Darkling Supremacy

~Female~27~18+~ ~I like what I like. Don’t agree, don’t follow~

[salvatoregilbert]

It’s a pretty risky move taking me on, don’t you think? You know, with all this behavioral modification going on around here, I almost forgot how good blood tastes when it’s… Fresh. Damon Salvatore in The Vampire Diaries (2009-2017)

[icecreamreader]

[tvdversegifs]

So, what’s it gonna be? Fight to the death?

[andremichaux]

The Vampire Diaries (2009 - 2017)

[itspileofgoodthings]

so. I want to talk about the way that Damon always and the show frequently buy into the “Damon is so selfish” rhetoric and why I think both of them are wrong. Damon is darkly, monstrously selfish at the beginning, of course, but as he grows and changes, that selfishness changes too. He is still selfish in that he wants what he wants frankly and openly, he certainly never hides his desire or that he desires- but in so very many ways he perfectly embodies what CS Lewis talks about in the Screwtape Letters with regard to selfishness. And that is that a little real and honest selfishness is often far, far less damaging than selfishness that disguises itself as concern for the other. (This truth sheds light on one of the root differences between him and Stefan and is part of the reason that Damon has a fully realized arc and Stefan doesn’t but that’s another essay for another time.)

Damon loves Elena and wants her to be his. This means that Damon is not going to tie himself in knots to hide the fact that he loves her or go out of his way to avoid her because he knows she’s with his brother. He’s going to stay, he’s going to be her friend, he’s going to keep her safe- he’s going to stay by her side, look at her, love her even as he knows she’s already taken. Is there a little selfishness in that? Sure. But first of all, it causes him far too much pain for selfishness to be the sole motive. When he first meets and loves Elena, she is with someone else- his brother of all people- and Damon knows how this story goes. He knows he never gets the girl, he is almost resigned to it. Secondly, he is too honest and fair about how he feels for him to be able to selfishly manipulate circumstances or people to get what he wants. He never hides his desire from Stefan or Elena, which is a fair way of putting them both on their guard against it as opposed to a sneak attack, and pretty much never uses Stefan’s slip-ups, tragedies, or dark secrets as opportunities to step in and steal her away in an unfair or underhanded way even though he could have and would have if all he wanted was his own way, if he was purely selfish.

His flirty eye thing aside- and let’s be real Elena is perfectly capable of resisting and rolling her eyes at Damon’s flirtations, if that were all he was she would never have been in any real danger from him- Damon never tries to make his love for her particularly appealing. He doesn’t try to make it look like what she should need or want; he doesn’t even really offer it to her and say “take it, it’s better than Stefan’s.” There are no speeches. He just DOES love her, it’s just there. And because it’s there it never reveals itself as bait and enticement. It does reveal itself in time because that’s what love does- although even this he fights for a long time with his confession of love in 2.08 which he then tries to undo so that neither Elena nor Stefan have to bear the weight of it and he only really lets himself tell her that he loves her when he is on the point of death and he cannot and should not keep that confession inside one moment longer- but the point is, his love is never packaged as a purely selfish person would package it in order to be better sold. In fact, quite the opposite.

He is so unconcerned with how he can “win” Elena when her life, or her happiness, is at stake that he chooses to be the bad guy for her sake, to make the hard choices, even if it means incurring her hatred. He puts himself in a position, over and over, where earning her love will be the least natural result of his actions, keeping her safe the first. The fact that this kind of unselfish and practical commitment is what eventually wins Elena is beside the point. Damon is not playing some complicated long game where he plans to win her by trying not to in some kind of reverse psychological power play. Damon’s “selfishness” is the thing that saves the situation from being something truly dark and twisted because it’s the kind Lewis talks about. A selfishness that does not lie or cheat or manipulate, a selfishness which is closer to simple and honest desire than anything else is far less dangerous for everyone involved, including Damon, than the kind which pretends it doesn’t want what it wants. He is not pretending to be above himself or anyone else; he is not choosing to delude himself with grand airs about his unselfishness and there is a real plain and appealing honor in this fact. He does want to win her, he does want her for himself, he does want her to be his and he wants to be claimed by her as hers, but the point is, for all the seeming selfishness of this desire, never at the expense of her safety or well-being. Her safety and her happiness is always, always more important than his own. That is the opposite of selfishness.

