, with your consent, of course.

--- If you want him to cum in your mouth he will happily oblige, especially if you are willing to swallow. But he will always ask permission first.

D is for Dirty Secret (A dirty secret of theirs)

--- Although Elijah prefers to be in control in all aspects of his life, he secretly loves when you take control. The idea of you pushing him down and riding him or having his hands tied to the bed while you take whatever you want from him is a secret fantasy.

--- Another secret kink is that he loves to be needed and wanted. He would never admit it out loud, but he likes when you pout and beg him to kiss or touch you. He wants to feel desired and loved, and though he would be too afraid to say it, he just wants someone who needs him.

E is for Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they're doing?)

--- He certainly knows what he's doing, he has centuries of experience and he is very versed in all things sexual. He has had many lovers in his past, so you can trust that he is very good at pleasuring his partner.

--- He has been alive for centuries and has learned how to read body language and facial expressions. He will know if you are enjoying what he is doing or not. He loves learning your likes and dislikes and giving you exactly what you need.

F is for Favorite Position (Favorite position to have sex in)

--- A gentleman to his core, Elijah is more comfortable with traditional positions, meaning classic missionary mostly. But that doesn't mean he's boring in bed by any means. He's able to make typical positions sensual and overwhelming, providing him with deep intimacy and the power he's looking for.

--- He enjoys having your wrists pinned above your head, thrusting into you while he listens to every moan and pant that leaves your lips. He will made the sort of eye contact that leaves you feeling emotionally vulnerable, deepening the connection between you.

G is for Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

--- As a man with centuries of pent-up emotions, Elijah has trouble separating his love life with his feelings and actions. He is the perfect mixture of soft and raw when it comes to sex. He is incredibly attentive in the moment, he wants to pleasure you, make you happy, and ensure that you are feeling good. He spends a lot of time praising you and kissing you gently, then finally once you give him the okay he becomes the most intense man you've ever seen.

--- But no matter if it's rough or sensual, Elijah's love is there, and that comes through in his actions. I don't think he's cracking jokes, but he's not serious either. He will laugh and smile if the moment calls for it.

H is for Hair (How well groomed are they?)

--- From head to toe he likes everything in its place. Elijah keeps himself extremely well-groomed, everything is freshly trimmed and clean.

I is for Intimacy (How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect~)

--- You might have soft, romantic lovemaking, or he may pound you into the bed. Regardless, he's tender and he is trying to show his love for you in these moments. He is passionate, sensual, and loving with every action he takes. He will make sure to tell you how beautiful you are and how much he loves you while he pleasures you.

--- Elijah enjoys the slow burn, because he loves the anticipation that comes with it. He is the king of foreplay and will tease you as much as possible, before fully satisfying your desires. He thrives off the deep intimacy, the eye contact, the touches, the whispered confessions.

--- He will do whatever he can to get you as worked up as possible before he sends you over the edge.

J is for Jack Off (Masturbation)

--- He doesn't indulge in it very much, but when he does he imagines you. He imagines your pretty face, and he remembers the softness of your skin. He misses your kisses, your touch, and he strokes his cock to remember what it's like when you're wrapped around him. When he cums it's to the thought of pounding into you while you gasp his name and claw at his back.

K is for Kink (One or more of their kinks)

--- As I said previously he really likes being in control. He enjoys dominating you, but it's always in a tender and gentle way. His dominance has nothing to do with degradation and humiliation, it's more of a desire to please you and be in power of how that pleasure occurs.

--- I also think Elijah is a bit of a voyeur. There are so many instances where he is just watching, quietly observing everyone and every conversation. He's a discreet person, and this trait follows him into the bedroom. He enjoys watching you pleasure yourself. He will sit back, relaxed in a chair with his sleeves rolled up, while you strip and touch yourself on the bed. He gets an immense amount of pleasure from watching you get so worked up, only to snap and take over when he's ready.

L is for Location (Favorite places to have sex)

--- He prefers having you under him on his bed, making love to you slowly in a tangle of limbs. But he isn't opposed to other places, like his study or even the kitchen, as long as it's private and he can protect you from any prying eyes.

M is for Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

--- Well, its pretty much canon that Elijah loves hot brunettes that challenge him. Just look at Hayley, Gia and Katherine.

--- I think he's attracted to passionate people, who aren't afraid to chase what they want. He's really attracted to power and a strong character, so someone who won't take any bullshit is right up his alley.

--- I think his polite and gentlemanly nature gets in his own way when it comes to love. It's hard for him to find the words to express his wants and needs so you will have to make the first move. He truly admires when a woman takes control and tells him exactly what to do. But he won't let her stay in control for long.

N is for NO (Something they would never do)

--- He would never degrade or insult you, no matter how rough the sex is, he will still be whispering sweet nothings in your ear.

--- He's not a friends with benefits or hate sex kind of person. He needs intimacy and genuine connection, so a one night stand is extremely unlikely to happen with him. He may be a flirt, but he wants something far deeper than lust when he gets you in his bed.

--- His greatest fear is hurting you, physically or emotionally. So he will not even entertain anything that could put you at risk, especially extreme bondage or knife play.

O is for Oral (Do they prefer giving or receiving?)

--- As I said in my headcanons, I think he may of popularized eating pussy to begin with, so he is definitely into giving. He was probably the first man who fell to his knees and worshipped his lover, eating you out before there was even a term for it. He is so good with his mouth and will give you the best orgasm of your life, without fail.

--- But if you do want to suck his cock, he would definitely appreciate it, and it's likely you'll end up on your back with him returning the favor.

P is for Pace (Are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

--- It depends on his mood, but generally he's the perfect combination of both.

--- Elijah loves the intimacy, so when the night starts, he will take his time, building the tension. He will slowly kiss your neck, whispering sweet words of praise in your ear. Then he will start taking your clothes off, caressing every inch of skin that is exposed. Once he gets his hand between your legs, he will enjoy fingering you until you are a dripping mess.

--- After that, it's up to him. If he is craving intimacy, he will make love to you, and take his time. He will worship your body and fuck you until you're seeing stars.

--- If he's craving the intense pleasure, then he will bend you over, or maybe he'll throw you onto the bed, and pound you into the mattress. It depends on the night.

Q is for Quickie (Their opinion on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

--- He prefers to be unhurried, taking his time and making your time together last as long as possible. He isn't against the idea of a quickie, but he won't initiate them. If you are at a party or event and you get needy, you will have to whisper your request in his ear and drag him away, which will probably lead to him pinning you against a wall out of sight.

R is for Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks?)

--- He's a overly cautious person in every aspect of his life, so he is going to be very reluctant to take risks, especially in the bedroom. The most risky thing he will be up for is spanking and tying your wrists.

--- He would be very reluctant to drink from you because of his traumatic past, but if you consent it will be taken straight from your neck and very gentle.

S is for Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

--- He's a vampire, and not just an average one, so his stamina is endless. He can go forever, and if he was a human, he'd be the man that could go for hours.

--- He's a gentleman so he is going to make sure your pleasure comes first. He achieves satisfaction from knowing that he made you feel good. He's always more focused on your orgasm, and he is extremely skilled at drawing them out of you.

T is for Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

--- He's not against them, he just doesn't find himself using them. Elijah is a very self-sufficient man, and he enjoys providing pleasure by himself. He finds the act of pleasuring someone extremely erotic, so he prefers to use his hands and mouth, rather than a toy. But he will definitely use a vibrator on you if you ask.

