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Hi! Hope youâre doing well!! I was wondering if I could request an Elijah Mikaelson x Reader enemies to lovers slow burn? Hit me with the angst and tension and feel free to add in the classic tropes like âwho did this to youâ for bonus points lol.
Genre: Enemies to Lovers | Angst | Slow Burn | Tension | Hurt/Comfort | TVD Universe
Summary:
You and Elijah Mikaelson were never supposed to be allies. You hunted his kind for years. But when a common enemy rises from the shadows of Mystic Falls, youâre forced to work together. Hatred turns into something far more dangerousâsomething that feels too much like love. Between blood, betrayal, and bruised hearts, the lines between monster and man blur until all thatâs left is fire and longing.
Authorâs Note:
Hi @lonelyghosts-stuff! Thank you so much for your request đ This oneâs packed with angst, tension, and all the slow-burn chaos Elijah deserves. I included the âWho did this to youâ moment, emotional wreckage, and reluctant tenderness that builds into something real. Enjoy the bite and the burn đđŻïž
Darkness hummed before dawn in Mystic Falls, where monsters and hunters bled in equal measure, and trust was rarer than mercy.
It begins with a scream.
Youâd heard plenty of them beforeâthey were part of your work. But this one was different. This one came from someone you thought untouchable.
The alley behind the Grill was slick with rain and blood when you found him. Elijah Mikaelson, the ever-composed Original, was slumped against the wall, his once-perfect suit torn and darkened with crimson. His eyes flicked up to you, even as he clutched his side where a white oak dagger had nearly found its mark.
âY/N,â he rasped, voice steady despite the pain. âYou shouldnât be here.â
You knelt, pressing a hand to his wound before you could think better of it. âAnd let you bleed out? Tempting, but I still need answers.â
He gave a faint smirk. âHow delightfully human of you.â
âAnd how typically arrogant of you to think Iâm helping you out of kindness.â
You hated how close you were. How his breath ghosted against your cheek. How even now, bruised and bloodied, he carried that same damnable composure that made your heart tighten with something dangerously close to respect.
You tore a strip of fabric from your jacket and pressed it to his wound. He winced, and you whispered, almost mockingly, âWho did this to you, Mikaelson?â
His eyes darkened, something old and furious flashing there. âSomeone who will regret it.â
Thunder cracked through the night, as if the heavens themselves answered his rage. For a brief moment, you both just stayed thereâyour hand against his chest, feeling the unnatural heartbeat of a man who had lived a thousand years. You should have walked away. But you didnât.
The next few days blurred into a strange allianceâfilled with sharp arguments and quieter moments where suspicion gave way to uneasy trust. One night, while patching a map together, you teased, âYouâre not as insufferable when youâre quiet,â earning a rare smirk from him. The truce began to feel less like tolerance and more like reluctant respect.
You told yourself it was temporaryâthat you only worked with him to uncover whoever had dared attack an Original. But the more time you spent around him, the less you believed that. Elijah moved like poetry written in bloodâcontrolled, deliberate, and impossible to ignore.
You watched him handle ancient texts in the dim light of his study, each gesture precise. His jaw tensed whenever you ran into danger; his voice softened when he spoke your name. And yet, he was infuriatingâlecturing on morality and honor, even as he slaughtered without hesitation when provoked.
Another night, while studying the map together, your fingers brushed his. The contact was fleeting, accidental, yet the way his gaze locked with yours made the air electric.
âYou should rest,â he said quietly.
âIâll rest when the bastard who came after you is ash,â you replied.
âYour loyalty is⊠unexpected.â His tone carried a weight you couldnât name.
âDonât mistake it for loyalty. I just want this over with.â
He smiled faintly. âOf course you do.â
By the end of the week, you often caught yourself reflecting on how strange the partnership had becomeâtwo enemies moving in rhythm. Between clashes, there were lingering glances, words unspoken, and a dawning sense that something irreversible was happening.
You had saved each otherâs lives twice. Once, when a witch ambushed you in the woodsâElijah took the hit meant for you, his hand closing around your wrist as he muttered, âRun.â The second time, you returned the favor, driving a stake into a vampireâs heart before it could pierce his.
He stared afterward, something unspoken burning in his eyes. âYou could have let it hurt me.â
âI could have,â you said simply. âBut I didnât.â
A quiet tension grew between you after thatâcharged, dangerous. Youâd catch him looking at you from across the room, expression unreadable. When you finally confronted him, he only said, âIâm trying to decide if youâre my salvation or my ruin.â
âYouâre assuming I canât be both,â you shot back.
The night you finally snapped, the tension between you had stretched thin as a blade. Every glance, every argument, every unspoken word crackled in the air like lightning before a storm. You could feel your pulse in your throatâanger tangled with something dangerously close to longing. The rain outside mirrored the chaos inside the Mikaelson mansion.
