REQUESTS OPEN MasterlistFanfiction and imagines for TVD and TO (mostly Damon Salvatore and a personal twist aka my OC).Please read RULES and BIO before requesting anything.
Ok I’m so happy someone taking requests. It’s take place season two where Bonnie and Damon hate each other but there daughter comes from the future to help them fight Klaus but no one knows she’s there daughter. Thank you 😊
Hey! So glad too! I’m always up for some Bamon so it’s come at just the right time. Ok, so I’ve definitely done as requested, but I’m really enjoying this and would love to maybe turn it multi-chaptered so if there’s demand I might add onto this story, it was soo much fun.
Anyways, @barkingbullfrog here you go! Hope you enjoy. Sadly the Bamon is not too romanc-y what with the setting though I went with later season two so they are at least reluctantly working together.
Damon propped his feet up on the arm of the loveseat he found himself laying down on, an air of nonchalance mere facade to the turmoil he was feeling inside. Elena and Stefan sat opposite him, poetic really, he thought, talking about what there was to do now that uncle John decided to fuck up again. He couldn’t understand how some people could be this stupid. Why would anyone trust Isobel was beyond him, the bitch had tricked him into turning her, had tricked Elena just a few months ago, had fucked up Alaric good and proper and had been working with Katherine. He listened to Stefan try to propose they use their house as a safe-house and Elena shoot it down immediately. Figures. Was there no one around who used their brain?
There’s Bonnie, his mind helpfully supplied as he heard Elena wrack up another complaint. He answered this one, thoughts of the little witch in his head. He didn’t like having to revisit one of his greatest failures. Because he knows allowing Emily Bennett to burn could only be catalogued as nothing other than failure. And now Bonnie wanted to absorb all that power. Hence, she was definitely the intelligent one here. More power was exactly what they needed, not drama with bio-mom from hell.
“To the Lockwood luncheon.” he heard Elena finish her sentence, followed closely by his brother’s knight in armour agreement.
“Not me, I’ve witch stuff to attend to with Bonnie” he quipped, watching Elena’s warm gaze shifting to him again. He also paid enough attention to Katherine lurking about just then. He knew she’d been listening to the whole conversation, she wasn’t subtle about it, which only served to annoy and baffle him. Why wasn’t Mistress of Bitchdom pretending to hide anymore? Oh well, question for another day perhaps, bigger fish to fry.
“Does that mean you’re taking her to the -” he shushed Elena before she could give them away, a stray thought of Bonnie would’ve known not to say anything worming its way into his mind, and he almost scoffed at himself. Since when was the witch at the front of his thoughts? But before he could dwell on that particular annoyance, Katherine saunters her way over and he hears footsteps outside in the walkway. He’s about to answer the she-demon when the front door’s lock turns and the door swings open suddenly. He’s up on his feet and with his hand around the uninvited visitor’s neck before Stefan even has the chance to get up and plant himself in front of Elena. Katherine of course does nothing, simply turns to stare at him and the young woman he’s holding against the wall, a mild shock flitting over her features almost too quick to see. He doesn’t get more than a few seconds before he finds himself doubled over in sudden pain, clutching his head as stars burst behind his eyelids. He almost thinks he’s misstepped and Bonnie herself was standing there, the wave of magic bringing him to his knees and the smell of blood so very similar to hers. Bennett blood for sure.
Can I just add something to that whole “HE KNOWS HER SO WELL!” comment. Bonnie is the most misunderstood character on this show, other than Damon. Simply put, no one really knows her. Stefan doesn’t know Bonnie. Stefan didn’t know that Bonnie wasn’t strong enough to do the magic he needed her to do. Ex- disabling the device, opening the tomb, killing Klaus, etc. Do you know who did though? Damon did. “Are you even up for this?” “Do you really think Bonnie can kill Klaus?” “The part about you having a 50/50 shot of surviving? Is that true?” Damon is the ONLY person who is able to see Bonnie’s weakness. Isn’t that entirely ironic considering that Bonnie is afraid to show weakness to Damon, yet, he is the one person who sees her weakness better than anyone? Caroline doesn’t know Bonnie. When Caroline turned, she thought that Bonnie hated her. She couldn’t see the pain that Bonnie was going through, and more than anything, the guilt inside of her. Because whether the fandom realized it or not, Bonnie DID feel guilty. She tried to blame everything on Damon because it was easier to blame him for existing rather than accepting responsibility for any of her mistakes. You could see it in her face when Matt told her about the car crash that she felt responsible for what happened to Caroline. But not one person in this entire show acknowledged this or saw this except for… yep, Damon. “Speaking of YOUR GUILT, how’s Caroline?” Isn’t that entirely ironic considering that Bonnie blames Damon for everything, yet, Damon is the one person who can actually see that, underneath it all, she blames herself. Jeremy doesn’t know Bonnie. I don’t need to point out all the ways in which Jeremy does not know Bonnie. I think it’s fairly obvious. Yet, what I shall point out are the ways in which Damon does know a thing or two about Bonnie that Jeremy should have known. Damon knows that loyalty is Bonnie’s defining trait and he knew this about her in the very first scene that they ever shared together. Someone should have told Jeremy about Bonnie’s loyalty to others and how important it is that that loyalty is returned. Perhaps he would have made better decisions. Damon also knew that Bonnie needed someone she could count on when she was taking on Klaus. Do you know what’s even more astonishing? Damon is aware of how much Bonnie NEEDS his help, even if she won’t admit it- “You do want my help and you don’t even know it.” It was Damon who the writers chose to take Bonnie to the witches burial ground. Isn’t that weird considering Bonnie and Damon don’t get along that well? And when Elena said that she needed one of the boys to take her to the scholarship thingy, Damon said- “not me, I have witch stuff to attend to with Bonnie.” Complete support. Damon even passed up the opportunity to go with Elena to help Bonnie. Then when he got attacked by the witches, he went and he waited outside for her and Jeremy and he TOLD HER that he would just be outside. He didn’t just leave. He seriously stood outside the door. And when he tried to enter back into the house and Emily locked him out he said- “you know you’re all on your own in there” before he left. He made sure to TELL HER that he couldn’t help her anymore. That says to me that Damon knows how much Bonnie relies on his support. He was warning her that she would have to do this one on her own. It was also curious words for the simple fact that Bonnie wasn’t alone. She was with Jeremy. Now do you know what that says to me? It says to me that Damon also knew that Jeremy couldn’t provide Bonnie with the right type of support that she needed. Do you know who else doesn’t know Bonnie though? Elena does not know Bonnie. Elena, Bonnie’s best friend, does not know a thing about her. She didn’t know that Bonnie wasn’t going to disable the device. How could she not know? Why would Bonnie ever do something like that? But Damon knew. In fact, what he said was- “I don’t trust you. I tried to kill you.” Seriously. Do you not see the sheer brilliance of this? Damon knew that he couldn’t trust Bonnie because of something that HE did. He didn’t blame her. He understood her. It all goes back to loyalty being Bonnie’s defining trait and Damon recognizing the Bonnie was not going to help him because of this, because of the fact that he had hurt her and he knew she would hold it against him. Now let’s talk about this scene above and how fucking amazing it is and how perfect my ship is. Again, Damon knew Bonnie wasn’t going to help him, HIM being the key word. So he turns to Stefan because he knows that Bonnie will cave for Stefan. CAN SOMEONE EXPLAIN TO ME HOW?!?!!!! How did he know that Bonnie would do anything for Stefan?! I would understand if he turned to Elena and expected Bonnie to help her, but Stefan?! Why? Because Damon knowssss her. He knows her better than anyone for no apparent reason. He just does. He knew she would do it for Stefan because he knows that Bonnie is the loyalest person on this planet and for those who are loyal to her, she would give her life in a heartbeat. I strongly believe that Damon’s understanding of Bonnie’s loyalty is one of the strongest reasons why he always tries to get into her good graces. Because he knows that if there is one person who he should have as an ally, it would be Bonnie fucking Bennett. There is no one on this show who gets Bonnie the way Damon does. There is no one on this show who can SEE THROUGH HER WALL. Maybe it’s because he himself has a wall and they share so many similarities or maybe it’s simply just because Damon and Bonnie are so entirely RIGHT for one another in every way possible. I say it all the time, I’m going to say it again. Bonnie NEEDS Damon. Damon NEEDS Bonnie. They’re just better when they are together.
When she'd first proposed this idea, they'd been in bed, getting ready to sleep, her staving off her insomnia by pretending this conversation was had at a normal hour instead of the 4 am that it actually was, and he recalls the catch in his breath when her eyes turned wide and excited to him and the flutter in his belly when the words accompanying that excitement were "I miss cunt". There was an instant of shocked laughter then the details were added. She said she missed the taste - the flavour exploded on her taste buds and in her nostrils, the texture all soft and wet and warm - missed the ache in her jaw, so different from swallowing a dick, the noises as she slurped all her partner had to offer, sucking gently at the clit, playing with the layers of flesh like tracing each petal of a rose unfolding.
She spoke with eyes half-lidded with exhaustion, when he threw it out there.
It landed slanted, but she remembered in the morning with a yelp and hungry hungry eyes fixated on him. Finding someone to help wasn't hard - they knew enough people between the two of them - and by the end of the day, he was spread out on their bed, legs wide enough she may well have tied them to the corners, naked from the waist down. She had to have licked her lips at least a half dozen times just looking and he was starting to feel self-conscious about his newly acquired cunt when suddenly she moved, tracing tender fingers over his labia, and he jolted.
