#bamonff

im forever bummed that we never really got to see a “dress” moment for Bonnie canonically. She never got to descend stairs with eyes all on her, she never got to steal breath away just by her appearance, whether at a dance or otherwise (if we don’t include her appearance in Damon’s kitchen). In fic, I love when she gets to have moments where she’s genuinely stunning, and Damon just looks at her in awe (because that is something we do see canonically!). It’s a little loose, but would you be able to write something that has her so captivating that Damon might even be at a loss for words? I just want a sweet princess moment for her basically.

I hope you are doing well and staying safe! Thank you 💕

awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww. everything u said was just like amazing and true. i’m doing so well, and i hope you’re safe! i’m so ready to bring this to life.. the idea popped up instantly for this, i was adamant in writing. hope u enjoy 🤎

Damon had the smallest notion that perhaps he had made a mistake.

Surrounded by tulle and layers upon layers of white and creme, expensive hangers, headless mannequins, and the quietly excited shopkeeper, Damon asked himself why he fought Caroline over being able to go dress shopping with Bonnie. There was no telling but he could possibly be sitting here for hours without a glass of bourbon or blood to keep him entertained.

The little lady who owned La Robe de Mariée was even shorter than Bonnie with light brown skin, mousy features and glasses that were perched lowly against her nose, she had a bad habit of tilting her head down and looking at Damon beyond her lenses, especially when she asked probing questions.

“You must be the gay best friend?”

Bonnie laughed at that, openly and cheekily, deciding that she did like this bridal shop if the dresses were anything close to being as remarkable as she was. Damon rolled his eyes. When he pointedly said, “no,” without even a snort or a chuckle the lady, Miss Belinda, stated,

“You do know it’s bad luck for the husband to see the dress.”

And Bonnie sobered up quickly, her fit of laughter untimely concluded. “Oh we’re not- he isn’t my husband!”

Miss Belinda rose an eyebrow. “Not technically.”

“Not at all.” Bonnie politely affirmed, tugging at the hem of her sleeve. “He’s my best friend.”

“Hmm.” The older woman didn’t say much after that, just pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose before giving them another once over. “Follow me.”

So there Damon was, on a white velvet couch, waiting for Bonnie to try on wedding gowns. Just him and him alone since he had the tendency to want his best friend all to himself, which seemed increasingly difficult to achieve as of late.

Actually he’s had to fight for Bonnie’s attention because Derek, the groom, seemed hellbent on kicking him out of the picture.

Either that or biting his head off.

Their relationship was almost cordial, but the thing about Derek was, he reminded him of a big burly wolf. And after getting to know him, he wondered what was so interesting or funny about him that elicited a signature starry-eyed smile Bonnie gave him when he wasn’t paying attention.

Whatever.

“Your dream wedding dress: what does it look like?” Miss Belinda asked, a notepad in hand as if she were a therapist.

Damon observed Bonnie when she gave a little pout. There was a pregnant pause as she took her time to think, glancing around her in curiosity like one of the dresses would hop out and tell her.

“You know, it’s crazy to say but I’m twenty-seven and I’ve never thought of what my perfect wedding dress might look like. I could describe Elena’s perfectly. I could tell you Caroline’s to a tee. But mine… I don’t know. I’m not sure.”

“Okay well let’s get whoever these Elena and Caroline are out of your head and let’s fill it with- what’s your name?”

“Bonnie.”

“Let’s fill it with what Bonnie wants.”

“Right.”

“And I’m Damon, by the way.”

“Damon, the best friend. Got it.”

He realized then that her voice and disposition reminded him of Sheila.

.

To not know what she wanted, Bonnie was very selective. She looked at dresses without even trying them on and shook her head dismissively. They had already been there for forty-five minutes and she had yet to find a dress she actually wanted to see herself in so she realized a traditional style in the big and poufy sense was not her thing.

“I don’t want to drown in a dress.”

So they looked at silhouettes that were figure-hugging up top and flared out like a mermaid to the bottom. She did enjoy those. However, not enough to be ushered into the dressing room.

Thirty minutes later, Bonnie declared, “I want an unconventional wedding dress. One that’s kinda sensual but still classy. I want a dress that looks like it’s fresh off of the runway.”

Miss Belinda looked like something clicked. “I think I might have the perfect one for you.”

.

It was a vintage Thierry Mugler gown, definitely a couturier’s version of bridal with a price tag that made even Damon’s eyes widen.

“I’ve been waiting for the right pair of eyes to show this to. It’s not everyday that a girl decides she wants a gorgeous gown that is unlike anything she’s ever seen before. They come in and say they want a dress like Carrie Bradshaw’s or Kim Kardashian’s.” She blew a raspberry. “The girls are supposed to find their own dress…and fall in love with it.”

Miss Belinda held onto the hanger with great pride, extending what looked to be a flesh-colored set: a strapless bodysuit, and the mesh with little ruches in excess towards the bottom like flowers that decided to bloom right out of the dress.

“It’s beautiful, it really is.” Bonnie hesitated.

“You should try it on.”

She had no clue if Damon made the suggestion because he was bored of the ample time spent looking at dresses with only slight variations between them or because he genuinely wanted to see her in it. But she relented anyway.

“Fine.”

Miss Belinda looked through her lenses at them as if she were going to ask another question before opting on silence and showing her to a breathtaking fitting room.

.

“Oh my god!”

Bonnie said it from the fitting room, followed by a gasp and eventual silence.

“That’s normally a good sign.” Miss Belinda explained to Damon with a knowing smile.

“Oh my god.” She said it again with a finality as she opened the fitting room door with fumbling fingers and walked out on shaky limbs.

Breathlessly Miss Belinda asserted, “That’s the one. My job here is down, child.” Politely, she walked away to give them some space to admire how a dress like that could bring forth the magic that young lady already possessed.

