You woke in a daze. The ever-shifting lights and blurred shapes in your vision swam together in a nauseating pattern and you groaned. Your cheek pressed into something soft under your head as your senses returned, the ache of unconsciousness subsiding slowly.
You were in a bed- a large one, adorned with thick, lush blankets and pillows covered in satin. It was familiar, though it was the first time you’d found yourself in the bed, and as you slowly pulled yourself up, you came to realize where you were.
Damon’s room was large, with an expanse of empty space between you and the door. Though it was dark, you could see light spilling from the bathroom, and the patter of water from the running shower.
Pushing the blankets down to your waist, you frowned at the feeling of silk sliding against your chest. Your clothes were someone else’s, a stark contrast to the thin cotton shirts and leather of your jacket you had spent the past few decades wearing.
Somewhere downstairs, voices floated toward the bedroom, and you strained to hear them. They were familiar, some of them overlapping in their argument, but the words were blurred by their hushed tones.
Light spilled across the dark wooden floor and onto the foot of the bed as the bathroom door pushed open. Steam rolled out, warming the otherwise cold room as Damon stepped out, a towel wrapped around his waist. His lips tugged into a smirk as he padded across the floor, leaving a trail of damp footsteps on the floor.
“And here I thought I was going to have to kiss you.” He stopped at the foot of the bed, the glow from the bathroom illuminating the water dripping over his muscles. “You know, to wake you up.”
“I’m hardly a princess,” you scoffed, leaning back into the pile of pillows behind you. Damon let his breath out through his nose, resting his hands on his hips. “What happened?”
“Kol’s dead,” he said, pulling the towel off his waist. You rolled your eyes, looking away as he toweled off his chest and arms. “Jeremy staked him after you went all kamikaze. Klaus is trapped in Elena’s living room, and Caroline found you some cute Hello Kitty pajamas and helped get all the vervain away from your skin.”
“Peachy,” you murmured, rubbing your eyes. “You wanna put some clothes on?”
“Not particularly.” Damon crossed to his dresser, tugging the top drawer open. “Living room’s full, by the way. Shane’s taking us to the cure in the morning, so we’re having a little sleepover. Pretty sure there’s a game of spin the bottle going on, if you’re interested.”
Leaning your head back, your eyes traced the shadows along the bedroom wall as Damon pulled on a pair of pants. “Not even a little,” you said, sighing. “Tomorrow? That soon?”
“Klaus’s time in living room jail is limited,” he said, tossing the towel on the floor. Coming toward you, he ran his hand through his wet hair. The bed creaked as he sat beside you, feet hanging over the edge of the bed as he turned toward you. “How you feelin’?”
Your brows tugged together and you shook your head, frowning. “I’m fine now. The vervain water…”
“He could have killed you,” he said. Damon reached toward you, his fingertips dancing over your cheek as he turned your face towards him. Your eyes remained on the wall until it slipped out of your peripherals, and there was nothing left to look at but Damon’s face. The light from the bathroom illuminated one side of it, his eyes shining brightly in the darkness of the bedroom. “You scared me.”
“Damon,” you sighed, reaching up to brush his hand off your cheek. His hand was cold, his fingertips calloused, but there was a familiar sense of warmth in your chest as his eyes scanned over you, as though checking for signs that you were still injured. “I had it handled.”
“Yeah,” he scoffed, dropping his hand in his lap. “That’s why I had to drag you out of the street and keep you away from Klaus.”
“So he knows the truth now.” You pulled your legs toward you, crossing them under the blanket. “No more pretending we’re on the same side.”
“Nope,” he said. “That is, as long as that’s what it was– pretending.”
“Of course I was,” you said, fidgeting with your fingers. Damon was close, leaning back on one hand as you spoke. “The only person I’m loyal to now is myself. You made sure of that.”
Damon’s smile wavered, and he stood up to move to his closet. “You can sleep downstairs if you want,” he said, pulling the door open. He reached up high and, unable to see the top shelf, felt around for something. “But Bonnie and Elena called dibs on the couches and the floor is pretty much all taken.”
