"You do whatever you want, don't you?" She says, surprisingly calm after he's yanked her arm away from her date like he's caught her cheating. They're in the ladies' room and his brain is shooting spirals of rage up his spine. "Whatever Damon wants, Damon gets."
She's so wrong.
The dress she wears is tight in all the right areas but she throws a linen jacket over it because she won't allow herself to be sexy for once. It's better if she gives herself the illusion of a choice, as if she's confident enough to be so bold. It will take more than champagne for her to remove it. So uncomfortable in skin she's lived in for over two decades. Prudent and modest. You can't fuck me, you must fuck my mind.
"But god forbid, I get to know someone else who isn't you. It can't always be you, Damon. My life can't revolve around you, Damon."
Again, she's so wrong.
Bonnie doesn't even have the heart to sell these lines, did someone write these for you? he wants to ask.
But she's talking to herself more than she's talking to him. Convincing herself that she must quit him.
Damon will give her what she says she wants. He'll play along, become docile, hit the ping pong light enough that she won't have to go crawling around for it under the table with her ass in the air.
"You know what, you're right."
Her eyes widen in surprise.
"I'll try not to be as overprotective when it comes to you." Damon rubs the back of his neck, uneasily. "Sometimes I react first, it's like I can't help it… that's not fair." He straightens out her jacket from where he's grabbed her up. Dusts her shoulders to erase any signs of himself, so she can properly focus on that guy with his fists balled up in his lap.
Damon is behind her reflection in the mirror with his hands on her shoulders encouragingly, "you should lose the jacket." He knows she won't listen. At least not while he's still there.
I know. It’s been a while. A LONG while. So long, in fact, that I sort of forget how to post fics on here, so this might be messy. But here it is.
(read it on ao3 here)
Chapter 2: Found
She can’t sleep without Damon.
The nightmares worsen, growing darker and more believable each day until Bonnie’s almost convinced that her dreams are reality and her freedom from Kai is something her mind has only made up to preserve the last shred of sanity she has left.
She eventually finds herself back at the boarding house, Miss Cuddles tucked under one arm, a pair of pajamas and all her toiletries in the bag hanging from her other wrist. Damon greets her with that eyebrow thing that he loves to do, and she can practically feel the wise cracks forming in his head, but he doesn’t say anything – just steps away from the entrance to give her space to come inside.
“Thank you.” She mumbles softly, the words wooden and tasteless in her mouth. It comes to her as a quiet afterthought that these are the only words she’s spoken today.
He lifts one shoulder in a lazy half-shrug, pushing the wooden door shut behind him.
She takes one of the guest rooms, the one she’d sort of inhabited during their time together on The Other Side. Stefan doesn’t ask any questions, only stops in to remind her that if she needs anything, anything at all, she shouldn’t be afraid to ask.
This has somehow become a place where she feels protected, safer than even her own home. And still, every time she closes her eyes, a world of terror is waiting to greet her.
The third night, instead of holding her while she sobs, waiting for her to cry herself back to sleep, Damon offers her his hand.
“Let’s go,” he says softly, his face hidden in the darkness, impossible to read. His hand hovers in front of her, palm up, waiting.
She doesn’t really have much left to lose, does she?
Taking his hand, Bonnie lets him pull her out of bed.
***
“You know,” Damon begins, facing away from her, head craned back to look up at the night sky. “I’m not exactly a stranger to torture.”
She’s not as flinchy as she’d been only a few days ago, but she can still feel the panic flaring up at just the mention of that word.
Torture.
Something about saying it reminds her of the act itself; the way it twists around in her mouth, contorts to make the right sound.
“And I know you’ve decided to take some kind of lame-o vow of silence,” Damon continues, evidently unaware of her internal struggle, “which would, normally, make me unbelievably happy. But it’s kinda conflicting with the whole ‘I’m fine’ thing you had going earlier.”
He’s trying to rile her up, she knows this. She can hear it in his voice, the false bravado, the ‘could care less’ attitude he’s spent so many years trying – and failing – to perfect. But more than that, she can see it. It’s in the way he holds himself, leaning toward her even when he’s looking away, like he’s afraid she might collapse at any moment. It’s in the way he looks at her – and the way he doesn’t look at her. He thinks he can push her to some kind of breakthrough, but he’s afraid he might push her too far.
She wonders if reading Damon has always been this easy, or if it’s something she’s picked up over the last few months.
“I don’t want to talk about torture.” Bonnie says, finally, the word tasting like hot lava in her mouth. “I don’t want to talk about anything.”
If he’s surprised by her response, he doesn’t show it. He doesn’t even turn around; just keeps walking, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, perfectly at ease with the world.
“I can do all the talking. I happen to have a lovely voice.” It’s funny, though, that in some odd way he’s right. Hearing Damon’s voice again, Damon, of all people, makes her feel just a tiny bit safer. He reminds her of home, somehow. Maybe because, on the Other Side, he was her home, and that feeling hasn’t quite faded away yet.
But the panic, the fear, the pain – none of that has faded, either. It’s just there, in her head, in her chest, this feeling of helplessness that she can’t find an escape from.
They walk through the forest quietly for a few moments, the soft crunch of dirt and leaves under their feet filling the silence. She still doesn’t know where they’re going. She doesn’t really care.
“Do you know what I hate?” Damon asks, pushing open an old rod-iron fence with one hand and beckoning her through with the other, and then she realizes where they are, and there’s a tightness in her chest that makes it hard to breathe. “I hate when people try to make decisions for me. Drives me insane. Even more insane than normal – I know, hard to believe right?”
He glances at her, smug smile in place, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Even in the darkness, that icy blue stare is impossible to miss.
“Why are we here?” She asks, her voice cracking. She swallows thickly, trying to push down the lump that’s forming in her throat. “I don’t want to be here, Damon.”
She doesn’t want to think about these things. The nightmares are bad enough – being here now will only make things worse.
“Bonnie,” he says softly, watching her with those piercing eyes, careful and hesitant and all of the things she doesn’t expect him to be, “Kai can’t hurt you anymore.”
Just his name is enough to make her stomach heave, her mouth run dry.
“I know I wasn’t there to protect you, and I can’t ever apologize enough for that. But I want you to know that I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere.”
