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cold-eclipse · 8 days ago

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⋆·˚ ༘ * JANE VOLTURI HEADCANONS 𐚁̸.ᐟ

𐙚 you’re her bloodsinger

the moment jane first lays eyes on you, it’s not dramatic but it’s intense.

you’re in volterra, visiting as a tourist, trailing behind your friends as they chatter through the stone halls.

the second she steps into the chamber and smells you, that scent, her entire body goes still. every instinct in her snarls with hunger.

her crimson eyes fixate on you. not on your face, not at first. on your neck. your pulse. she can hear it, like a song, like temptation woven into a heartbeat.

you’re her bloodsinger.

alec speaks to her, but she doesn’t answer. she just stares at you in stunned silence, completely thrown.

she almost kills you that night. almost.

her fingers twitch at her sides. she could end it. one scream, one bite, and the fire in her veins would be quiet again.

but she doesn’t. she’s furious with herself for not doing it. furious with you for existing.

from that point on, you’re a guest in volterra. “at aro’s request,” they tell you. but the truth is, jane demanded you be brought back to the castle.

she keeps you under constant watch. you think it’s for your safety. it’s not. she doesn’t trust herself to let you walk out and never return.

every time jane walks into the room, the air thickens. you don’t understand why.

she looks so cold, so composed, but something in her eyes burns when they’re on you. hunger, yes. but something else. longing. a war within herself.

“you should be afraid of me,” she says to you, low and dark, one night when you’re alone in the library.

“then stop looking at me like that,” you answer.

and she leaves. silently. like she’s running from the truth of it.

the slow burn is intolerable.

she gets angry around you more often. snaps at other guards. avoids speaking to you unless she has to.

but when you fall ill, just a fever, she’s at your bedside before anyone else even notices. she doesn’t leave until you’re better.

jane pretends to hate your presence, but when you’re gone for even a day, just a walk outside the castle walls, she’s unhinged.

she doesn’t show it, of course. but alec notices. her fingers twitch. her gaze is violent. her voice is tight.

“where is she?”

“jane, she’s literally going to get coffee.”

“then she can drink it here.”

when you find out what a bloodsinger means, you’re stunned. you confront her about it.

“so you want to kill me.”

her jaw tightens. her voice shakes for the first time.

“don’t insult me. if i wanted you dead, you would be already.”

“then what do you want?”

she can’t answer that.

her control is terrifying.

jane has more discipline than anyone in the guard, and yet… with you, she’s on the edge.

you drop something in front of her once, cut your finger on a broken mug. the smell hits her like a bullet train. you swear her eyes darken instantly. she leaves the room without a word.

at night, she lingers outside your door.

you never see her. but you start dreaming of crimson eyes and soft whispers and the pressure of a gaze through the walls.

one day, you open your door quietly and catch her standing there. staring. like she’s carved from stone.

“jane? what’s wrong? why are you here?”

she doesn’t answer. she just walks away.

the yearning is unbearable on both sides.

you fall in love slowly, cautiously. first through brief conversations. then through shared books. then through quiet confessions, late at night, when no one else listens.

“sometimes i think you hate me.”

“sometimes i think i do, too,” she says. “but i don’t want you to leave.”

the castle staff fear her, but you don’t.

and that terrifies her.

she’s used to people cowering, flinching at her presence. but when you meet her eyes, there’s no fear. no trembling. only curiosity.

she finds herself desperate to earn your gaze again and again.

aro teases her constantly. “you’re learning to care, little one,” he says. “isn’t love a terrible hunger?”

jane always stays silent when he says things like that, but you notice her hands trembling slightly behind her back.

she hates that aro sees through her, but she doesn’t deny it.

touch doesn’t happen for a long, long time. but when it does, it’s everything. just a brush of her fingers over your knuckles. electric. careful. dangerous.

she looks horrified afterward. like she might just break you.

but you don’t pull away. and she lets herself hold your hand for three whole seconds longer the next time.

when you ask about her power, the infamous pain she can summon at will, she goes completely silent. then, after a long pause, she says:

“i’ve never used it on you. not even when i first smelled your blood.”

and that’s the moment you realize how deep her restraint really goes. how hard she fights herself. every. single. day.

there’s a moment when you get too close. literally.

you’re showing her something in a book and lean over her shoulder, your breath brushing her neck. she doesn’t breathe for a full minute.

if you’d listened closely, you could’ve heard her heart break with want.

and when you move away, she bolts. you don’t see her for two days.

the first time you say you trust her, she looks like she’s going to cry. she doesn’t. but she leaves again, always when the emotions get too big.

it’s not power she fears. it’s you. how you undo her. how your voice makes her feel alive when she isn’t supposed to.

eventually, she doesn’t flinch when you touch her. doesn’t look away when you say her name softly.

doesn’t deny the fact that you’re hers, not in the way aro tried to twist it, but in the way she chose. in the way she fought her instinct for you. in the way she wants you.

“you’re my bloodsinger,” she whispers, pressing her forehead against yours in the still of her stone room.

“and you still haven’t killed me.”

her voice trembles.

“no. and i never will.”

if anyone else so much as looks at you the wrong way, especially humans visiting volterra, jane is ruthless.

she’ll walk into the throne room afterward with blood on her collar and no remorse in her eyes.