“I’m not really a ‘sleepover’ girl.” You sat up straighter as Damon found what he was looking for, brushing dust off of an old, wooden box. He held it with both hands, his thumb fiddling with the lock.
He opened the box, sinking into the mattress beside you. He left one foot on the floor, bending the other at the knee as he settled into the pillows beside you. The box flipped open, and you tore your eyes away to stare hard at where his left foot nestled into the blankets beside your knee.
Damon carefully moved some of the contents of the box aside. Finding what he was looking for, he removed it, then carefully closed the lid and sat the box on the bedside table. His weight on the bed shifted and he held the object toward you. You glanced down at it, biting hard on the inside of your cheek. The rabbit was falling apart, the cloth yellowed with age, seams splitting at the ears and nose. One of the eyes had fallen off, leaving behind only strands of thread, and the stuffing had almost completely flattened in the torso.
“You used to sleep with it every night,” he said, shaking it back and forth so the ears flopped against its head. “Remember when you ran away? You thought it was gone forever. You were so upset, I had to go back and get it.”
Your hand shook as you reached for the rabbit, feeling the rigid, thick fabric of its face under your fingers. It was like touching a memory- you could see Damon, sitting in the plush red chair as you squeezed the rabbit against your chest, the glow of a fire illuminating his grin as you thanked him over and over again for returning the rabbit to you.
Your hand retracted, grabbing the blanket in your lap instead. “I’m not a child anymore, Damon.”
He lowered the rabbit, tucking it in the space between your bodies. “Yeah, I know.”
“And I’m not your flower.”
Damon slowly nodded, looking straight ahead. He clicked his tongue in understanding, clamoring slowly to his feet. “You should get some rest,” he said. “We’re leaving as soon as the sun’s up.”
The floorboards protested his heavy footsteps as he started for the door, and it fell closed behind him. You didn’t move for the longest time, hands limp in your lap, staring ahead without seeing.
The floor was cold under your feet. Your body moved without thinking, feeling all too heavy as you carried yourself toward Damon’s desk. The drawer echoed loudly as you pulled it open. The parchment paper filling the drawer had been folded and unfolded probably a hundred times, and the ink was somewhat faded, but by the light of the bathroom, you could make out your own handwriting on the top page.
Dearest Damon,
The world is dark here. Even in the company of my darling Christopher, I cannot help but feel the shadows that surround me in my own home. I am, some days, a prisoner, or a fluttering bird that cannot be freed from a wrought iron cage. Though I am reminded by your letters that there is light to be found, I fear I will not see it again, as you are so far away and I find myself thinking of you often.
I have grieved for you, as I have not received a letter in some time, and find my soul invaded with an ache caused by your absence. It is because of this that I have come to realize two things about myself that I can no longer deny.
Your throat was tight, barely letting your breaths pass through as you clenched the letters in your hands. The words blurred, and as you kept reading, you realized it was not the age of the ink or the creases in the paper, but a glaze of tears on your eyes that made the words hard to read.
The back of your hand scrubbed the tears from your eyes as you tossed the papers on the desk. Your breaths shook as you tried to will them away, and you made your way to the sink in search of tissues.
Damon’s door opened and closed as you were standing at the sink, your head hanging over it. You gripped either side of it, clenching the ceramic, lips parted with deep breaths.
“You’re wrong.”
Damon’s voice was soft, barely a whisper, but sounded like thunder in your ears. It was not the voice of the cold, callous man he had become, or the softened tone he had taken with you as a child. It was sincere, coming from deep in his chest, more from his heart than his lungs. You raised your head, the tears gone, and could see him clearly. His arms hung limp at his sides, his face crestfallen, as though he had… given up.
“About what?”
He hesitated, only for a second, tongue tracing his bottom lip. He did that a lot, when he was looking for the words to convey whatever he was feeling, whatever rage or anger or frustration tumbled around in his head. But he also did it when he was lost, or broken, or just plain… sad.
“You were always mine.”