Her head is spinning, and it’s taking all of her energy to remind herself to breathe, just breathe. He’s still watching her, making no move to close the distance between them. She focuses on his eyes, bright blue gems glinting in the darkness, full of certainty and the promise of safety and warmth, and suddenly the world isn’t spinning anymore.
“So many bad things happened here,” she whispers into the silence, her eyes still fixed to his. “I can’t be here, Damon. Please.”
He takes a small step forward, then another, until he’s close enough that she can smell him, not just that ridiculous but somehow irresistible cologne, but him. It makes her feel safe, that smell, safe and warm and protected, even here in this place where she’s really none of those things. One of his cool hands slips into hers, tugging, first lightly then more insistently when she doesn’t move.
“Come on,” he mutters, half pulling, half dragging her through the darkness, her stubborn feet dragging miserably behind them. She stumbles and trips a few times, but he never lets her fall. Their hands stay firmly clasped. After what feels like an eternity, they stop, and she takes a hesitant peak around. The mausoleum is a familiar one, as are the headstones littering the area.
Damon pulls her so that she’s standing right next to him, their shoulders brushing. His hand still clutches hers. “Look,” he says, pointing with his free hand, “that’s where I found Miss Cuddles.”
She knows what he’s trying to do, but it’s not going to work. Nothing is going to work.
“Damon –“
“Do you know,” he continues, ignoring her attempted interruption, “I thought about giving up on you. I thought maybe you were dead, that there was no way to bring you back.” He gestures behind them now, the hand clutching hers tightening almost painfully. “I sat on that fucking rock, with a bottle of whatever alcoholic beverage seemed appropriate, and said goodbye to you.” He laughs then, a twisted, broken sound, his face turned away from her. “And then, there she was. That stupid stuffed bear. And just like that, I knew, I knew what a coward I had been. You were fighting or every breath, struggling to come back to us, and I was ready to just fucking let you go.”
Her fingers are starting to go numb, but she doesn’t say anything. She’s seen many different sides to Damon, but this… This is different. She doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do for this Damon.
“Don’t you get it yet?” His voice is low, a rough whisper, and when he turns to face her Bonnie’s shocked to see tears in his eyes. “You never gave up. Not on me, not on any of our friends, not on yourself.” He lets go of her hand, blessedly, the blood stinging her fingers as it rushes through them. His hands instead go to her shoulders, squeezing gently. “So I don’t care how long it takes, or what I have to do. I’m not giving up on you, Bonnie. Not this time. Not ever again.”
They stare at each other, his hands resting firmly on her shoulders, his face damp with tears. His eyes burn into hers, so bright and so blue it makes her heart ache. He’s so full of hope, she thinks, and it hurts to look at him. It hurts to know that hope is so tragically misplaced.
She closes her eyes, shutting him out, shutting it all out.
“I’m broken.” She whispers, her throat raw, the ache in her chest growing with every word. “I’m broken, Damon, and you can’t fix me.”
“So what?”
It’s a response she isn’t expecting. She opens her eyes again, staring at his defiant, incredulous expression.
“We’re all a little cracked, in case you haven’t noticed.” His hands leave her shoulders slowly, skirting softly up her neck until they’re cradling her face. He brushes her cheek lightly with his thumb, his other hand moving to gently brush her hair out of her face. “I’m not trying to fix you, or make you perfect.”
His hand continues to caress her face, soothing circles drawn gently into her skin, the only thing that’s holding her together.
“The things you’ve been through… I can’t even imagine the pain you’ve felt. But you survived them, Bonnie. You’re a fighter. A survivor. Yeah, you came back with some battle scars, some serious fucking issues. But you came back.” Damon closed the little distance left between them, pressing his forehead against hers, his breath blowing against her face in short gasps. “Don’t give up now, not on yourself.”
“I don’t know what to do.” Bonnie says, tears silently streaming down her face, the ache in her chest threatening to burst. “I don’t know how to make this pain go away.” She slaps a hand to her chest, clawing at her shirt, desperate to get it out of her. “I can’t make it stop,” She gasps, and then she’s sobbing again, deep, shaking wails that render her completely useless. Damon pulls her into him, cradling her gently to the ground, letting her scream and cry and until there’s no air left in her lungs, and she pauses to suck in great bouts of air and starts the process all over again.
She feels it pouring out of her, the grief, the pain, the rage. The tightness in her chest bursts, and it’s like a never ending fountain of emotion streaming out of her, and he bears it all.
“It’s okay,” She hears him murmuring softly, one arm rubbing soothing circles into her back as she sobs, “it’s okay. You’re okay.” It only makes her cry harder.
She cries for her Grams.
She cries for her Dad.
She cries for Caroline and Elena, who never asked to be what they are, but managed to embrace what life had chosen to give them.
She cries for Stefan, for his endless crusade to be good.
She cries for Damon.
She cries for herself.
She cries for her lost innocence, for the life she could have had.
She cries for the sacrifices she’s had to make.
She cries for all the times she was beaten and broken and defeated.
She cries for every time she got back up again.
She cries, for a long, long time.
When she’s done, when there are no more tears left inside her to shed, when the pain in her chest dims to a low, dull ache, she looks up at Damon, whose arms have kept her warm and safe and sheltered. She looks up at him, and for the first time in a long time, she smiles.
Not perfect, she thinks, or fixed or beautiful. Just something whole.
hello! i saw you were taking bamon prompts, and I know you filled one of mine back in October, so please feel free to do others, but I like your work so I’m throwing my hat in the ring another time.
im forever bummed that we never really got to see a “dress” moment for Bonnie canonically. She never got to descend stairs with eyes all on her, she never got to steal breath away just by her appearance, whether at a dance or otherwise (if we don’t include her appearance in Damon’s kitchen). In fic, I love when she gets to have moments where she’s genuinely stunning, and Damon just looks at her in awe (because that is something we do see canonically!). It’s a little loose, but would you be able to write something that has her so captivating that Damon might even be at a loss for words? I just want a sweet princess moment for her basically.
I hope you are doing well and staying safe! Thank you 💕
awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww. everything u said was just like amazing and true. i’m doing so well, and i hope you’re safe! i’m so ready to bring this to life.. the idea popped up instantly for this, i was adamant in writing. hope u enjoy 🤎
Damon had the smallest notion that perhaps he had made a mistake.