âYou think youâre better than everyone else,â you hissed, stepping close enough that your breath brushed his collar. âThat youâre untouchable. But youâre just a monster dressed in manners.â
He moved faster than you could blink, pinning you against the wall. His breath was warm against your ear. âAnd you,â he whispered, voice low and dangerous, âare a liar. Because if you truly hated me, you wouldnât look at me the way you do.â
Your pulse betrayed you. You should have shoved him away. You didnât.
âElijahââ
He leaned in, lips almost brushing yours. âTell me you donât want this, and I will stop.â
But you couldnât. The words died on your tongue. You closed the distance instead.
The kiss was fire meeting stormâviolent, inevitable. His hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you there as though afraid youâd vanish. You tasted blood and rain and centuries of restrained hunger. When he pulled back, his eyes searched yours for regret. There was none.
âDonât make me regret this,â you breathed.
âThen donât give me a reason to,â he murmured.
The battle erupted without warning, chaos tearing through the night like shattering glass. Heat, smoke, and the metallic scent of blood filled the air, every sound sharp and disorienting. The coven responsible for the attacks had surfaced, and the fight was brutal. Spells cracked, fire licked through the trees, and exhaustion clawed at your bones.
When one of them got the jump on you, Elijah tore through the chaos, ripping the witch away before she could finish her curse.
He caught you as you fell, blood staining his hands again. âStay with me,â Elijah commanded, voice breaking as he pressed a hand over your wound. âYou do not get to die on me, do you hear?â
You smiled weakly. âAnd here I thought you didnât care.â
His eyes burned red for a moment before softening into something heartbreakingly human. âI have never cared for anyone more.â
You reached up, brushing his cheek with trembling fingers. âYouâre supposed to be the noble one, remember?â
He gave a strangled laugh that wasnât quite humor. âThen let me be selfish this once.â
Your vision blurred, but you reached for him anyway. The same man you swore youâd never trust. The same monster who had somehow become your home.
âThen donât let go,â you whispered.
He didnât.
Later, when the dust settled, he stood at your bedside, his hands still trembling though heâd deny it. âYou risked your life for me again,â he said softly.
âI guess Iâm a slow learner.â
He smiled, faint and fleeting. âOr perhaps youâve learned faster than you think.â
âMeaning?â
âThat hatred, when tested long enough, becomes something far more binding.â
You looked up at him, exhaustion fading under the weight of what lingered between you. âThen what are we now, Elijah?â
He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face, eyes filled with something dangerously close to devotion. âSomething neither of us were ready for.â
Sypnosis- Stinger is all energy, all excitement, the kind of person who throws himself into battle without hesitation. You? Youâd rather keep things quiet, steady, and slow. Somehow, though, he always finds himself gravitating toward you, as if your calm presence is the only thing keeping him from burning out.
Word Count: 4k+ (because I canât hold back when itâs fluff)
MOON đ AND SUN âïž
⥠The first time Stinger noticed you, it wasnât in a fight or a dramatic moment. It wasnât anything exciting, actually.
You were napping.
Right in the middle of the Hero Associationâs break room, curled up on a bench like the world's softest looking cat. Your arms were folded under your head, and the faint rise and fall of your shoulders told him you were either asleep or about to be.
Meanwhile, he had just finished beating a Deep Sea monster, his pulse still racing, adrenaline thrumming through his veins like electricity.
"Man, I need to move," he muttered, bouncing slightly on his heels. That fight had been insane, and his body wasnât done riding the high.
Thatâs when his eyes landed on you again.
Completely still. Absolutely unbothered. A direct contrast to the mess of energy vibrating in his limbs.
Before he even realized it, he was walking toward you.
"Yo."
Nothing. Not even a twitch.
He tilted his head. How the hell were you sleeping through this? The room was packed heroes moving around, people yelling, and yet, you looked like you hadnât been conscious for years.
Stinger knelt next to the bench and poked your arm. "Hey, you good?"
Your eyes fluttered open, the laziest blink heâd ever seen. "Youâre loud," you mumbled, voice still heavy with sleep.
Stinger grinned. "And youâre half-dead. You sleep here now?"
"Only when my bed feels too far away," you murmured, shifting slightly. You didnât exactly invite him to sit, but you didnât tell him to go away either.
So, naturally, he took that as permission and plopped down beside you.
And in hours, he felt his heartbeat settle.
⥠Stinger learned something very quickly about you.
You werenât the type to say things outright.
You wouldnât run into his arms after a mission. You wouldnât tell him you missed him. You wouldnât text him first, wouldnât cling to him in a traditional sense.
But your love was in the details.