“Damon-“
“I made it all the way downstairs,” he said. “Cause I thought, you know, it’s really over. This is really the end of whatever we had. She doesn’t want me anymore. And then I realized…”
You let go of the sink, standing up straight, eyeing him as he lingered in the doorway.
“I realized I’m not okay with that.” There was an air of confidence in his posture, the way he held himself very, very still, but his voice was unsteady and unsure. “I’m not okay with that at all, because I’mnot ready for it to be over.”
The bathroom was warmer than the bedroom. Whether it was the heat blowing through the vents or leftover steam from Damon’s shower was unclear, but what was undeniably obvious was the softness in Damon’s words, the twinkle in his eye that only appeared when he was looking at you.
“It’s been over,” you breathed. Your lips were numb, your skin tingling from the way Damon looked at you. “Whatever we had, it’s gone.”
“No, it’s not.” Damon shook his head, just barely, and he was smirking, knowing as well as you did that your words were empty and hollow. “I know you feel it, Y/n. I saw it at the pageant. I felt it… At the lake.”
He was right. You had seen it, too, in the way he looked at you when he first saw you, for the first time in a hundred and forty years, at the pageant. You had felt it at the lake, with his chest so close to yours, his breath on your face when he told you he had not forgotten you. It was the pain you had felt when you thought you were going to have to kill him. You felt it in his smile, in the depths of crystalline blue eyes; in his voice when he begged you to kill him. Every moment since you came to Mystic Falls, you had felt yourself being pulled toward him, closer and closer to the edge.
But–
He had hurt you, so many times. He had made promises he was unable to keep, had touched you gently and then let you go; had kissed you tenderly and left you in the cold. He had offered you love and companionship and then abandoned you.
“Damon,” you cleared your throat, stepping backwards. Damon’s brows dropped, realizing his overstep, and he didn’t reach for you like you expected him to. “I can’t do this.”
His jaw tightened, and he searched your face as though looking for- hoping for- some sign that you wanted him to press you, like maybe your words didn’t quite match what you were feeling. And they didn’t- you didn’t wanthim to let go, to leave you, to abandon you again… And he wouldn’t. He couldn’t do those things if you didn’t let him in in the first place.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, letting you put distance between you. “Y/n, I’m sorry.”
You nodded, staring down at your feet. “So am I.”
Damon rubbed at his nose, at a loss for what to do with his hands just to keep from reaching for you yet again. He glanced sideways, frowning at the sight of the stack of letters sitting on the desk.
“As a reminder.”
“What?”
“You asked why I kept your letters,” he said. “I kept them as a reminder that I never deserved you, so when I thought of you and felt bad that I lost you, I would remember it was my own fault.”
Those letters, wrinkled and faded and read a thousand times over, were the only tangible evidence of what you had once felt for Damon. And, in turn, they reflected the ache in his heart, the pain of spending years an ocean away, and the following century so far from your touch. And now, he was standing in the bathroom doorway, his wet hair sticking out in every direction and the bottom of his pajama pants scrunched around his bare feet. He was an arm’s length away; close enough to trace your fingers over his collarbone or tangle your hand in his hair. Only a moment stood between you curling your hand around the back of his neck, pulling him towards you and tasting the sweetness of his lips.
Why was he so far away?
And he wasn’t, not by the time your mind floated back to the surface, drifting away from the memories of fresh baked bread and roses, of Dracula and Mina, of the sunlight casting kaleidoscope shapes through the leaves of an elm tree. Your feet had moved you toward him, across the cold tile of the bathroom, until you were face to face with his bare chest. His head tilted toward you, daring you to look up into his eyes.
You could trace the shape of his muscles, tight under his skin, spreading like hills over his chest. The veins along his throat were rivers, guiding your eyes to his face. Blue eyes- lakes or oceans or the unending sea- flickered back and forth over your face. If Damon was a map, the destination was home.
Damon’s chest rose and fell with each breath, nearly touching the front of your silk shirt. His throat bobbed with a thick swallow, and as your hands found purchase on his arms, he too found your shoulders. His grip was steady but soft, thumbs coercing goosebumps on your flesh.