Surrounded by tulle and layers upon layers of white and creme, expensive hangers, headless mannequins, and the quietly excited shopkeeper, Damon asked himself why he fought Caroline over being able to go dress shopping with Bonnie. There was no telling but he could possibly be sitting here for hours without a glass of bourbon or blood to keep him entertained.
The little lady who owned La Robe de Mariée was even shorter than Bonnie with light brown skin, mousy features and glasses that were perched lowly against her nose, she had a bad habit of tilting her head down and looking at Damon beyond her lenses, especially when she asked probing questions.
“You must be the gay best friend?”
Bonnie laughed at that, openly and cheekily, deciding that she did like this bridal shop if the dresses were anything close to being as remarkable as she was. Damon rolled his eyes. When he pointedly said, “no,” without even a snort or a chuckle the lady, Miss Belinda, stated,
“You do know it’s bad luck for the husband to see the dress.”
And Bonnie sobered up quickly, her fit of laughter untimely concluded. “Oh we’re not- he isn’t my husband!”
Miss Belinda rose an eyebrow. “Not technically.”
“Not at all.” Bonnie politely affirmed, tugging at the hem of her sleeve. “He’s my best friend.”
“Hmm.” The older woman didn’t say much after that, just pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose before giving them another once over. “Follow me.”
So there Damon was, on a white velvet couch, waiting for Bonnie to try on wedding gowns. Just him and him alone since he had the tendency to want his best friend all to himself, which seemed increasingly difficult to achieve as of late.
Actually he’s had to fight for Bonnie’s attention because Derek, the groom, seemed hellbent on kicking him out of the picture.
Either that or biting his head off.
Their relationship was almost cordial, but the thing about Derek was, he reminded him of a big burly wolf. And after getting to know him, he wondered what was so interesting or funny about him that elicited a signature starry-eyed smile Bonnie gave him when he wasn’t paying attention.
Whatever.
“Your dream wedding dress: what does it look like?” Miss Belinda asked, a notepad in hand as if she were a therapist.
Damon observed Bonnie when she gave a little pout. There was a pregnant pause as she took her time to think, glancing around her in curiosity like one of the dresses would hop out and tell her.
“You know, it’s crazy to say but I’m twenty-seven and I’ve never thought of what my perfect wedding dress might look like. I could describe Elena’s perfectly. I could tell you Caroline’s to a tee. But mine… I don’t know. I’m not sure.”
“Okay well let’s get whoever these Elena and Caroline are out of your head and let’s fill it with- what’s your name?”
“Bonnie.”
“Let’s fill it with what Bonnie wants.”
“Right.”
“And I’m Damon, by the way.”
“Damon, the best friend. Got it.”
He realized then that her voice and disposition reminded him of Sheila.
.
To not know what she wanted, Bonnie was very selective. She looked at dresses without even trying them on and shook her head dismissively. They had already been there for forty-five minutes and she had yet to find a dress she actually wanted to see herself in so she realized a traditional style in the big and poufy sense was not her thing.
“I don’t want to drown in a dress.”
So they looked at silhouettes that were figure-hugging up top and flared out like a mermaid to the bottom. She did enjoy those. However, not enough to be ushered into the dressing room.
Thirty minutes later, Bonnie declared, “I want an unconventional wedding dress. One that’s kinda sensual but still classy. I want a dress that looks like it’s fresh off of the runway.”
Miss Belinda looked like something clicked. “I think I might have the perfect one for you.”
.
It was a vintage Thierry Mugler gown, definitely a couturier’s version of bridal with a price tag that made even Damon’s eyes widen.
“I’ve been waiting for the right pair of eyes to show this to. It’s not everyday that a girl decides she wants a gorgeous gown that is unlike anything she’s ever seen before. They come in and say they want a dress like Carrie Bradshaw’s or Kim Kardashian’s.” She blew a raspberry. “The girls are supposed to find their own dress…and fall in love with it.”
Miss Belinda held onto the hanger with great pride, extending what looked to be a flesh-colored set: a strapless bodysuit, and the mesh with little ruches in excess towards the bottom like flowers that decided to bloom right out of the dress.
“It’s beautiful, it really is.” Bonnie hesitated.
“You should try it on.”
She had no clue if Damon made the suggestion because he was bored of the ample time spent looking at dresses with only slight variations between them or because he genuinely wanted to see her in it. But she relented anyway.
“Fine.”
Miss Belinda looked through her lenses at them as if she were going to ask another question before opting on silence and showing her to a breathtaking fitting room.
.
“Oh my god!”
Bonnie said it from the fitting room, followed by a gasp and eventual silence.
“That’s normally a good sign.” Miss Belinda explained to Damon with a knowing smile.
“Oh my god.” She said it again with a finality as she opened the fitting room door with fumbling fingers and walked out on shaky limbs.
Breathlessly Miss Belinda asserted, “That’s the one. My job here is down, child.” Politely, she walked away to give them some space to admire how a dress like that could bring forth the magic that young lady already possessed.
“What do you think?”
Damon was robbed of any logical thoughts to piece together.
She was standing there in a corset that made her waist invisible and a gown that looked like a beautifully designed layer of second skin. As tiny as she was, her legs, which were completely revealed, looked extended from the high cut of the bodysuit. Her skin was like gold. The veil interwoven itself with a train that reached far beyond her for a few feet, gossamer enough that it trailed behind her when she walked and caught air in the slightest of movements.
Bonnie Bennett was ethereal.
Bonnie Bennett was unreal.
“I feel naked.” She filled in at Damon’s unusual silence. “Speak now or forever hold your peace.” She giggled as if the awkwardness could banish with her little lilt.
Oh he was gaping on the inside, bad. He had to tighten his jaw to make sure it didn’t go slack, that’s how paralyzingly beautiful she was.
Was it bad of him that he didn’t want Bonnie to marry Derek? Not in that. Not looking so stunning. But he couldn’t bring himself to tell her to look for another gown. There was no way in hell he could lie like it wasn’t made for her.
“Bonnie-you look…”
He was grasping for the right words but they weren’t extravagant enough. They weren’t dynamic or remarkable or pertinent enough to express his admiration and actual butterflies-in-the-stomach kind of feeling she was giving him. His palms were sweating.
Damon could imagine himself at the wedding, those same butterflies turning into eels, his insides flipping a few times over when Bonnie and Derek kissed. When Bonnie Bennett became Bonnie Hale.