She smiled, and repeated it with a bit more pressure, and it felt weird, like nothing, like a soft itch, and yet he could feel heat pooling already - not what he was used to, but certainly not the overwhelming experience he'd anticipated the first touch to feel like. He relaxed back onto the bed, blinking up at the ceiling when one of her fingers dragged again. He was ready for the sensation now, he thought, but on her downstroke, she parted his folds just a bit, enough for a soft gust of wind to send a shiver up his spine and have a gasp fall from his lips. She trailed her index up his slit with barely any pressure - so careful, she'd cut her nails for this - when the pad of her finger brushed over a spot that had him gasping louder, had his legs twitch, his heart racing. She repeated the motion, nonchalantly, up his cunt, pad of a finger barely brushing his clit and he had to bury his fingers into the sheets. It was barely there, but it felt like a stab each time she did it, sharp and sudden, and then the wetness was gathering and that was weird too, it made this echo of desperation awaken inside him.
He was breathing heavily now.
She dipped her finger on the next pass, just the smallest bit, gathering some of his wetness and easing her slide up, parting his pussy easily and pressing a firmer touch - and his hips lurched on a shocked moan. He looked down at her and saw the black swallowing her pupils, her bottom lip tight between her teeth. She left her index pressed gently on his clit now, just there, this constant sharpness that had him squirming. When she circled her finger slowly, pressure steady, he cursed aloud and she had to hold him down, free hand to his hip, shoulders bodily pressed between his thighs, keeping him open, spread for her like a five course meal. Heat rose and spread - tingles down his legs as they shook with the effort of staying open.
When finally she bent to lick at him, he was already halfway to losing his mind.
She licked a path from his vagina up his slit to flick over his clit, barely catching with her index still maintaining that slow maddening rhythm, in the way, but it still had him snapping his jaw shut on a hiss. She grinned and lifted a leg over her shoulder, lifting his hips off the bed and he bent his other, spread wider as she did it again with a loud groan. Fire exploded in his veins. Her first taste of his cunt was dizzying and when she pressed the tip of her tongue to get at the flavour gathered there the knot that had been tightening and tightening with each pass of her finger burst. His legs shook, his back arched, his breath stopped in his lungs with a yell of her name and he had the vague feeling of emptiness as his walls clenched around nothing, over and over and over and she kept up the pressure over his clit and now the sharpness was worse was better, was too much, was making his abs ripple and his cunt twitch and fuck fuck fuck she was moaning at his taste, he was leaking and she slurping at it like ice cream, like it was the best meal she'd ever had, like she might die without another taste of him.
He begged her to ease up - a little, please baby, god fuck need to - and she removed her hand, caught his other leg as this new sensation flared in his cunt, like a heatwave, like a pulse of unending pleasure and she dragged him to her lips to drag the flat of her tongue over him, dipped it over and over and over again, gathering his juices, sucking at him, her nose brushing against his clit this way and that, like pinpricks of pure liquid fire in his veins. He was babbling, had lost the plot some time ago already, when she lifted her head to look at him, chin drenched, licking her lips to chase his taste, humming in the back of her throat with each swipe of her tongue. She stroke two fingers through his cunt, catching his wetness and sucked them into her mouth with a moan, with a praise of fuck, so good, so good sweetheart, I missed this, and then she was settling his legs more securely onto her shoulders, stuffing a pillow underneath his hips and feasting herself on him for another unending moment. When the orgasm hit again, it was molasses in his veins and his hips kept twitching, kept jumping as she ate him out, licked him clean.
“Still with me, sweetheart?” she sounded amused and he still couldn't gather enough breath in his lungs to be able to do more than whimper.
Mercifully, she didn’t bury her face between his legs immediately again.
Cruelly, she blew over his cunt - and it was unfair how that felt, how it made him jump and yelp - and then she bent to nip very gently, with flat teeth, at his labia, pulling just the smallest bit - and it didn’t hurt, but it did and his wires got crossed a good hour ago already, but this had him frowning and groaning and she repeated it again as though testing to see his reaction. He still felt his walls fluttering and it felt similar to when she played with his ass and yet so absolutely nothing like it. He hoped he didn’t sound as wrecked as he heard himself, but he likely did and he didn’t give a single fuck, goddamn, if she just kept doing that please when she blew sharp air directly over his exposed clit, her hand holding him open to her gaze and he tried to pull away, to close his legs, to protect against the sudden intensity there, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, but she was holding him firm to her. She did it again, just as close, just as sharp, and he could feel how his inner muscles - and fuck he never imagined what that felt like from this side of it, this contraction and release - pulse and try to clench against nothing. She must have seen it because she slowly eased her middle finger up to the first knuckle next and - yes yes yes, baby oh fuck! - twisted as she pulled it back out. She thrust back in, shallow, and he forgot for a second about her mouth dangerously close to his clit as he focused on the sharp ache as she sunk more of her finger into him and then out, in and out slowly, carefully. He was tight, he could tell, but it didn’t stop her determination as she finally sunk past that fiery ache deep inside him and it was then that she first flicked the tip of her tongue right over his clit. He couldn’t stop the shout, the contrasting move of wanting to both tear himself away and more more god I need it so bad that threatened to stop his heart.
He felt her grin, but it was distant as she continued to slowly thrust inside him while her tongue flicked and flicked, flames licking at his whole body - he had sweat in places he didn’t even think he could sweat from - as he twisted his fists in the sheets and thrashed his head. He had to lift shaky fingers to wipe at the corners of his mouth and she gave an amused huff when she saw it but was now drawing quick circles around his clit that felt like what he thought being dumped into acid had to feel like and she was two fingers deep inside of him, twisting and crooking inside, searching searching. She pressed a quick kiss and he jolted, gushing into her palm and he didn’t give a shit how his cheeks flushed or how embarrassed it made him feel as words fell relentlessly from between bitten lips and when she sucked at him he shouted her name so loud he was sure the whole world could hear.
He had the vague recollection of one of her hands snaking down below her waist and getting herself off as she continued to eat him out, but by then she’d set a vicious pace over his clit that had his hips twisting and arching with every flick of her tongue and every thrust of her fingers and his legs were cramping and his lower back had a kink in it and more, please baby, please I need on his lips and she would complain to him later that her jaw was sore but during she just opened wider, writing love notes and novellas and epics over his fucking clit and jesus fucking fuck baby! that when she finally found it, that spot inside that just broke him, he couldn’t even recall if they were still on the goddamn planet anymore. His vision whitened and his legs shook and trembled and he tried to viciously to pull away, to close his legs but she just fucked her fingers faster inside him and sucked harder on his clit until his voice was shot through and his mind completely blank and every muscle in his body was twitching.
She eased him back down to the bed, hands rubbing his thighs as he caught his breath, kissing his navel and abs and up to his chest. She was over him, knees by his hips and hands on either side of his head when he blinked back and recognized her eyes with a lazy smile.
“Welcome back, sweetheart.” she whispered and kissed him sweetly, a shiver violently rattling his body as the aftershocks finally began fading. He jumped when a few moments later she was wiping between his thighs and over his cunt, whimpering and groaning, but she was perfunctory, quick, so he could just lay boneless there as she slowly brought his body back to him, trying to regain his breath.
He regretted nothing about proposing this idea to her.
Summary: She's feeling petty tonight and Damon has to pay for it. He started it after all.
It’s the third time this morning that Damon’s got her on the edge of an orgasm when she promises him that he’ll pay for this.
The first time she whines, but her legs were still tight around his neck and his mouth and chin were still glistening with her wetness and she could feel her heartbeat in the pulsing of her walls, squeezing against nothing, breath harsh even to her own ears. She moaned low into the slanting rays of the sun and laughed airy when he dragged two fingers between her lower lips and rewarded him with a groan of his name when he slowly began thrusting inside. He went slow, but the pace was steady, an ever winding rhythm that had her fists clenching and her heels digging into his back, legs spreading wider to accommodate.
The second orgasm curled low in her belly and flared with a jolt as his thumb started rubbing gentle against her clit. He added a third finger, curling upward with every third stroke of her warmth, slickness gathered as he withdrew only to thrust inside again, maddeningly steady. Her head was digging into the pillow, pillowcase between her teeth, her hand tight on the bedspread, near ripping at the material and she could feel it, the heat spreading down to her cunt as he thrust in and out slowly, thumb barely pressing over her clit, circling, circling, her back arching in anticipation and nothing. An aggrieved huff and shaky legs placed back onto the mattress, his hands stroking her flesh as she shook, keeping her legs spread open even as she tried to rub her thighs together, murmuring reassurances to deaf ears as the blood rushed to her face and then down down down in the apex of her thighs. He kissed her knee and delighted in her tremble of a whine, peppered her inner thigh with flat strokes of his tongue, stopping here and there to suck new crimson marks down the tense skin.
The third time he let her come, but not before he’d had her whimpering into his shoulder, moaning in his ear, legs digging into his ass, her whole body curved inward toward him. He was hammering into her, quick and brutal enough than she was sure her hips would hurt come afternoon, but the pleasure-pain was just this side of delicious she could just yelp his name as she held on, fingers pressing into his shoulderblades. When she came, the world was a ringing endless expanse of white nothing. She couldn’t feel her legs for half an hour afterward and the giggly light something in her chest had her hands drawing him back, kissing and kissing and kissing his lips with a grin so wide she almost felt embarrassed.