Your face raised, the warm taste of Damon’s breath on your lips. He was utterly still, his lashes fluttering as a shuddered breath escaped his mouth. His tongue pressed against the inside of his lips like a dare.
No one had utterly, endlessly owned your heart the way Damon had. The way he stilldid. Even with the mistakes, every moment when you’d felt lost without him, the heartbreak he had caused you time and time again, the longing for Damon consumed you in a way that hurt even more than all the things he had done. Perhaps having him here, so close and so far, washed away all of the fury and despair you’d felt in his absence. There was a hole in your heart, and Damon eagerly waited to pour his cup into it until you overflowed and drowned from it.
He kissed you. There was no poetry ever written, no sonnet or lyrical ballad, that could convey the faint press of his lips against yours. It was barely a kiss at all, as though the kiss were a secret, whispered by a ghost… Meant for you and only you. A delicate taste of bourbon drifted just out of reach, and when Damon slowly pulled himself away, he ran his tongue over his bottom lip, and the vague wonder of what do I taste of? flashed across your senses.
His eyes fell closed as though in a dream. Damon lifted his hand off your arm, curling it gingerly around the back of your neck. His lips pressed against your forehead, and your skin tingled at the sensation of him murmuring.
“Goodnight, flower.”
Your eyes had fallen closed, somewhere between Damon’s lips meeting yours and the press of a kiss on your forehead. All at once, the sound of his voice, the careful hand at the back of your neck, and the lingering kiss on your forehead vanished, and when you opened your eyes again, you were alone.
He wrote to her every week. He was always moving, never staying in the same place for too long. He kept count of the days by the letters: sent one as soon as he took up residence in the home of a compelled farmer or baker, regent or banker, so she would have an address to respond to. When he received her letter at the end of a long, torturous week of waiting, he moved on.
She responded with urgency. It was never more than ten days, sometimes less. He tried to stay close, at first, moving in a circular motion around Chicago until he was beckoned by something that drew him further away from her. Ten days was too long, but he kept his patience by keeping himself busy with other socialites and their liquor. After ten long, restless days, he’d received the letter he had been waiting for and purchased a ticket to France— the furthest he’d been since the letters began.
He wrote to her every week. He was always moving, never staying in the same place for too long. He kept count of the days by the letters: sent one as soon as he took up residence in the home of a compelled farmer or baker, regent or banker, so she would have an address to respond to. When he received her letter at the end of a long, torturous week of waiting, he moved on.
She responded with urgency. It was never more than ten days, sometimes less. He tried to stay close, at first, moving in a circular motion around Chicago until he was beckoned by something that drew him further away from her. Ten days was too long, but he kept his patience by keeping himself busy with other socialites and their liquor. After ten long, restless days, he’d received the letter he had been waiting for and purchased a ticket to France— the furthest he’d been since the letters began.
You were correct when you claimed I had no desire to be a housewife, for I find myself entirely bored in the world outside of your letters.
I have woven a tale in my mind from your stories, and imagine the sights and sounds of your world when I find myself rather lowly. It is your letters that fuel my eager heart, and flood my mind with whimsy. Please write the moment you are able, for I fear I may grow restless without your pen.
Sincerely yours,
Y/n
Waves lapped gently against the side of the boat, caressing its face like a lover. Damon’s fingers gripped the edges of the letter, tight enough that it would not slip away and be lost to the sea, but gently enough to keep the page from wrinkling. The ink was dark blue and scrawled slowly, and he could imagine her sitting at a writing desk, carefully choosing her words. It always seemed that way, that she was cautious. Whatever she said had to last him until his next letter.
The breeze of the sea swept through his curls, filling his nostrils with salt and a sweetness only the ocean could provide. It reminded him of her: the perfume dotted on her wrists, the alkaline taste of sweat from her brow.
She was an ocean away, but memories of her flooded him, threatening to drown out the sway of the boat as it carried him further and further from the states. Every time he would put the thoughts away, something about the ocean, about the way the sun warmed his face like her smile, always brought her back to the forefront of his mind.