U is for Unfair (How much do they like to tease?)

--- He's an absolute tease, but it's the subtle, not over the top kind. He will run his hand across the small of your back while walking past. He will let his fingers graze over your ass or your chest in public, just to get you worked up.

--- But his greatest form of teasing is using eye contact. He will look at you from across the room and hold your gaze until you're squirming. It's a quiet, private kind of teasing, that makes your head spin.

V is for Volume (How loud are they? What sounds do they make?)

--- He is very controlled, he barely ever makes a sound. If you can pull moans out of him, you are doing something very right. If you want to hear him groan, you'll have to squeeze tight around his cock or dig your nails into his shoulder.

--- He enjoys listening to the noises that you make, he loves hearing you whimper and moan, the louder the better, especially if it's his name.

--- He also loves to talk during sex, asking you questions and talking dirty, all while keeping his voice steady and composed.

W is for Wild Card (Random headcannon)

--- Just like Klaus I think Elijah is an absolute simp for the person he loves. He may be one of the most powerful creatures on earth, but if his lover tells him to do something he's doing it.

--- He's the type of man who will do anything to make his lover happy, which means that he will spoil you rotten. He will shower you in gifts and affection, and he is more than happy to oblige any request that you may have.

--- He's not very possessive, just protective. He will be there for you and defend you against anyone and anything, but he's not the jealous or clingy type.

X is for X-Ray (Let's see what's going on in those pants)

--- You know what? It's whatever you want it to be, I am not going to say any particular size. But, I believe it to be very aesthetically pleasing, just like the rest of him.

Y is for Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

--- He's the kind of person who can control his desires, and can keep his feelings under control. That being said, he does have a sex drive. {He's a vampire, after all, everything is heightened} But since his feelings are always tightly bottled up, it takes a lot for him to show them, including sex.

Z is for ZZZ (How quickly do they fall asleep afterwards?)

--- Elijah is a big fan of pillow talk, and will usually keep you up late into the night, whispering his thoughts into the darkness. He will tell you about the past, he will confide his fears, and he will pour his heart out. He will talk about things he has never shared with anyone else.

--- He will want to be close to you as possible. He'll pull you against him, and tuck your head into the crook of his neck. He'll whisper his love and devotion and you'll fall asleep, feeling safe and secure.

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I Love You, I’m Sorry - John Wick

She was born in silence.

No screaming mother, no overjoyed father pacing a hospital hallway. Just a cold back room in a Ruska Roma stronghold outside of Saint Petersburg. Her mother bled out before they even cut the cord. No one wept. No one smiled. They simply took the baby and cleaned her off like she was an old relic unearthed for a darker purpose.

Her name was Alina. No last name. Not yet. Just a pair of lungs and beautiful eyes that stared back without crying. 

A silent promise already etched onto her skin, though she wouldn't know its meaning for years: a small, faded Orthodox cross on her left shoulder, mirroring the mark of another legend she would one day meet. Later, a more elaborate piece would grace her back, an angel sprawled across a cross, intertwined with thorny vines, and on top of it, the Latin words Per Aspera Ad Astra – 'Through hardship to the stars.'

They would learn to fear that look.

Her first solo mission, was at 15 years old — young, precise, and already shaped into a weapon by the Ruska Roma.

Location: Casablanca – Neutral Grounds

The air smelled like dust, blood, and gun oil. The kind of scent that lingers behind every assassin’s collarbone and gets trapped in the folds of their clothes like smoke. Alina Morozova walked the rooftop perimeter of the old marketplace, her braid tight, boots silent on the ancient stone.

Her target was already dead. Knife in the neck. Clean. Quick. Silent.

She didn’t need to be here anymore, but she lingered.

Not because of carelessness. No. Alina Morozova was never careless.

She lingered because she was told he might be here.

John Wick.

She had seen pictures of him. Watched grainy surveillance tapes they studied like scripture back in the Ruska Roma. The Baba Yaga, her trainers whispered. Not the man you send to kill the boogeyman. He is the f**ing boogeyman.

She was seven the first time she heard the name. Thirteen when she started copying his footwork frame by frame. Sixteen when she asked if he was real, and her handler slapped her for thinking legends had names.

Now she was twenty. And she could feel it.

He was here.

She spotted him before he saw her — which, in itself, was almost enough to make her grin. Almost.

Black suit. Hands in his pockets like he wasn’t built to shatter men. He didn’t walk like an assassin. He walked like a ghost dragging chains.

Alina tracked him across the rooftop ledge, her own shadow slicing long across the wall. Her fingers danced over the hilt of her blade out of habit, not intention. She wasn’t stupid. She wouldn’t fight him. She just wanted to see if he noticed.

He did.

"Are you going to keep following me," his voice drifted up calmly, without looking, "or are you going to say something?"

Alina froze. And then, slowly, stepped into view, lit by the flickering orange of the dying sun.

"I just wanted to see if the legend cast a shadow," she replied in perfect English, her Russian accent barely a breath behind the syllables.

John turned. Slowly. Eyes catching hers — not like a man scanning a threat, but like someone reading a chapter in a familiar book.

"You’re Ruska Roma."

It wasn’t a question.

"Born into it," she said, shrugging one shoulder. "Trained for it. Bleed for it."

He glanced down at the alley below. "Then you know this ground is neutral."

"I wasn’t here for a contract."

His head tilted slightly. "Then what were you here for?"

She hesitated. That was the thing about John Wick. You didn’t lie to him. You didn’t have to. Something about the way he looked at you — not with suspicion, but with knowing — made it impossible to speak anything but the truth.

"...I wanted to meet you."

He blinked. Not surprised. Not angry. Just quiet.

"Why?"

Alina licked her bottom lip before answering. "Because they said you are the best. And when I watched your footage… I thought—"

"You thought you could be better."

"No." Her answer was fast. Honest. "I thought you were… beautiful."

John looked away for the first time.

"That’s dangerous."

Alina stepped closer, not daring to breathe too hard. "You’re not like them. The others. They kill to prove something. You don’t. You kill because it’s… necessary. Not for praise. Not for trophies."

"And what do you kill for?" he asked.

Her voice was quieter this time, but her words came without flinch or filter.

"I didn’t learn the alphabet until I was eleven. But I could slit a throat blindfolded by six. Guess you could say I got a specialized education."

John’s expression barely changed — but his silence was loud.

"And now?" he asked.

Alina’s eyes met his, unflinching. "I kill because I don’t know how to live without it."

Their eyes held. For a breath. Maybe two. The world moved around them, but they stayed still.

"How old are you?" he asked finally.

"Twenty."

"Too young to talk like that."

"And yet," she said, stepping forward again, her voice like silk sliding over a blade, "I’ve been killing longer than most men three times my age."

John exhaled through his nose. Not quite a laugh. Not quite approval.

"You shouldn’t want this life," he said, turning again to go.

She didn’t follow this time. Just stood there as the wind danced around her coat.

"I don’t want it," she whispered to his back. "I just want to be seen."

That night, she watched him disappear into the shadows of the alley. The dog trotted at his heels like a second shadow.

She didn’t dream often. Too dangerous. But that night she did.

John Wick’s eyes.

The way he said her name without needing to ask for it.

The weight of being seen, even for a second.

Alina didn’t fall in love easily. She didn’t even have a word for it. The Ruska Roma never taught her those.