It was evening now and her body was still tingling every time it brushed against him - as she sat on the lounge at his side, her arm pressed to his, when the music beat a drum in her chest, hips under his hands, rolling to the song, when he spun her back inside his arms and dipped her low, laughter loud and bright, when he looped his arms around her waist and pressed gentle and quick lips to her nape. It made her feel two sizes too small for her skin, it made her feel feverish, it made her a little bit petty. So when she whispered in his ear, she knew already what she wanted to do. She wanted to repay the favor, with interest.
They don't make it to the bedroom. They crash into the mirror in the hallway and he groans against her heaving chest as he pulls and pushes at the fabric of her dress, and she allows it, indulgent, when his hands fit over her soft breasts and his fingers tease - and she hisses between her teeth because her nipples are never sensitive but she feels it now, the jolt of it as he thumbs over her left one and sucks at her right - and it makes her even more determined.
She has a hand in his hair, keeping his tongue on her flesh as she pushes them both back into the closed front door and he grunts as he hits the metal of it. She drops to her knees, hands instantly to his belt-loops and drags it out, hears his groan when she cracks it like a whip to the floor, but then her hand is inside his underwear, holding him the way she knows he loves, stroking down then up swift, teasing her thumb over the tip, gathering the little amount of precum she can then back down again, mouthing at his pelvis, tiny nips smoothed over with a hot wet tongue and she hums a quick “ah-ah” when he tries to reach for her. He plants his hands to the door, firm, then and she rewards him by pressing the flat of her palm over the now weeping tip, just rubbing rubbing rubbing gently across it until he goes high-pitched and orders in a shot-through voice to “keep going, come on baby, almost -” so she stops, hands on his hips, keeping him immobilized to the door nearly growling his displeasure.
She can’t keep the giggle from bursting on her tongue.
Damon glares down at her, but his hands remain by his side.
She watches as precum trickles down his twitching cock, flushed red, down to his inner thigh where she bends and sucks a mark. She grins up at him and raises an eyebrow as she slowly removes her hands from his hips, letting her fingertips graze down his legs, helping him step out of his pants and underwear, eyes sharp - checking that he doesn’t move from the door. His right leg is about to touch back down to the floor when she stops him, shuffling to the side and slotting it over her shoulder, tongue dragging over his perineum as he exhales a trembling breath. She does it again, this time pressing firmer and feels his leg tense and relax as she does so, mouths past his sack as he moans, then slowly kisses her way up his length. It looks painful - it sounds painful too as a “please” dies in the air and she begins quick little licks at the tip. She hums at his taste, gathers all the precum, lapping at his slit, feeling his abdomen constrict with each sharp press of the tip of her tongue before she sucks once hard at the crown. She barely swallows back the laughter as his skull crashes into the door and his hands keep clenching and releasing. She feels it when he nears climax and wraps a tight fist around the base of him, licking one last time before withdrawing entirely. She does snort a laugh when he pushes with all his strength against her hold, when he tries rolling his hips, when he begs her “please, please baby, im so close, please”
His cock is weeping precum when he finally settles back down, tiny whimpering moans on every other breath and she lets her hand go to rummage into the pocket of her dress. His eyes are squeezed shut and they blink open the moment the cockring is fit snug around him. She smiles and drops her panties as she kisses him deeply.
She’s lifting her leg around his waist and he hooks his forearm underneath her knee to help and then he’s moaning her name into the empty hallway as she lowers herself on him. She throws her head back, and he lifts her up by her thighs, trying to switch their position. She whines and plants her hands on either side of his head and hooks her legs around his waist. She slips down further with a punched out groan, and he nods quickly, fitting his palms under her ass, helping her lift and then slam down as she yelps, as she bites with blunt teeth at his shoulder and praises and encourages. She finds leverage on the doorhandle and his shoulders and takes full advantage of both, knowing he can see her every move in the mirror - her ass bounce, her hole stretching around him as she thrusts back down when she bends just so with the excuse of finding better leverage, his eyes hazily staring back at himself. She knows she can’t keep this up for long, the pleasure has been mounting all day, with every second, and she’s so wet she’s sure he can see it dripping down, staining her dress where it bunches between them. She can feel it already, that familiar flame licking at her cunt as he helps her maintain the speed of her hard thrusts and then his hand is between her legs as he mutters nonsensically in her ear and two of his fingers are rubbing mercilessly at her - she’s yelling now, short little screams - unrelenting.
She considers mercy for the few moments between one breath and the slam of her orgasm. And decides against it with the short flash of a look she gets at his face before she bursts around him - hair matted to his forehead, eyes red-rimmed with unshed tears, gaze unfocused, words slurring, cheeks bright. He’s a vision. She wants to see him cry with it.
He drops one of her legs as he tries to chase his own orgasm, cockring forgotten in the face of his desperation and she shakes with the next few thrusts before she whimpers and stops him. He cries out, but no tears fall from those fevered eyes so she bends with unsteady limbs and picks up the belt she’d dropped. He begs and thrusts once, twice against nothing, but she turns him around, slams him face-first into the door and lets him drag his dick over the metal while she secures the belt around his wrists. She wishes she had left the spreader-bar close at hand, but she’ll have to just make do instead so she hoists him over her shoulder, ignoring the wet spot he leaves on the material of her dress where he rubs against her chest and throws him onto the bed on his back.
He’s back to nonsense, his cock violently purple-red, his thighs rubbing together, his hips trying to thrust into something, but it’s just the air around him and she won’t allow him to turn, to drive his hips into the bed, create some friction. She uses her dress to tie one leg to the foot of the bed and a sheet for the other. It’s only once he’s secured and she knows he cannot escape that she carefully removes the cockring.
The tears flow down his cheeks unimpeded then and she’s fairly sure he can’t even tell he’s crying by now, he just moans her name pathetically.
She knows there is a way for him to come untouched and that’s she’s cutting close, but she’s still feeling petty from this morning so she throws a leg over him, sitting on his chest - close enough for him to see her glistening cunt, to smell her arousal, but far enough away he can’t reach it. She grabs his chin, shoves three fingers in his mouth, orders him to “suck” and then plunges them into herself with a squelch. He moans and begs and tries to lift his head, tongue out, but she knows he can’t and she feels his hips trying to thrust into nothing underneath her and he’s crying in earnest now. She’s sure she could come just from this, his desperation, her fingers inside herself quick and brutal, but he might come if she lets this go on for too long so she licks her middle finger and sets an equally punishing pace over her clit, nail catching and making her jolt in pleasure-pain, her hips rolling with each breath.
It’s as she’s coming that she tells Damon what his punishment is for this morning and then she’s falling sideways, catching her breath, watching him sob, watching her cum dry on his chest, his cock wet and swaying as he tries to get any relief in vain, yanking at his legs, twisting his torso. She spends the next 2 hours talking filthy in his ear and swapping the pillow for a new one when he’s soaked it through with tears, until his erection finally flags. She’s tempted to keep him restrained through the night, but takes pity on him and releases his legs, gathers him to her before removing the belt from around his wrists. She praises him in the morning when he’s still not come and promises to reward him for it later.
Summary: She needs to hurt someone tonight and Damon trust her to put him back together again, but first he must break.
“Do you trust me?” and Damon nodded, eyes not straying from the direction her voice was coming from and she took a fortifying breath.
She needed to hurt tonight, needed to be the cause of pain, of blood spilt onto pristine sheets or polished floors; and he’d already consented to it, had already allowed her to tie the blindfold over his eyes and the metal rod gag had just been secured at the back of his head. His arms were likely starting to smart from the elevated position, high above his head, keeping him on tiptoes and she allows her gaze to travel the lean planes of his abdomen, up to his firm chest, catching the droplet of sweat as it carves a valley down his neck. She raises a careful hand to his hair, dragging through the soft curls - heat and moisture returning the bounce to his strands - tender and slow, a reward for his trust in her. It was likely to be the last soft touch she bestowed upon him for what would likely be hours and she fully intended to make it count. So she caresses his locks and then allows her hand to rest easy on his cheek, smiles as he leans into the touch.
“Ready?” she whispers against his lips, letting him have one taste and no more.
He gulps, but nods again, and her ears are ringing with the echo of her palm hitting his cheek before he even finishes the motion. His head falls to the side and he lets it linger there, turned away from her, reddening slowly as he licks the split in his lip even as it heals. And he is allowed to heal tonight - unless she deems it more important that he doesn’t - so she just waits until his head returns to face her silently. The second it does, her hand stings with the weight of his flesh, the sharpness of his cheekbone as his head snaps back out of position. There’s a cut now, from her many rings, small scratch, not yet bleeding, but the night is early. She doesn’t wait this time, grips his jaw - tight - feeling the bone creaking under her fingers, forces it back into position and can tell he’s caught onto it when the next slap lurches him less. She repeats it another two times, harder, eyes drawn to the scratch etching itself into his cheek, a droplet rolling after the second time her palm tingles with the burn of it. She can feel his eyes on her even through the blindfold as he looks straight to her as she winds the last slap, drawing power to the joints of her fingers so that the cut remains, a slow trickle of blood marking his left cheek.