It would be two weeks before his letter would make it across the sea and to her door. He knew this, though his letter to return to her had been sitting in his pocket since that morning. He had half a mind to find a bottle and toss it, thinking perhaps it would find her sooner, and the sooner she read it, the sooner she could write him back. But the sea, much like Y/n, was always changing, unpredictable, and he carefully folded his latest letter from her and tucked it carefully into his breast pocket, close to his heart. Leaning forward, his elbows rest on the rail of the boat, and he closed his eyes, letting the sway of the boat carry him further and further away from her.
***
Damon was in France. That was the latest you’d heard, nearly some two weeks ago. He had been there for quite some time, was fancy of it, judging by how long he had been there- and how long his letters had gotten. It was as though he were falling in love with the city, with the way his pen moved across the page with such vigor. It delighted and astounded you, how he had gotten so quickly accustomed to the country of love.
It had not occurred to you that the lengthy letters were a result of his longing to be where you were, or the fact that he was able to write to you so seldomly. If the letters were only to come every fortnight, he was damned if they wouldn’t be worth it.
You responded in kind, though you took your time, sitting at the drawing desk while Christopher was away. You had spent more and more time in his office, watching the breeze shake the elm trees outside your window. Summer was upon Chicago, the trees in full bloom as the wind carried stray leaves across the streets. You could see the pavement from here, could watch as lovers and mothers held hands as they strolled up and down the block past your house.
You had been hoping for quite some time that perhaps someday you would look out the window and see Damon, looking up at you with his hand over his eyes to shield the June sun, the lopsided grin painted on his lips. It was a perfect picture in your mind, an array of golden light spilling on a canvas, with Damon standing dark against the flurry of summer color. You’d lift your skirts, hurrying down the swooping stairs and into his arms. He could take you away, perhaps show you all the amazing and wonderful things he wrote to you about from Paris.
-It is a strange country, with customs I had never encountered before. I cannot say much for the food, but the people I encountered reminded me too much of the Sisters of your church. Though they are a haughty and proud people, they engaged in social customs not unlike those of lovers. Did you know that the French routinely kiss one another on the cheek as a greeting? Perhaps when I see you next I will show you. Seeing you blush would be greatly worth my short venture to the country.
Yours,
Damon
The notion of Damon’s words was not lost on you. There was something tender about the curls of his letters, the softness in his words that suggested more than a customary kiss on the cheek. Reading it was enough to warm your cheeks, just to imagine the gentle press of his lips against your skin. Perhaps you were reading something that wasn’t there, or maybe you had convinced yourself his suggestion was merely a jest because the idea of it being morewas enough to raise the ever steady beat of your heart.
There had been a gift with this letter. It was heavy for its size, approximately the length of your palm and flat, circular on one side and straight on the other. He’d written about it in the letter, but even as you delicately unfolded the satin fabric it was encased in, it brought a flutter to your heart.
It was, as he’d written, carved of ivory. Just a hair away from white, the hair comb was beautifully made, clearly done with a steady, patient hand. The teeth were sharp and thin, like a mouth of fangs, and your fingers slid along the bottom of it to feel each individual one. The top was smooth, with flowers intricately carved into the sides. It was thin but not brittle, and you let the satin fabric fall to the table as you stood, crossing the room toward the mirror. Carefully, you tucked it into your hair, unable to hold back the eager grin as you turned your head back and forth to observe it in the mirror.
Damon had always given you gifts. The stuffed rabbit was tucked away in your closet, gathering dust, as was a well-worn copy of Brahm Stoker’s Dracula; a gorgeous, bronze locket laid at the bottom of your jewelry box. You had kept them all, refused to let go of any of the mementos from the life you lived before you met Christopher Taylor.