“What do you think?”

Damon was robbed of any logical thoughts to piece together.

She was standing there in a corset that made her waist invisible and a gown that looked like a beautifully designed layer of second skin. As tiny as she was, her legs, which were completely revealed, looked extended from the high cut of the bodysuit. Her skin was like gold. The veil interwoven itself with a train that reached far beyond her for a few feet, gossamer enough that it trailed behind her when she walked and caught air in the slightest of movements.

Bonnie Bennett was ethereal.

Bonnie Bennett was unreal.

“I feel naked.” She filled in at Damon’s unusual silence. “Speak now or forever hold your peace.” She giggled as if the awkwardness could banish with her little lilt.

Oh he was gaping on the inside, bad. He had to tighten his jaw to make sure it didn’t go slack, that’s how paralyzingly beautiful she was.

Was it bad of him that he didn’t want Bonnie to marry Derek? Not in that. Not looking so stunning. But he couldn’t bring himself to tell her to look for another gown. There was no way in hell he could lie like it wasn’t made for her.

“Bonnie-you look…”

He was grasping for the right words but they weren’t extravagant enough. They weren’t dynamic or remarkable or pertinent enough to express his admiration and actual butterflies-in-the-stomach kind of feeling she was giving him. His palms were sweating.

Damon could imagine himself at the wedding, those same butterflies turning into eels, his insides flipping a few times over when Bonnie and Derek kissed. When Bonnie Bennett became Bonnie Hale.

That Derek.

What a lucky bastard.

“Honestly, Bonnie, you look like you have wings.”



ughhhhh you’re hitting me right in the feeeeels 🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥲🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 i love this idea. this is a pureeee Bamon fluff moment <33333

Damon had a chat with Bonnie- well, vent session really- about how he didn’t give a damn about Halloween. After a century and a half of witnessing angels and devils, he’d seen enough red and white polyester for a lifetime. Halloween was just gimmicky and trite and without any kids, what did it matter?

That was the end of September, and while Bonnie didn’t say much during his rambling, she’d hum her concession at every spare sentence distractedly.

By October first, Bonnie came over with puppy dog eyes and pumpkins, suggesting, (begging,) that they carve out “spooky” faces and hide the seeds in moist soil and well, he couldn’t deny her. Especially not after the puppy dog eyes.

“For someone who didn’t want to do this, you’re pretty amazing at carving pumpkins.”

You’re one to speak, Damon thought to himself as he watched Bonnie use the knife like a floating stylus, you’re carving without using hands.

“I’m brilliant at everything I do.” He stated confidently.

“Can I take my compliment back?”

“Nope.”

When they finished, Bonnie magically lit small tea candles and sat them in the pumpkin heads as lanterns during the nighttime.

“Show off,” Damon mumbled.

The light in her eyes made him think that this Halloween might not be so bad after all.

.

Damon realized very quickly what this whole ordeal was about.

Bonnie was no longer eighteen, or twenty-two, or even twenty-five; she was twenty-eight so it wasn’t far-fetched for him to assume that she was having a severe case of baby fever.

She was just coooing and awwwing a little too much at the kid’s costumes and took it upon herself to use her witchy powers as entertainment, and though she was fooling the stupid kids, Damon knew no “magician” could juggle blow pops in mid air.

“If you really want to use your powers, why not scare the living shit out of them?” He pointed a rigid thumb at the adorable kids behind his back as one dressed as Batman covered his mouth in surprise at Damon’s foul language.

“Ooo, he said a bad word,” one kid whispered to the next and quickly the gang of mini comic book heroes decided they preferred the “magician” over the vampire.

“Damon, please.” Bonnie sighed, then addressed the kids with a big smile as she extended a hand to send candy dropping into their bags out of their own accord.

“Oh wow, that looks so real!” A parent exclaimed.

“It is. She’s a witch.” The dad shook his head and laughed.

“It’s true. And I’m a vampire.” Damon extended his fangs and hissed for added drama. The kids, now fully terrified, ran off noisily and the beloved father only shook his head again and pointed a finger.

“You really almost got me there,” then he walked off to the next house.

Vampires and witches didn’t go bump in the night, only animal attacks did. Damon sighed.

“I might just stab myself and see what explanation they come up with when my body sews itself back together.”

“Please don’t.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“About what?”

“I don’t know- I can practically hear your ovaries about to burst when you see a baby in an idiotic costume.”

“That’s not true!”

“Bonnie you’ve got a whole side magic show…Care to explain?”

“I want to entertain them, Damon, is that so wrong? It’s Halloween for Christ’s sake,” he cut his eyes up to the ceiling, “get into the spirit.”

.

It was easier for him to be a little more festive when she really started scaring the older kids who were unimpressed with floating candy and making plants grow in front of their eyes.

They insisted it was special effects or hypnotism or this or that so when Bonnie made them hear a voice whispering in one ear and then the other, Damon finally developed a genuine smile on his face.

He could always advocate for a good punishment.

“Try not to enjoy this so much,” Bonnie teased.

“You first.”

.

They had just settled in, down to one bag of candy, The Nightmare Before Christmas on the television screen when Damon heard the last knock.

“I got it!” He called out to Bonnie who was in the kitchen of the boarding house throwing away the empty packages of sweets.

Damon’s breath caught in his throat when he opened the door to a pale little vampire with raven black hair. He looked up at him with crystal blue eyes and a smile missing his two front teeth.

“Trick or treat.” He declared, holding his bag out and open. By his side was a little brown-skinned girl with a black pointy hat and a broom.

“Bonnie this isn’t funny.” He called out.

“What do you mean?” And when she saw them she lost her breath too.

“No more candy, huh?” The little vampire asked with his left brow raised critically.

