#bamily

“Back in the prison world, if I had kissed you… would you have kissed me back?”

Bonnie doesn’t look away from the changing screen. “No.”

“Well. That answered my question,” says Damon, not bothering to mask his offence.

Bonnie points the remote at the TV, shutting the colour to black. “You had a girlfriend. A girlfriend who loved you so damn much she had to erase her memories just to cope with your death—”

“Exactly, Bon! We were dead! We were trapped in eternal purgatory for all we knew. We could have been having sex like that,” he gestures vaguely upstairs, “every fucking day!”

“Why are you angry with me!?”

“I’m angry with everything!” It’s a shock to the system, this anger. But now he sees it, how it viciously begs for attention, and Bonnie is the only one he has left to listen. “I’m angry that my brother is dead when it should have been me! I’m angry that I tried to make things work with Elena when I should have been with you, and fine! Yes! I’m angry with you Bonnie. I’m angry that you just left! You left me, and all I got was a fucking postcard every couple months. Stupid, impersonal postcards! I didn’t care that you were in Paris, or London, or Naples — I wanted you home.”

Bonnie can’t sleep — not like this, not in his arms. She could blame it on the jet lag but the time for fooling herself has long since passed. 

No, she can’t sleep because lying against his naked chest, with the hand that was drawing circles on her back now resting languidly on her hip, is making her cry. 

As gently as she can manage, she removes herself from Damon’s possession. Then she stands, allowing a moment of observation: his long taut body in the moonlight, the shadow of his jaw. 

“Like what you see?” he murmurs.

Bonnie hastily presses her hands against her eyes. “I thought you were asleep!?”

“I was. But then my cuddling partner rudely departed.” He pats the space on the mattress she just vacated. “May I have her back please?”

Bonnie turns to face the window. “I’m—I’m struggling to sleep. Must be jet lag.”

“We don’t have to sleep,” says Damon. “Frankly, seeing you standing naked in my bedroom is making me feel very awake.” 

She can hear the stupid giddy grin in his words, and it makes her cry more. 

posted a new bamon one-shot aaaaa!! post-canon fix it :))

Unfinished Business on ao3 ; comments are always so loved xx

The Salvatore brothers took the long way home from church that morning. The youngest skipped gaily along the street; the eldest walked with the pensive stoop of a child aged beyond his years. Each Christmas revealed to Damon the depth of the lie. Hymns of charitable goodwill, peace and harmony among men (among fathers and sons), did not apply to his own family. Stefan was too young to notice this: for him, Christmas was a beautifully wrapped gift beneath a beautifully decorated tree. Pain was not so easily disguised for Damon.

“Come along,” he said, tugging on his brother’s hand. He had stopped before the window of a town house and was gazing into the glowing interior with round-eyed wonder. ‘We have food at home, Stefan, come along.”

“No, Damon, look,” Stefan protested, jabbing a finger against the misted window, and Damon did.

Unlike the austere length of the table in their own Dining Room, this table was round, and filled with an innumerable number of guests of all ages. Children sat between the elderly, chatting without reticence, and the adults inclined their heads to listen as they piled food onto the plate of the person sitting beside them. Damon had never seen food look so real before — which was a silly thought considering the Salvatore family had never known a day’s hunger — but watching the scene, it struck him that Christmas dinner at the Salvatore Mansion was all ornamentation. A theatre play that entertained no one but his Father.

“Can we go in?” asked Stefan.

Damon turned away from the window. “We have our own feast to look forward to, come along.”

(also bonnie being a hot dom!witch just fits, okay)

~~~~~~~~~

“Damon, just, just shut up a second.”

He blinks at her, stunned. Bonnie shuffles on the lawn so that she is kneeling before him; she takes his chin in her fingers, and his eyes flutter.

“If you’re done talking,” she breathes, “I’m done thinking.”

The vampire nods, rendered for once completely speechless. It’s a thrilling power, her blood vibrates with it, and Damon just stares up at her. At her mercy.

Bonnie tightens her grip on his chin, angling his head so that his neck is a long, pale column in the moonlight. He is so tense, the vein that runs down his skin is throbbing.

“Bonnie,” he whimpers.

“I thought I told you,” she hums in a low voice, “to stop talking.”

A strangled sort of sound escapes his mouth. If she were crueller, she might make him wait for it a little longer – but she isn’t cruel, not now, not when she has given herself permission to kiss him guilt free.

Damon gasps as she takes his bottom lip between her teeth. He tries to regain the control he’s accustomed to – his right hand reaching up her neck, his left resting on her waist, lowering to her ass – but she doesn’t let him, not this time. There is magic in her touch, and she wants him to revel in it. In her.

“I thought I imagined the way you looked at me when I did a spell,” she says, holding back his chin so that he is blinking up at her, eyes wild and desperate. “Even when we were fighting, you’d get this look.”

this time it was party 4 u by Charli xcx ... read the story inspired by the song here

Damon is gazing out of the window like a child staying up for Santa (if one substitutes the Blood n’ Bourbon in his glass for milk) when he gets the text: It’s just not a good idea. I’m sorry.  His fingers buzz with static as he types: Please. I’ve hired a DJ I’m not convinced isn’t a highschooler and he’s on a strict musical diet of Beyoncé and Beyoncé only.