Christopher…
Your heart ached as you crossed back to the table, sliding quietly into the chair. The pen was heavy in your hand, seeming to weigh your whole body down as you etched Damon’s name at the top of the page. You may well have written the letter in blood, for how much it hurt. The smile on your lips waded until there was very little left on your cheeks, and your hand stopped moving altogether, the pen dropping heavily on the desk as you grabbed up the letter, crushing it into a ball and tossing it into the bin. Sighing, you stood up, pacing toward the window, letting yourself daydream of Damon, standing beneath the elm tree.
***
Damon hadn’t slept in days.
He had reread her latest letter probably a hundred times, his eyes scanning her every word in an attempt to make some sort of sense of the words. He knew what they meant, had committed each word to heart, but it didn’t seem to matter how many times he tossed them around in his head.
Gentle Damon,
Your gift brought tears to my eyes, and I cannot thank you enough for it. I kept it carefully by my bedside, and when my dear Christopher discovered it, I told him it was a family heirloom. Either a mistake or brilliant on my part, he suggested I wear it during the ceremony tomorrow. I laughed at the notion, but agreed with fondness I cannot explain.
He tried to imagine her, sitting at the vanity in a vast bedroom, the comb in her hair as she looked at her reflection. It would be beautiful, of course, because shewas beautiful. He could see her clearly, the elegant curve of her jawline, the apple of her cheeks, and the sparkle in her eye as she adjusted the comb with delicate fingers.
The ceremony tomorrow.
Her letter was dated nine days ago. Nine days had gone by since she had written the letter, longer than that since he had sent the comb. How long had she pondered her words to him? How many times had the comb sat in her hair, or at her bedside?
She was married, now. No doubt she had been gorgeous- Christopher Taylor was a fairly wealthy man, and would have made sure she had the best dress, and the best attendants to her wedding money could afford. She would have worn satin, or silk, something expensive and flowery. He wondered if her sleeves were long and lace, if she had worn heels in which she could not walk- he smiled to himself, imagining her frowning down at her feet as she stumbled down the aisle.
He grit his teeth, pushing the hair back from his face with a shaky breath. He had made it to Versailles- a beautiful city, no doubt, but the brilliant architecture was lost on him now. Without her there, it was just another city.
Yes, she would have been beautiful. Christopher was undeserving of her beauty, and knowing what he knew about Y/n, he was far too lucky for such a bride.
I have many trepidations for the morning. The dress Christopher had chosen does not feel like my dress, as though the bride to be wearing it is a woman I have yet to meet. She is a timid woman, a dutiful woman, and her life does not seem to be mine. Still I prepare myself as we speak, brushing my hair at the vanity in my room. My reflection is unfamiliar, my cheeks plasticine and my smile painted upon my face.
Was the woman now married to Christopher the same woman he knew? Her letters were so full of her personality, so clearly filled with her life, that he had not considered before what she was like beyond the page. She had been happy, in the years they had lived together in a cabin, her smile wide and unwavering, and it put an ache in his heart to think that perhaps she did not smile like that anymore.
As he walked down the French streets, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, he saw pieces of the girl he knew in every direction. The flowers smelled of her, the laughter echoing from a group of schoolgirls sounded like her, but she was sweeter and her voice was more akin to music- and it was this that caused him to pause at the end of the street, his eyes trained on a passing carriage.
I think to the moment I saw you last, and your jest that I should marry you instead, and cannot fathom a moment which I regret more.
Damon cursed under his breath, his hands tightening into fists in his pocket. The realization hit him all at once, like the sun spilling on his face, like the cool breeze kissing his face not unlike her touch in the cemetery. He could almost hear her voice, whispering the words of her letter in his ear. A secret, a confession meant only for him.
I will think of you and your letters as I slumber, and dream of France and Transylvania, and a silly, imagined life in which I joined you on your train to another land.
It was unmistakable. He had always loved her- like Mina, she was a light in Damon’s otherwise foggy, dark world. He had traveled it alone, setting foot in countries most only ever dreamed of. He had never met anyone like her before and never had since leaving her behind. He longed to be with her, with her open mind and uncaged humor. He had been lonely when he met her, but coming home to her in the early morning hours of her youth had always warmed his heart. Her letters were all he had now, the only connection he had to the living world that he so desperately craved to be a part of. She was pure and good, a sign that perhaps there was, indeed, a Heaven, even if he only felt it in her presence.