And even his more explicit gestures of romantic love and interest while she is still technically with Stefan are not efforts to win her so much as they are expressions of love and desire that overflow from his deep and flawed heart. They are always the impulsive actions of the reckless lover, not the selfish cunning of the hardened manipulator used to getting his way. When he kisses her for the first time in season 3, he precedes it by saying- “If I’m going to feel guilty about something, I’m going to feel guilty about this”. He tells her “this is a mistake” not “I’m fully justified in doing this.” He says “I’m sorry I’m weak” not “I know you want me, stop lying.” (He does that in 2.01 and then never again.) He kisses her because he cannot help himself. In his mind this makes it, him, selfish and, again, sure! it is, he is, but it is not a dark power play or moment of manipulation in which he happily tosses Stefan (or Elena’s!) feelings aside in order to claim her for himself. I mean! The conversation starts with Damon telling Elena the reason behind Stefan’s motives- and so clearing the way for Stefan and Elena’s love story to continue to unfold. He loves and wants Elena more than he has ever loved and wanted anything but, surprisingly for us and probably not even knowingly for him, not at all costs. “I wanted to win her from you fair and square,” he tells Stefan and he means that.

And the reason that he wants to win her fairly and not by cheating or manipulation or lies is the same reason he will choose being the bad guy she rejects but actually needs over the good guy she might choose but who will protect her, as he sees it at least, far less effectively. And the reason is that, though Damon loves Elena for himself, he also loves her completely independently of himself and wants the best for her for her sake not just his. The way he wants this for her is often reckless and dark, yes. It’s not a pure, untainted, perfect nobility and, especially at first, he’ll sacrifice anything and anyone on the altar of her safety and happiness, but he includes himself and his own desires in that sacrifice. Hell, he’s first in line. He demonstrates this first by loving her and wanting her to be safe before he has any reason to believe he stands a single, solitary chance with her, and then by the way he very rarely, if ever, puts his desire for her above her own true good! How many times does he try to walk away from her because he believes she’s better off without him, or try to fix her relationship with Stefan because he thinks that’s what she wants, or save her life, or undo his mistakes even if it means that by doing so he won’t be able to be with her? Over and over and over. His love may be imperfect- whose are we measuring it against, everyone’s is- but it is wide and deep and real, untainted by the small selfishness which would lead only back to himself and his desires. If his heart is selfish, it’s full of the kind of selfishness that says, over and over, “I want you to get everything you’re looking for out of this life, even if that doesn’t include me.” And that’s not really selfishness at all. That’s love.

[francesderwent]

A selfishness that does not lie or cheat or manipulate, a selfishness which is closer to simple and honest desire than anything else is far less dangerous for everyone involved, including Damon, than the kind which pretends it doesn’t want what it wants. He is not pretending to be above himself or anyone else; he is not choosing to delude himself with grand airs about his unselfishness and there is a real plain and appealing honor in this fact. He does want to win her, he does want her for himself, he does want her to be his and he wants to be claimed by her as hers, but the point is, for all the seeming selfishness of this desire, never at the expense of her safety or well-being. Her safety and her happiness is always, always more important than his own. That is the opposite of selfishness.

[thelonelybrilliance]

Damon knew the Miss Mystic Falls dance after not practicing for over a century if you even care

[uhhlifeig]

sometimes babygirl is a grown-ass man who may or may not have committed several war crimes AND THATS OKAY.

[dearlizzies]

“he’s so babygirl” babe he’s covered in blood.

[vampygirrlll]

INNOCENT BABYGIRL

Pairing: Damon Salvatore x Reader

Warning: Sensual content, and might be +18

♱The innocence of her made him wilder ♱

The Gilbert house was too quiet at night. Without Elena’s soft footsteps or Jeremy’s music leaking under his bedroom door, silence stretched across the living room like a blanket. You weren’t used to being alone here — not really — and it made the creaks of the floorboards louder, the tick of the clock sharper, the shadows outside the windows heavier.

But when the knock came, sharp against the wood, you didn’t jump. Somehow, you already knew who it was.

You pulled the door open and there he was. Damon Salvatore. Leaning one shoulder against the frame like he owned it, wearing that half-smirk that made you feel like he could see right through your skin and into your thoughts. His eyes, impossibly blue even in the low light, lingered on you a second too long, the way they always did.