“You can’t just ask that, manners are important, Bennie.”

“Manners, shmanners. You’re not the boss of me, Dana. Who doesn’t have candy on Halloween?”

Bonnie looked over at Damon and mouthed, Bennie?

Dana? He mouthed back.

Before they could leave, she handed them the rest of the candy and Dana, ever so polite, thanked them graciously while Bennie trekked over to the next house.

Only when they sat on the couch with their bowl of popcorn did Damon speak again.

“Did we just enter the twilight zone?”

“Ya know, I think we did.”

i’ve never written about this!!! ty for the prompt this was so fun to think about (: <33 ask + u shall receive!!

….

Sometimes, Damon can’t believe it.

Life is a very funny thing, both haha funny and strange funny, and it’s moments like these where he sits and reflects on the doors that he’s opened, the doors he’s closed, the ones where he’s stayed a while, kicked off his shoes, grabbed some wine, and never ever left.

Bonnie is meeting him for movies and popcorn, their typical Sunday routine, only this is no ordinary Sunday because Friday, he broke up with Elena. Bonnie is supposedly emotional support though he keeps it to himself that he doesn’t need it. He will milk every ounce of affection he can out of his bestie if it means she’ll stay a while longer.

Just like that, everything that he fought hard for he decides to let go because despite the incredible sex and history Elena and Damon have… things still aren’t…right. With every obstacle out of the way, the house quieter, just the two in each other’s presence, it is loud that they will probably never mesh well.

Plus, even a few years after Stefan’s death, Damon notices the room in her heart for him shrinks in size and maybe it’s the fact that the only common ground they have now is Bonnie Bennett- everyone else is either dead or annoying enough that Damon refuses to discuss them, (Caroline, Matt, Jeremy,) they can’t talk about Stefan since his absence still hurts too much. And while Elena is a tad exhausted by only chatting about “his little witch,” Damon can go on and on for days.

Like word vomit, he’s all Bonnie this and Bonnie that in discussions to the point where he’s inwardly cringing at himself but he just can’t stop.

“You know she was my best friend first,” Elena says to him one day after he fusses about Bonnie not answering her phone within the first three rings. There’s a strange look in her expression that perturbs Damon- of course he knows that. Of course.

“Yeah, yeah, but I could’ve been dying over here. I could’ve already been dead. You know she doesn’t have anything to live for if I’m not around,” he jokes snidely.

Elena is folding clothes in the laundry room, she doesn’t laugh or look at him, just continues bending dried garments into a convenient, placeable stack.

Tough crowd.

….

“You ever thought about… I don’t know…? Dating?” Alaric says this, a glass of golden whiskey to his mouth before he knocks it back down his throat and the only thing that’s left is the large, sparkling ice cube. When he slaps the glass down, the ice klinks characteristically. It’s been perhaps a month or two since Damon and Elena’s split.

“Me and Judgey? Are you insane? That’s my-“

“Best friend. Yeah. Everyone’s aware.”

Damon’s brows knot up in confusion, and his eyes hold an expression of disbelief.

“It’s Bonnie,” He says, blue eyes twinkling with an almost believable mirth like he thinks it’s a joke that Alaric would even ask.

“It is.” He confirms.

A minute passes of Damon rubbing the back of his neck, Ric staring aimlessly at his empty glass before he speaks up again.

“So you haven’t… you know…”

“What?” Damon makes a hand gesture of the obviously forbidden word before shaking his head vehemently. “Of course not.”

“Oh, I know that. I was going to ask if you’ve ever…thought about it?”

Bonnie? With her legs wrapped around his waist as he makes every inch of his dick disappear into her hot and gushy anatomy? So deep inside her that their hips touch?

He clears his throat.

“Of course not.” Damon repeats.

….

It’s a momentary lapse of judgement-the kiss- and when she doesn’t reciprocate or move at all, really, the awkwardness is a brick that sinks in the bottom of his stomach.

Leaf green eyes and a beating heart too panicky to be calm but she just brushes it all away like eraser marks on a timed essay.

Damon never imagines rejection to be so simple that he can just pretend that it never happened. He takes the exit and sits back in friend zone where he’s always belonged.

Things are kinda sorta normal for a week.

….

“Truth or dare?” Bonnie suggests that they play it and on queue, Damon throws out sexual innuendo in an insert-line-here-fashion. She cringes, rolls her eyes, tries not to laugh.

Normal.

But then she dares him to kiss her again and things are so far from normal that somehow they end up in bed together, completely naked, and completely wild.

And God, Bonnie begs, pleads, when she’s under Damon but when she gets on top, it’s him that’s asking for permission.

“Fuck, Bon,” he mumbles before leaving a long stream of cursive inside of her.

Their eyes are crystallized, perhaps it’s the moonlight.

….

He shouldn’t feel this betrayed when he hears it, the second heartbeat, but something inside of him snaps.

“Found another best friend?” Damon asks, they haven’t had sex since that wonderful, miraculous night a little over one month ago but the sexual tension between them is as taut as a rubber-band.

She laughs, not noticing the pain in his tone. “With what time?”

It’s a solid question. He’s had Bonnie to himself practically every evening, her stuff is vicariously thrown around the house; she’s in all the rooms at once.

But there’s undeniably an extra heartbeat, he hears it with each pause, each breath she takes, the incessant thump.

“Um,” Damon’s tumbler slips out of his grasp and crashes to the floor.

Bonnie backs away from the mess.

“Um?”

….

Pregnant Bonnie is his favorite Bonnie, from her cravings, to her glow, to her new abundance of cleavage. The two of them can’t stop thinking how this could be, how their lives keep getting stranger and stranger, how nature keeps being redefined, and the rules keep bending and breaking.