But she remembered the feeling.

Like the safety off a gun.

Like a heartbeat at the edge of silence.

It stayed with her. A crush? Maybe.

Or maybe it was something worse.

Something like hope.

[ixcgm]

Elijah Mikaelson fanfic 🩸

Hi everyone 👋🏼

Over the last few weeks, I’ve been working on another one-shot chapter for an alternate Elijah Mikaelson storyline — one that explores a far darker, more possessive version of him. This Elijah isn’t just noble and refined — he’s obsessive, controlling, and willing to burn the world down to protect the one person he deems his: Vera.

This version dives deep into psychological trauma, manipulation, and the twisted kind of love that feels like safety and danger all at once. It includes several trigger warnings — including emotional abuse, control masked as protection, isolation, and recovery from sexual violence.

Vera is a deeply broken young woman, used to being forgotten and discarded — until Elijah finds her. He sees not just her pain, but her potential. And while his love is real, it’s not pure. It’s dangerously all-consuming.

This one-shot doesn’t have a title yet, but I’ve been considering naming it after a Taylor Swift song (like most of the one shots chapters) that captures their emotional landscape — something raw, aching, and full of contradictions. Right now, I’m leaning toward either “Red” (for the intensity, the obsession, the impossible-to-quit love) or “Exile” (for the quiet devastation and sense of being cut off from the world, even while being loved too much).

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All Too Well future full story

Are you enjoying all too well?

Would you like to see it as a full story in the future?

[ixcgm]

All Too Well - Steve Rogers

Pairing| Steve x OC (Samantha Scofield)

Fandoms: MCU x Prison Break |

– Six Months Ago

Location: Washington, D.C. – Trader Joe’s on a rainy Tuesday Time: 7:36 PM

Samantha Scofield did not believe in fate. But standing in the middle of the frozen foods aisle, in worn jeans and a hoodie two sizes too big, mascara smudged from the drizzle outside, she wondered if the universe was playing some kind of joke.

She was staring at a box of dinosaur chicken nuggets, trying to decide if Emma would forgive her for not getting the alphabet kind, when a deep voice spoke behind her.

"Those are the superior nuggets, in my humble opinion."

She turned—and there he was. Steve Rogers. In sweats, a navy ballcap pulled low, and a soft smile that somehow made her feel like she’d been seen. Really seen.

Samantha blinked. "You have an opinion on dino nuggets?"

Steve shrugged, one hand in his hoodie pocket, the other holding a basket full of almond butter, Greek yogurt, and two pints of mint chip ice cream.

"I used to babysit a kid who refused to eat anything that didn’t resemble a stegosaurus." He nodded toward the box. "Trust me. These win every time."

She couldn’t help it. She laughed. It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t planned. It just… happened. Loud and real and warm in her chest.

"I’m Samantha," she said, almost without thinking.

Steve hesitated for just a second—like the name meant something. Then he nodded.

"Steve."

They stood in silence for a moment. Just two strangers in the middle of a quiet store, surrounded by overpriced kale chips and organic mac and cheese.

"You new in the area?" he asked gently.

She nodded. "Something like that. Me and my daughter just moved back."

Steve smiled, soft and understanding. "If you ever need restaurant recs—or backup in the nugget aisle—I’m usually here Tuesdays. It’s quieter."

Samantha tilted her head. "Is that a casual invitation to shop together?"

He smirked. "Only if you promise to help me figure out how to pronounce quinoa correctly."

She grinned. "Deal."

And just like that, the quiet rhythm of her life shifted. Not with a bang. Not with danger. But with a dino nugget and a smile.

Samantha rarely allowed herself to breathe these days.

But tonight, under the soft hum of a downtown D.C. restaurant patio heater, with Steve Rogers sitting across from her and smiling like she was the only person in the world, she felt like maybe—just maybe—she could exhale.

"She’s a tough kid," Steve said, sipping his coffee. "I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone talk about a ten-year-old like that and actually be proud."

Samantha grinned, looking down. "Emma’s… a force. She gets that from her dad."

Steve tilted his head, an unspoken curiosity lingering in his eyes. He hadn’t pressed about the father yet, but the name remained unspoken between them. She wasn’t ready. Not yet.

"I was thinking," he continued gently, "maybe I could meet her soon. Only if you’re ready, of course."

Before Samantha could answer, her phone buzzed on the table. She hesitated, heart sinking when she saw the school’s number.

"Emma got into a fight."

Everything moved fast after that.

The elementary school hallway was buzzing when they arrived. Samantha stormed past the front desk, Steve trailing behind her, only to stop short when she spotted him leaning against the wall, arms crossed, dark gaze locked on the principal’s door.

Brock Rumlow.

Steve’s eyes narrowed instantly. "You didn’t tell me he was her dad."

"You didn’t ask," Samantha muttered, pushing forward.

Brock looked up. His expression shifted the moment he saw Samantha—softened—and then cooled when he noticed who was with her.

"Rogers," Brock said flatly.

"Brock," Steve replied, voice equally sharp.

"Nice of you to show up." Brock's smirk was all teeth, but his eyes didn’t leave Samantha.

"Boys," Samantha snapped, "we’re not doing this here."

Just then, the door to the principal’s office opened. Emma stood there, arms crossed, face bruised but proud.

"She pushed me first."

Samantha knelt in front of her. "Emma—"

"I didn’t start it, Mom. I just told her not to say mean things about you." She glanced at Brock. "She said you were trash, and that I must be too. So I shoved her."

Steve blinked. "What kind of ten-year-old—?"

Before they could respond, a shrill voice cut through the tension. "Of course you would raise a little criminal."

Samantha’s entire body tensed.

She knew that voice.

Megan Blaire.

Samantha slowly stood and turned. There she was—the same fake smile, the same cruel glint in her eye. Only now, Megan had a designer bag, a little Botox, and a husband standing behind her who clearly had no idea what kind of monster he married.

"Well, if it isn’t Samantha Scofield," Megan sneered. "Guess old habits die hard."

Steve instinctively stepped forward, but Brock beat him to it.

"Careful," Brock growled. "You’re talking to my daughter’s mother."

Megan blinked. "You’re—wait. You’re the father?"

"Surprise," Samantha muttered.

Megan’s husband, clearly confused, looked between everyone. "What’s going on?"

Samantha gave him a tight smile. "Ask your wife about the time she stuffed tampons in my locker and carved 'SLUT' on my gym bag."

Megan’s face went pale.

"And how I gave her a black eye for it in tenth grade," Samantha added sweetly.

The principal cleared her throat awkwardly. "Let’s—uh—focus on resolving the issue between the children."

Steve gently rested a hand on Samantha’s back. She looked up at him, surprised by how grounded it made her feel.

"Emma defended you," Steve said quietly, after the conversation with the principal finally ended. "She’s got your fire."

"She’s got a lot of Brock’s, too," Samantha whispered.

Behind them, Brock knelt beside Emma, brushing a thumb over the bruise on her cheek. "You okay, kiddo?"

Emma nodded. "Mom was like me when she was little?"

Brock grinned. "Worse."

As the hallway emptied and the families parted ways, Megan’s husband stared at her in disbelief, the cracks in her perfect life starting to show. She was humiliated. Samantha didn’t gloat, but she didn’t hide her satisfaction either.

Outside the school, Samantha paused between Steve and Brock.

"Guess we all learned something today," she said tiredly.