“Hi, Dam,” you said, your voice lighter than the way your chest tightened.

His mouth curved up slowly, deliberately. “Hey, angel.”

That nickname again. The one he’d been using since the first time he met you, as if he’d claimed you with a single word. You always laughed it off, rolled your eyes, told him he was ridiculous. But every time, it made your stomach flip in a way you couldn’t explain.

He straightened a little, tilting his head. “Are you gonna invite me in?” His voice was velvet — low, smooth, a little dangerous.

You shook your head with a soft laugh. “I don’t need to say it. You know you can.”

The innocence you maintain, the fact that you don't know anything, not he's secret or everything that it hides behind, he loved that.

His smirk sharpened, his body shifting closer, close enough that the air between you felt heavier, warmer. His lips dipped toward your ear, his words brushing over your skin like a touch.

“I can what…” he whispered, dragging the pause just long enough to make you swallow. “Say it.”

Your throat went dry, but you forced yourself to meet his eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. “You can come in,” you said softly, almost steady, though your cheeks betrayed you with heat.

Damon chuckled under his breath, pleased, and stepped past the threshold. But not without leaning close, his breath ghosting against your jaw as he murmured, “Inside the house, or…”

You froze for half a heartbeat before you caught the smirk tugging at his lips, the mischievous spark in his eyes.

“Damon.” You rolled your eyes, your blush deepening, but a laugh slipped from your mouth all the same.

He grinned like he’d won something, brushing past you with casual arrogance as if he’d lived here all his life. You shut the door behind him, still fighting the smile tugging at your lips, and turned to see him already pouring himself into the living room, hands tucked into the pockets of his black jeans.

“You know,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at you with mock seriousness, “most girls would scream if a man showed up at their house uninvited this late. You, on the other hand…” He let his gaze drift slowly down the length of you and back up, unhurried, shameless. “You look like you were waiting for me.”

“I wasn’t,” you said quickly, crossing your arms.

“Mhm.” He flopped lazily onto the couch, stretching out like a cat that owned the place. “Sure, angel. I believe you.”

Your arms tightened across your chest, though you couldn’t fight the curve of your lips. Damon was always like this — toeing the line, leaning too close, saying too much, and leaving you unsure if he was serious or just playing. Most of the time, you laughed it off. But when it was just the two of you, no Elena, no Jeremy, no distractions, it was harder to ignore the way his words lingered in the air, thick and electric.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you muttered, though it lacked any bite.

“Mm, but I am,” he said simply, tilting his head back against the couch cushion, his smirk softening into something hungrier as his eyes found yours again. “And you’re not throwing me out. So…” He patted the empty space beside him. “Come sit, angel. Unless you’re scared.”

You hesitated. Damon watched you like he was reading every flicker of hesitation, every racing heartbeat.

And he liked it.

♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱ ♱

The movie flickered on the TV, shadows dancing lazily across the walls of the living room, but neither of you had been paying attention for a while. The silence had stretched, comfortable yet heavy, and you found yourself fiddling with the hem of your silk pajama dress, staring at the images on the screen without really seeing them. Finally, to break the quiet, you asked the first thing that popped into your mind.

“Can you imagine if vampires really existed?” Your voice was soft, curious, carrying that innocent lilt Damon had become addicted to.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he turned his head slowly toward you, the corner of his mouth curving in that trademark smirk, though his eyes gleamed with something sharper, something darker. “Would you be afraid of them?” he asked, his tone casual but laced with amusement, like he already knew your answer and was daring you to surprise him.

“That depends,” you replied, tilting your head with the same kind of innocent thoughtfulness that made him lose his composure.

Damon’s gaze lingered on you, and for a dangerous second, he forgot the game. He forgot the teasing, the sarcastic banter, all of it. Because the way you looked at him — wide-eyed, unguarded, pure — was enough to unravel centuries of practiced self-control. He drowned in it, over and over again, as if every beat of your pulse was another wave dragging him under. He wanted to rip that innocence to shreds, to tear the bandana from your eyes and show you exactly what kind of monster you were so recklessly inviting closer.

His gaze slid down, tracing the line of your white silk pajama dress. The delicate fabric clung to your body like a whisper, and the contrast — your softness wrapped in something so fragile — made his jaw clench.