Her new favorite things are chocolate chip cookies with salty chips baked in, chocolate-and honey-covered strawberries, spicy sausages, pickle juice.

His hands find their new home in rubbing Bon’s baby bump until she drifts off into a nap.

When her breathing gets heavier indicating she’s in a deep sleep he says into her hair, “You should marry me.”

And he means it.

….

Luna Bennett-Salvatore arrives with soft brown skin and Heterochromia iridum: one ice blue eye and one leaf green one.

Damon nicknames her Bam since Bonnie decides to scrap his name suggestion altogether.

“Bamon! It’s our names combined,”

“No.”

“But what if-“

“No.”

And Luna aka Bam grows very fast. She smiles a lot. Babbles a lot. To Bonnie’s dismay, she says “dada” first.

“Look at Daddy’s Girl,” he says, holding his princess high in the air. “You know what, Bam, I better not say that too loud. Mommy was Daddy’s Girl before you.”

“Oh my God,” Bonnie mumbles, hiding her smile.

She likes to fall asleep with her little arms hugging Bonnie’s neck, the side of her face pressed against hers.

“Don’t be jealous,” Bonnie says when Damon crosses his arms.

“Jealous?” He tsks. “I can do that too,” He bundles Bonnie and Luna up in his arms. “you should marry me,” he says into her hair.

She could see her new life behind her, Damon stuffing her in the back of the Camaro, Honey waving her away with fondness in her eyes.

I’m tired of the pats on my back for persisting.

She’d be but a fever dream, nothing more than a beautiful mark of glitter in the memories of her coworkers.

Damon thinks and thinks and obsesses over what happened only an hour ago, with Bonnie now resting peacefully beside him, hair curving to frame her face like a cradle. There’s a little content smile on her lips as if she hadn’t sobbed herself to sleep. Her dorm bed is hardly enough room for their two horizontal bodies so her arms are wrapped around his waist, ear pressing against his chest; she’s warm against him like a furnace.

It is almost as if she never took a bulldozer and plowed through the wall of defense she built for herself throughout the years. Like her breakdown was an illusion. Not a groan of inadequacy or dissatisfaction fell from her lips because she is sleeping now and she’s therefore okay. Mystic Falls is far away and can’t touch her in her dreams.

He never really thought about it so restlessly or even evaluated the effects that his very messy decisions can have on the circle surrounding him.

He never properly pondered the effects that it does have on the person he wears like a shield, Bonnie Shelia Bennett.

The tiny little witch with the huge heart, it is so easy for people like him-narcissists- to manipulate and bait and make expendable without a thought.

And he’s supposed to be her best friend.

Why does she have to be so selfless and caring and, and perfect? The world takes advantage of people like her and feasts on all the loving, generous, kindhearted people it can because there’s not plenty to go around. Damon knows this. Bonnie pours into them like it’s her obligation, like she has to but she doesn’t.

She doesn’t.

How could they have allowed this for so long? Without even asking if she’s okay or... sane? Thoughts of Bonnie and her well-being haunt him and it could be hours or minutes but the swarm of memories and his newfound concern whisk away the time.

He knows it’s later than he thinks when the door opens with a slow creak, announcing Caroline’s return. There’s the sound of tip toeing before she turns on her lamp switch and no, she doesn’t expect to see Damon looking like she has disturbed him or something.

He gives her an accusatory glance, noting her heels in hand the stench of dumb jock on her like an eau de parfum.

“Fun night, Blondie?”

She’s surprised to see him still there, and not pleasantly.

Damon doesn’t understand how she whispers shrilly but she manages to go into an ear-injuring tirade, scolding him about The Real World and how it isn’t the prison world because, for once, everything isn’t about him. The words seem to flow so freely and practiced that he starts to think this is no improvisation and Care Bear has had this thought on her mind for some time. She says he’s holding her best friend back and that Bonnie long left the “Damon Cubicle” when she returned home so he should stop acting like she’s the only person to exist in this world so she can do the same.

Her chest heaves after her rant and she sighs like she just released a burden. It’s not how she pictured this intervention would go, unloading like a floodgate too early or too late in the wee hours of the morning, but not even she can stick to the plan sometimes. She loves her friend too much to allow Damon stagnating her progress, her wellbeing, her life- for any longer.

“What if Bonnie just adores me and my company,” he says, mostly to annoy her.

Dogmatically Caroline replies, “Stockholm Syndrome.”

He feels a sting in there somewhere that mentally makes him go “ouch.”

“You’re just jealous Bon likes me more.” He only replies to have the last word so none of her remarks can sink in too deep. He’s had his fair share of overthinking for the night.

Damon leaves before she can come up with a rebuttal.

——

Bonnie awakens with a hangover and her hair nearly strangling her and it’s the first time that she’s noticed how fast her hair has grown. It gives her a feeling of relief because she can say good riddance to the bob she thought she’d love forever until it almost came to that. Forever.

She fingers a long, dark strand between her long, light nails and feels a quiet satisfaction amidst her pounding head.

Quickly, her memory is back and the feeling of mortification upends her self-admiration.

She spends most the morning trying to hide her moodiness about last night. It lingers in her head all day because she doesn’t do that- it’s not her. Tequila is to blame for her break in character, the sensitivity, the temperament, the peck, the bite. The bite. she violently pushes the flirty advances at Damon into the far recesses of her mind until it’s flimsier than a memory.

Damn that alcohol.

She did want to thank him for everything but he’s gone in the morning and she understands- she does. It’s not like she feels a glimmer of something tug at her heartstrings, it’s not like there’s a smudge of disappointment in the pit of her gut.

She easily loses herself in Caroline’s telling of her sex escapade from the night before, only a tiny bit envious that she doesn’t have one to share with her. But, she tells herself, she would rather have no story than one with Damon.