“Good. Very good, sweetheart” she murmurs as she makes her way around him, hand planted on his skin - low on his belly, trailing smoothly to his side, to his lower back where she embeds her nails, deep puncture wounds digging into the knots of his spine and she relishes the grunt received at the action. Stops there, twisting into the flesh, feeling the skin bend and bend and finally break with his hiss. He draws in a harsh breath and she yanks down, a deliberate movement, between one breath and the next tearing an inch of his flesh, eyes scanning the quickly healing wound, but not for long. Never for long tonight. She turns her wrist - a yell from between his clenched teeth earns him a reprimand, for she wants to hear him tonight more than any other night - and she pulls up and up and up and up and up until his screams rebound back to his own ears and she’s scratching at his spine by his nape.
A wrong move, a flinch, and he’s out like a light.
She does wait now - until the air inflates his lungs in large gulps and his lips hiss out in pain as a tear has stained his open cut. She removes her fingers crudely, yanking out pieces of tissue, blood splatters her face and she licks the sweetness from her lips, bending to lick at the healing injury, feeling him shudder now, moan low; and she bites down onto her lower lip to prevent the grin at the knowledge that he’s getting off on this too - in a different way perhaps, but enjoyed nonetheless.
“Still trust me?” she asks from her place at his back and has the urge to bite something off, just because she can. She waits for the hint of his nod and she’s got his earlobe in her mouth and then spit to the floor as he yells - loud now, angry, pulling at the bonds at his wrists, legs kicking out, body swaying and she places her hands over his shoulders and pushes down with more strength than he must have been expecting because he mumbles through the gag a string of ‘no’s so pitiful she almost stops before the bone snaps under her palms. But he agreed, he nodded. His shoulders dislocate with a snap that has his teeth grinding to dust and his head jerking back. He misses her nose by a hair-strand and he’s lucky he does - her mind already conjuring the image of a thick vine digging into his slit as he tries to stay still and fails and fails and fails … Another time the punishment could become a reward, she shrugs.
“You look lovely in scarlet, sweetheart.” she praises as she moves to his front with nails leaving raised welts over his side, down to his navel. She grins when she sees his cock twitch and kicks his legs from under him. Damon groans and she sees his muscles tensing in his arms and grins wider when he yelps as the dislocated shoulders nearly pop into position, just not quite, not yet at least. She takes pity on his struggling form and pulls him bodily up by the soft flesh at his pelvis - up and snap and his shoulders are back in their sockets and he hums, long and breathy with a sound rattling in his throat - and she releases him only to squeeze just this side of too tight at his sack. He tenses, stock still suddenly, and a quick snap of his fingers has her voice sounding in the expanse of the room. “Shhh, do you trust me?” she doesn’t lessen her hold, but there’s no added discomfort either. She waits for him, for either a two-hand snap or a nod - if it’s a “no”, she’ll back off, but she’ll pout all of tomorrow while he’s away from home.
He nods.
A vicious look flashes through her gaze, but he can’t see it - wouldn’t even removed of a blindfold, not while her hand is still squeezing, just this side of uncomfortable but no pain, not the kind she’s looking for tonight - so she allows herself the naked desire for cruelty to play over her features as she squeezes once - painful - and then reached further back, pad of a finger just pressing flat as a tear dies in a splash on her arm. She leans her full weight into him for it - her breasts cushioned on his torso, her belly rubbing over his dick, her lips over his, his own blood spilling into his mouth then down the side as she rewards his trust with a deep pull at his carotid and the noise he makes is all pleasure.
His mouth goes slack, his body slumping into the bonds and she’s got him right where she wants him. She’s two fingers deep when he flinches back to awareness and his thighs are slick, the tears healing as they’re inflicted and his voice is shot, frayed as he begs her to stop with firm shakes of his head, with twists of his rubbed raw wrists, legs kicking out from under him, but she hums, tender, calls him “sweetheart” again.
The vibration startles him - the fleshlight is new and powerful - and it almost hurts worse than anything else she’s done today as he realizes she had to have wretched at least three or four orgasms from him while he was lost in the contrasting full-body feel of her. He bites back the sob, chokes on it, as she lifts the knife tip to the side of his quad, her fingers still thrusting in and out of him lazily, drawing patterns with the black dancing over his skin that refuse to heal. He wishes he could tell what she’s carving - he loves seeing her mark on him, however it comes about - but he can’t focus enough to follow the knife’s edge into his flesh as he’s reaching a knife’s edge of his own, teetering on it in fact and he’s not sure he can do it this time, but he tries so hard.
She notices, sees every chord of muscle tensing, hears the increasingly more distressed noises and licks at the ornate pattern she’s left on his lower belly. He’s so tense, the reaction is less a flinch, more a spasm, but she hears his fingers brushing against each other. Follows the rivers she’s left in his body up to his waist with a groan, savouring. Keeps her ears alert for the signal.
It doesn’t come.
Damon does and she’s in a fraction of a second removing her fingers, the toy discarded with a muffled thunk, knife set on the floor by her heels. She leans backward onto her palms and enjoys the show - his back is arched, deep bow showing the curve of his ass, his usual alabaster skin stained petals of redredred; he’s barely on his tiptoes as his knuckles whiten over the bonds, jaw sharper than sharp as his teeth clink together. He can’t seem to be able to make a noise, but his whole body is noise - is painting and marble and music to her. She waits until she can hear the rattle of his vocal chords, then she’s up, blindfold torn down to his neck, releasing the bonds with a bloodstained knife and hands deftly unlocking the metal gag, following the lines of his hurt with healing fingertips and lips.
He’s in her lap, pressed to her breasts as his voice returns - in a belayed wail of a noise - and she pulls him closer, lifting the cup to his lips once he’s calmed enough that the noises are short little moans - torn out of his chest, somewhere deep. He gulps one cupful, then another as she lifts him up to his feet, massaging his wrists, his shoulders, down the planes of his back, pressing a kiss to his left buttock that yanks a burst of amusement out of him.
Damon’s standing and she’s in the doorway holding out a hand with a grin and a “do you trust me?”
Friends of mine were in a writing mood and I got swept in the flow so have this smut.
Or on AO3
Summary: Damon is overwhelmed by his lover (in the best way possible). He only complains a little.
Her back hits the wall, a dull thud and a muted ache traversing her shoulder blades - a gasp as the wind is knocked out of her lungs - and hands gripping her waist. He holds her tight, fingers digging - unnatural strength bruising if not for her own unnatural healing - and she lifts her chin as he draws closer, gaze meeting fiery gaze. His hand trails a slow path up her her side - material gathering and rasping against slowly heating flesh - up to her ribs, fitting his fingers firmly in the spaces between, up further, cushioning her back against the icy wall, to her nape, into her hair - holding, grasping, teasing a pull that never arrives - and she wretches her face away as he draws closer still. His hips affixed to hers, and his lips latch to her cheek.
“Down boy” she says, hands lifted to his chest, wry smile in conflict with the look in her eyes. Damon huffs, lips mapping a path down to her jaw, a nip where it dips into her neck, before her hands push, forcing a few breaths of emptiness between their bodies.
“Come on, I've been the picture of maturity all day” he argues, left hand gripping her hip, eyes shining, body a spring not allowed to relax. She allows her hips to arch into him with a deep crimson grin - and he wants to devour her slowly - so he reaches out with his other hand, for hers, for her leg, for her throat, anywhere would do, as he lessens the space between them again. “I know you want me”
The eyeroll is fond, but the snort accompanying it aches just so inside his chest. He pouts, eyes impossibly dark despite the perceived rejection, stalking her across the room. She pushes off the wall, steps slow, deliberate, as she passes him, hand lifted to his cheekbone, down his shirt, brushing his hand as she moves further away - fingertips tingling in her wake. She could invite him now, voice soft as it usually is in the quiet of the night, or with a look that promises more than any words ever could describe. She does neither this night, walking off without a glance, shirt lifted and discarded on the arm of the couch, thumbs hooking into the waistband of her pants, working the button open and he follows suit without command.
They're down both shirts and his pants - hers got stuck halfway down her thighs when the heat burst and he pulled her back with a searing kiss - with the sheets catching by their feet. Her head falls backward with a harsh breath, hissing as he bites into the chord of tension down the side of her neck, her nails biting into his scalp, down to his shoulders - fire in their wake and welts raised as she pushes just enough power to keep the marks. He pulls away with a grunt and she takes advantage of the distraction to step out of the pants. A flash of his smirk and she's kissing it away, falling backward into bed, legs tight around his middle. A taste - bourbon and spice - and she arches into him, grinding slow but firm on a gasp, then again, again - hips finding a rhythm, fervent.
He's staring up at the ceiling - white, a patch of dusting in the corner - winded, wrists gripped tight, weight pressing him down.
“Hold them there” she whispers by his ear, teeth in his lower lips pulling sharply a moment later as he nods and he licks away the blood as she licks a stripe over his nipple. His hands clench around nothing and she makes a noise at the back of her throat - a warning, an incentive - before moving away with a bite. He feels her legs tense as he thrusts up involuntarily and her eyes are daggers dragging down his ribs as her lips and tongue soothe the ache, as her nails echo the road in rivers of flames. He grunts, tasting the sweetness of his own blood rising to the surface. She grins and does it again, catching both nipples with a hurt so instant he can't help but twist.