“I’m sure you’d make someone fall in love,” he said suddenly, his voice softer, lower, carrying more weight than you expected.

You blinked at him, lips parting in surprise, before the warmth of his words painted your cheeks red. Damon lifted his hand slowly, deliberately, the pad of his fingers brushing against your skin in a feather-light caress that lingered at your cheek. His thumb traced the curve of your blush as if he’d put it there himself.

“Do you believe that?” you asked softly, almost in a whisper, as if you were afraid to break the moment.

“Oh, I know that,” he assured you, his voice thick with certainty, his eyes locked onto yours like a predator who had cornered prey he didn’t want to scare off too quickly. He leaned closer, the scent of bourbon and leather enveloping you, and the air around you tightened until it was impossible to breathe normally.

"Come closer" he whisperd.

The world seemed to stop. Your body went still, frozen not out of fear but out of something deeper, heavier — the overwhelming gravity of him. Every nerve in you felt awake, waiting.

“Don’t make me repeat that, angel,” Damon whispered, his breath grazing your lips, his eyes piercing through every shield you thought you had.

Your heart hammered, reckless and loud, but instead of pulling away, you moved. Slowly, nervously, you shifted closer, your knees dragging across the couch cushions until you were right in front of him, your body leaning in as if drawn by some invisible tether. Your pulse was racing so fast you could feel it in your fingertips, but you refused to look away.

“So vulnerable,” Damon murmured, his eyes raking down the lines of your body, his voice thick with hunger. “So pure.”

Your breath caught when his gaze lingered on the silk draped across your chest, the unspoken implication hanging heavy between you. His lips twisted into a smirk, but his voice was darker now, rougher. “Completely pure.”

You swallowed hard, your name falling from your lips like a plea. “Damon…”

His hand, still cupping your cheek, slid back slightly, his fingers tangling in your hair, holding you there, making sure you couldn’t escape his eyes. He leaned closer, his voice dipping into something dangerous and undeniable.

“I’m not even going to ask you,” he said, every word deliberate, dripping with certainty. “I know you feel it.”

The world collapsed into the space between your mouths, a space shrinking by the second, filled with tension and heat and something far bigger than either of you could deny. You didn’t even have time to think — to protest, to agree — before Damon moved in and pressed his lips to yours.

The kiss wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t sloppy or eager. It was slow, sensual, deliberate. He kissed you like he had all the time in the world to undo you piece by piece, as if the act of taking his time was more intoxicating than the destination itself. His lips were soft, his movements smooth, and yet every tilt of his mouth against yours carried the dangerous promise of something far more consuming.

And for the first time, you didn’t laugh it off. You didn’t tell him he was ridiculous. You kissed him back.

His lips moved over yours with unbearable patience, every brush and tilt carefully measured, designed to make you dizzy. Damon didn’t kiss like someone experimenting; he kissed like someone who had perfected the art over centuries and was now enjoying the pleasure of unraveling you, one trembling breath at a time.

When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t with reluctance — it was with purpose. He left you chasing after his mouth without meaning to, your body betraying you as you leaned toward him. His smirk was waiting for you when you opened your eyes, smug and sharp.

“Mm,” he murmured, thumb dragging lazily over your bottom lip, as if tasting the echo of your kiss wasn’t enough. “Knew it.”

Your breath caught, your voice softer than you meant it to be. “Knew what?”

“That you’d taste this sweet,” he said, his tone a sinful mix of mockery and reverence. “Like sin dressed in white silk.”

Heat flooded your chest, your cheeks, and you tried to glare at him, to brush it off the way you always did. But his hand was still in your hair, his body close enough to steal your air, and you realized you couldn’t joke your way out this time. Not when every nerve in you was tuned to him.

“Damon…” you whispered, but your voice cracked in the middle, betraying you.

He chuckled low, savoring it, tilting his head as his eyes roamed down your body again — slow, unapologetic, as though he was memorizing the effect he had on you. “Relax, angel. I’m not going to bite.” His smirk deepened. “Unless you ask me nicely.”

Your lips parted, caught between protest and something else you didn’t want to name.

He leaned in again, this time brushing his mouth along your jaw, not quite kissing, just letting his lips skim your skin. The sensation sent shivers racing down your spine, and when his breath fanned against your ear, you almost forgot how to breathe.