"Yeah," Brock muttered. "Like who you’ve been dating behind my back."

Steve scoffed. "Maybe if you weren’t such an ass, she wouldn’t have kept it a secret."

Brock stepped forward. "Maybe if I didn’t still love her, I’d care a little less."

Samantha stepped between them before fists could fly. "Not here. Not in front of Emma."

Emma opened the doors just then, skipping toward them. "Dad! Uncle Steve! Can we get milkshakes?"

Steve blinked. "Uncle?"

Brock rolled his eyes. "Guess that’s progress."

Samantha let out a long breath, shaking her head. The chaos of her past and present had finally collided—but at that moment, surrounded by her daughter and two very complicated men, she smiled.

Because love—real love—was always messy.

And Samantha Scofield had never been afraid of messy.

[ixcgm]

daniel gillies as elijah mikaelson → the originals  → s3 e09

[ixcgm]

Part Two: The Fine Print - Elijah Mikaelson

Mikaelson

Vivienne Laurent arrived late.

Elijah had been waiting — as he always did. Time moved differently for him, as it always did, and it had never been a true concern. The estate, with its stone walls worn by centuries of history, lay still beneath the gathering twilight. Pine-scented wind brushed through the tall trees, a hint of rain on the horizon. The quiet was absolute, save for the sound of Vivienne’s steps.

Sharp. Measured. But beneath the rhythm, there was a tremor — not unlike the flutter of prey sensing danger. A feeling Elijah knew all too well.

When she finally appeared, stepping through the heavy iron gates, Vivienne's figure was a sharp contrast to the natural world around her: pristine, unbothered by the wet air, with her red lips stark against her flawless complexion and her tailored black suit clinging to her like a second skin.

"You’re late," Elijah said, his tone a soft reprimand, but devoid of irritation.

Vivienne lifted her chin, the pride in her movement something he had noted the first time they met. "Traffic," she said, her voice smooth, measured. But the flicker of hesitation in her eyes was unmistakable.

"You lie," he said quietly, eyes fixed on hers. He had learned long ago how to read the smallest tells in others. "Or perhaps it is your fear that made you late."

She stiffened. "I don’t have time for games, Mikaelson."

Elijah allowed a small smile to ghost his lips as he turned away. "Then you are in the wrong place, Ms. Laurent."

She followed him across the estate grounds, the manicured lawn shifting underfoot as they moved toward the back of the property — toward the place where he trained, where he pushed his limits, and where he would push hers.

The air was thick with unspoken tension. She had no idea what she had signed up for.

Elijah stood in the center of the training grounds, a vast expanse of grass bordered by high hedges that blocked out the distant city lights, plunging the area into a cool, thick darkness. The torches surrounding them cast long shadows, their flames flickering in the damp air.

He turned to Vivienne, his face unreadable.

"Close your eyes," he instructed, his voice calm and commanding, like a siren call meant only for her.

Vivienne raised an eyebrow. "I don’t take orders."

He stepped forward, his movements fluid, predatory. "You will. If you wish to survive."

With a huff, Vivienne closed her eyes, the sense of vulnerability immediately unsettling her. The world went dark — and in the absence of sight, her other senses took over. She heard the distant sound of water lapping against stone, the quiet stir of the leaves in the trees, the soft rustle of Elijah's clothing as he moved behind her. But there was more.

A hawk overhead shifted in mid-flight, its wings cutting through the air with a precision that made her breath catch. The cool earth beneath her feet, the faint, almost imperceptible scent of metal on the wind, the rise, and fall of the nearby servant’s breath — every detail, every sound, was amplified to the point of overwhelming her.

"Focus," Elijah said, his voice cutting through the noise. "Do you hear it? The heartbeat of the deer three miles away? Can you smell the tension in the air?"

Her mind reeled. It was too much. Too much.

Vivienne shook her head, trying to block it all out, but the world only grew sharper, louder. Each sensation gripped her, tearing through her control.

She felt it then — the primal, deep-rooted instinct to fight, to flee. The power beneath her skin, pulsing, demanding to be released. The anger, the frustration, the fear — all of it fed her, coaxed her, pushed her toward something darker.

Elijah’s voice cut through the storm of her senses. "You are a weapon, Vivienne. But weapons must be controlled. Otherwise, they are only destruction."

Suddenly, he was behind her, his presence a ghost of cool air that swept against her neck. His breath was calm. Unhurried.

"You are angry," he said, almost like a whisper. "And that anger fuels you. But you cannot let it own you. You are the one who must control it."

Her nails began to extend — long, sharp, her fangs brushing against her lips. She turned on instinct, a feral growl slipping past her throat, her body moving faster than her mind could react. Her arm arced toward his throat — but then she stopped.

Her body was right there — ready — but she held herself back. Her fangs still ached, her claws still burned, but she did not strike.

Elijah stood perfectly still, watching her, his expression unreadable.

"Good," he said, his voice low with quiet approval. "You stopped yourself. That is control."

Vivienne stepped back, her breath coming in harsh gasps as she struggled to regain her composure. She clenched her fists at her sides, grounding herself as the world began to slow, the overwhelming sensations dulling back to something manageable.

"First victory," Elijah murmured, watching her with a cool gaze that barely flickered with recognition of her achievement. "But it is only the first."

Before she could gather herself, the sound of heavy footsteps broke the moment.

The gates of the estate creaked open, a sharp metal sound that ripped through the stillness. Vivienne whipped around, heart still pounding, but already slipping into the defensive stance she had just learned.

Klaus stormed into the courtyard, his face twisted with desperation. His eyes were wild, his movements sharp, as though he were ready to rip through the world to get what he wanted.

"Where is he?!" Klaus roared, his voice a jagged edge. "Elijah!"

Elijah didn’t flinch. Of course, he didn’t. He was used to Klaus’ outbursts — the rage that ran like fire through his brother’s veins.

"Here I am, Niklaus," Elijah replied smoothly, his tone calm, though there was a sharpness beneath it that told Klaus exactly who was in control now.

Klaus’ gaze snapped to him, furious, pleading. "Hayley wants to take Hope! She’s threatening to disappear with her, Elijah, and I need you to stop her — now!"

Vivienne took a step forward, still pulsing with the remnants of adrenaline from her training. Her eyes flicked between the two brothers, reading the tension that thrummed between them.

Klaus’ desperation was palpable, his usually imposing presence faltering just enough to show that, for all his power, he was a man on the verge of losing what he cherished most.

"I can help," Vivienne interjected, her voice cutting through the chaos. "But I need a deal."

Klaus looked at her, his gaze dismissive. "And who the hell are you to—"

"Vivienne Laurent," she answered, her voice calm but carrying the weight of finality. "Attorney. And if you hire me, I can win full custody of Hope. You can keep her."

Klaus sneered. "You? A lawyer? Do you think I need a lawyer to handle my family’s mess?"

Elijah, for the first time that evening, allowed a faint, approving smile to curl at the corner of his lips.

"You would be wise to listen to Ms. Laurent, Niklaus," he said, his voice dark with the quiet authority of someone who knew the cost of underestimating a force. "She is more than capable of handling... your delicate situation."

Klaus glared, his temper flaring again, but the realization of necessity dawned on him. The war between them would have to wait.

"Fine," he snapped, fury still burning in his eyes. "We’ll talk terms later. But know this, Vivienne — I don’t trust anyone who isn’t a Mikaelson."