A yelp, a hand at his jaw, another grasping both hands, a tsk at the tip of her tongue as she deliberately rolls her hips once, twice, thrice moaning. She does it again, harder, shifting her weight to his thigh instead - a warning in only her sharp gaze, but he won't move now, won't risk it. Damon whines when her hand reaches between them, brushing against his erection with each circle against her clit.
“Asshole” his voice is steady, if breathless, but she ignores the accusation, fingers releasing his jaw to trail past his lips. He opens instantly, but one swipe of his tongue and she's moving again. His jaw snaps shut as her hands finally reach for their remaining scraps of clothes. His breath of relief gets swallowed up alongside his dick - hands tangled in her hair, nails in his thighs. She takes him down her throat halfway, punishing rhythm mirroring the intensity as she stops to tease the tip. His hips give an aborted motion, an instinct to thrust, but he’s pinned underneath her now from where she’s gripping his hip, legs tight around his, wetness slowly trickling as she moves - a hint of teeth when he bucks again into the warm heat of her mouth. She feels lava settling low in her belly as she catches his eyes, lips kissing away the string of saliva and pre-cum, ring of red red lipstick tied to the smudges by the corners of her lips - dragging further as she smiles sweetly at him. He strains in her hold, blood rushing in his veins at break-neck velocity - his cheeks flushed now, his lips, down his chest; ripe like cherries, sweet like strawberries when she licks up his inner thigh. And he knows what she wants, tenses in anticipation, but she moves away instead, legs straddling his knees now as she beckons him with her hand in his - her fingers at his throat as he sits up and he gulps just to feel the pressure.
She’s softer tonight, he notices. Long deliberate touches, lingering drags over his flesh, deep aches pressed to bruises. It cracks him open inside and he captures her lips again, tongue feasting on her taste, her hair tickling his forehead even as she tightens her leghold over his waist. He tries to move a hand between them, but she grabs it, quick, and settles it over her ass. He kneads at the soft flesh, feeling her arch at the sensation, her cunt dragging on his lower stomach. She whines but won’t allow him to guide himself inside, won’t lower herself onto him, just moves in sinuous little circles with her hips as her lips brush his, as their tongues tangle and teeth pull and he grabs at her waist with a plea. The next tease of her hips is lower and she shivers; repeats the move again and again and again until he’s as wet as she is and her thighs are trembling with the exertion to keep herself upright. He begs again, hoarse, and catches her answering shuddering breath on his forehead - eyes squeezed shut as he focuses on the easy slide of his dick, on her heaving chest against his, on the scraped raw “slow” she murmurs on the next drag.
She grips him and he damn near sees God.
A second later Damon’s certain he has to have died as she lowers herself, pulsing around him, every sense honing in on the sensation of being engulfed in her heat, her arms, her voice and breath as she groans in relief, flush to his groin, holding herself there - contracting on purpose even as he whimpers in her kiss, her smile lazy as she grinds down and down and he needs her to move, fuck please move.
She kisses his lips, his cheeks, his eyelids, his forehead. She grinds and circles her hips and doesn’t fucking move, god he can’t breathe.
When she rises, she takes his heartbeat with her.
She thrusts down hard, the slap echoing in the silent room as she grunts, lifts and repeats it again - up slowly - feeling every inch of him as she rises and then slams back down, pressure sending tingles down her legs and into her fingertips and he’s starting to shake too after the first three or four hard thrusts. His hands reunite with her hips and he tries to move her like he knows she likes - to angle himself just so - but she might as well be marble with how unyielding she is in her pace, her movement. He grunts, scrapes his fangs over the plump flesh of a breast and knows he’ll pay for it when she snaps her hips down faster, shallower - and he’s right when she takes pulls at his scalp, head bent uncomfortably - but she keeps the new tempo up down up down in quick and quicker succession and his scalp aches and tingles and her hips will have deep purple-crimson bruises from his grip and she slams down again again again. He can’t move, can barely breathe, his heart is a metronome in his skull in time with her cunt gripping and releasing him. He won’t last. He can’t-
“Don’t you dare.” she orders and he seizes - every sense on high alert - and he tries, he really does but she’s squeezing around him again now and he’s gone, he’s done. He’s coming-
He should’ve listened.
That’s the realization that hits near instantaneously as he feels something wrap tight around him and the sensitivity is turning to sharp pain and she’s keeping him hard and she’s keeping her rhythm and he belatedly realizes the loud whines and moans are in his voice. He would beg, but he can’t get enough control over his damn vocal chords to do much more than turn those moans to soft wails.
Her hand releases his hair but tugs cruelly at his nipples and his hip thrust involuntarily even as the pleasure has soured to agony by now.
Damon knows moments before when her legs give out but the unrelenting pressureheat of her whites out his senses. She groans, frustrated, but he savors the break, the breaths he gulps like water in the desert. It isn’t long before she’s slipping off of him, falling onto the mattress, hands grasping at his shoulders as she guides him between her thighs. He nearly sobs when she maneuvers them so that she can have unimpeded access to him in turn and does sob when she gently drags the tip of a sharp nail down the length of him.
Her legs tremble as she lifts her hips, an order in itself, and he tries to focus on her pleasure, carefully flicking her clit as she jumps - and sucks the head of his dick and fuck god fucking damnit its too much too much. He whines and groans and buries his face into her cunt to muffle the noises, licking his own taste until all that’s left is her on his tongue. And it’s so good and it hurts so much as she spears the tip of her tongue that he has to bite into her thigh as he screams his second orgasm, it’s so loud. He hopes she’ll let him breathe, but she doesn’t, just licks long stripes up his length until it feels like she’s licking him raw. He has not idea if he’s saying anything anymore, but her hand guides his to her opening and he tries to focus, tries to keep his hand steady and his fingers pressing just the tiniest bit up as he thrusts three of them inside her at once, tongue dragging over her clit, lips sucking gently the way he knows she likes, but he can tell his muscles are all spasming.
It’s mercy when she whines “just one more”.
Damon doesn’t remember when they move again, but suddenly his legs are over her shoulders as she slurps wetly around him and he vaguely thinks he’s missed something because he can smell her arousal in the room, but also can tell she’s come already from the settled, pitying look in her eyes as she tortures him still. He can’t even tell when the orgasm hits because it’s dragged out of him so swiftly that one second he’s trying to focus on the time he’s lost and the next he’s biting down her wrist - thrust between his teeth in perfect timing - as his body detaches from himself. It’s dry, this last one. It’s the last one.
She slowly picks up his legs once his body falls limp against her and settles them onto the mattress and he knows definitely now that he’s lost time - there’s towels under him being removed. He hums and shivers as she lays to his side, her chest to his torso, her head in the crook of his shoulder, her leg over both of his. She kisses his chest, his jaw, his lips - lingering there, swiping her tongue with his, letting their tastes mingle. He shivers again - cold now - and she tosses a sheet over both of them as she snuggles closer. She shushes him, her fingers splayed over his chest, leg rubbing softly against his. He turns to kiss her forehead. He doesn’t remember when he falls asleep.
I am incredibly serious right now when I beg you all, please, and if you have Twitter or Tiktok or whatever to please spread the word: click on an author's profile on Ao3.
You want to know if an author has written more? Want to know if they're still writing? Want to see more from them? Want to know if they've written a trope or kink or sex scenario you enjoy?
Click on their name. And look at their profile.
I cannot tell you how many times in the last six months someone has read a new or newer fic of mine and said they (a new reader who has read nothing else I've done) "can't wait to see what you do next!" I've written 50+ fics and over a million words already.
"I don't know if you're still writing..." click on my profile. I am. I literally wrote a 128k+ fic for that ship last month.
"Would you ever do X?" "Please do Y!" I already did. Click on my name and look at my works.
Archive of our Own is a library. It's an archive. Not social media. It is your responsibility to fight back against the laziness that corporate algorithms have trained into you.
Click my author name. Just click it. Just click it.
Before you demand more, or ask if a writer will do XYZ, or wonder if the author still writing, or anything - click on their profile. Click on the author's profile.
I'm not trying to be mean or condescending or anything like that. I'm just exhausted. It's disheartening and frustrating to repeat myself ad nauseam, because someone couldn't take thirty seconds to do the tiniest bit of work to see if I've written lately, if I've written more for their ship, or scan my works to see if I've written what they're asking for. Please. Please. I'm begging.
Click the author's name, and explore before you ask.
Do people not click through on the authors? It's such a gold mine from more fic from people you like! it's just common sense? When you read something you like, you find other things that the author has written, and read those too! That's not even an internet thing, that's like basic awareness on how to read stuff!
Hell it's basic awareness on how things work? I like thing. Thing is made by person. See if person makes other things I like? That applies to fiction, and art, and food, and furniture, and any other thing?!??
Clicking the author's name is the first thing you do after you finish a great fic (well, the first thing you do after you leave a comment, right? *pointed stare* Right?). You want to see whether the author has written anything else in your fandom, or one of your other fandoms, or, if they're really good, any fandom at all. And then you can hit the subscribe button and get an email alerting you that the author has published something new!
I legit read all you have written with Damon and reader and I cant put it in words how perfect it was!! I have been searching since DAYS for the perfect Damon fic that like literally satisfies the soul and mannnnn I feel like my search is finally over!!! May God bless you, your loved ones, your cat for your amazing writing!!!! I literally got my period today and the chocolate fiend in me was sooooo happy to read abt Damon taking care of the reader!!! (I know I am including too many exclamation marks, BUT I AM JUST SOOO EXCITED) I literally was imagining this scenario and you wrote it perfect!! And the scenario abt Damon's mom feels as well!!!! Like wow!!! I loved the joke abt Stefan missing the mark 😂😂😂 I am genuinely thankful for all you have written and am excitedly waiting for more!!!! GURLLL( if you dont mind me using the term), YOUR WORKS ARE WORTH MILLIONS OF NOTES AT LEAST!!!