“You feel it, don’t you?” he whispered, his voice low and husky, each word sliding over you like velvet. “That little ache… the one you can’t explain.”

You closed your eyes, your hands tightening on the cushion beneath you. He was too close, too warm, too much.

“I don’t—” you started, but your words faltered as his lips ghosted down to your neck, pressing the softest, most fleeting kiss against your pulse point.

“Don’t lie to me, angel,” he murmured, his tone teasing but laced with something sharp. “Your body already gave you away.”

You swallowed hard, pulse hammering beneath his mouth, and Damon smiled against your skin, clearly delighted with the chaos he’d created inside you. He didn’t press further — not yet. Instead, he pulled back just enough to look at you again, his eyes dark, amused, hungry.

“You’re shaking,” he said softly, like he was announcing a secret only he could see. “And I haven’t even started.”

The smirk returned, wicked and slow. He leaned in until his forehead almost touched yours, his voice dropping to a whisper that forced you to listen, every syllable dripping with heat.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he challenged, his thumb stroking your cheek as if daring you to deny him. “Look me in the eyes, angel, and tell me to stop.”

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Your lips parted, but no words came. The silence was all the confession Damon needed.

His grin spread, triumphant. “That’s what I thought.”

Damon didn’t wait for you to recover. His mouth was back on yours, hungrier this time, stealing your breath before you could think. His kiss was still slow, but the pressure was firmer, his tongue brushing against your lower lip in a request he didn’t bother to voice — because he already knew you’d give in.

When you did, when you parted your lips for him, his groan was low and satisfied, vibrating through you as his hand slid down from your cheek to the curve of your jaw, then lower still, tracing the line of your throat with dangerous precision.

“You have no idea,” he whispered between kisses, his lips dragging across your skin as he moved to your neck, “how badly I’ve wanted this.”

Your breath hitched when his mouth lingered at your pulse point, sucking lightly, enough to make you clutch at the fabric of the couch.

“Damon—” His name left your lips like a plea, but you didn’t even know what you were begging for.

“Relax, angel,” he murmured, his lips brushing your collarbone. “You’ll like it.”

His hand, the one not tangled in your hair, began to wander lower. Slow. Purposeful. He traced down the edge of your arm, brushing his knuckles along your skin just enough to make goosebumps rise. Then, as if he couldn’t resist, he let his palm flatten against your hip, the silk of your pajama dress sliding easily beneath his touch.

You stiffened, just for a second, your innocence warring with the rush of heat flooding through you. Damon felt it, of course. He pulled back, his lips curving into a smug smile as his eyes locked on yours again.

“Nervous?” he asked, his tone mocking, though his hand never moved from your hip.

You swallowed hard. “A little.”

“Good,” he said simply, his grin widening. “Means I’m doing it right.”

He leaned in again, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss that left no room for laughter this time. His hand slid further up, fingers teasing along your waist, brushing dangerously close to the curve of your ribs. Every touch was maddeningly slow, as though he was enjoying the torture of holding back more than the release itself.

When he finally pulled back, his lips swollen from the kiss, his voice dropped to a whisper that dripped heat into your veins.

“You have no idea how easy it would be to ruin you,” he said, his thumb stroking your skin through the thin silk. “And the worst part?” He smirked, leaning close enough that his lips almost brushed your ear. “You’d let me.”

Your breath caught, your protest dying before it formed. Damon chuckled low in his chest, clearly delighted by your helplessness, and his hand wandered further up, grazing just beneath the swell of your breast before retreating deliberately, as if to remind you he was in control of the pace.

“Please…” The word slipped out before you could stop it, and your face burned instantly with the realization.

Damon froze, his blue eyes flashing with a darker hunger as his smirk widened. “Oh, you have no idea what that does to me,” he drawled, his thumb brushing dangerously close to the underside of your breast. “Begging already? And here I thought I’d have to work harder to corrupt you, doll”

You should’ve been offended, should’ve pushed him away, but instead your body leaned into him, desperate for more of the contact he was still teasing you with. Damon laughed under his breath, low and sinful, like he’d just won a game only he knew you were playing.

In one fluid movement, he shifted, guiding you back against the couch cushions, his body hovering over yours. His hand slid up your thigh now, dragging the hem of your dress higher as he went. The contrast of his cool skin against your heated flesh made you gasp, your fingers curling into his shirt as if to anchor yourself.

