my favorite procrastination place

Hard to stand your ground in the face of someone over a hundred times older no?

I'm curious to see what you'll make of this.

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Pairings; Elijah Mikaelson x reader

Go to...pt. 2

Genre/Warnings; tension, slow-burn, supernatural romance, light violence, vampiric behavior, intimidation, suggestive tension

Summary: A confident human woman refuses to let Elijah Mikaelson scare her off, and Elijah finds himself unexpectedly—and inconveniently—intrigued.

1584 words

For someone with a thousand years of experience, Elijah Mikaelson had a strange habit of underestimating you.

Not that he’d ever admit it. He preferred more elegant wording—miscalculation, oversight, an unexpected display of human resilience. But you’d caught the flicker in his eye earlier that night when you’d stood nose-to-nose with him and refused to back down. He’d masked it quickly, of course. Elijah Mikaelson did everything quickly, cleanly, perfectly.

But he’d been surprised.

And that alone made the situation… fun.

The compound was quiet, most of the other Mikaelsons gone for the moment, leaving only the echo of the wind and the soft clink of Elijah’s glass as he poured himself bourbon. He looked timeless, classic, perfectly put-together in a tailored suit as if he were preparing for a gala rather than a conversation he clearly hoped would intimidate you.

You stepped into the room without knocking.

“You wanted to see me?” you asked, tone light, casual—on purpose.

Elijah turned, glass in hand, posture straight and elegant. “I was under the impression,” he said, voice smooth as polished stone, “that we needed to clarify the circumstances of your recent… interference.”

Ah. So that’s what this was about.

Your shoulders lifted in a shrug. “You mean stopping one of Marcel’s guys from gutting that girl in the alley? Yeah, I don’t regret that.”

For the briefest moment, Elijah’s jaw tightened. “You endangered yourself.”

“I do that every time I’m in the same zip code as you people,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “But you already know that.”

His eyes dropped—deliberately—to the way you were leaning your hip against the table, relaxed, unafraid. When his gaze lifted again, there was something sharper behind it.

“You are bold,” Elijah said finally.

“Thank you.”

“That was not a compliment.”

“It sounded like one.”

His face stayed unreadable, but you swore something cracked, just slightly, at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile—Elijah didn’t smile easily—but a twitch of something dangerously close.

He stepped forward. You did not step back.

“Most humans,” Elijah said quietly, “would quake in the presence of a creature who could end their life before they exhaled their next breath.”

“And yet,” you murmured, tilting your head, “here I am. Still breathing.”

He circled you slowly, like in some old-fashioned waltz where he was the only one moving. You kept your eyes on him even when he disappeared behind you, listening to the measured tap of his shoes against the floor.

His voice came from behind your shoulder. “You are remarkably calm.”

“Should I scream?”

“That depends. Would it be an act or sincere terror?”

You laughed. “Oh, Elijah. If I screamed, I promise you it wouldn’t be out of fear.”

The silence that followed was rich, heavy, electric.

His breath grazed the side of your neck before he stepped around to face you again, hands clasped neatly behind him, expression as controlled as ever. But his pupils were darker now. Dilated.

Interested.

“Tell me,” he said, “why is it that you continue to place yourself in harm’s way? You have no supernatural ability. No lineage. No allies strong enough to protect you. And yet you insist on inserting yourself into conflicts beyond your depth.”

You held his gaze, unwavering.

“I don’t need powers to know right from wrong.”

“And does righteousness taste sweeter than survival?”

“Every damn time.”

Elijah blinked slowly, the weight of his stare assessing, appraising you like some impossibly old king deciding whether to spare or claim.

“You are going to die,” he murmured—not a threat, just a fact.

“We all are,” you replied. “The difference is I don’t pretend I’m invincible.”

“And yet you challenge beings who could tear you apart.”

You gave a small, daring smile. “I challenge you, Elijah.”

His composure faltered.

Only for a heartbeat—but you saw it.

He stepped closer, so close you could feel the cool brush of his suit jacket against your arm. “You do not know what you are provoking.”

“Then enlighten me.”

His eyes darkened completely for a moment—blackened with hunger, power, restraint pulled tight as a violin string. You could feel the vampire in him, ancient and dangerous, humming just beneath the surface.

He reached up as if to touch your cheek.

But he didn’t.

He stopped his hand just shy of your skin, fingers molded to the outline of your jaw without making contact, as if the space between you was more intimate than touch itself.

“You test my control,” he said, breath low.

“I’m aware.”

“And you enjoy it.”

“Also aware.”

His hand finally lowered, gliding away without ever touching. The almost-contact sent a shiver down your spine, one you refused to let him see.

Elijah turned away, pacing a few steps as if resetting the centuries of discipline you’d managed to rattle. “You are reckless.”

“You say that like it’s new information.”

“You risk consequences you cannot begin to comprehend.”

“You say that,” you countered, “as if you’re the consequence.”

Slowly, he looked over his shoulder at you.

“That depends,” he said softly. “Do you consider me a threat?”

You met his eyes steadily. “I consider you… complicated.”

He gave the softest huff of amusement. “Most would say deadly.”

“I’m not most.”

“No,” he agreed. “You are not.”

