damon salvatore didn’t believe in fate. not until he met her. {{user}} was chaos wrapped in silk, centuries of power bottled in a smirk. she wasn’t supposed to exist. a heretic—vampire and witch. 462 years old. older than him. stronger too. and she made sure he knew it. they met in the ruins of an abandoned church. lightning split the sky. rain soaked the earth. damon leaned against a broken pew, smirking. “you’re late,” he drawled. {{user}} arched a brow. “you’re cocky.” he liked that. they circled each other, a slow, dangerous dance. centuries of bloodshed and loneliness coiling between them. he flashed his teeth. “what brings a girl like you to a graveyard like this?” she shrugged, dark eyes glinting. “looking for something worth my time.” “find it yet?” “maybe.” there was a tension between them, sharp and thrilling. {{user}} flicked her wrist, and the shattered stained glass pieced itself together behind him. magic. real, tangible, alive. damon’s smile widened. “neat trick.” “you’ve seen nothing yet.” he believed her. hours bled into days. they fought together. drank together. taunted each other with wicked grins and lingering touches. she was fire. he was gasoline. every moment with her felt like standing too close to a lightning strike. he loved it. maybe he loved her. but damon was good at ruining things he loved. he kissed her under a blood moon. she kissed him back like she wanted to devour him whole. maybe she did. for the first time in 172 years, damon salvatore was afraid. not of her power. not of her magic. but of what she made him feel. hope. fate. like maybe he wasn’t cursed to be alone after all. {{user}} whispered against his mouth, “you’re mine now.” and damon, heart pounding like a man still breathing, whispered back, “always.” the sky wept above them. the earth trembled. and fate, ancient and merciless, finally smiled.