“Mm, that’s it,” he murmured against your neck, pressing kisses down the line of your throat. “So soft, so responsive. You’re killing me, angel.”

His hand finally reached the top of your thigh, squeezing lightly, his thumb brushing the delicate edge of your panties. He didn’t push further — not yet — just traced the line slowly, deliberately, watching the way your body arched at the contact.

“You want me to stop?” he asked suddenly, his voice husky but mocking, daring you. “Because if you don’t say it now…” His lips dragged along your jaw, back to your mouth, hot and demanding. “I won’t.”

Your eyes locked with his, wide, conflicted, burning. But the words wouldn’t come — not to stop him. Not when every part of you was screaming for more.

And Damon knew it.

His grin returned, sharp and sinful. “That’s my girl.”

He shifted his weight, letting one knee press between your thighs, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric of your panties to graze your wetness. The sensation made you arch again, a shuddering moan escaping your lips as he lingered just enough to make you desperate.

“You’re mine tonight, angel,” he said, voice rough with hunger. “Every inch of you, and you’re going to love it.”

His lips trailed down your neck to your collarbone, kissing and sucking, while his fingers explored freely, pushing boundaries, teasing, making you cry out. When he finally pressed two fingers inside you, slow and demanding, your back arched, your hands clutching his hair as you gave in to the fire he was igniting inside you.

“Damon…” you gasped, voice trembling between need and disbelief.

“Yes, angel, say my name,” he whispered, fingers moving with a perfect, torturous rhythm. “Say it like you mean it. You know you want it.”

Your body betrayed you, responding to every touch, every kiss, every teasing comment, and Damon’s grin widened, hearing the sounds he’d been craving. He increased the pressure, curling his fingers inside you, matching your quivers, while his mouth returned to yours in a heated, claiming kiss.

“You’re so wet for me,” he murmured against your lips, his tongue brushing yours as his fingers moved faster, teasing, demanding. “So… perfect. All yours, angel. Mine to ruin.”

The words alone, dirty and possessive, sent shivers down your spine as your climax crept closer, each stroke of his fingers perfectly timed with the kisses, the nips, the teasing. When he finally pressed a thumb against your clit, gentle at first, then firm, your hips bucked uncontrollably, and a loud moan ripped from you.

Damon groaned, pulling back just enough to watch you, his eyes dark with triumph and lust. “That’s it, angel. Let go for me. Let me hear you scream my name.”

Your body convulsed beneath him, shivering, trembling, caught between overwhelming pleasure and the dizzying sensation of being completely, utterly taken over. Damon held you, kissed you through it, whispered filthy little praises as your body softened against his, still trembling under his touch.

When you finally came down, breathless and trembling, he didn’t stop. He pulled you into his lap fully, pressing his body against yours, teasing, exploring, leaving no inch of you untouched. Every kiss, every groan, every movement was Damon claiming you

“You’re dripping for me, angel,” he murmured, lips grazing your earlobe. “All mine. Can’t wait to feel you fully.”

Before you could protest, he tugged the thin fabric of your pajamas aside, exposing you completely. Your skin tingled under his gaze, and the blush that had never left your cheeks deepened. Damon’s eyes drank you in, slow and possessive, his smirk wicked.

“God, you’re so perfect,” he whispered, sliding a finger inside you again, curling it expertly, making you gasp. “So tight, so wet… so damn ready for me.”

He leaned down, capturing your lips in a scorching kiss, teeth lightly grazing your bottom lip as his other hand found your breast, kneading it with a possessive grip. You moaned into his mouth, your body trembling, craving more, needing more.

“You’re mine tonight,” he growled, his lips dragging down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. “Mine to take, mine to ruin. And you’ll love it, angel. You’ll love it so much.”

His fingers moved faster inside you, curling expertly, pressing just the right spots as he brushed his thumb over your clit. You arched uncontrollably, hands clutching at his shoulders, teeth sinking into your lower lip to keep from screaming.

“Damon… please…” you gasped, voice broken and needy.

“I’m not stopping,” he whispered, his tone dark, commanding, as he finally positioned himself, brushing against your entrance. “I want to feel every inch of you, angel. You want that too, don’t you?”