My soul legit feels satisfied reading your works!! YOU ARE THE ABSOLUTE BESTTTT!!!!
I wish you nothing but happiness till the end of times!!! THANK YOU SOOO MUCH❤️❤️
Hiiii! No worries about the exclamation marks, I really don't mind. Thank you so so much for sending this, I literally teared up reading it, you are so sweet!
I haven't written much new stuff lately because real life got hella in the way (new job) but I will try to get back to it soon since I miss it. If you ever want a prompt or something please send a message, I am def still open to that.
Seriously, thank you so so much for all the kind words, they really mean a lot!
Purple Portals Are A Hazard OR How To Deal With AU Bullshit When It's Your Job Technically
Summary: Bonnie Bennett was enjoying a quiet day in, cup of hot cocoa in hand, fluffy blanket and her favourite comfort movie ready to begin when her best friend started spamming her phone. Damon Salvatore was dealing with a recent break-up, his first love turned current hell bunking with him for an as yet unforeseen time and a quickly dwindling supply of bourbon.
Neither were prepare for someone to literally fall from the skies - aka broom closet - today, but alas this is the hand they were dealt. Roxy, the having fallen out of a closet person in question meanwhile, seemed to be far more in her depth then anyone thought she should be and enjoying all of this way too much.
Shaking her head in disbelief, Bonnie threw one last look behind her, catching Roxy’s eyes as she left the library. Hopefully the older vampire would understand what she meant to convey with that look. While Bonnie had been all on board with Roxy and Kat’s plan to annoy this other version of Katherine to start with, seeing the effect it had on the woman after a few days of going along with it, Bonnie was starting to doubt her initial take on the doppelganger.
For one, she didn’t seem as surprised or as intrigued by the very close relationship that Roxy and Kat were ramping up for her “benefit” - not that they didn’t act similarly enough back home, but they usually toned it down for parallel universe guests not turn it up - and for another she seemed to be more and more morose and almost sad after having spent some time with the two; to the point where Bonnie was starting to really question whether Kat even knew herself well enough to fuck around like this.
Bonnie had long since learned that Kat, for all that she was great at putting on a mask of nonchalance, was actually easily affected by what she’d lived and how she acted in the past and it was clear - to Bonnie at least - that this other Katherine was less the side of Kat when she’d met Roxy - overcompensation to the max, confidence through the roof until Roxy brushed it off and flirted with her outrageously sincere until they found themselves in a semi committed relationship for half a year - and more similar to the version of Kat that had been making amends with the Salvatores and risking her life making peace offerings to Klaus - terrified, depressed and all too quiet, moving from room to room with a cloud of self-hatred following her and fangs bared to prevent anyone asking about it. Bonnie worried. And she hoped that Roxy could see what she saw too, before she had to have a repeat of the clock tower from a few years ago.
“Do you want something, Wicked Witch?”
Bemused, Bonnie turned to Damon, leaning against the kitchen counter, glass of bourbon - filled to the rim - in his hand. She was about to retort as she usually would to the version she knew of the man, the one that was her best friend when she noted another worrying thing about this universe. His hair was unkept, his shirt the same as the one from yesterday - small patch of grease from where Kat had spilled on him accidently at dinner present on his sleeve - and the beginnings of a stubble - something she’d only ever seen from Damon once and only once, in the Prison world, just before they made their suicide pact. What was going on in this universe?
“Just wondering if there’s any snacks in the pantry. And taking a break from the Chaos Twins.”
She watched carefully for his reaction. It wasn’t really much of one. A sip of bourbon, a shrug and tiny pull at the corner of his mouth that she couldn’t even tell if it was meant to be a smile or a grimace.
“Feel free to check.” he replied and took a bigger swig, pushing off the counter to make way but not moving too far. He seemed intent on watching her as well.
“Where’s everyone else today?”
“Stefan and Blondie are visiting Liz again. Bon wanted to open the shop today.”
Well. That was more forthcoming than Bonnie had expected out of him.
“How’s Liz?”
She saw the second the question registered because his eyes darkened and a frown pulled at the muscles of his face. Not well went unspoken but she understood nonetheless and shook her head, preventing his answer. “Nevermind, you don’t have to answer that.”
“Huh.” he seemed alost surprised that she didn’t push further, another red flag as far as Bonnie was concerned. She’d worked hard to make Damon realize he was allowed to have boundaries with the people he loved - it had felt only fair since he’d helped her enforce her own. “Thanks, witchy.”
There was a beat then, silence save for the rustle of the bag of chips she pulled from the pantry. It wasn’t comfortable, but she couldn’t really say it was awkward either. Just sort of hesitant.
“I heard about Elena. I’m sorry.” She wasn’t. But he seemed like he needed the words, if the slack jawed look he gave her then was any indication. Then she worried even more when his eyes got teary and his jaw tightened suddenly - the shock replaced by understanding of what she’d said. He didn’t say anything, swallowing a few times as though maybe he’d wanted to but didn’t dare, trying to control his breathing when it went shaky. He downed the glass and slammed it down onto the island to hide the shake in his hand, but she saw it, too used to catching the minutiae of Damon Salvatore to escape her notice. The glass shattered.
“Fuck!”
“Oh shit! Ok… Damon?” she tried to catch his gaze but he was already moving and cursing under his breath, holding onto his wrist. “Damon! Wait!” She caught his arm, ignored his struggling to pull away - not too much since she was able to hold on. “We need to pull the glass out before you can heal. Lemme help.”
“I know we need to get the glass out Bonnie, I’ve been injured before.” But he let himself be led to the other side of the island and sat onto a chair facing her. Bonnie tried to ignore the sharp look he sent her way when she began muttering a simple levitation spell under her breath - useful for pulling out all the shards, even the tiniest ones with minimal invasiveness - and leant back in his seat, letting her work. She was so focused on the spell that she didn’t realize she’d began stroking his knuckles where she was holding onto his hand - the gesture ingrained now, after years of being Damon’s friend - so she missed the hurt contemplative look on his face when he felt her caress.
He cursed under his breath when she pulled a jagged edge out of the bridge of his palm and she shushed him softly, a soft uttered pain numbing spell following. Once the glass was out, the cuts began to quickly heal and Bonnie watched as she still sometimes did when seeing vampires heal - fascinated and grateful that her loved ones were okay. She let her fingers trace the longer cuts, fingertips barely grazing his skin - something she’d picked up in the prison world with her own injuries and ended up using everytime she healed someone she loved now, a sort of comfort saying you’re okay now, it’s passed. She felt his shiver, heard the hitch in his breath and turned confused eyes to his only to realize where she was when she saw the warring emotions in his gaze.
This wasn’t her Damon.
This wasn’t the man who’s stayed up with her, nights on end mourning her dad’s death in the Prison World, wasn’t the man who’d convinced her to jump off of the Falls once they returned home and had a day of peace, only to then slip when she went under and had to be saved, scratching his arm on a rock and almost giggling when she’d healed him, her fingertips grazing his arm softly like she’d just done, self care now shared with others. This wasn’t the man she had movie nights with and gossip brunches, not the man she’d walked down the aisle at his wedding, her fingers caressing his as she felt his nervousness.
No, this Damon was hurt, and unaccustomed by the tactile ease Bonnie and the Damon she knew had wrapped around their friendship like a warm blanket. So the heat in his gaze was unmarred by the joking glint her Damon usually responded with.
This Damon meant it.
And suddenly Bonnie understood what Katherine had meant to achieve when she’d asked Roxy’s help. This Damon had just lost Elena and had never learnt what hers had ages ago - he was enough on his own and a lover was just someone to share the day with, not make one’s whole universe. She licked lips then, not meaning anything by it really, but maybe unconsciously she’d wondered at his reaction. She had to bite her tongue when she saw his eyes darken - arousal this time, not heartache - and caught his gaze flit to her mouth before swiftly pulling away, yanking his hand from between hers and grabbing a new bottle of bourbon before exiting, the sound of slamming doors echoing in her ears as her mind began turning as plan after plan formed and reformed.
Well. This was interesting.
This Damon wanted her. Well, not her per se - luckily since she kind of had a thing for Enzo back home and the thought of being with Damon was weird by now, too used to the one she knew, who was several years into being happily married - but he definitely wanted Bonnie.
“Oh no. No no no! You just gave me a cease and desist not 5 minutes ago!” Roxy warned, paused in the doorway, eyeing Bonnie with a grin on her lips. Bonnie moved behind the counter, grabbed her chips and opened the bag with a shrug, offering some to Roxy. She waited for her friend to finish her mouthful before she gave an answering grin in reply, plan now formed fully in her mind. Time to join the Chaos Twins.
“So… how would you like to play matchmaker with me?” Bonnie took Roxy’s answering smile as a yes.
Purple Portals Are A Hazard OR How To Deal With AU Bullshit When It's Your Job Technically
Summary: Bonnie Bennett was enjoying a quiet day in, cup of hot cocoa in hand, fluffy blanket and her favourite comfort movie ready to begin when her best friend started spamming her phone. Damon Salvatore was dealing with a recent break-up, his first love turned current hell bunking with him for an as yet unforeseen time and a quickly dwindling supply of bourbon.