Vivienne met his gaze unflinchingly. "That’s your problem, then. Not mine."

With a final glance at Elijah, Klaus turned and stormed out, leaving the two of them standing in the quiet aftermath.

Elijah turned to Vivienne, his gaze appraising.

"That," he said, "was a smart move."

Vivienne felt her heart still racing. She had stepped into their world — into something far larger than herself — and she had done it without breaking. She wasn’t sure whether that made her foolish or incredibly brave. Perhaps both.

"Remember," Elijah continued, his eyes locking onto hers with the weight of someone who had seen far too much blood and betrayal, "one victory is never enough. You must remain vigilant. In this world, weakness will be exploited."

Her lips parted, ready to challenge him, but something stopped her. Maybe it was the calm, almost comforting weight of his words. Or maybe, deep down, she understood he was right.

"Let’s see if I can handle more than one," she said instead.

And for the first time, the uncertainty in her voice wasn’t fear. It was the first step toward becoming something far more dangerous.

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John Wick + outfits

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Fanfic ideas

So today I went to the cinema and watch Ballerina it was amazing I really loved the movie.

That made me want to write a John Wick fanfic

Would you read it?

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Fanfic writers are like crows. If you give them treats (comments) they will bring you shiny things (fanfic)

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Coming Soon Reading list

I have seen that you like Would've, Could've, Should've, so would you like to see it as part of the Coming soon reading list and as a full story?

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Index One-shot chapters

Back to December - Elijah Mikaelson

The Archer (Stark legacy AU) — Oliver Queen

Bad Blood — Steve Rogers

Bad Blood part 2 - Steve Rogers

The fine print — Elijah Mikaelson

Burn — Mikaelson Brothers

Would've, Could've, Should've - Elijah Mikaelson

The fine print Part 2— Elijah Mikaelson

All Too Well - Steve Rogers

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Would've, Could've, Should've - Elijah Mikaelson

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x Alessandra Reddington Warnings: Supernatural violence, family drama, morally grey themes, power struggles Fandoms: The Blacklist x The Vampire Diaries/The Originals

Alessandra Reddington was born into luxury and secrets.

While other children played outside with scraped knees and stolen moments of freedom, she learned about offshore accounts, financial loopholes, and how to disappear without a trace. She could balance a multi-million-dollar ledger before she could legally drink, all while navigating the dangerous politics of her father’s empire.

But there was one unspoken rule in her world:

"Do not ask questions you don’t want answers to."

Her father, Raymond Reddington, was the most wanted man in the world, and she was his greatest secret. Hidden from enemies, protected by shadows, Alessandra’s life was one of wealth without attachment, power without agency.

There were no social media accounts. No digital footprint. No online shopping sprees or reckless texting. Technology was a liability, a vulnerability, and Red had erased her from the digital world before she even understood what that meant.

"A ghost cannot be caught, my dear," he had told her once.

So, while the world moved forward, she remained untouched by it.

Her friends were criminals in business suits, men who owed her father favors, and high-ranking officials who never spoke her name in public.

Her enemies? She never knew them. Because Red never let them get close enough.

She was his most valuable possession, even if he never said the words.

But even the most well-guarded prisoners dream of escape.

She met Elijah Mikaelson on a night that should have been like any other.

A deal, a briefcase full of laundered money, a room full of dangerous men who thought their power made them untouchable. Alessandra had seen it all before.

And yet, the moment Elijah stepped into the room, she knew something was different.

He moved with an old-world elegance, his midnight-blue suit perfectly tailored, his posture effortlessly commanding. There was something unsettling about him—something beyond human—but it wasn’t until she caught his gaze that she felt it.

Power. Ancient and patient. The kind that does not ask for attention but demands it nonetheless.

He didn’t belong in her father’s world, and yet he stood among criminals and killers as if they were beneath him.

For the first time in her life, she felt small.

"You have a sharp mind," he said after the meeting, his voice smooth like aged bourbon. "And yet, you confine it to these… lesser pursuits."

Her breath hitched. No one had ever challenged her like that before.

"You don’t know anything about me."

Elijah tilted his head, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. "Don’t I?"

And just like that, the first crack appeared in the perfect, controlled life she had built.

At first, she resisted.

Supernatural creatures? Vampires? Witches? It sounded like a bedtime story for foolish children.

But Elijah was patient. He didn’t force her to believe—he simply let the truth reveal itself.

The first time she saw a vampire rip a man apart, she felt nothing but cold, detached horror. Not because of the blood, but because she realized her father already knew.

The second time, she learned that some of Red’s most trusted allies weren’t human at all.

The third time? She helped cover it up.

And with every revelation, every whispered truth, she found herself torn between two worlds.

Her father was a master manipulator, a man who thrived in a world of deception and control. He had spent years shaping her into the perfect asset, keeping her obedient, calculating, untouchable.

But Elijah?

Elijah saw something beyond numbers, beyond crime. He saw her.

"You are capable of so much more than being your father’s shadow," he told her one evening, standing on a New Orleans balcony as the city pulsed below them. "But you have to choose it."

And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

Because she didn’t know if she could.

Her father knew. Of course, he knew.

Raymond Reddington didn’t miss things. He saw everything. Knew everything. And he wasn’t pleased.

"You think he’s different, don’t you?" Red asked one evening, swirling a glass of wine in his hand, his voice deceptively light. "You think this noble, ancient vampire has your best interests at heart?"

Alessandra refused to answer.

Red sighed, setting his drink down with a soft clink. When he spoke again, there was no humor in his voice.

"I have spent your entire life keeping you safe, keeping you hidden. And you would throw that away… for what? A love story?"

"This isn’t about love."

"No," he agreed, eyes darkening. "It’s about power. And my dear, sweet Alessandra—what makes you think you won’t be devoured in the end?"

A warning. A plea. A threat.

But the damage was done.

Because she had already stepped too far into Elijah’s world.

And her father’s reach, no matter how powerful, couldn’t pull her back.

There would come a moment when Alessandra had to choose.

Between the family that had raised her in the shadows of crime and deception… And the man who offered her something more—power, knowledge, a future beyond the chains of her father’s making.

Between safety and freedom. Between loyalty and the unknown.

Would she regret it? Would she wonder, in the darkest hours of the night, if she had made a mistake?

Would’ve. Could’ve. Should’ve.

But once a choice is made, there is no going back.

And Alessandra Reddington?

She was done playing by the rules.

Three Months Later

The dim glow of candlelight flickered across the bedroom walls, casting soft golden hues over the sheets as Alessandra tangled her fingers in Elijah’s dark hair. His hands gripped her waist, steady yet firm, as she pressed against him, their breaths mingling in the heated space between them.

It had taken months of stolen glances, whispered conversations, and quiet defiance to reach this moment. And now, here she was—above him, lips brushing over his in slow, deliberate teasing, her body molded to his like she had always belonged there.

Elijah Mikaelson, always composed, always in control, looked anything but restrained beneath her.

His hands slid up the smooth expanse of her back, fingers tracing the delicate curve of her spine. She shivered, exhaling a breathless laugh against his lips.

“You’re teasing me, elskan,” Elijah murmured against her mouth, the old Norse endearment slipping out like a secret.

Alessandra smirked. “And you love it.”

He exhaled sharply, his grip tightening on her hips as he rolled them over, his weight pressing her into the mattress. She barely had time to catch her breath before he kissed her again, slow and intoxicating, like he had all the time in the world to unravel her.

