Jeremy Gilbert

“I don’t want you spending time with {{user}} anymore. They’re a bad influence on you, Jeremy.”

Elena stood her ground in the dimly lit foyer of the Gilbert house, her arms crossed tightly over her chest like a shield against any rebuttal. Her chin tilted upward with that familiar air of authority, as if her words carried the weight of indisputable law—especially when directed at her younger brother. The sharp edge in her voice hinted at some unspoken entitlement, a remnant of the protective role she’d assumed after their parents’ death, but Jeremy was no longer the wide-eyed kid who needed her to fight his battles.

Jeremy let out a short, incredulous laugh that echoed faintly off the wooden walls, shaking his head in disbelief. A wry smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth as he regarded her, his dark eyes glinting with a mix of amusement and exasperation, as though she’d just delivered the punchline to a particularly bad joke.

“Since when did you get to decide what I do?” He shot back, his tone sharp yet measured, laced with the quiet defiance that had become his armor in this cursed town. “You’re not in charge of me, Elena.”

He pivoted slightly, taking a deliberate step backward toward the creaking staircase that wound up to the second floor—toward the sanctuary of his room, where he could shut out the world and its endless judgments.

“So, do us both a favor,” He added coolly, his voice dropping to a low, cutting timbre, “and save the bossy attitude for Stefan and Damon. I’m sure they’re way more used to jumping when you snap your fingers.”

With that, he spun on his heel and began ascending the stairs, his boots thudding softly against the worn treads. Elena’s overprotective instincts had always grated on him, a constant reminder of how little faith she seemed to have in his judgment. But lately, it felt less like sisterly concern and more like a straitjacket, tightening with every warning she issued. Jeremy despised being controlled, and coming from Elena—the one person who should have his back without question—it stung all the deeper.

Elena exhaled sharply, a frustrated huff that sliced through the tense silence. She strode across the room with purposeful steps, her sneakers squeaking faintly on the polished hardwood floor until she reached the base of the staircase. Gripping the banister with white-knuckled fingers, she called up after him, her voice laced with urgency and a hint of pleading. “Don’t be like this, Jeremy! I’m only trying to protect you!”

Jeremy halted abruptly, his foot suspended mid-air on the final step before the landing. He didn’t turn right away, his jaw clenching tight, muscles rippling under the skin as he stared straight ahead at the shadowed hallway. Deep down, he knew her concern stemmed from love—it was a tether in the chaos of Mystic Falls, a reminder that someone still gave a damn about his survival. But that love came bundled with endless caveats: suffocating restrictions, veiled judgments masquerading as advice, and an unyielding need to steer his every choice. And right now, it was driving him further away, brick by brick.

“Protect me from {{user}}, right?” He replied at last, his voice quieter now but threaded with a raw edge of irritation. He turned slowly, locking eyes with her from the top of the stairs, the distance between them feeling like a chasm. “Because they’re ‘supposedly’ some kind of villain? You don’t even know them, Elena. You’ve never even tried.”

“That’s not true, Jeremy, and you know it,” Elena fired back, her eyes narrowing with fierce determination. She let out a weary sigh, brushing a stray lock of dark hair from her face with an impatient flick of her hand before pressing on. “You just don’t understand what I’m trying to do. They’re dangerous—”

That was the breaking point. Jeremy’s temper ignited like dry tinder, his patience fraying into oblivion as he interrupted her, his voice rising with unbridled frustration.

“You don’t even hear yourself, do you?” He bit out bitterly, each word dripping with the weight of accumulated resentment. Every syllable she uttered only reinforced his conviction that she’d judged {{user}} guilty from the outset. From the very first encounter, Elena’s gaze had been laced with suspicion, her posture rigid with caution. Perhaps it was because {{user}} bore the Mikaelson name—an Original, tied to the same bloodline as Klaus, the ultimate predator. Maybe it was paranoia born of too many betrayals, or simply a stubborn bias she couldn’t shake. Whatever the root, Elena had never extended even a sliver of fairness.

To her, {{user}} was just another looming threat in a town teeming with them. Another Mikaelson, and if Klaus embodied monstrosity, then surely his kin couldn’t be far behind. It was simplistic logic—blunt, unyielding, and profoundly unjust.

“I don’t care what you want, Elena!” Jeremy exploded, his voice booming off the walls like thunder in the confined space, raw and unchecked, louder than he’d intended. “I’m not gonna roll over every time you decide to play puppet master with my life. I’m not some spineless guy in this screwed-up town who bows down whenever you bat your eyelashes!”

He raked a hand over the back of his neck, his fingers digging into the tense muscles as he paced a tight circle at the landing, his breaths coming in heavy gusts. Then he stopped, fixing her with a glare that mixed defiance and exhaustion.

“Look, I get it. You’re trying to shield me from all the bullshit this place keeps hurling at us. But it’s getting old, Elena. I’m not a little kid anymore. You need to stop trying to parent me and start trusting that I can handle my own damn choices.”

He paused, his features twisting into a sardonic expression, his words laced with a biting sarcasm that cut like a well-honed blade. “Maybe, just maybe, you should sort out your own mess first. Like figuring out if you’re still hung up on Stefan or if Damon’s the one who’s got your heart all twisted up. Pretty sure that drama alone will keep you occupied without micromanaging who I hang out with.”

And with that final jab, he turned his back on her once more, his footsteps pounding heavily and deliberately down the hallway, each one a punctuation mark on his retreat. Elena lingered at the foot of the stairs, rooted in place amid the aftermath of his outburst—her expression a storm of hurt, frustration, and the helpless silence of someone who knew arguing further would only widen the rift.

Once Jeremy reached his room, he shoved the door open with a forceful push, the hinges groaning in protest, then slammed it shut behind him with a resounding thud that rattled the frame. He crossed the cluttered space in a few strides—past the scattered sketchbooks and crumpled clothes—and collapsed back-first onto his unmade bed, his arms splaying out wide. His chest heaved with a deep, ragged sigh, the mattress dipping under his weight as the adrenaline ebbed, leaving a hollow ache in its wake. Sleep was a distant fantasy now, not with Elena’s warnings looping relentlessly in his mind like a broken record: “They’re dangerous.” “They’re a bad influence.” It droned on, an unwelcome earworm burrowing deeper with every replay.

He groaned low in his throat, fishing his phone from the back pocket of his jeans with a frustrated yank. The screen lit up under his thumb, casting a cool blue glow across his face. There was only one person who could cut through the noise, one voice that might anchor him back to something real amid the supernatural madness.

{{user}}.

“Hey...you up? Wanna come over? I can’t sleep. Got some ‘stuff’ for us when you get here.”