Her blood tasted like whiskey on fire the way it burned his throat though it didn’t stop him from drinking bottomlessly. It was too good, he needed more, he would drown in her.
And Bonnie, she was smoothing out the hair at the nape of his neck repetitively, as if he was learning a new trick. As if he was being a good boy.
“Keep going,”
He pierced her neck a little more prominently with his fangs to hurt her a little. Her fingers kept its soothing, steady pace but something about it felt humiliating. It made him feel young again and Damon was losing himself in her, he knew that now, yet there was no way he was going to stop drinking.
She was haunting him and it was horrible, like that one trip he took with Giuseppe to Georgia, so long ago it felt like a hallucination. Eight and as mischievous as ever. He can still remember how his father yelled at him not to pick any peaches from the tree while he stared on silently wondering why he was getting reprimanded all the time. It was like Giuseppe knew beforehand that Damon would disobey him; he had that all too familiar expression of poorly veiled contempt written all over his face. Just like Lily the first time he made a mistake.
The man who owned the farm found it necessary to reinstate Giuseppe's words, add a few more of his own for good measure. He told him stealing was bad and something evildoers did and that the devil would drag him out of bed if he disobeyed his father. He dusted off his palms before setting them on his round belly, certain that the fear of god would set a child like him straight. He wasn't wrong, a tale like that would be enough for anyone else. It'd work on Stefan. However, Damon was no Stefan.
Since it seemed no one had faith in his restraint, it worked up quite the appetite within him. He thought to himself, as he looked upon the field, “why try?” And the peaches so orange, so ripe, so juicy just shrugged in the wind like they didn’t know either. He stole six and ate them back on the carriage ride from Savannah to Mystic Falls, fingers tacky with the sugary sweetness of fresh fructose.
Giuseppe knowing his son through and through, slapped him unconscious not because he stole but because he went against his word, the same word he never promised to keep in the first place.
When he woke up, Damon was called a scoundrel, a rebel, a delinquent. So on and so forth. How could he care?
Sure, his cheek was sore and bruised but his belly was full and his mouth was sweet and that was all that mattered.
He couldn’t explain it, but Bonnie was his modern Giuseppe.
Why bring him on the peach farm if he couldn’t eat the peaches? Why rub him like a puppy after repeatedly trying to pull the monster out of him?
Damon slurped between his fangs, half-aware of the mess he was creating. Eager to fill his belly with something warm and sweet, better than fresh peaches, better than poison. He lapped at her neck, streams of red down her chest, under her white blouse, down her arms. He drank and drank until he could hear the quiet plop of the blood gathering on the floor below her stained fingertips.
His breath lodged inside of his throat before he pulled away from her, frightened at the fact that he had lost control to such an extent. He hadn’t noticed how deeply he tore into her neck or her body losing its warmth.
This is what you wanted, right?
Bonnie looked up at him with unfocused eyes and held her bleeding neck with a smile. “You think you’re so bad, don’t you?” Then she smeared the dark red from her hands all over his face. “You’re just a sad little boy with a handful of peaches.”
He caught her before she could crumple.
.
Obviously this was only the beginning of an addiction; the power that was surging through him was old and bare, branches that connected to a source he was too humble to meet, with roots that dug below graves and cut through cold.
Never had he felt this alive, not even being human could compare. He felt sated and sunburnt, intoxicated and abstinent, rich and bereft but only because he wanted more.
He brushed off her words: he wasn't sad, he wasn't a boy, he was somewhere between a god and a demon, existing in a realm of heaven and earth, holding everything, including her life in the palms of his hands.
She'd find out soon enough.
Damon held on to Bonnie, still, the aftertaste of blood a thick syrupy sweet. His tongue grazed his mouth to summon the flavor.
God.
She terrified him.
It didn’t matter that she was asleep, she was chasing him the nonetheless, an axe in her right hand and gaining on him.
He was running and running and running. In circles.
i’ve missed you guys 🥹 finally updated dark seas, palm trees and mangoes! hope you enjoy, leave me kudos and a review if you did. hope you all are okay! muah muah!
“So what exactly are we pitching a tent for?”
They’re still in the Dominican Republic, enjoying their sunny days and humid nights before Bonnie calls on him to help with the structure of her sturdy little tent at sunset.
The beach is in front of them and the resort isn’t too far away with a tide low enough for her to set up comfortably on the expanse of slightly dampened sand. She presses at the humidity on her forehead absently while reviewing the instructions.
Damon has already made a vow to himself to be on his best behavior for at least the rest of their time in the DR. His mind has been so far in the gutter lately but luckily Bonnie’s spell released its hold on him around 1:27 this morning and well, he was in the shower for far too long.
He thinks that merely existing so close to him, Bonnie has a way of bringing the best and the worst out of him-what’s left of his humanity and the beast- but he always gets mixed up on which part is which.
However, today is the perfect day for him to make an active effort to control all parts of himself.
Zero hungry gazes. No physical or metaphorical boners. Not one naughty musing. He will be good if only to prove to himself that he can.
He can do this.
He chances a glance at Bonnie, her flyaways blowing in the ocean breeze. She looks pretty, and innocent, and like she would probably throw a shoe at him if she could hear his inner dialogue about her the other ninety percent of the time.
“I’ve always wanted to go camping.”
“On the beach?”
“What better view?” She gestures behind her to the orange and purple skies, the saltwater a perfect pink. “It looks like paradise.”
“I’ve had my fair share of camping with Stefan. Humans always taste a little better when you eat them with s’mores.”
“Wow, that is definitely demented.”
“Our emo phase, dare I say it.”
She shakes her head.
“Why give up a bed with its own area code for a sleeping bag?”
“It’s the principle. And you have to stay with me tonight since you’re my only lookout.”
He barks a laugh. “But the all-powerful Bennett witch needs no saving.”
“You’d like to think so, wouldn’t you?” She says it jokingly though the words linger in his mind almost as long as the taste of her lip gloss in his mouth.
Damon can probably count on one hand the amount of times the little witch has needed his help. His specialty was always messing things up anyway, but still…
When he thinks back, he can only recall Elena who needed the rescue, the only one with the big, orange raft. Elena whom he buckled in with the life jacket while everyone else sank around him. She is the only one he remembers writing SOS in the sand.