It was in the way you always waited for him to sit down before leaning into his space. It was in the way your fingers brushed against his, hesitating for half a second before curling around his wrist. It was in the way you reached for the fabric of his sleeve absentmindedly, as if just making sure he was there.
And for a guy like Stinger, who had spent most of his life running headfirst into danger, that kind of quiet, subtle love? It destroyed him.
One evening, after a long mission, he stumbled into your apartment.
Normally, Stinger was all grins, all noise, never letting exhaustion show. But tonight, his shoulders ached, his ribs were bruised, and the weight of being a hero felt just a little heavier than usual.
He expected you to ask what happened.
Instead, you just⊠reached for his wrist and pulled him toward the couch.
No words. No questions. Just a simple tug, guiding him down until his head rested on your lap.
"Stay?" he muttered, already half-asleep.
You hummed, running your fingers through his messy hair. "Always."
And that was enough.
⥠"You ever wonder how we work?" Stinger asked one lazy afternoon, arms wrapped around your waist while the two of you lay tangled on the couch.
"You mean how youâre a walking explosion, and I prefer existing at two miles per hour?"
"Yeah, that." He grinned, shifting slightly so his chin rested on your shoulder. "How does that work?"
You thought for a moment. "You chased me."
Stinger scoffed. "I did not chase you."
You raised a brow. "Oh? Who followed me around for a whole week, bringing me snacks and asking if I wanted to âhang outâ?"
"Okay, maybe I chased you a little," he admitted, laughing against your skin. "Worth it, though."
"Mm." You leaned back against him. "I think you needed someone to slow you down."
He paused.
And maybe you were right.
Because before you, he had never really stopped moving.
He had always been running, always rushing into the next fight, always burning through life at full speed without stopping to breathe.
But with you?
With you, he could be still.
Home wasnât a place.
Not for Stinger, at least. He had moved around too much, fought too many battles, to really consider anywhere permanent.
But one night, after a long mission, he went into your apartment and found you half-asleep on the couch, curled up under a blanket with your fingers loosely grasping the edge of his jacket.
You had been waiting for him.
Even in sleep, you had been waiting.
And for the first time in his life, he felt it.
That quiet, unshakable warmth. That anchor pulling him back to solid ground. That certainty in his bones that no matter how far he ran, no matter how much energy he burned, heâd always have somewhere to return to.
He bent down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before whispering, "Iâm home."
And even though you were half-asleep, your fingers curled tighter around his sleeve, voice barely above a murmur as you mumbled,
"Welcome back."
Extra Notes
đ Softest boy ever â Stinger is a himbo with too much energy, but he melts the second you touch him.
đ Reader is his safe place â Youâre the one person who can get him to sit still, slow down, and breathe.
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LEON & NEMESIS: BUDDY COP APOCALYPSE - A Resident Evil One-Shot
What if Leon S. Kennedyâs first day in Raccoon City meant making friends with the cityâs scariest bioweapon? Chaos, comedy, and unexpected bromance await!
Authorâs Note:
Big thanks to the anonymous requester for this adorable, chaotic promptâthis oneâs for you! Hope you enjoy Leon and Nemesis causing mayhem and redefining the meaning of âfirst day jitters.â If you have more ideas or want a sequel (Jill cameo, anyone?), drop your suggestions below!
Leon S. Kennedyâs first day on the job wasnât just hellâit was, frankly, stupid. Raccoon City had lost its mind. The police radio was all static, the sky glowed red with fire and sirens, and zombies moaned behind every door. The air stank of rot and fear. Most people wouldâve found a closet, locked the door, and cried. Leon, unfortunately, was not most people. He was out of ammo, out of hope, and sprinting for his life down a dark alley thatâthanks to fate and Umbrellaâs questionable urban planningâled straight into a brick wall.
He spun around, expecting to see a slow, groaning corpse. Instead, he saw a mountainâa leather-clad behemoth stitched together like a kidâs failed sewing project. Shoulders as wide as a car. In one massive hand, it carried a rocket launcher like it was a baguette fresh from the bakery. The thingâs head swiveled, its mouth split open, and it exhaled in a guttural rumble: âSTAAAAAARSâŠâ
Leonâs hands shot up, badge raised like a cross to a vampire. âIâm not S.T.A.R.S.! Iâm just aârookie! Leon! Please?â
The monsterâs red eyes flickered, scanning the badge, then Leon. It grunted, unimpressed. An awkward silence stretched between them. Leonâs brain short-circuited. Was he going to die? Be launched through a building? OrâŠ?