He came back to you then, but this time his approach was less predatory, more deliberate. Controlled interest, not intimidation. His gaze flicked to your pulse—he didn’t hide it—and then back to your eyes.

“You fascinate me,” he said simply.

The admission hit harder than any threat could have. Elijah Mikaelson wasn’t careless with his words; he didn’t toss out confessions like scraps. If he said he was fascinated…

He meant it.

“Is that a good thing?” you asked quietly.

“I have not decided.”

You lifted your chin. “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

His voice dipped, warm and warning all at once. “Do not tempt me to take that literally.”

“What if I did?”

Elijah exhaled, slow and precise, as if resisting something. “You do not understand the gravity of being desired by someone like me.”

“Then explain it.”

His eyes searched yours—really searched, as though he was peeling back layers one by one. As though he needed to know whether you were bluffing, whether you truly understood the danger.

And then he moved.

Not fast. Not vamp-speed. Just close.

Very close.

Your back met the edge of the table as Elijah planted one hand beside you, leaning in until your noses were almost level. His other hand hovered near your waist, still not touching, but close enough that you could feel the coolness radiating from his skin.

“Desire,” Elijah said quietly, “is a volatile thing for my kind. It blurs lines. Weakens rules. And you…” His eyes flicked to your lips. “…you seem intent on exploiting that.”

You swallowed, refusing to break eye contact. “Maybe I’m just not scared of you.”

A soft, dark hum left him. “That,” he said, “is what scares me.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The tension between you pulled tight, straining, almost vibrating—caught between danger and something dangerously close to longing.

Then Elijah straightened abruptly, stepping away as if pulling himself back from the edge of something catastrophic.

“You should leave,” he said.

“Do you want me to?”

His jaw flexed. “No.”

That single word hit you like a strike of heat.

But Elijah continued, voice low. “If you stay, I cannot promise I will maintain this restraint you seem determined to test.”

You pushed off the table, stepping toward him—not threatening, simply present. “Maybe I don’t want you restrained.”

This time? He did smile.

Barely, but unmistakably.

“You are going to be trouble,” he said.

“I’ve been told.”

He shook his head once, almost amused, almost exasperated. “I do not know what compels me to tolerate it.”

“You don’t tolerate it,” you corrected softly. “You like it.”

Elijah’s eyes flashed with something hot and ancient and undeniably hungry.

And then—slowly—he reached for your hand.

He didn’t grab it. Didn’t yank you closer. He simply took your fingers in his, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His skin was cool; his touch careful. Reverent.

Far more intimate than any kiss.

“You will be the end of my composure,” he murmured.

You squeezed his hand lightly. “I think your composure could use a little shaking.”

He let out a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “You have no idea what you invite.”

“Then show me.”

Another stretch of silence—this one thick, heavy with meaning.

Elijah lifted your hand, brushing the back of your fingers with the faintest touch of his lips. Not a kiss, exactly. More like a promise he wasn’t sure he should be making.

When he lowered your hand again, his voice was all velvet and warning.

“Not tonight. If I lose control, it will not be… gentle.”

You stepped closer, tilting your head up. “Who says I want gentle?”

His eyes closed for a moment—just long enough for you to know you’d hit him where he lived.

“Go,” he whispered.

This time, you did. But not before brushing your shoulder against his as you passed, whispering, “Goodnight, Elijah.”

His breath hitched.

Though you didn’t look back as you left the room, you heard the sound that followed—a soft, quiet exhale, as if a thousand-year-old vampire had finally allowed himself to feel something he’d been denying all night.

And you smiled.

Because Elijah Mikaelson hadn’t intimidated you.

He’d met his match.

Radical chic - Vogue US (1992)

Too much too soon - Vogue Italia (1996)

how its going

i got your spurs sparkin

Summary: Reader visits her partner Jack in the ED to drop off his lunch catching the excited attention of all of his colleges much to his chagrin

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: None! Just super cute fluff

Author’s Note: My first Pitt Fic! Basically, a short simple grumpy x sunshine reader cause I had the idea. Everyone in the Pitt loves the reader and Jack pretends to hate that, but everyone knows better. Again my first Pitt fic so any and all feedback appreciated and I hope you enjoy!

Check out part 2 here!

To say Jack was surprised to see you at Dana’s desk was an understatement.

He had just left you a little over an hour ago, a silent kiss to your temple, a murmured I love you into your hair, a cup of coffee left in his wake on the countertop so it was cooled down by the time you got up, the same as every day. You were still asleep when he left could you have woken up with something? Did he miss something last night?

His head was so full of the hypothetical he didn’t take the extra second to acknowledge how at ease your body language was as you leaned against the tall desk, a soft smile on your lips as you nodded along to whatever Dana was saying.

Instead, he immediately crossed the ED in a few steps, sliding a hand to the small of your back to grab your attention, cutting of Dana’s story without a second thought.

“Hey what’re you doing here are you okay?”

Your eyes flickered briefly to his, the corners of your mouth pulling up slightly at his appearance as you grabbed his bicep and gave it a small squeeze. “Yeah don’t worry I’m fine” before immediately refocusing on Dana, silently signaling her to continue.