So what about Bonnie?
“Are you gonna help me or what?” She waves the creased paper of instructions in irritation before folding her arms across her chest, shaking him out of his musings. “Can’t you set this thing up in record timing?”
“And risk an estranged mortal finding out that I’m a…” Damon takes a pregnant pause and looks around him in angst. “…a vampire?”
Bonnie stares blankly.
“Tough crowd.”
.
The tent is smaller than she’d planned, from peering into it. Big enough that Damon can lay down comfortably but she can tell by looking at it that they’ll hardly be any space between them.
Damon clutches his chin in thought when he reviews their dilemma, before deciding on a sigh. “I guess you’ll just have to sleep on top of me.”
She rolls her eyes.
When they both crawl their way in, Bonnie feels odd. Like the one thing she’s been determined to escape has found its way through that little entrance arch and has no plan to leave. Like it’s the only thing holding up the tent now, bouncing around and through.
They’re sitting upright, Damon in his usual uniform of all black, Bonnie in a sundress, but their thighs are touching and it’s different from her teasing him for revenge. It’s different because before, there was space. Lots and lots of space. She could back away, come and go, tease, leave. Breathe. But now, in such a tight space, the only thing she breathes is Damon.
Not to mention, their vacation has created some sticky situations, made their bond a slippery slope, sometimes a tightrope. It’s obvious their relationship, (friendship,) has gotten complicated to say the least but when wasn’t it? And those ginormous vacation beds are big enough to bury the night’s emotions with the rising sun.
However…
In this tiny tent, there is no room to forget. She can’t help the feeling that the walls are pressing in on her, forcing her to acknowledge the charge that’s always been there between her and him.
Damon seems unaffected. Or not unusual to how he normally is- flirty, devil-may-care, kind of dastardly.
“Our little hut isn’t so bad.”
She lets out a lifeless chuckle and Damon’s eyes shoot to hers with a question wondering what might be wrong.
She looks away quickly for fear he can see the mango from Jamaica on her mind and how she wishes Damon had tasted if only to have their teeth, tongues and mouths on the same thing at once.
As with her cocktail, that flittering satisfaction she felt when he sipped from the same spot she had- the lightest imprint of her gloss bringing color to his lips. Damon returned the glass to her in a way that made their fingertips brush, (because how else can he return a champagne flute?) and an overwhelming impulse to lick the rim of the glass-right where he drank- bubbled up in her. The feeling came almost as fast as it went but the worse part was that he could provoke some animalistic urge within her without even knowing. She hated his undeterred ability to make a moment so average an aphrodisiac.
She wiggles her ankle as if it could rid her of the phantom feeling of his knuckles on her back tying her bikini straps, she blinks long enough to raise concern. Her pulse is jumping.
Damon leans forward and wraps his hand around her ankle to still her, offer some sort of peace, make her laugh with a comical look on his face like she’s batshit crazy, but she swears it takes every ounce of her being to stifle her groan. How pertinent of him to think he’s making the situation better when his hand around her ankle feels like a test.
Damn him.
If he hadn’t looked at her like he saw fireworks for the first time in his century-and-a-half life.
If he hadn’t pulled that jealous boyfriend act.
If he hadn’t enjoyed her angry aneurysms so much that even when he was on one knee in pain, the want in his eyes was enough to make her dizzy.
If he hadn’t said he loved her like that….
She puffs out a breath, humidity building under her breasts like her heart is sweating or something.
pt. 2 of Bonnie Playing with Damon’s Hair as requested by @godessofbucky 💗
Bonnie gets it.
Gets it as in grabs it and gets in as in understands it, because this is the one thing that will keep her mouth and mind occupied, the singular coping mechanism that isn’t as dangerous as letting her fingers trail through Damon’s hair or letting her mind linger on his lips to dredge up a kiss she pushed so far into her memory, it has cobwebs.
Honey.
But not just any honey; local, raw organic honey that the minimart used to sell before it finally shut down the same day her orange balloon slipped out of her hand and went up, up, and away. The very honey that Abigail Bennett finished in one sitting whilst pregnant, which sent fetus Bonnie into a sugar high and Abby straight to the emergency room.
So when she takes her first spoonful since before she can remember, she gets why this honey almost killed her in the womb with it’s smoky, spicy essence, as dark as molasses and the sweetest jaw-tingling aftertaste.
“Mmmm.” She groans and just like that, all the space Damon takes up in her brain is temporarily supplemented with this miraculous nectar.
By the third day, the bottle is halfway gone and she’s long since abandoned the spoon, instead using her index and middle finger to dip into the jar so deep that her fingertips tap the bottom.
She’s in the middle of sucking the tacky deliciousness off of her knuckles when Damon enters the kitchen then freezes.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” He asks, evaluating her fingers in her mouth like he’s impressed.
Bonnie is obviously annoyed that even her guilty pleasures he has to ruin. (And be apart of.) “Shut up.”
“The little witch elbow-deep in her honey pot. I think I had a dream about this last night.”
Even with how awkward it’s been between them since the incident she’ll never speak on, he can never miss a day of innuendos. It’s her job to put him in check but that seems so exhausting lately.
She sighs. It’s easy to focus on his less appealing characteristics but when he’s constantly serving sex on a platter, all of those things that make her eyes roll become fuzzy…insignificant.
“What’s so special about it anyway?”
“The fact that you can’t taste it,” Bonnie says in between licks.
He takes his thumb along the rim and pops it in his mouth quickly. “Looks like I just did.”
.
“Happy Galentine’s Day!”
Bonnie has a white box the size of her palm with a red ribbon wrapped in fourths. Her hand is outstretched proudly and there’s a genuine, toothy grin on her face.
“Am I supposed to understand what that is?”
According to Bonnie, this May 10th 1994 is actually Valentine’s Day, Elena’s favorite holiday due to the chocolates and flowers and Caroline’s favorite holiday for the excessive use of the color pink.
“Galentine’s day as in-“
“Valentine’s day but for… gals? I hate to break it to you, Bon but there’s this thing between my legs that obstructs my rights to participate.”
“Oh my god. Please just say normal things for once.”