She laughs on queue at Caroline’s punchline.

When she’s done reliving her adventures, Caroline looks at her with an almost matriarchal love in her eyes because she is so happy to have her best friend back. Her skin is all glow-y and she looks gorgeous, really, with her long lashes and flushed cheeks. She looks alive.

She reminds her of high school Bonnie, right before she discovered her lineage. Her hair was almost as long as it is now, and she has the same fiery look in her green eyes but more complex. Caroline hasn’t seen Bonnie look so light in years- and why did she ever cut her hair to begin with?

“You look amazing, Bon,” she gushes, but there’s something about her that she can’t quite place her finger on.

She knows that look. Bonnie is the only one in their trio that has never worn that look.

It’s the face she herself wore with Klaus, the face Elena wore with Damon. The layered gaze of someone who knows something they won’t share.

She wants to know but she’ll give it some time because, she thinks, the answer may not be as hard as it seems.

——

Bonnie always thought a blind date consisted of meeting someone new; a blank slate of sort so she can decide whether or not this person is a solid addition to her life. If not, she will have her fun, receive another free meal or two, get that itch scratched if she’s brave enough, (she never is.) Beneath it all, a blind date is someone she has never seen.

Caroline’s interpretation greatly differs from hers and Bon thinks next time she asks her friend for help, they’ll communicate effectively. They’ll establish definitions so they’re both on the same page.

Stefan looks almost as shocked as she does to see her, his date, but he gives her a hug anyway and they both laugh and shake their heads in sync.

“Asking Caroline for dating advice?”

“I could say the same for you,” Stefan lifts a heavy brow.

“At first, I was thinking ‘what the hell’ but now...I’m really thinking it.”

“I almost feel insulted.”

They laugh again.

“Geez, Bonnie, am I not up to par?” she knows that he’s joking but she can’t help to think.

Is he not up to par?

Physically, Stefan is handsome in an almost classic way. Almost because something about him is surreal, maybe even sinister, and gives him a bit of an edge to an otherwise generically attractive face.

Could be his height.

Or maybe it’s the quality about him that seems like he’s drawn in smoke. So illusive Bonnie can’t describe him even when looking directly at him. His eyes are green or hazel, his hair blond or brown or somewhere in between.

The sunlight filters in bright and vivid in the Grill yet his features cling to every shadow like a small sign of caution: PRETTY BUT DEADLY. The only thing cemented is the perfect bone structure and the penetrating gaze, the full dark brows, the lips.

Stefan’s the good guy, (compared to Damon anyway.) He does have a crazy side but he’s far better at controlling it than most crazy people she knows. He’s charming. Charismatic but not in a way that’s obvious.

Perhaps she understands Caroline’s logic on this one; they’re both similar in demeanor, more or less the calm ones in most situations, they share a levelheaded nature and a mystery in which it’s hard to guess what they’re thinking.

But a romantic connection? A date? It’s a bit of a reach so she has her doubts. Plus, there’s something that makes her uneasy about the situation because she knows Damon would hate this.

Not that it matters.

The moment is prolonged between them so she tries to recover the banter. “Stefan, be real, how could you not be up to par?”

She needs polishing, she does, because she can’t recall the last time she’s been on a date. Yes, her remark is flirty but maybe it’s too forward. Or maybe she’s just overthinking.

He gives a toothless smile, all stretched lips before raising his glass and making a toast. “To pars,”

“To pars.”

Their glasses clink and the two lock eyes in the moment.

Grey. His eyes are grey.

——

They develop a deeper friendship and Stefan thinks there is something positively different about Bonnie that he can’t quite pinpoint. She even smells sweeter.

It’s remarkable how different she looks and acts because she seems so free and unbothered, and it’s not so much in her speech as it is in her behavior. He’s not even sure if she’s aware of it.

He feels this crush blossoming, the commencement of a stomach-fluttering infatuation. One that will have him journaling like an obsessive school girl. He could deny it, that gut-fluttering feeling, but he’s too self-aware. Stefan is a hopeless romantic, which can be his downfall, so he tries not to project anything on to Bonnie just yet because she could very well be uninterested. That would be devastating for him but he’s experienced worse.

How did Bonnie Bennett sneak up on him like this?

It’s only a week after that first date but this is his third time back on campus. He’s helping her study like a good friend would.

Caroline thinks the couple is a perfect demonstration of her observational skills and how thorough she is in match-making.

Damon is still very much unaware which is good because Stefan knows Damon. He won’t like this when he finds out.

He’s had his head so far away lately, Stefan notices, completely lost in his thoughts which is unlike him. Damon is starting to challenge his title for the brooding brother. Whatever is occupying his thoughts, that he’s already remotely refused to share, must be something serious.

Just as long as it keeps his focus elsewhere to prolong him from finding out about them- this. Their... friendship. Bonnie and Stefan. It has a nice ring to it.

Her nose is buried in a novel by Toni Morrison as Stefan discreetly observes her. His gaze traces the pensive expression on her face, clinging to the curve of her cheek, the tilt of her brows. Lower he drops his eyes to graze those shapely brown legs in the cutoff shorts before he returns to her face. He admires his latest discovery: the cute tension in her mouth that appears when she’s concentrating.

Bonnie is studying literature and the only subject he’s studying is her and he lets himself have this moment while she’s completely unaware so he can drink her in.

The ironic thing is that he has overlooked her so many times, never letting his mind linger on Bonnie for too long because, yes, she’s gorgeous but she’s also Elena’s friend. And Elena used to be his world. But now she isn’t and she hasn’t been for years. His eyes are opened, fully seeing the little witch for who she is, not what she can do or how many ways she can bend.

His cell phone buzzing breaks his concentration, he answers without looking at the caller identification because he knows it’s Damon.

