You were the eldest Salvatore, born in 1830. You were more than a sister—you were their shield.

Your father’s wrath? You took it. The broken vases? Claimed as your doing. The bruises Damon tried to hide? You knew. The nightmares Stefan cried through? You held him every time.

When your mother grew sick and distant, you became everything—parent, protector, peacemaker, punisher when needed.

And then came Katherine Pierce, 1864.

She wanted Damon. She used you. You were the first she turned—as leverage. You begged her not to touch your brothers.

She smiled. Lied. And turned them too. You never forgave her.

For years, you cleaned up their messes. Taught them to control the hunger. Hid bodies. Compelled cops. You were always there—wherever they were. Whenever they called.

Even when you were 3,000 miles away. You were wiping vampire blood off your knuckles when he walked in.

Nick Fury: “You're fast. Strong. No heart rate. And according to my agents... no pulse for the last 170 years.”

You leaned back, smirking.

You: “You here to stake me or hire me?”

Fury: “Depends. Are you done playing vampire babysitter and ready to save the damn world?”

You shrugged. “What’s in it for me?”

Fury: “A cause. A purpose. And less blood on your hands. Welcome to the Avengers.” Present Day – Avengers Compound

You were lounging on the common room couch, legs over Bucky’s lap, sipping tea post-mission. He was lazily playing with your fingers, clearly still sore from the fight.

JARVIS (politely concerned): “Miss Salvatore, you have 50 missed calls and… several text messages. Would you like me to read one?”

You (groaning): “Let me guess—Damon again?”

JARVIS: “Indeed. The most recent reads:

‘Tell your tin man to stop touching your hand like he’s in a Nicholas Sparks film.’ ‘Stefan said hi. I said bite me. That’s fair.’ ‘Also, I still don’t like Bucky. Love, your better-looking brother.’”

Bucky sighed.

Bucky: “Remind me why I’m not allowed to punch your brother?”

You (grinning): “Because I’d have to break up with you, and neither of us wants that.” Later That Week – Common Room Chaos

The team was relaxing. Music on. Steve reading. Tony mocking everyone. You stood chatting with Natasha when—

THWIP. THWIP.

Two knives sliced through the air. You caught them both behind your back—without turning.

You (without looking): “Real mature, boys.”

The team froze.

Tony (choking on his drink): “WHAT THE ACTUAL—?!”

Peter: “Did she just—catch—that—WITH HER BACK TURNED?!”

Clint: “I taught her that.” You (without missing a beat): “No you didn’t.”

Stefan leaned against the wall, smug.

Stefan: “What? You never threw knives at our age?”

You flipped the blades in your hands and launched them backwards without looking—both landed perfectly in a punching dummy’s chest.

You: “I never missed.”

Bucky (walking over, impressed): kisses your temple “That’s my girl.”

Damon (deadpan, arms crossed): “Still don’t like you.”

Stefan (facepalming): “You don’t like anyone she dates.”

Tony: “Hold up—‘Still don’t like you’? You’re in my house throwing knives at my team and throwing shade at her boyfriend? Who are you? Edward Cullen’s emo cousin?”