“Normal is so difficult, though.” He grabs the little gift and opens it unceremoniously, discarding the ribbon and box over his shoulder. Just when he’s about to say the day is stupid and the gifts are stupid and they should continue on with figuring out how to escape his stupid repeating hell, Damon stops himself, his mouth still ajar with words unsaid before he settles on half a smile.
It’s a necklace, a thin silver necklace that catches every hint of light, it may as well be chrome. Minimal in its design, discreet if not for the tiny witch’s hat charm attempting to weigh it down.
He looks at Bonnie who has this eager expression on her face asking Do you like it? Do you like it? Do you? Do you?
And he does, he loves it but instead he says, “I hate it.”
.
Most days he misses her.
Especially in moments like these where his bubble bath foam is up to his nose and his water is hot enough to burn him, he thinks of Elena, then he thinks of how awfully empty his bathroom counter looks without all of her bobby pins and he actually anticipates her coming in, leaving bits of herself for him like she normally does without a second thought before he remembers that this is hell.
It’s the morning of Valentine’s Day and only Elena knows that he’s a romantic who’d have the room filled with so many flowers, she’d forget where the doors were.
He sinks a little lower in his tub and tries to hear her voice say his name, with that same weight- same effort- it stabs him how he can never get the tone quite right.
On the brink of despair, covered in bubbles, Damon considers turning off his humanity. For once, he wants to think of doe eyes, olive skin, and brown hair without feeling a damn thing but he can’t. He has to sit with this torture if it ensures that Bonnie is safe.
Bonnie.
Every time her fingers lace through his hair, he thinks of it as her counting to ten, realizing she’s here with another solid body who can exist in the silence and not disappear. He’s become so attached to her, she’s ever the worm that wiggles its way in his thoughts no matter how deep the soil is from the surface.
Damon loves it. She is his one thing he never had to share with anyone, so he wants every bit of her that slips through the cracks of the guard she built years ago. He wants to be apart of Bonnie like the sadness and the beauty, and that’s the only way he can view this place as an opportunity.
Bonnie.
Wearing her backless leotard today like a tiny ballerina that opens with a jewelry box, twirling to her special lullaby. Holding out a gift for him simply because she’s sweeter than that honey she’s addicted to.
He thinks of the kiss. The weight of her lips on his, so soft and timid at first. Her skin the perfect counterpart to his tongue, how the scent in the crook of her neck was enough to make his eyes water with want.
Of course Damon has to say that he hates the necklace to get her to stop looking at him like that, with her eyes wide marbles of pure green hope, as if she trusts him, as if she believes in him. The god of his world looking up at him with admiration- it makes him stop every train of thought he possesses- even the ones that lead straight to Elena.
It’s dangerous, the fact that the little witch has all this power without knowing, so he must wriggle out of her control, look passed her charms and hold on to a hate he can no longer recollect.
.
They’re both just trying to cope, Bonnie with her honey and Damon with his hate to occupy themselves from each other.
He starts an argument with his hand in his pocket, holding on to his favorite necklace like a lifeline as he lies and lies.
She is embarrassed that she allowed herself to care enough to pet a monster.
They argue on Valentine’s Day for hours about things that don’t matter or make sense but the thing is, the two of them have never looked more like a real couple.
.
Bonnie wakes up the next morning to a matte black box next to her. The house is quiet for once, no Boyz II Men or obnoxious whistling, no clinking of pots and pans, no buzzing of the microwave, or sizzling of pancakes; it’s the first time she’s truly felt alone.
She leverages herself, looks around in the silence as if Damon is hiding in the blinds or something then grabs her new quiet companion to place in her lap. Her sudden movement causes a card to flop out from underneath her box that reads I was being a dick in award-winning calligraphy.
“Wow,” she says to herself, admittedly taken aback that his penmanship is better than hers.
“Mmmm,” she mumbles with the smell that greets her when she removes the lid. Down in the box are gorgeous little chocolates, nutty and sweet- and once she takes a bite she realizes they’re caramel-honeyed bonbons. “Awww…”
It’s his way of saying sorry without actually saying it, and he may have a point because these taste way better than an apology.
She’s still in the tank top and underwear she’d slept in, ruling her candies too delicious and too thoughtful to not thank Damon immediately after brushing her teeth. The pink of her fingernails chips ever so slightly with the quickness in which she descends the stairs, fingertips trailing the bannister absentmindedly.
“Damon?” She is only a little worried when he doesn’t reply immediately but apparently he’s in the study with a book up to his face.
“You were being a dick.”
He sets the book in his lap, half-smirk in place. “I was.”
“But I forgive you. Thank you.”
Damon isn’t done just yet, though, he reaches beside him to pick up a jewelry box, identical to the one he opened yesterday except this one is red with a white ribbon around it.
Her eyebrows lift before she grabs it, tosses the ribbon behind her and gasps.
Pearls, two rows of Golden South Sea Pearls that are almost invisible when Damon clasps them against her golden brown skin-a breathtaking necklace that stops right at the base of her neck. The shade of the pearls would make a perfect nude had it not been emphasized with Pigeon Blood Rubies, one on both rows, diagonal to each other as if she’s been bitten.
“Oh my god,” she touches them with her fingertips, stunned.
“Happy Day-After Valentine’s Day, Bonnie.”
.
Despite all he’s done to prove he’s sorry, there’s an actual apology probing the insides of his mouth. Even worse, an explanation as to why he’s been so grumpy lately. As he’s about to tell her everything, Bonnie says, “I miss her too, you know?” She has a knack for streamlining his thoughts. “So it’s not an excuse.”
“I know, you’re right. You’re absolutely right.”
She looks at him mockingly, hand at her heart and mouth agape, “Damon admitting he’s wrong?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I simply said you’re right. And you are, now let’s move on.”
They’re smiling at each other the way that two ultra best friends do, yet his eyes dip to her mouth and she mirrors him. Bonnie averts her gaze to reach for her honey that’s never too far away but Damon pushes it out of her grasp.
He lays his head in her lap and soon after, her fingertips are tracing through tufts of raven soft hair gentle enough that his eyelashes flutter.
Damon believes the little witch can weave webs of gold with fingers so gentle and he’d tangle himself all up in it without her having to ask.
Bonnie deciding whether she should have a sexy or funny Halloween costume. thank you @ambeauty for a wonderful prompt <333 there’s an extended version up on my ao3. my username is lazypeachx and the title is “bats”
“Clearly you’re a wizard.”