Nemesisâbecause, obviously, it was Nemesisâlooked past Leon at the growing herd of zombies behind them. With zero warning, he stomped forward, seized Leon by the collar, and flung himâremarkably gently, for an 8-foot death machineâbehind a dumpster. Then Nemesis waded into the undead crowd with the subtlety of a bulldozer, scattering limbs and torsos like he was mowing the lawn. Leon watched in slack-jawed awe, heart hammering. Nemesis moved with brutal, monstrous grace. It was terrifying⊠but also, if Leon was honest, kind of impressive.
A minute later, Nemesis plodded back through the gore. He reached into his belt, produced a first-aid spray, and pressed it into Leonâs shaking hands. âUh. Thanks?â Leon managed, blinking at the green canister. He was so confused.
Nemesis grunted, the sound vibrating in his chest. Leon was pretty sure that was Nemesis for âDonât mention it.â
Their partnership was the stuff of fever dreams. Leon, half-dead and covered in grime, trailed after his massive new friend through the ruined city, mind spinning. Was this really happening? Was he honestly following a B.O.W. through zombie hell because it seemed safer than going it alone? The absurdity didnât escape him, but every time he glanced at Nemesis, the monster just grunted, and Leon somehow felt a little less doomed. The rules became clear fast:
Donât mention S.T.A.R.S.
Donât touch the S.T.A.R.S. badge Nemesis kept on a chain like a childhood trophy.
Always accept healing itemsâeven if itâs the weird blue herb that tastes like grass clippings.
Donât ask questions about the rocket launcher.
If Leon tripped or lagged behind, Nemesis would grunt and gesture him forward. Once, when a flaming zombie staggered into their path, Nemesis simply picked it up by the head and yeeted it through a squad car window. The resulting explosion almost set Leonâs eyebrows on fire. Another time, Leon found a soda machine jammed and smacked it in frustration. Nemesis lumbered over, punched the machine once, and a cold can rolled out. Leon offered him the drink in gratitude. Nemesis stared at it, then crushed the can effortlessly, a faint look of confusion on his monstrous face. Leon tried not to laugh.
Between chaos, Leon sometimes attempted small talk, even as his mind reeled at the madness of it all:
Leon: âSo, uh⊠do you have a name? Or just âNemesisâ?â
Nemesis: ââŠSTARS.â
Leon: âYeah, figured. Thatâs a no.â
Other times, he rambled just to fill the silence:
Leon: âYou know, I thought my worst day would involve a parking ticket. Not, uh, bio-weapons and undead chihuahuas.â
Nemesis: (grunts, hurls a zombie dog into a dumpster)
Leon (nervous laugh): âYeah, you get it.â
They crossed Raccoon Cityâs hellscape together: fighting through back alleys littered with bodies, ducking under burning debris, climbing over overturned buses. At one point, a group of zombie dogs cornered Leon. Before he could even draw his empty pistol, Nemesis stomped forward, roared, and sent the entire pack fleeing, tails between their legs. Leon had never been so grateful for unethical science in his life.
They even stumbled across an abandoned news van, radio blaring static. Leon fiddled with the dials, hoping for help. Nemesis watched, curious, until a faint voice crackled through: ââŠS.T.A.R.S. sighted nearâŠâ The radio was promptly crushed by a giant hand. Leon sighed and shrugged. âNot a radio guy, I get it.â
As the night dragged on, they took shelter in a ruined convenience store. Nemesis blocked the door with a shelf, then settled in the corner, ever-watchful. Leon sat on a crate, patched up his arm, and munched on a suspiciously unexpired protein bar. Occasionally, Nemesis would glance at the chain around his neck, the S.T.A.R.S. badge glinting in the firelight. Leon didnât askâheâd learned his lesson.
Leon glanced over, mustering a tired smile. âYou know, for a bio-weapon, youâre not so bad. Kinda wish you were around during training.â
Nemesis let out a deep, thoughtful grunt.
Leon shifted, feeling awkward. ââŠOr not. Got it.â
By the time dawn crept over the carnage, Leon was limping, caked in mystery goo, but alive. Nemesis, apparently satisfied with his non-S.T.A.R.S. companion, got to his feet, gave Leon a last, solemn nod, and lumbered away into the smoldering city. At the alleyâs end, he paused, turned, and flicked a spent first-aid spray can at Leonâa casual salute from one survivor to another.
âGood luck out there, big guy,â Leon called, genuinely meaning it. He watched Nemesisâs massive silhouette fade into the smoky light.
Somewhere in the ruins, Jill Valentine shivered, sensing a disturbance in the forceâNemesis was supposed to hunt S.T.A.R.S., not make friends with rookie cops.
Leonâs first day was still hell. But at least he had a story no one would ever believe. As sirens wailed in the distance and sunlight crept over the ruins, Leon took a deep breath and realized that surviving alongside Nemesis had changed him. Maybe, he thought, finding hope in this nightmare meant trusting even the unlikeliest of allies. Raccoon City wasnât completely hopeless after all.
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