Then—

A loud knock at the door.

Alessandra froze, her pulse spiking. Elijah, ever the strategist, didn’t so much as flinch.

“Elijah?” The voice—soft, hesitant—was unmistakable.

Hayley.

Alessandra’s heart lurched, and she suddenly became hyperaware of the situation: the tangled sheets, Elijah’s body over hers, the unmistakable scent of their intimacy lingering in the air.

Hayley knocked again, more insistent this time. “I know you’re in there. Can we talk?”

Elijah exhaled slowly, closing his eyes as if summoning patience. Alessandra clenched her jaw, shifting beneath him.

“You have got to be kidding me,” she whispered.

A flicker of amusement crossed Elijah’s expression before he reluctantly pulled away. Alessandra rolled onto her side, gripping the sheets to cover herself as he straightened his dress shirt—the very one she had been in the process of unbuttoning moments ago.

With a resigned sigh, Elijah ran a hand through his tousled hair before moving toward the door. Just as he reached for the handle—

The door burst open.

Niklaus Mikaelson stood in the doorway, arms crossed, a smug grin spreading across his face. “Well, well, well.”

Alessandra barely had time to register Klaus’s expression before she caught Hayley behind him, her face unreadable, her gaze flickering between Elijah and the disheveled state of the bed.

Silence hung thick in the air.

Klaus let out a low whistle, rocking back on his heels. “And here I thought you were preoccupied with… other matters, brother.”

Elijah’s jaw ticked. “Niklaus, unless you wish to be promptly thrown out, I suggest you find amusement elsewhere.”

Klaus only grinned wider, glancing at Alessandra with knowing mischief. “Oh, I’m highly amused.”

Hayley, on the other hand, looked anything but entertained. Her eyes darkened, lips pressing into a thin line.

“So, this is what you’ve been so busy with,” she muttered.

Alessandra sat up, barely restraining an eye roll. “Oh, don’t act surprised,” she said smoothly, arching a brow. “Surely you didn’t think Elijah spent all his time brooding in a corner?”

Hayley’s gaze sharpened. “Funny. I thought we had an understanding.”

Elijah’s expression remained unreadable, but Alessandra caught the flicker of something behind his gaze—something unreadable, but distant.

Hayley looked at him expectantly, waiting for an answer.

Niklaus, enjoying every second of the tension, clapped his hands together. “Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting this much entertainment today.”

Elijah pinched the bridge of his nose. “Niklaus, leave.”

Klaus smirked but stepped back. “Oh, don’t mind me. I’ll just be informing dear Rebekah of this latest development.”

With that, he strolled out of the room, far too amused for anyone’s comfort.

Hayley lingered, her gaze locking with Elijah’s for a long moment. Something unspoken passed between them, something Alessandra wasn’t entirely sure she liked.

Then, with a quiet sigh, Hayley shook her head and walked away, leaving behind the weight of her unfinished words.

Alessandra exhaled, throwing herself back onto the pillows. “Well, that was not how I pictured this night going.”

Elijah sat beside her, smoothing a hand over hers. “Nor I.”

She turned her head toward him, a slow smirk forming. “Should we just expect them to barge in every time we get close?”

Elijah sighed dramatically. “Regrettably, it appears so.”

Alessandra hummed, reaching up to trace the sharp line of his jaw. “Then I suppose we’ll just have to be more… discreet.”

Elijah’s lips twitched into a small, knowing smile. “A challenge I am more than willing to accept.”

And just like that, the moment was no longer ruined.

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Part 2: Bad Blood - Steve Rogers

Setting: Cassandra’s Apartment, Washington, D.C. Time: Late night, the day after the events of Lemurian Star 

The apartment was quiet except for the soft hiss of a record player spinning something bluesy and slow. Dim lighting danced off whiskey glasses and an open window letting in the humid D.C. night air. Cassandra Ashford, shirtless but wrapped in a silk robe, sat sideways on the couch with her injured ribs propped up by pillows, a cigarette burning between her fingers, and a half-empty bottle of bourbon resting on the table beside her.

The knock on her door was tentative.

“It’s open, Cap.” Her voice was hoarse, but it held that sharp edge that never quite dulled—even injured.

Steve Rogers stepped in, looking around the dark, cozy chaos of her space. She didn’t glance at him.

“You’re early. I figured you’d show up tomorrow with some Boy Scout lecture about teamwork and follow-through.”

“You’ve got three broken ribs and a bruised lung, Cassandra,” he said, closing the door behind him. “You’re lucky Natasha stitched you up before you bled out.”

“She has a gentle touch,” she murmured, raising her glass in a lazy salute before taking a slow sip. “Unlike Rumlow. He stitches like a gorilla.”

Steve sat on the arm of the couch and looked her over. “You should be resting.”

She waved a hand. “I am resting. I’m also bored. And pissed. So unless you’re here to scold me, make yourself useful.” She flicked her cigarette into the tray, then nodded toward a bottle of black nail polish on the coffee table.

“Help me paint my toes. My ribs don’t bend that way right now.”

Steve blinked. “You’re joking.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

He sighed, but the corners of his mouth twitched like he was holding back a smirk. He picked up the bottle and knelt in front of her.

“Try not to get it on my skin, Rogers. I don’t want to look like I dipped my feet in tar.”

“I fought Nazis. I think I can handle this,” he muttered.

As he started painting—clumsily at first—Cassandra lit another cigarette, letting the silence stretch for a moment.

“Why’d you join SHIELD?” Steve asked quietly, still focused on her toes.

She didn’t answer right away. Smoke curled in the air, her eyes on the ceiling.

“Because my father didn’t want me to.”

Steve paused, glancing up. “You don’t strike me as someone who rebels just for fun.”

“No. Not for fun,” she said. “For survival.”

He sat back, brows furrowing. “You’re not talking about a metaphor, are you?”

She shook her head, taking another drink.

“You ever wonder why Fury trusted me, even when everyone else had doubts?”

Steve nodded once.

She stared at him, unblinking. “Because he knew who my father was. Knew what I survived.”

“Wait…” he hesitated. “Are you saying… the Vice President?”

Cassandra laughed. It was sharp and bitter. “Bingo. The honorable Vice President Richard Ashford. Proud patriot. War hero. Family man.” She raised her glass mockingly. “We haven’t spoken in over a decade. Not since I told him I was joining SHIELD and not selling my soul to his political empire.”

Steve leaned back slightly, thoughtful. “That’s a hell of a thing to carry.”

“It’s just weight,” she said. “Eventually you stop feeling it. Or you convince yourself you have.”

A beat passed.

“I didn’t know,” Steve said gently.

“Now you do.” She looked at him, more tired than anything else. “Still want to paint the other foot?”

He chuckled under his breath, picking up the polish again.

“You’re a strange woman, Cassandra.”

“Better strange than forgettable.”

As Steve started on the other foot, she leaned back, closing her eyes as the record player whispered through the dark.

They sat in silence, the smoke curling like old ghosts between them.

Steve blew gently on her freshly painted toes as Cassandra took another sip of bourbon, the clink of ice the only sound between them for a beat. The record had switched to something smooth and moody—Etta James, maybe. He hadn’t paid much attention since walking in.

He glanced up at her. “Can I ask you something?”

She raised a brow, cigarette poised between two fingers. “You’re already here, painting my damn toes. I feel like we’ve passed the point of secrets.”