Your knees trembled, and you could only nod, unable to form words as he pressed into you slowly, carefully, giving you a moment to adjust. The stretch, the friction, the fullness of him — it was overwhelming, every nerve in your body screaming, and yet, your mind was hazy with desire.

“You feel so perfect,” he groaned, hips moving with a slow, punishing rhythm at first, letting you feel every inch, teasing you. “So tight, so wet… god, angel, you’re killing me.”

You whimpered, digging your nails into his back as he picked up the pace, thrusting harder, deeper, groaning low in your ear. His dirty words mixed with the slick sound of skin on skin, echoing through the quiet house.

“Look at me,” he growled, one hand gripping your jaw, forcing your gaze to meet his. “Tell me you’re mine. Tell me you’ve never wanted anyone like this before.”

“I… I’m yours,” you moaned, voice trembling, body arching into him as he slammed into you, slow at first, then faster, punishing and urgent. “Only yours, Damon…”

He smirked, brushing a lock of hair from your face, letting a hand roam freely over your body as he whispered filthy little praises between rough, deep thrusts.

“You feel so good,” he groaned, lips brushing your ear. “So wet for me, so perfect… god, angel, you’re going to come for me again, aren’t you?”

“Yes… yes!” you cried, voice breaking as he hit the perfect angle inside you over and over, his rhythm relentless, dragging you toward the edge again. Fucking you as if just the thought of stopping could make him die.

“Good girl,” he growled, biting your shoulder gently, watching your face contort with pleasure. “That’s it… come for me, babygirl. Let me hear you scream my name.”

And with that, the world shattered into heat and pleasure, waves of ecstasy crashing over you as Damon held you, kissed you, whispered filthy, possessive things into your ear while he rode out the fire with you, every thrust, every groan, every motion consuming and claiming you utterly.

When the tremors finally subsided, he collapsed against you, lips finding yours in a softer, lingering kiss. His hands still held you close, possessive and protective, though the hunger in his eyes never fully faded.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, voice rough but tender now. “God, angel… I can’t get enough of you.”

You shivered against him, exhausted and overwhelmed, body still tingling from every touch, every thrust, every sinful word. And deep down, you knew… this was only the beginning.

[bigfoots-biggest-fan]

this guy

reblog if you agree

[bigfoots-biggest-fan]

death to the algorithm, we're doing this raw

[taragreenfield]

Gonna be forever entertained by antis who keep dragging that pathetic Zoya's monologue "who's gonna speak for Baghra? Who's gonna speak for Alina? Who's gonna speak for Genya? Most importantly, who's gonna speak for MEEEEEE???" into every conversation about Darkling fans.

There are not enough words in any language I speak to describe how much I don't give a fuck about the aforementioned characters. Fuck Zoya, fuck Alina, fuck Baghra specifically, fuck the post-lobotomy bootlicker!Genya.

Who is gonna speak for all children Baghra left to die because she didn't deem them good enough? Who's gonna speak for all villages she burnt?

Who's gonna speak for all those victims of Alina's fit on the skiff? Who's gonna speak for Grisha killed in pogroms she overlooked and practically endorsed? Who's gonna speak for all Grisha killed by her zealots? Who's gonna speak for people who keep dying in wars and suffering in death camps while Alina and her trashy boyfriend stuff their faces with lemon cake?

Who's gonna speak for Ravkans starving due to Nikolai's domestic terrorism? For Grisha who were left vulnerable to anti-grisha bigotry after his reforms? For Grisha children whose parents now can "choose" to kill them instead of sending them to the Little palace? For all people who are undoubtedly going to suffer from violent outburst of their new queen whose already unstable mind is going to be further compromised by the power of an ancient creature she absorbed?

Who is going to speak for all girls the King already raped and is going to rape in the future, because his grateful son ensured the most comfortable conditions for that?

It's been seven books and the "heroes" are still unable to muster an ounce of sympathy or concerns for anyone but themselves.

So no, sorry not sorry, I don't care if Zoya, Alina and Baghra suffered. They deserved to suffer much more, for all people who were hurt by their stupidity, incompetence, violence, negligence, cowardice, hypocrisy and absolutely vile self-absorption.

P.S. Fuck Mal and everyone with the surname Lantsov too.