“Yes?”

“Why are you hanging out with Bonnie, brother?” He has an edge in his voice with a tone that is all but condemning.

How could he expect Damon to do anything other than sabotage a perfect moment in its prime?

“Is there a reason I can’t?” Stefan can feel his forehead maze. For the life of him he will never understand why Damon is like this. He knew he would react this way, being jealous and possessive. For centuries his brother makes his biggest insecurity prevalent, poking and prodding to see if the people he loves the most like Stefan more than him. It’s one hell of an inferiority complex.

Bonnie’s eyes are on him now. They remind him of lily pads, offset by her golden brown skin and dark brown hair. Put a Venetian red background behind her and she’s a walking Renaissance portrait. Her eyes shift to a distance behind him and he hears steps approaching.

“Well when you’re making googly eyes at my best friend, it makes me a little sick in the stomach.”

The sound is magnified, once through the receiver, and again in real life as Damon adds himself to the study session, putting a chair between him and Bonnie like a proper third wheel.

Stefan internally groans.

He’s wearing a gray t-shirt and dark jeans that he dusts off before actually seating himself. “What’s on the agenda today, folks?” He gives a tight smile, sending a quick death glare to Stefan. “I knew when I couldn’t get in touch with Bon Bon that she must be preoccupied.”

“Funny how you didn’t take the hint,” Bonnie jokes.

“You know I’ve never been one to listen, bestie. What’s he doing here?” He gestures to Stefan like he’s just a minor inconvenience and not a living, breathing, being.

“...Really?” Stefan lets out a grave sigh.

He goes unaddressed as Damon keeps his eyes on Bonnie.

“I’m studying, and Stefan is assisting.”

“Sure about that?”

“We’re not in the mood for games, Damon. If you want to be involved, stop the interrogation and, i don’t know, be normal for once? I know it’s a bit of stretch.”

“Oh it’s a lot more than a ‘bit of a stretch’, Bon. I’m so far from normal it’s not even funny.” He props his arms behind his head and leans back in his seat.

“Damon. Why are you here?” he wants to extract him like a bad tooth.

“No, Stefan, the real question is why are you here? Last time I checked, I’m the one who gets to visit Bon Bon unannounced. That’s what friends are for. But you, you’re easily an acquaintance. Has something... changed?” There’s a peppering of accusation as he threads an eye line between Bonnie and Stefan.

She doesn’t even hear Stefan’s retort from the wave of thoughts that washes over her.

Everything about this moment is surreal. Having the first-hand experience of this ordeal feels like astral projection in which some godly thing snatched her mid-voyage and squeezed her into a shell of Elena. Only after a few minutes of bickering, Bonnie now sort of knows what it’s like to be put on a pedestal by the Salvatore brothers and she gets it. She finally understands why her sleeping friend would die for a power like this- to be loved like this.

And even angry, even at odds, the boys really are beautiful.

Elena must have felt like the world was in her palm, with two scarily attractive wrecking balls willing to destroy everything if it meant a smile on her face. She must have felt a little less human surrounded by unearthly handsome brothers who would fight for her and over her, changing everyone surrounding them for her namesake.

However, Bonnie doesn’t truly think she wants to be the host that this parasitical Salvatore thing attaches to next- simply being a bystander while it was directed to Elena left her life in ruins. She’s only just put the pieces back together, and god there were a lot.

The boys though.

They’re beautiful.

Stefan in all his chivalry, she can sense his embarrassment to be related to such a hard ass, a slight fluster in his cheek is the one indication that he’s annoyed and frustrated. His Adam’s Apple bobs when he speaks, his jaw clenches a little too forcefully when he’s quiet, defense in those stony eyes; she’s never seen tension look so good. He’s the one you conjure when you think of the perfect knight for your fairytale ending because he fits. He’s what you were dreaming for since you were six and you realized, like your dolly, you need a prince. He’s the reward the heroes get in every story, the American Dream on legs. The fight, the struggle, the blood, sweat, and tears, you trudge through it all for a taste of goodness because it’s worth it. Stefan makes it worth it.

And then there’s Damon, the pain, the asshole who really grew on her because she never thought he could have a heart until he placed her in it. He knows just how to annoy Stefan, taunting him to break character so he isn’t in this word war alone. He always gets what he wants. The one who makes everyone uncomfortable with how effortlessly he flaunts his sex appeal, how carelessly he can trap you in fantasies of him. He awakens an insatiable ache between the legs that leaves you dripping, thinking of all the things you’re forbidden to do because someone like Damon is never yours. He’s the husband of, boyfriend of, best friend of, and it’s never you. A wink from those baby blue eyes is so promising but trying to catch him is like grasping air- he’s everywhere and nowhere at all but you fucking need him.

And she’s Bonnie. Not Elena, just Bonnie.

She would be a fool to think them fighting over her is the same as them fighting over Elena because it just isn’t. With Elena, it was different. They were caught in an intricate web of love, lust, and infatuation which was undoubtedly the recipe for disaster.

With Bonnie, they aren’t in love, they’re only bickering over her friendship.

And the thing about friendship, friendship is manageable, friendship is controllable, friendship she can handle.

Elena must have felt like the god of her own world with two hellish men devoting their lives to her safety and her harm, both the protector and danger rolled into one. How it must have felt to have friends and lovers die over her to come back and die again. To have people care for her like that without doing anything harder than existing.

Her sleeping Lena had heaven on earth while she had hell on wheels and Bonnie knows a friend she made in the underworld would tell her to live it up before she died again and no one bothered to bring her back.

In a truly twisted, ironic way, she misses that friend.

What if it’s time for the scales to rebalance and the things that fell apart must unite again?