“Why don’t people like you?” he asked bluntly. “Most of the agents… they talk. And not kindly.”

She smirked, not offended—just tired. “Because I didn’t play nice when I started.” She pulled the silk robe tighter around her bruised body. “They saw the surname Ashford and assumed I got in through daddy’s name. Laughed behind my back. Called me spoiled. Soft.”

She paused. The look in her eyes sharpened.

“Until I made STRIKE.”

Steve’s eyes flicked up. “Rumlow?”

“Yeah.” A slow nod. “He saw something. Not sure what—but he didn’t treat me like glass. Broke a few ribs the first week. I broke his nose the second.” A bitter grin touched her lips. “That earned me some grudging respect. And a permanent spot on his team.”

Steve tilted his head, studying her. “You’re loyal to him.”

She tapped her ash into the tray. “STRIKE was the first place I didn’t feel like a fucking disappointment.”

There was something hollow in her voice now. Something Steve couldn’t quite name. But it clawed at his instincts.

“Cassandra…” he said carefully, “is there something I should know about STRIKE?”

She looked at him then. Really looked. And for a second, her cold mask faltered.

Then she smiled, slow and sly. “You ask a lot of questions, Captain.”

“It’s my job,” he said, matching her tone.

She leaned forward, wincing as the motion pulled at her ribs, and flicked his chest with her finger.

“And mine is knowing when to keep my mouth shut.”

Another beat passed. She sat back again and lit a new cigarette.

“Let me give you some advice, Steve.” Her voice was low, almost gentle. “Don’t trust anyone who doesn’t bleed for what they believe in. Or bleed when it all goes to hell.”

He stared at her for a long moment, searching for something in her expression.

But Cassandra just stared back with her bloodshot eyes and smoky smile, toe nails perfectly black, ribs aching, and secrets buried so deep not even fire could reach them.

And outside, the record spun on.

Location: SHIELD Headquarters, Washington, D.C.

The corridors of SHIELD buzzed with the aftermath of the Lemurian Star operation—debriefs, coded alerts, whispers passing between agents. But Cassandra Ashford moved through the chaos like a ghost—unnoticed by most, unbothered by all. Until Rumlow stepped into her path.

He looked irritated. That wasn’t new.

“Secretary Pierce wants to see you.” His voice was gruff, arms crossed. “It’s about the Vice President.”

Cassandra stopped cold.

“Richard Ashford?” she asked flatly, not even bothering to pretend she cared about formal titles.

Rumlow gave her a sharp nod. “He’s here. Meeting with Fury. Saw the mission reports—your name was on them.”

Her expression didn’t change, but her spine straightened, jaw tightening. She hated that man’s name in her mouth. Hated that it still had weight in places like this.

“You alright?” Rumlow asked, quieter this time.

She didn’t answer.

Cassandra didn’t knock. She didn’t need to. The moment the double doors opened and she stepped into the hallway, she saw him—Richard Ashford, Vice President of the United States. Her father.

He looked older. Colder, if that was even possible. Steel-grey suit, eyes like knives. He hadn’t changed at all.

And he paused when he saw her.

“Cassandra.” A single word. Dismissive. As if she were a stray thought, not his daughter.

She didn’t respond. Just met his gaze with the same ice.

Behind her, Steve Rogers had just turned the corner with Natasha Romanoff, headed toward Fury’s office. Steve slowed, picking up on the quiet hostility. He watched as Cassandra’s back stiffened.

“It’s been over ten years, and you still haven’t learned how to walk like a professional.” Richard’s voice was soft but cruel. “You look like a child playing dress-up in that uniform.”

“And you look like a man who’s mistaken power for purpose,” she snapped, voice even. Not a flicker of emotion. “I’m where I want to be.”

“With them?” He gestured around the SHIELD corridor. “You could have been anything. Harvard Law. State Department. I groomed you for more than this.”

“You tried to own me.” She tilted her head. “And when I left, you acted like I died. Maybe I did.”

Steve’s brow furrowed.

“You’re still bitter,” Richard said, brushing a speck of lint from his sleeve. “Don’t be naive. You’ll always be an Ashford. Eventually, you’ll come crawling back to what that name means.”

“I made that name mean something else the day I joined STRIKE,” she said.

Steve stepped forward before Natasha could stop him.

“Is everything alright?”

Cassandra didn’t look at him. She didn’t need to.

Richard did. His eyes appraised Steve. “Captain Rogers. You’re just the kind of man she’d latch onto. Noble. Predictable.” A smirk. “The kind of man who doesn’t ask the right questions.”

Steve’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t respond.

Rumors spread quickly in SHIELD, especially when STRIKE was involved.

Steve stood in the doorway of the armory, watching Cassandra methodically load her gear. Natasha’s words echoed in his mind from earlier.

“You trust her too easily.”

And then the others:

“STRIKE protects its own. No matter what they do.” “Cassandra? Heard she slept her way into the unit.” “Ashford’s dangerous. Not because she’s sloppy—because she isn’t.” “There are rumors… illegal operations. Black site hits. Things even Fury wouldn’t sign off on.”

Steve couldn’t shake it. The way she’d stared down her father like she’d done it her whole life. The way Rumlow hovered, always a few feet behind her like a handler. The way STRIKE agents went silent when she entered a room—out of respect… or fear?

“You alright?” he asked her again.

She didn’t look up from her rifle. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Your father—”

“Is a bastard.” Click. Chamber loaded. “And you’re starting to look at me the same way he did.”

Steve’s throat tightened. “I just want to know the truth.”

Cassandra smiled, finally meeting his eyes.

“That’s the problem with men like you, Steve. You think truth comes in neat little boxes. Good or bad. Right or wrong.” She leaned in, voice low and sharp. “But in STRIKE? The truth has a body count.”

She turned away, grabbing her gear and walking out.

Steve stood alone in the armory, his shield at his back, and a gut feeling he couldn’t shake:

Cassandra Ashford was in deep. And STRIKE might not be what it claimed to be.

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Coming Soon fanfics

This are the top 3 coming Soon fanfics that will be posted only Cast, Graphic gallery and playlist

🥇1. Bad Blood — Steve Rogers 

🥈2. Burn — Mikaelson Brothers 

🥉3. The Fine Print — Elijah Mikaelson 

🥉3. Back to December — Elijah Mikaelson 

I have some of the face claims for them.