He was in fact wrong and as Bonnie looked in the mirror propped against the wall a few feet away from Damon, she could kinda sorta see why he would think that.
Bonnie tugged at the itchy fake mustache before correcting him. “No, I’m Albert Einstein.”
“Oh.” he considered his guess with squinted eyes and shrugged his shoulders complacently. “I mean, technically I wasn’t wrong, he was a math wizard.”
The white fleece sweater over a collared button down was slightly irritating though she felt it was as Einstein-esque as she could muster outside of the grey wig and mustache. Maybe she’d even do a German accent to cement the character.
“It’s awful, isn’t it?”
Damon’s silence was enough of an answer for her to consider trying on Halloween costume number two.
“I wanted to go for something funny, you know?”
“Honestly, Bon, this is...” he paused, blue eyes just short of puzzled. “A mustache and gray hair? I’m terrified in the worst way.”
Bonnie crossed her arms in defeat.
“You’re right. This isn’t even ha-ha-funny, it’s sad-funny.”
Damon, having already said enough had an expression on his face like he completely concurred. The heels of his hands imprinted her comforter as he made himself at home on the edge of Bonnie’s bed. “Honestly, what’s the point in dressing up if you’re not gonna be sexy?”
“And there it is. You’re secretly Regina George, aren’t you?”
“Ugh, as if. I’m Cher from Clueless on my worst day.”
“Yeah, if you could actually make a plan that goes right for once.”
“Everyone still has their fingers and toes.”
“The ‘everyone’ that survived, sure.”
Damon narrowed his eyes. “Actually, Einstein is perfect for you.” He cupped his hands over his mouth to expand his voice. “Hey, world, if you didn’t know, Bonnie knows everything.”
She rolled her eyes. “Damnit. I wanted this to work but after seeing myself in it, I might die of embarrassment.”
“Bonnie? Die? Yeah, right.”
“Ha ha.” She mocked. “I’m changing into the next costume.” With that, the witch gave a final slam of her bathroom door then preceded to leave a pile of Albert Einstein at her feet.
.
Twenty minutes had passed since Bonnie first shut the door and still, no witchy.
There weren’t any sudden movements or clothing rustles anymore which indicated she was already dressed and truthfully, nothing on earth could be worse than the first look.
Bonnie in an oversized sweater and a bushy mustache was not an image he wished to picture floating around in his mind, let alone in real life. He had no intentions of taking shots of whisky with a mathematician at some crowded Halloween party.
He rapped his knuckles against the door, admittedly growing bored without the witty retorts. “C’mon, you have to come out sooner or later. But please, I’m begging you, don’t have on an avocado suit.”
She snorted a laugh, “Okay, alright, just give me a minute.”
“I gave you twenty of them already, now come out before I come in. No pun intended.”
Damon swore he could hear her eyes roll before the doorknob twisted, and she stepped out, a look of uncertainty on her face and her palms upturned in a gesture that asked what he thought.
But what didn’t he think?
First, after seeing this costume, he’d set fire to the Einstein one himself.
Second, third, and fourth… holy hell.
“It’s too much isn’t it?”
He figured she was referring to how quickly his brows disappeared into his hairline, and quite frankly, for good measure. It was absolutely too much, and if he wasn’t so captivated by her deep, dark sex appeal, he would’ve demanded Bonnie change into something else to save his fists from beating anyone who came too close into a pulp. But he was at a loss for words. And in case anything threatened to slip out, he closed his mouth with his jaw making an audible click.
Black latex clung to her like a second skin, accentuating every dip and curve in her figure-so many- that his eyes were just gliding up and down Bonnie like he was at a skate park. His best friend in a bondage suit with the boots to match so they were almost eye to eye. Only she could be this sexy without showing anything other than the skin on her hands and face. He noticed two little indents on her bottom lip, a trail of fake blood out of her mouth when she smiled.
“I’m a vampire.” She said, her faux fangs on full display and ouch, what was that feeling like a hand squeezing his heart in two?
.
Damon was only half aware of the force his fingers made in Bonnie’s side, he held her close as if one of the gaping buffoons knew that without her, he’d surely dematerialize.
Absently, she loosened his fingertips on her hip, looking at him half amused and perhaps curious as to what had him, of all people, tense. She did know that it wasn’t the sea of bodies writhing, dressed as anything but themselves under flashing lights and liquor-splattered floors. That was very much Damon’s forte.
He admired the venue and its crowd with a soft smile on his mouth, concluding that he would have fun. It had been a while since he let go, probably a week by now, plus the girl dressed as a genie could help him banish the intrusive thoughts he had of Bonnie if she continued to look at him like he was something to be hunted. He’d show her in the end, she was always game.
But before he could pounce on Three Wishes, Bonnie tugged his arm away from the bar and to the floor- her informal way of asking him to dance. As always, he relented.
There was only a thread keeping his mind from roaming but once again, being so close, it was unavoidable to not notice even the little things about witchy. She trapped him until he found himself stuck between how her eyes seemed to glow and the poke of extended canines at her lips. When his eyes weren’t on hers, they were on her body, lost in how the lights of the party, melted into her suit like an oil slick- purple went to blue, blue went to red. The color of a siren’s call.
“I must have something on my face,” she rubbed her cheek absently, “because you keep staring at me.”
He noticed her confidence growing with the many eyes that lingered on her with unveiled interest, the girl in her room unsure of herself had vanished.
“Yes, I was getting PTSD flashbacks from the Albert Einstein costume. Thank God you changed.”
She narrowed her eyes and stepped closer when the music slowed, wrapping his arms around her waist, “oh that’s what it was.”
“Mhmm.” He spun her so that her back was facing him to comfortably place his chin in the crook of her neck. “The last time we danced like this, we were enemies.”
“We were weren’t we?”
“I mean, of course we had undeniable sexual tension. But yeah, mostly enemies.”
Bonnie scuffed. “I should bottle your delusion and sell it.”
“Delusion? It was palpable.”
“Palpable enough that I never felt it?”
“You know what, you were young back then. Probably had no idea what chemistry was if it smacked you in the face.”
“Did anyone tell you you have a way with words?”
He held her arm up for a spin before bringing her back to him chest to chest. “Plenty.”
His lids lowered, mouth slanted as he held her, anticipating that exact flash of annoyance on her features from being too close to him.