[taragreenfield]

I think the fundamental misalignment between the Darkling's fans and his antis is that they assume we want him to be good. Personally, I would love him to be worse.

"He manipulated Alina! He didn't let her write letters to Maaaal! He didn't tell her about the Fooold!"

Pathetic. I want him to fuck her mind up so badly she wouldn't know what's real. Let his "betrayal" literally shatter her world, not just confirm her preconceived notions about him.

"He killed people!"

Not enough. I want to see him skinning Druskelle alive.

"He was power-hungry and wanted to control everything!"

Why are the Lantsovs heads still attached to their necks? Where is the reign of terror? Repressions? Otkazats'ya massacres?

"He manipulated everyone and controlled everything in the country!"

Then why Alina gains her fanatics so easily? Why is the First Army not under his thumb? Why is the public opinion not in his favour? Who has he been manipulating, if not the literal people of the country? Birds? Rocks? Why do all the key characters ditch him and join her for no good reason? Let Alina and her team be surrounded by his supporters, constantly questioning who can be trusted. Let her little cult be crushed before it even started, let her be publicly disgraced as a traitor. Let her tiny ragtag crew be hunted and reviled at every turn. Let her scramble for the slightest advantage against his tyrannical system.

"He threatened to torture her! To kill Mal! To take away everything she loved!"

Empty threats are not going to cut it. Let him do it, for real. No, not by scarring Genya or burning the orphanage - Alina hardly cared about either of them. Let him kill Mal, make it really hurt. Let your protagonist's "hard-won" victory be actually hard-won.

What bothers me is the lack of commitment. Don't tell me he is a tyrant and a manipulator - show me tyranny and manipulation. Don't tell me his victory would be a horror—let me be horrified. You can't make your "villain" an underdog and the leader of an oppressive minority and expect me to root for a bunch of privileged morons fighting on the side of oppression.

[torchickentacos]

I love tumblr tags so much. Like okay here’s the main post and here’s my little secret thoughts and addendums for the besties

[personsonable-deactivated201908]

me holding a gun to a mushroom: tell me the name of god you fungal piece of shit

mushroom: can you feel your heart burning? can you feel the struggle within? the fear within me is beyond anything your soul can make. you cannot kill me in a way that matters

me cocking the gun, tears streaming down my face: I’M NOT FUCKING SCARED OF YOU

[miaislying]

Hey OP? What the FUCK does this mean?

[personsonable-deactivated201908]

decay exists as an extant form of life

[miaislying]

That’s a terrifying answer, have a nice day

[haystarlight]

THE ORIGINAL?!?!!!!!!!!;!!!!!!!!???

[rylandsgrace]

#Merry crisis

[failnation]

[wellamarke]

the first complaynts are coming in: jess thinks my rimes are but a sin. she canot see the meme’s apeel. the bredlik love she does not feel.

[yourethebestjake-deactivated201]

why are you like this

[wellamarke]

the way i am i will admitte makes little sence: i am a twitte. but who is werce- the crazy gal or she who kepes her as a pal?

[yourethebestjake-deactivated201]

why must you

[wellamarke]

i must becos this simpel meme is now my lyf, my waking dreme. if i should try to speke in prose the cow appears:

he liks my nose.

[yourethebestjake-deactivated201]

are you kidding me

[wellamarke]

i kid yu not. i shall not tire. to rime this way is my desire. the world may bern or floode insted: but i’ll be here to lik some bred.

[yourethebestjake-deactivated201]

please stop

[wellamarke]

[yourethebestjake-deactivated201]

even your tags were in lik the bred format

i give up

this post has killed me

[wellamarke]

just yesterday the words above were sed by jess who has no love  for any childe made up of rime. she may yet change. i’ll give her tyme. 

[zylaa]

#oh hey there meme of lik the bred#its been a while#thought you were dead#but since youre back#ill raise a toast#i tip my hat#i tag:#long post 

–Genius tags courtesy of @arcnoise

[wellthatisbloodyfantastic]

I had a dream last night that since the boops were so successful, staff created a game called “Reverse Boop Tag” where a specific blog was “it” (marked by some symbol next to their name) and you had to find their blog and give them at least 500 boops to get the “Boop Hunter” badge.

Everyone descended on some poor user and blew up their notifs. Then the “it” blog would change every 12 hours for a few days. It was a lot of fun.