Neither were prepare for someone to literally fall from the skies - aka broom closet - today, but alas this is the hand they were dealt. Roxy, the having fallen out of a closet person in question meanwhile, seemed to be far more in her depth then anyone thought she should be and enjoying all of this way too much.
Katherine wanted to commit murder. Not that that was anything particularly surprising or shocking for her, but it was a special circumstance this time. More specifically, she wanted to kill herself - a version of herself whatever, close enough. And she wanted it to hurt, badly. Because if she had to see herself become a simpering bitch around an unknown woman, then truly Klaus could be called to get rid of her already. The two - Katherine and Roxy respectively - have been in each other’s space since coming out of their rooms - sitting in a chair with the other taking her place on the arm of the same chair, sitting in each others laps, taking any chance to touch the other, hugging constantly, kissing each other on the cheek. It was beyond frustrating, more than infuriating. It drove her mad. And on top of that, it made it extremely difficult to be in the same room as any of the people from this world since they’d all seen the same behavior as she had. It made fucking with Damon lose all fun - when he’d seen Kitty-Kat fall asleep with her head in Roxy’s lap, fluffy blanket pulled up by the other woman careful not to wake her made being intimidating, or scheming, or irreverent entirely impossible to maintain. So Katherine could not meet Damon’s eyes anymore - and she lived with him. She also couldn’t put the moves on Stefan anymore, not when he grinned every time he saw her enter a room.
She’d lost her reputation because of this … evil version of her. And all this not to say that, had Katherine been more honest with herself, she was also jealous of her counterpart, in a way she hadn’t even been of Elena, because for all Katherine judged her for being as non-Katherine Pierce as she could be, it was clear the woman was happy. Not satisfied, not content, not gleeful or confident, but truly happy. Katherine wanted to kill herself and she wanted to pull herself to the side and ask for the secret of her happiness. She was like 80% sure the answer was going to be something cliche and sappy, or tongue in cheek I’m going for women these days. Still, she was self aware enough to know that she was into women - she hadn’t traveled with women for so long just because it was easier, nor co-parented Anna with Pearl in the 1800s for nothing. But she’d been born in the 1400s Bulgaria, with a father that took her baby away from her before she could even see her. Being into women was a liability and Katherine Pierce was a survivor. Liabilities, thus, were to be avoided. But clearly this new Katherine thought she knew better about the danger she faced every day, confident enough in her happiness that she was fine shoving that happiness and the endless flirting with Roxy in her face. As though no one remembered that Roxy was married to a Salvatore, and not, you know, Katherine.
“You alright there, evil clone?” Damon was going to get his throat pulled out through his ass if he kept the antagonism.
“Fuck off.” He laughed at her reply. He laughed. Him, the man that had spent the last week moping about the house, drowning in some kind of hard liquor and crying about his break up. He laughed at her. The fucking audacity! She was going to rip his spine out for good measure too.
“Fine, fine, no need for the daggers for eyes.” Katherine breathed a sigh of relief when he left the library, staunchly ignoring the laughter that followed him out.
“Kit-kaaat” came a whine from across the room and Katherine felt a twinge start in her temples. Roxy was leaning over other Katherine's shoulder, her front flush to the doppelganger’s back, mouth grazing the other woman’s ear as she complained about being ignored. And, of fucking course, Katherine only leaned back her head, turned to look at Roxy and pressed a kiss to her jawline with a smile in apology. Because Katherine hated herself, clearly. Why would the other world her do stuff like this otherwise.
“Sorry, lyubima. Let me finish this page.” Rage, white hot rage was the only thing flowing through Katherine’s veins.
“Could you two shut up? Some of us are trying to read.” The words seemed to have little to no result, save for the matching smirks on Roxy and other Katherine’s faces. Murder was going to happen by the time these people left. The destruction of a whole universe as consequence seemed more and more worth it as time went on, whatever Roxy claimed. Sometimes sacrifices had to be made and frankly, Katherine already had had enough of their universe. She wouldn’t miss it.
“Whatcha readin’?” Roxy asked, in an accent that Katherine struggled to place since with didn’t seem to be from anywhere. She ignored the question, and went back to rereading the same sentence for the 10th time this morning.
See, the thing that fucked with Katherine, really, wasn’t that they were obnoxious in the end. It wasn’t that they were amped out PDA with no relationship to back it. It wasn’t even the fact that they were clearly genuinely happy about all of it. The issue, truly, was that in the 2 days the three women had been here, Katherine had found out a lot about their world. Stefan, and Caroline to a lesser degree when she wasn’t visiting her mother, had taken it upon themselves to get whatever information they could, finding the whole alternate world thing simply enthralling apparently. And Katherine had nothing to do all day, not with her current status as witness protection, having survived having the cure shoved through her veins a few years ago, only to then see what it would do to someone too old when Amara took it and then gave it to Silas, had been a particularly horrifying experience that had her making up with the Salvatore if only to keep herself alive. So what she did do was roam the house, shop in the nearby, not Mystic Falls, shops and occasionally go out to get her kicks out of impersonating Saint Elena. Thus she was there whenever Stefan asked something, and remained there whenever those questions were answered. And Roxy always answered.
Katherine now knew a bunch about the three counterparts that had shown up uninvited and stayed. She knew Kit-kat had been hit by the cure when she and Elena had had their small wrestling session, and had subsequently been drained of it by Silas thus began to mummify quickly - hence the few strands of gray hair she spotted and been horrified by about 30 minutes after meeting the woman when they bumped on the staircase two days ago, along with the tiny creases at the corners of her eyes and mouth. She knew she’d been turned back to vampire successfully, but the horrific version that Roxy was because the cure prevented anything else - and no, no one had wanted to see what that looked like. She also knew that she was married. Several years worth. And had a child - Irina. And hadn’t lost Nadia for a second time like Katherine had, because Kit-kat wasn’t a shitty mother that roped her daughter into business with a mad scientist that shot her up with vamp-killing werewolf venom nor a selfish terrified mother that couldn’t even pick up the phone and call the one person that could have saved her life.
Which was what the issue with Kit-kat really stemmed from - she wasn’t evil. Sure, she was clearly still a bitch - she’d heard her shit talk Elena at least 5 times while surrounded by the core of the Elena Defense Squad - and had still done most of what Katherine had in the past. But somewhere along the way there, Kit-kat had stopped running. Had made friends. Had fallen in love and gotten a family - old and new. And Katherine wanted to scream. Because all this meant is that she could have that, if she was… herself. So much herself in fact, that another version of her had been able to get all those things, while still being very much Katherine Pierce.
This Katherine still flirted with everyone - hence Roxy - still schemed and was selfish, still went for the best fashion, best things she could get, still fed as she’d always fed, still was afraid of Klaus. But she now had hobbies - she’d taken to creating fashion as well apparently. She has people that helped with her schemes - mainly because they were only ever in defense of her loved ones, because she had loved ones. She was still reveling in being a vampire - except she wasn’t just surviving now, because she didn’t need to be, she was living her life as she wanted to. Even the Klaus issue had lessened - he wasn’t trying to kill her and they’d reached an understanding apparently when she’d offered doppelganger blood while she was human. Kit-kat was a contradiction to everyone else. To Katherine she was the fucking Ghost of Christmas Past, Present and Future all in one, she was the wish upon a star, she was fucking who Katherine had hoped she’d be when she stepped off that boat in England after being disowned and banished from home. Kit-kat was living. Katherine was surviving. And Katheirne hadn’t known who she could be if she wasn’t surviving, not until now. And that hurt something terrible.
“You ok, Katherine?” Bonnie Bennett asked, the third of the chaos that had befallen them. Her voice was gentle, low. Katherine knew that the two vampires across the room could hear her, but they chose to return to their hushed conversation instead. Katherine didn’t know what to feel about Bonnie’s tone. She wasn’t sure if she could trust it - Kit-kat clearly would’ve, her and Bonnie, while not exactly friends, were friendly at least.
“Fine” so she chose to be harsh, and closed off. She wasn’t Kit-kat. No matter how much that knowledge hurt, or pulled at her that she could be something like the other version of herself if she tried. What was the point really? She’d been fine alone all these years, she’d be fine now too. No matter what that little voice in her head said - she wasn’t alone right now after all, she’d chosen to stay with Damon and Stefan in the Boarding House, hadn’t she?
“I’ll tell them to dial it back.” And she definitely wasn’t going to be answering to Bonnie Bennett’s pity.
Purple Portals Are A Hazard OR How To Deal With AU Bullshit When It's Your Job Technically
Summary: Bonnie Bennett was enjoying a quiet day in, cup of hot cocoa in hand, fluffy blanket and her favourite comfort movie ready to begin when her best friend started spamming her phone. Damon Salvatore was dealing with a recent break-up, his first love turned current hell bunking with him for an as yet unforeseen time and a quickly dwindling supply of bourbon.
Neither were prepare for someone to literally fall from the skies - aka broom closet - today, but alas this is the hand they were dealt. Roxy, the having fallen out of a closet person in question meanwhile, seemed to be far more in her depth then anyone thought she should be and enjoying all of this way too much.