“Is the little bird mad she can’t fly away?”
“I’m not a bird, I’m a vampire,” she said ingignantly, then wrapped her arms around his neck for leverage and sank her fake little teeth into his neck.
God help him, Damon was going to lose his mind.
The groan he punched out sounded as if someone sacked him in the stomach with nothing but red bricks. He probably would’ve been more prepared for that then Bonnie’s pretty mouth on his neck biting him like she could really puncture his skin with blunt fangs. His eyes drifted shut.
“Is this the part where I hit you with aneurysms?” He mumbled weakly. “Because I might be better at making something float.”
She removed her teeth, the hint of her tongue and her lips from him with a smile that was pleased with herself, and would otherwise be charming if it wasn’t smug. He knew what that look meant because he invented it and, he thought, he was rubbing off on her, everywhere.
“My turn,” he clipped out, as if he weren’t fighting the blood in his body to flow back up.
“I’m gonna go grab a drink.” She said, dismissing him like she had something better to do than tease. He noticed heads turn in her favor when she walked away and while Damon was not about to admit defeat, he damn sure needed to know where that genie went to relieve some tension.
Are you still taking Halloween requests for Bamon? If so, would you be willing to write a fic about Damon watching Bonnie having fun with her magic on Halloween or throughout the season? Like, making things float for trick-or-treaters, lighting candles, making lights flicker to spook kiddos. It's fluffy, but it can be spookier or hotter if you're inclined! If you're not taking requests, that's okay too! Happy Halloween! <:

ughhhhh you’re hitting me right in the feeeeels 🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 i love this idea. this is a pureeee Bamon fluff moment <33333
Damon had a chat with Bonnie- well, vent session really- about how he didn’t give a damn about Halloween. After a century and a half of witnessing angels and devils, he’d seen enough red and white polyester for a lifetime. Halloween was just gimmicky and trite and without any kids, what did it matter?
That was the end of September, and while Bonnie didn’t say much during his rambling, she’d hum her concession at every spare sentence distractedly.
By October first, Bonnie came over with puppy dog eyes and pumpkins, suggesting, (begging,) that they carve out “spooky” faces and hide the seeds in moist soil and well, he couldn’t deny her. Especially not after the puppy dog eyes.
“For someone who didn’t want to do this, you’re pretty amazing at carving pumpkins.”
You’re one to speak, Damon thought to himself as he watched Bonnie use the knife like a floating stylus, you’re carving without using hands.
“I’m brilliant at everything I do.” He stated confidently.
“Can I take my compliment back?”
“Nope.”
When they finished, Bonnie magically lit small tea candles and sat them in the pumpkin heads as lanterns during the nighttime.
“Show off,” Damon mumbled.
The light in her eyes made him think that this Halloween might not be so bad after all.
.
Damon realized very quickly what this whole ordeal was about.
Bonnie was no longer eighteen, or twenty-two, or even twenty-five; she was twenty-eight so it wasn’t far-fetched for him to assume that she was having a severe case of baby fever.
She was just coooing and awwwing a little too much at the kid’s costumes and took it upon herself to use her witchy powers as entertainment, and though she was fooling the stupid kids, Damon knew no “magician” could juggle blow pops in mid air.
“If you really want to use your powers, why not scare the living shit out of them?” He pointed a rigid thumb at the adorable kids behind his back as one dressed as Batman covered his mouth in surprise at Damon’s foul language.
“Ooo, he said a bad word,” one kid whispered to the next and quickly the gang of mini comic book heroes decided they preferred the “magician” over the vampire.
“Damon, please.” Bonnie sighed, then addressed the kids with a big smile as she extended a hand to send candy dropping into their bags out of their own accord.
“Oh wow, that looks so real!” A parent exclaimed.
“It is. She’s a witch.” The dad shook his head and laughed.
“It’s true. And I’m a vampire.” Damon extended his fangs and hissed for added drama. The kids, now fully terrified, ran off noisily and the beloved father only shook his head again and pointed a finger.
“You really almost got me there,” then he walked off to the next house.
Vampires and witches didn’t go bump in the night, only animal attacks did. Damon sighed.
“I might just stab myself and see what explanation they come up with when my body sews itself back together.”
“Please don’t.”
“You wanna talk about it?”
“About what?”
“I don’t know- I can practically hear your ovaries about to burst when you see a baby in an idiotic costume.”
“That’s not true!”
“Bonnie you’ve got a whole side magic show…Care to explain?”
“I want to entertain them, Damon, is that so wrong? It’s Halloween for Christ’s sake,” he cut his eyes up to the ceiling, “get into the spirit.”
.
It was easier for him to be a little more festive when she really started scaring the older kids who were unimpressed with floating candy and making plants grow in front of their eyes.
They insisted it was special effects or hypnotism or this or that so when Bonnie made them hear a voice whispering in one ear and then the other, Damon finally developed a genuine smile on his face.
He could always advocate for a good punishment.
“Try not to enjoy this so much,” Bonnie teased.
“You first.”
.
They had just settled in, down to one bag of candy, The Nightmare Before Christmas on the television screen when Damon heard the last knock.
“I got it!” He called out to Bonnie who was in the kitchen of the boarding house throwing away the empty packages of sweets.
Damon’s breath caught in his throat when he opened the door to a pale little vampire with raven black hair. He looked up at him with crystal blue eyes and a smile missing his two front teeth.
“Trick or treat.” He declared, holding his bag out and open. By his side was a little brown-skinned girl with a black pointy hat and a broom.
“Bonnie this isn’t funny.” He called out.
“What do you mean?” And when she saw them she lost her breath too.
“No more candy, huh?” The little vampire asked with his left brow raised critically.
“You can’t just ask that, manners are important, Bennie.”
“Manners, shmanners. You’re not the boss of me, Dana. Who doesn’t have candy on Halloween?”
Bonnie looked over at Damon and mouthed, Bennie?
Dana? He mouthed back.
Before they could leave, she handed them the rest of the candy and Dana, ever so polite, thanked them graciously while Bennie trekked over to the next house.
Only when they sat on the couch with their bowl of popcorn did Damon speak again.
“Did we just enter the twilight zone?”
“Ya know, I think we did.”
For what it was worth, Damon felt a lot warmer than he had in years.