Here is the list

Cassandra Ashford — Olga Kurylenko

2. Vivienne Laurent — Morena Baccarin

3. Emmaline Scofield — Alexandra Daddario

I also need help picking a face claim for Evelyn Sinclair (the one-shot chapter can be found on Wattpad or here)

Here is the list of face claim

I really appreciate your help, it means a lot to me

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Back to December - Elijah Mikaelson

New Orleans — early 19th century

The streets of New Orleans were alive with the sounds of laughter and music, but Evelyn Sinclair felt as though she were walking through a fog. The vibrant colors of the evening masquerade blurred together as she navigated the crowded ballroom, her heart heavy with fear and shame. She was a daughter of wealth and privilege, yet here she was, hiding the truth of her situation beneath layers of silk and lace.Just weeks earlier, her life had been shattered by an unspeakable act—a violent assault that left her pregnant and alone. Her father’s response was cold and calculated; he had sought to protect his name rather than his daughter. Forced to marry a stranger to cover her disgrace, she felt like a pawn in a game she didn’t want to play.It was in this state of despair that she first met Elijah Mikaelson. The moment their eyes locked across the ballroom, a flicker of something unfamiliar stirred within her. He was tall and striking, with an elegance that drew the gaze of everyone in the room. But it was not his appearance that caught her attention; it was the kindness in his eyes. “Evelyn,” he approached her, his voice soft yet commanding. “May I have this dance?” She hesitated, the knot in her stomach tightening. But there was something reassuring about his presence, and despite her fears, she nodded. As they danced, he spoke to her in gentle tones, asking about her interests, her life—anything but the dark shadow that loomed over her. It was a brief respite from her reality, and for a moment, she allowed herself to forget. But the moment was fleeting. As the night wore on and the laughter echoed around her, the truth crashed back down like a tidal wave. She felt the weight of her secret pressing down, suffocating her. When she fled the ballroom, Elijah followed her, concern etched on his handsome features. “Evelyn! Wait!” he called, catching up to her in the dimly lit hallway. “What troubles you?” She turned to him, tears brimming in her eyes. “I cannot do this,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I cannot pretend to be happy when I am so... broken. ”Elijah’s expression softened, and he stepped closer, his gaze searching hers. “You are not broken. You are strong, and you deserve to be treated with kindness, not scorn. Let me help you.”The sincerity in his voice made her heartache. And at that moment she realized that perhaps he was the only one who truly understood her pain. Without thinking, she reached for his hand, finding solace in his warm grip. The days that followed their whirlwind marriage were filled with uncertainty. Evelyn found herself in a grand yet unfamiliar home, surrounded by lavish décor and reminders of her new life. Elijah was patient, offering her a sense of security she had long since lost. He tended to her needs, ensuring she was comfortable and cared for, but the weight of their circumstances hung heavily between them. Evelyn struggled with her feelings—both toward him and the child growing within her. Her emotions swung like a pendulum, from gratitude to despair, and she often found herself withdrawing from him, fearing she would never be the wife he deserved.

One evening, as they sat together in their drawing room, Elijah spoke gently. “Evelyn, I know this is overwhelming. But we can face this together.” She met his gaze, tears filling her eyes. “I don’t know how to be a mother. I never wanted this life.”Elijah reached for her hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “You don’t have to know everything right now. Just take it one day at a time. I’m here for you, and I promise to help you every step of the way.” That night, the weight of her uncertainties settled over her as they prepared for bed. The room was dimly lit by candlelight, shadows dancing on the walls. Evelyn lay on the bed, her heart racing as she felt the impending weight of their wedding night. Elijah entered the room, his presence both comforting and intimidating. She knew this was a part of their union, but the thought of intimacy filled her with dread. It was a night meant to symbolize their love, yet her mind swirled with reminders of her past trauma. Elijah approached her slowly as if sensing her anxiety. He sat beside her, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Evelyn, you’re safe with me,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “We don’t have to rush into anything you’re not ready for.” As he spoke, she felt the tension in her body start to ease, but fear still gripped her. The intimacy she once craved now felt suffocating. When he leaned in to kiss her, she allowed it, but her mind was far away, trapped in memories she couldn’t escape. When he moved to lay beside her, she stiffened, her breath hitching in her throat. She could feel him hovering, sensing her hesitation. But he didn’t push her; he waited. “Evelyn,” he whispered, his forehead resting against hers. “If you’re not comfortable, please tell me.” She fought against her instincts, wanting to give him what he desired. “I’m fine,” she said, forcing a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. But as he moved closer, as he pressed his lips against hers, she felt herself retreating into her mind. She lay there, still and silent, as Elijah took his time, guiding her gently. She wanted to feel something—anything—but all she could manage was to lay there, letting it happen. As Elijah continued, he noticed her discomfort. “Evelyn?” he said softly, pausing his movements. “Are you okay?” His voice pulled her back, and she realized she was trembling, tears slipping from her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she gasped, her voice breaking. “I can’t—I don’t want to disappoint you.” Elijah immediately halted, concern flooding his features. He pulled back, brushing the tears from her cheeks. “You could never disappoint me. I don’t want you to feel this way. You’re my wife, and I care for you deeply.” Evelyn turned away, feeling exposed and vulnerable. She lay in silence, the weight of her shame pressing down on her.

Days turned into weeks, and while the initial struggles of their marriage were overwhelming, Elijah remained steadfast by her side. He continued to support her, encouraging her to open up about her feelings. One night, as they sat together in the garden, Evelyn felt the tension begin to ease. The stars sparkled overhead, and for the first time since their marriage, she found herself smiling at the warmth of Elijah's presence. “Evelyn,” he said, taking her hand in his, “we will navigate this together. You are stronger than you know.” Her heart swelled with gratitude as she looked into his eyes. She felt a flicker of hope ignite within her. Maybe, just maybe, she could find her way through the darkness with him by her side.And in that moment, Evelyn realized that she didn’t have to be alone. She had a partner—one who believed in her, one who would fight for her, and one who could help her rediscover the woman she thought she had lost forever.

Present day - Mystic Falls

Mikael is not a man who speaks with kindness, but he is observant. He has always been able to smell weakness and use it against others. When he approaches Evelyn, he does so with the air of a predator cornering fragile prey." You do not belong in this family," he tells her, his voice measured, sharp. "You know that as well as I do. My son treats you like a ghost, and my daughter treats you like a nuisance. Even Elijah—he pities you, does he not?"His words cut deep, but Evelyn remains silent, her hands clasped together, trembling. "You are wasting your loyalty on a family that does not care for you," Mikael continues. "Klaus took your husband from you. I can give him back. Help me, and you will be free of the bastard who has stolen everything from you. "Evelyn wants to refuse. She wants to say that Elijah will wake and that she will wait for him. But Mikael sees the flicker of hesitation in her eyes. He sees something else too—fear not just of him, but of something deeper.Evelyn is terrified of him. But not in the way others fear Mikael for his power. She does not flinch when he raises his voice or threatens Klaus. No—she freezes when he stands too close. When his voice drops to a certain tone. When he moves too suddenly.Mikael has seen this fear before.

It reminds him of Freya.

The realization is slow, but it clicks into place when Evelyn, overwhelmed by his presence, stumbles back, her breathing uneven. He watches as her hands shake, her eyes darting wildly as if she is trapped. It is not the fear of battle or pain. It is the fear of being powerless.Mikael is a monster, but he is not blind. "Who?" he demands, his voice low and dangerous. "Who did this to you?" Evelyn gasps, her breath caught in her throat, shaking her head violently.Mikael is not a gentle man. He is a cruel father, a terrible husband, and a vengeful hunter. But the idea of someone violating what is his—of taking from a woman fills him with a cold, bitter rage. Evelyn does not answer. She does not have to.Mikael is disgusted. Not at Evelyn, but at what was done to her.And then, he sees it—how Klaus and Rebekah treat her. How they sneer, dismiss her, speak down to her without care or thought. They do not know. They have not paid attention. That disgusts Mikael even more. Despite everything, she refuses.

She is afraid of Klaus, but she will not betray Elijah. When she gathers the strength to speak, her voice is small but firm. "I will not help you."Mikael narrows his eyes, angered. But he does not lash out at her as he would at Klaus or Rebekah. "Then you are a fool," he says coldly. "And you will suffer for it."With that, he leaves.Evelyn is left shaken, her heart pounding, but she does not regret her choice.She will wait for Elijah.She always does.