Before, Damon thinks it’s okay because there’s really no plausible reason to stop Bonnie from drinking another tequila; she’s having fun at this party plus he has never seen her drunk so it gives him a pretty valid pass to say what the hell, what could go wrong?

He’s got a Hawkeye out anyway, making sure she won’t have any Britney moments in her tiny dress or no horny dickhead lays a finger anywhere near her. He’s feeling like the proper bodyguard, way more handsome than Kevin Costner could ever dream of, and his little Whitney Houston is perfectly under his control.

The first notion that maybe Bodyguard Damon did not have drunk Witchy Houston in control occurs when she kisses Caroline. Sloppily. But Caroline is in a slightly better state than she is, which doesn’t say much, so they both laugh it off like it’s just a friendly shoulder to shoulder hug. Now his curiosity is peaked as to what activities they partake in at their slumber parties. He smirks.

Then she approaches him, eyes glittering with mischief and (anger?) as she pokes a finger in the bridge of his chest and says, “You. Dance with me. Now.”

There’s no slurring or anything so she can’t be that messed up, he finds her little antics amusing. “Woah witchy, slow down on the tequila. It’s making you a bully.”

“It makes me wanna fight.”

She stares him in the eyes with her brows set low like she nominates him to be her punching bag.

“So you were fighting Caroline just now?”

“What?”

“That make out session?”

“Really Damon, you blow everything out of portion.”

“Everything out of proportions, Judgey. You’re clearly not smarter than a fifth grader.”

She sends another thump to his chest, right in the center and frowns. “Shut up.”

Truly, he thinks she’s adorable.

And yes, she must be extremely tipsy because he’s never really seen Bonnie dance before outside of the Slow Dance Side Step or a casual sway to mid tempo music but now he’s watching her dip it low, and swing her hair to a r&b artist singing runs about her body. And he can’t look away.

Baby, I’m talking crazy I,

Need you right in my space, for now

Need it, baby I’m late, but I

Still can check in with you

“I loveeee this song,” she draws out and grabs Damon’s wrist to come closer to her. He doesn’t put up much of a fight. Not because he enjoys it or anything, he just doesn’t want to harm little witchy.

He’s shocked because he never realized she could be so sensual, the lights are purple and she’s staring him directly in the eyes with this look of freedom that makes him wonder what chamber of secrets she keeps locked in her closet of skeletons. She turns around, back facing him and intertwines her hands with his, winds her waist in the seat of his pants and he knows for a fact that his cheeks are aflame. He’s never been this tense in his life, it’s almost like he’s been staked- Bonnie is dancing on him and he’s letting her because his mind is allowing him to think that she’s really, really, realllly sexy in this moment. What the hell.

The realization is a whisper in his mind; to admit to himself that he’s been hit with a heavy wind of attraction towards Bonnie leaves him feeling a pang of something uncomfortable in his stomach. Like he’s betrayed himself, searching for something in someone else that was always blatantly there in her.

“My mind, my mind and my body,” Bonnie soulfully sings along, breaking his concentration. “My mind, my mind and my heart.”

She faces him again, grinning and finger combing the wildness out of her hair. He watches her watch him as she pulls him close until they are chest to chest, tilts her chin up and braces herself on her tip toes, to say into his ear “You’re like this irresistible, ancient, hot vampire who can’t dance.”

He’s taken aback, one because of the compliments and two because of the insults. Plus, he’s still stuck in the trance she’s placed him in and he begs to differ because he can dance, he’s just not trying to now.

“Yes I can.” He can’t take the defense out of it even if he tried.

She gives him space again to throw her arms up to the music, obviously not interested in hearing his rebuttal. Her skin is dewy from her body heat as she comes back to him, and holds on to his back as she continues to sing along.

I don’t know what it it

I can’t tell you what it is

But you got me going crazy,

Sex with you is so amazing,

Her heartbeat is at this lazy languid pace, he can feel it pulsing against him, as she hums her way through the next line of the song and he pretends that there isn’t this nervousness that’s crawling on his shoulder from being this close to Bonnie while she’s in an unpredictable state. She’s already intensely touchy feely and it’s a tad unsettling. His prime role is Space Invader yet here she is. Draped over and around him like a careless scarf.

He can sense her body weight growing heavier, guessing a sleepiness must be washing over her as she barely muffles a yawn.

“I like you a lot, Damon,” her voice is heavy, lips brushing against the shell of his ear.

He hates himself for feeling something bubbling up and settling over him. In his being is this deep satisfaction that Bonnie is seeing him through a lens she would never admit to out loud under nearly any circumstance. He knows he is an attractive guy, and he knows women are aware by the way they vie for his attention when they sense his presence but Bonnie is different. There are countless times he feels the witch bite back on a compliment.

Tonight, however she’s delivering heady flirtation and admittedly, he’s giddy. It makes him feel victorious even if she is a little tipsy and tired.

She bats her eyelashes and once again he finds himself stranded in the hazy focus of her green eyes.

“God, you’re so pretty. Take me home, pretty boy.” she says, and he is quick to comply.

The drive to Bonnie’s dorm is quiet, he thinks she’s asleep but when he looks over there’s a pensiveness in her expression as she observes the passing street from the window.

“You okay?”

She nods, then nestles into the seat. Her eyes trace his scarily stunning features subconsciously and she admires the way his short hair cut complements his bone structure so well.

“I like your hair when it’s like this,” she hums. Her fingertips race through his scalp and he nearly swerves.

“Are you okay?” Bonnie echoes in response to his jerkiness.

He almost rudely says “Of course, witchy.”

“Sheesh, you pretty much gave me whiplash yet somehow you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset.” He replies flat-toned.

“I should be the mad one, I wanted to leave here with someone who could put me to bed in an entirely different way.” She smooths a fingertip over her bottom lip.