It had been a few hours since three people dropped into the Boarding House, one of which herself, and Bonnie had not yet found the mental fortitude to go back home. Damon was off somewhere in the house, likely pacing, but Bonnie preferred to remain in the library for a bit longer. It was quiet now, the whole house really, and she needed this small moment of quiet. She absentmindedly looked at the clock on the wall, sighed, rubbed her shoulders as a brief breeze chilled her and then settled back down. Caroline and Stefan should be returning soon, she knew, and she figured she’d be there to explain the situation since she couldn’t get the fortitude to go back home yet. Damon had offered her a room - her room from back in 1994 Prison World in fact - in case she wanted to spend the night, so she figured it wouldn’t be that big a problem. And the guests had gone away for now, settling in their new rooms themselves, packed close together, on the farther side of the Boarding House from the usual residents. Bonnie thought she saw Katherine stand guard around that area - the doppelganger was just as out of her depth here as Bonnie herself it seemed, and what did that say about Bonnie that she was comforted by the thought.
“Bon Bon, you ok?” Damon’s voice was low, barely above a whisper as he walked into the room, rounding the small staircase down to where Bonnie was sitting on an armchair. He looked better than he had some hours ago. He’d changed his shirt - donning a plaid shirt he’d scrunched out of the boxes in the attic after Bonnie returned home from 1994 - and it made her smile just a bit, to see that he too needed the comforting presence of the past sometimes.
“I don’t know.” she replied after a moments’ hesitation. She and Damn didn’t pretend with each other anymore, hadn’t since that day a month into 1994 when both had had a breakdown - or perhaps breakthrough - so she quieted the voice in her head that told her to make up something, to lie about being fine with what’s happened today. Damon nodded, squeezed her shoulder as he passed her by to pour himself a glass of bourbon, and then settled on the floor by her legs, his back to her knees and shins, head tilted to look up at her. Bonnie shifted in her seat to accommodate him, one hand falling into his hair and the other on the arm of her seat. If she was surprised by his actions she gave no indication outside of a soft exhale when he’d settled. Daon didn’t do this often, Bonnie knew, but he’d done it a few times in 1994 and once or twice since returning home - each time after a particularly grueling emotional day.
“I think Roxy is married to me.” he mumbled after a quick swig of his glass. Bonnie just turned her gaze to him, eyebrows furrowed. “Her shirt. I own a shirt like that - small hole in the arm and all from where I got hit once.” he expanded and Bonnie hummed in understanding. She’d figured something had to be tied to him - Bonnie and Katherine had replicas, Damon couldn’t have had nothing right?
“Is that a problem?” she wondered aloud. She knew he wasn’t taking his break-up from Elena well. He’d been essentially blindsided by the whole argument that ultimately led to it - even if both himself and Elena agreed to split. In his words, the resentment had snuck up on him and he hadn’t realized how bad it’d gotten until Elena mentioned her father while coming back from a date night and he’d said something snarky in reply. Which only allowed Elena’s resentment to rise to the surface. In the aftermath, both had found themselves unable to continue the relationship and mourning what had once been a strong friendship, now in tatters. Neither was taking it well and couldn’t figure out where it had all gone wrong it seemed. Bonnie was wondering if either realized how little love they still held for each other when they spoke of it - she and Care had taken notice that’s for sure - but she sure as hell wasn’t going to mention it to him now or Elena when they saw each other again. It wasn’t any of her business ultimately, and she hoped they’d build themselves up on their own - they were both strong enough to do so.
“Mmm, dunno.” he slurred, not drunk, but sleepy it seemed. “I don’t know how I feel.”
“Well, are you sad about it? Angry? Happy maybe?”
“Bit of all, I think, but it’s muddled, like they’re all a sludge in my head, you know?” he replied. “Wonder what Stefan will think of this?”
She let out a soft chuckle at the wiggling eyebrows he sent her way, and shrugged. She was wondering the same about Caroline.
Roxy was in her designated room with Kat and Bonnie, acutely aware that somewhere very close down the hall was Katherine spying. She wondered if she realized Bonnie put a silencing spell over the room as soon as the door closed, but she probably did and didn’t care.
“So the portals are blocked off now?” Kat wondered, settling on the bed, head resting on a pillow and body curling around where Bonnie was resting against the headboard.
“Yeah, shouldn’t have anymore people falling through now.” Rox answered, jumping on the mattress at the foot of the bed then instantly regretting it as the four bags of blood she’d consumed made the room spin. There was a reason she didn’t like to overindulge on blood - it hit her worse than a kid of sugar high and crashed harder than one as well. “Ugh, I think Imma be sick.”
“Not on the bed, Rox” Bonnie cautioned, nudging her arm with her foot, no mercy in her bright green eyes. Kat laughed at Roxy’s pain and high-fived the witch, before resettling on the bed more firmly. Roxy turned on her side, facing her friends. She hadn’t meant for anyone else to get pulled through. She’d figure the portal would close once it pulled her in, like they usually did, and then keep her there for a couple of days of fun and spit her back out home with no one any the wiser. Now, with Bonnie and Kat here, it became clear this universe was a bit different. For one, time was still moving back home - not anything too special about that to be honest, but inconveniencing nonetheless - and the universe seemed to be hungry for more. She hadn’t lied to Damon downstairs, universes didn’t like outsiders moving in, but in rare cases, some universes took an almost malicious enjoyment out of dragging as many people through when they bumped together. And Kat had been pulled in as she was getting Irina from kindergarten, for fucks sake - her daughter, that she’d never thought she’d get a chance to have, even after Nadia had become a staple in Katherine’s life, who she’d given birth to and got to raise and love and spoil and watch her play with her much older sister and just be a part of her life. Talk about malicious. Not to mention, by all intents and purposes, Bonnie had been going on a date. Not another one and done night of fun, nor a quick time limit event until she left town again, but something that might actually turn into a long term partnership. She’d been meeting with Enzo, after all. Enzo, who she’d had a crush on for the past year, who, Roxy knew - from her husband, who was as irredeemable a gossip as Caroline no matter how much he liked to protest the fact - had had feelings for the woman for at least as long. And now both were stuck here, in an alternate universe, just because Roxy was a part of their lives-
“Hey! Stop that” Bonnie told Roxy, a frown on her face. A quick look at Katherine revealed she too seemed unhappy about where Roxy’s brain decided to go.
“Sorry.” the woman mumbled, falling on her back again. She could feel her heart beating - pounding in her ears and her chest so strong that if she didn’t know better she’d have thought the sheer strength of it was shaking the bed entirely - and the minute tremors in her libs as the blood settled slowly. She wondered if Kat ever experienced this kind of high - having become the type of vampire Roxy was nearly 6 years ago as a last ditch effort to save her then human, quickly aging life. Kat had never said anything the like and Roxy knew she drank far mor blood and far more often than Roxy did - she’d always kind of forgot she needed to drink blood for months on end only to nearly die from a papercut because she’d been this creature for so long she couldn’t be bothered to remember. “I’m really sorry, guys” she tried again, a lump forming in her throat and eyes closing as the sting of tears threatened to overspill.
“We’ll get home, Rox, it’s fine. We always do when this happens, and it’s not like we haven’t done this before.” Bonnie reassured, leaning to hold Roxana’s hand and causing Katherine to grumble when her position lying on the bed was disturbed by the movement. Still, the other vampire extended her leg to push at Roxy’s, as though to reaffirm Bonnie’s words in the laziest way she possible could - she’d been more laid back since becoming another type of vampire, likely the lack of constant bloodlust and heightened emotion if Rox were to put an explanation on it.
“Plus, imagine the mess we could cause here Rox!” Katherine added, suddenly standing up. She waited for a reply, but neither woman was looking at her, so, hit with a sudden wave of energy, she settled herself over Roxy, framing her between her arms and knees, face leaning down. “Did you see the look on my face when we flirted?” she whispered, her body now flush with Roxy as the woman shook with barely repressed laughter.
“Sure did, why?” Roxy managed between giggles.
“I’m 500 years old and repressed in this universe Rox, I wanna blow her fucking mind!” she declared, before bending to kiss Roxy on the lips, closed mouthed, but clearly intimate, a grin pulling at the corner of her lips.
“Kat! I already told them I married into the Salvatores” Roxy admonished halfheartedly, laughter causing her to stutter.
“You can still flirt though, not like we don’t do it with Damon or my hubby around, or like they complain.” Kat argued back, having allowed her weight to fully sink into Roxy’s body.
“Bon, bit of help here?” Roxy whined, pretending to struggle to breathe under Katherine’s weight.
“Damon doesn’t care. Nor does Hiro. Plus you two have a long standing joke of getting married, complete with wedding dresses already bought, Rox.”
“Traitor.” but she was grinning. “Plus I’ve made out with Kitty Kat before getting with Dee, so I guess it wouldn’t be lying to her per se?”
“See, we can flirt as friends!”
“What did I do to get stuck with you two?” Bonnie’s long suffering reply was the last straw, the three burst out laughing as soon as her words settled into the air.
“We’re home!” their laughter paused, Caroline’s voice carrying through to their room, then began again. Poor Caroline had no idea what she’d just walked into. And, as Roxy and Katherine’s eyes met, mischievous glints in their gazes, neither did Stefan. Bonnie almost felt sorry for their hosts as she trailed after her friends whose hands were intertwined, wry grin as she watched the Katherine of this universe nonchalantly descend the stairs after them to introduce themselves to the two new hosts.