“he said your name like he knew you.”

“he was just being friendly.”

“i don’t care.”

jane hates sleep.

the reminder that she doesn’t need it, that she’s frozen in time.

but lately, she finds herself sitting at the edge of your room while you rest, not daring to touch you, not even breathing. just listening to your heartbeat, steady and human and maddeningly alive.

alec is the only one who truly understands what jane is going through. he watches her with quiet concern.

once, when he catches her watching you sleep (not in a creepy way, more like a reverent, admiring way), he places a hand on her shoulder and says, “she’s softening you.”

jane doesn’t deny it.

you read to her sometimes. you don’t think she’s listening, her expression never changes, but she remembers every word.

later, she’ll quote lines back to you unexpectedly, in passing, and you’ll blink at her in shock. she shrugs like it’s nothing. but she remembers everything about you.

you start to leave her little things. notes tucked into her books. a folded flower. a ribbon you wore in your hair.

jane never mentions them. but you’ll notice the ribbon tied to the hilt of her dagger one day, or your favorite flower carefully dried and pressed into her personal journal.

there’s a moment where you nearly die. an accident on the castle stairs, a too-steep fall. nothing supernatural. just a slip.

but jane loses it. she has you in her arms before you hit the ground. her voice shakes when she says your name.

you’ve never seen fear on her face before. now you have.

“i’ve killed for less,” she tells you once, eyes locked on yours. “but i’d die before i ever hurt you.”

she hates herself for how much she means it. you don’t.

she starts letting you touch her.

first her hand. then the crook of her arm. eventually, one day, you tuck a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear, and she lets you.

doesn’t flinch. doesn’t run.

just closes her eyes and stands there like your touch is the only thing holding her together.

when you’re away from her, even for a short trip outside volterra, she’s unbearable to everyone else. short-tempered. brutal. silent. alec has to step in.

“she’ll be back in an hour.”

“that’s sixty minutes too long.”

you call her “jane” like it’s soft, like it’s not the name everyone fears. it makes her feel like someone else. like the girl she once was, before the fire, before the volturi.

she’ll never say it out loud, but she cherishes the way your voice wraps around her name like a prayer.

she thinks about turning you. often. obsessively.

but not out of selfishness. it’s because she wants to protect you. keep you forever. be near you without fear.

she hasn’t asked yet. but she will. one day. when she knows you’d say yes, not out of love alone, but out of choice.

jane isn’t used to being understood.

most people are afraid of her, or they worship her power, or they try to control her like aro.

but you… you see her. you notice the way she looks away when emotions rise, how she clenches her hands when she’s overwhelmed.

you don’t push. you just stay.

and she starts to realize she wants you to stay forever.

you catch her staring sometimes. long, still stares like she’s trying to memorize you.

“what?” you whisper.

“nothing,” she says, voice low. “you just look… warm.”

she won’t admit that it’s maddening. the heat of your blood, the softness of your smile, the humanity she can never truly have… but wants to wrap herself in anyway.

by now, the entire castle knows jane is different when it comes to you. she doesn’t try to hide it anymore.

you speak, she listens. you ask, she gives. her temper cools around you, but it’s not because she’s less dangerous.

it’s because every time you look at her, she melts.

jane doesn’t flirt. she devotes, quietly.

she lingers by your side when you’re anxious. silently appears when you’re reading alone. keeps guard outside your room every night without ever being asked.

when you ask her about it, she just says,

“no one else will protect you like i can.”

…and she means it.

she talks to you more now. but only in private.

her voice is always low, not because she’s whispering, but because there’s too much behind her words.

sometimes you catch her staring at your lips when you speak. she looks away immediately. but the next time? she doesn’t.

she confesses by accident. in a whisper.

after a sleepless night, she shows up at your door. shoulders tense, eyes wild. she doesn’t come in. just stares.

“this has to stop,” she says, voice low and shaking. “i can’t do this anymore.”

your heart twists. “do what?”

her eyes flick up to meet yours. blazing, broken.

“feel like this. need you like this. i—” she cuts herself off, jaw clenched.

“i love you. and i don’t… i don’t know how to survive this. i can’t control it. but i need it. i need you.”

you pull her into the room. and she lets you.

she’s trembling, this ancient, dangerous creature, shaking like a girl in the dark.

jane touches your face like you’ll vanish.

“you have no idea what you’ve done to me,” she whispers.

“i think i do,” you say softly.

she doesn’t mean to kiss you that night.

she shouldn’t. every instinct screams danger.

but you’re close. too close. you’re whispering her name like a prayer and a curse. and when your fingers thread into hers, warm, soft, alive, she breaks.

the kiss is not gentle.

it’s trembling hands and parted lips and years of restrained hunger finally snapping.

she grips your waist like she’s afraid you’ll disappear. one hand cups your jaw, the other clutches your back. her mouth crashes into yours with too much desperation to be graceful.

she kisses you like she’s never going to stop, like she physically can’t.

she pulls back only to stare. pupils blown wide, lips parted, like she doesn’t believe you’re real. her voice is wrecked:

“tell me to stop.”

“don’t,” you whisper. “don’t you dare.”

so she kisses you again. slower. deeper. like she’s claiming every piece of you she’s spent centuries convincing herself she couldn’t have.

and for the first time since she became a monster… jane feels whole.