“And what way is that?” His brow lifts and it reminds her of a see-saw.

“In a way a friend can’t.”

A challenge drifts like smoke in the vehicle, then decidedly settles in their clothes and hair. The suggestion in Bonnie’s voice and demeanor leaves him feeling something he doesn’t want to admit to himself.

He can’t leave it alone. The metaphoric mic has dropped and Damon must pick it up because he wouldn’t be himself if he didn’t.

“But I’m your best friend.”

A vision of him pinning her up against the walls comes so intrusively that it’s stuck. It sits on his guilty conscience like water trapped in the ear.

“And? So is Caroline.”

“You made out with her tonight.”

“Now it’s your turn?”

Damon’s eyes are stuck between the glowing dividers in the road as he shakes off her words dismissively. Sober Bonnie wouldn’t push a subject like that, wouldn’t bait him into saying the thing that’s lying under his tongue.

He deflects with humor. “Maybe I’m jealous.” But he says it like it’s the most unbelievable statement in the world.

Lapis eyes on emerald.

“Maybe you are.” With a finality more conclusive than a period.

He’s in the middle of parking when she shuffles around in her seat, brings her face to the side of his and pecks his jaw.

Just like that, a press of warm lips on cold skin. He has no time to react.

And even after he parks, he looks ahead, unable to make eye contact. She doesn’t even move back to her seat, just hovers like a cloud, lashes swiping his cheek, before leaning in again and lightly biting the side of his neck. Her magic is there, inside him, in that spot.

He makes a sound so pained with want that he wishes someone could cuff his hands behind his back so he can do nothing but exist.

Such a small gesture of lips and teeth is like cutting into the thick cake of their bottomless sexual tension and serving it on a platter to the starved. Her scent alone consumes the space in his car with agave and alcohol. The natural smell of her lotion. The fruity smell of her lip gloss on his neck, right where that bite mark isn’t disappearing.

Nice to breathe you, Bonnie.

She is everywhere and not and he is just there, wrestling with the alternative parts of himself. The parts that would totally take advantage of a moment like this. Eat her alive or sex her to death?

He shakes his head like it could rid him of his nature. It somewhat helps. “Bonnie.”

Said cautiously because if that bottomless cake isn’t removed in enough time, the hungry man will tear in savagely, bread crumbs clinging to lip, icing boiling in stomach acid.

She snaps back in her seat like a taut rubber band. Very quiet.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.” It’s a mechanical response.

He’s too busy wrestling his mind to respond. Damon cannot trust himself to think.

He ends up in her dorm because she needs him; she’s wobbling when she walks and it’s dire that he’s with her so no filthy predator assaults her. She needs him in her presence because her steps are wobbly, she honestly could fall down the stairs and die at any moment so he trails after her like a curtain blowing in the breeze. One cautionary arm outstretched and wrapped safely around her waist. She’ll thank him in the morning.

Bonnie looks like a tiny ballerina, as she plops on her bed, then stretches. Her limbs lengthen but his eyes are trapped in the half dome of her back arch. They slide down curvy brown legs to pointed toes that accuse him, the intruder, who is still standing and tense. She finishes her lazy stretch with a roll of her shoulders, one strap of her dress slips down.

“Hey,”

“Hey.”

“I’m sorry about what happened.. in the car.”

He sits next to her. “Oh that thing? Don’t worry about it, Bon Bon.”

“Yeah. I’m a little-“

“Drunk? No way!”

“Tipsy, Damon. And I get kinda. You know.”

His brows stitch in mock confusion. “Kinda...?”

“Damon.”

“What? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You’re such a child,”

“Says the one who can’t say h-huh-hor-“

“Stop, Damon,” She nudges his shoulder and tries to fight the laugh from creeping up her throat. She poorly executes a pout. “Seriously. It’s been a really long time.”

“I’m celibate until Elena wakes up. I’m sure you’ll get laid before you’re an old cat lady.”

“We both know your sex ventures make mine look juvenile.”

“Jeremy is juvenile in general.”

She swats him.

“Can’t you like magical-woo-woo yourself into an orgasm?”

“It’s not better than the real thing.”

Damon is fighting so much suggestive imagery floating around in his mind of Bonnie and The Real Thing.

“You still have time.”

“But what if I die next year?”

“You won’t.” His expression hardens.

“Damon, you don’t know that.”

“I know I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“You don’t get it. It’s like Caroline gets to do whatever she wants, Elena was able to do whatever she wanted. They are both free in ways I’ve never experienced. I’m Bonnie. Just Bonnie. My magic is the only thing that I feel a deep soul-tying connection to, but I can barely call that mine. I want to be desired and worshipped and I want to explore.”

“Then do it.”

“I can’t!”

“And why the hell not?”

“Because you, Stefan, Caroline, Alaric, Tyler, Joe, Kai, Klaus, Elijah, Katherine, you’re all my life! Both living and dead, Damon. Elena is my life!”

Silence.

“There is no room for me, my love life, my orgasms, my magic. My mother, my father, my gram-“ She frantically swipes at the tears trailing her visage. “All of that is gone. It was taken away from me.” Her voice shudders with emotion and Damon Salvatore feels like shit. She buries her face in her small hands and cries.

There’s a new feeling of guilt creeping up his shoulder. Nothing can rid him of the filth he feels now, the years he’s allowed himself and others to use his best friend without thinking twice. Forcing her power unto them like it was communal. She, of all people, did not deserve that. Not one bit. The space where she bit him burns.

“Damnit, Bon.” He scoops her up in his lap carefully because of her short dress and slides the strap that had fallen back up. His hand rubs her back lightly for comfort.

Bonnie Bennett is here, crying in his arms and he can do or say nothing because he is part of the problem. He cradles her and toes his shoes off because he will not leave her here alone.