Yes, he loved her, and what was more than that, a sentiment he had never foreseen, was that he was in love with her.
His feet stomped through a puddle, disrupting the stillness of it as he marched back towards his housing. Words tumbled through his mind like a storm at sea, the admission of his love weighing heavy at his breast.
***
The days had passed like a burning candle. Hours melted away, slowly dripping as the sun rose and fell, and as the summer trees began to bare themselves to winter, your dreams of Damon beneath the elm tree began to die with them. You eagerly awaited his letter, always intercepting the post before Christopher returned home in the evenings. But it didn’t come, even as the grass turned brown and the skies gray, and the longer you waited, the heavier your heart became.
Christopher had not noticed your silent suffering. He had spent long hours at his office, leaving you wandering the halls of your home alone. When he returned, he was prone to find himself in the study with a glass of bourbon, ignoring the need in your eyes as he passed you by. It was as though he were a ghost, a cold whisper of the man who had wooed you in the spring. There was nothing left of his humor or wiles, and with each passing day, resentment settled into your bones.
In the few moments where words were exchanged, Christopher’s colors were a muted gray. He frowned at your half-hearted jokes, and chastised you in the moments where you felt empowered to share your fancies with him. Reading was not a woman’s place, for it filled your head with fantasies of what Christopher attributed to the Devil’s work.
It had begun to snow, as well, which put an even stauncher limitation on your freedoms. You could not go for walks, and sending for books had become costly. And so you were left with an ivory comb and a frosted window, sitting at the vanity with a pen and blank parchment.
Damon had not returned your letter. The passing months had gotten colder, and he had no doubt gotten further away, but if you did not at least tryto reach out in the only way you knew how, it would be a sure sign that you had simply given up on happiness. So you pressed the pen against the page, tracing the shape of a familiar name.
You fluttered your eyelashes open, feeling the morning sun creep up on you. The warmness on your skin made you moan gently. Your sound must have awoken something deep inside him. Damon lifted his head up, rolling over to you as he had lost his grip on you during the night. He exhaled deep, sweeping his arm underneath your body, scooping you up. With one firm pull, were you pushed against his body. You smiled, feeling his hand slide from your waist to your stomach. Closing his eyes again, felt he himself slip slowly back into sleepiness. You inhaled deep, bringing his arm around you higher up. Damon’s bare skin felt warm against yours. Damon had no trouble falling back asleep as you found it harder too.
He rubbed his nose against your bare back when you were moving restless. – “Sleep Y/n.” – murmured he out in a sleepy morning voice. You closed your eyes, trying to, but it was useless. The morning sun had already awoken you. Damon groaned when he heard your phone. Lifting your body a bit up, slid you a bit out of his embrace. Picking up your phone, saw you that it was Klaus who was calling you. You sat up straight, holding a bit of the sheets against your bare chest to cover up. You were hesitant to pick up. Damon groaned loud, pushing himself up as well. He moved some hair aside, biting your shoulder with enough force to tease you.
His lips then left smooches on your skin, tracing up to your neck. When the phone kept calling, agitated it, Damon. He looked over your shoulder to the name. Clenching his jaw, plucked he the phone from your hands. – “Hey!” – called you out, turning towards him. Damon shushed you, placing his finger against your lips. – “Your mine now!” – called he out. He grabbed your cheeks, kissing you forcefully. You completely melted from his touch, surrendering. Damon threw your phone away, not wanting to be disturbed by his rival. Your phone landed on a pile of lost cloths from last night. Damon went rough on you, biting your lip. Pinning you down while kissing your neck and your lips till they were sore.
You laid yourself down as his fingers trailed up from your leg to your hips. A tingle that made you shiver breathlessly. – “I can be such a better boyfriend then him.” – breathed Damon out, grunting against your flesh. Letting your hands move up his back, gasped you. He hit a soft spot with his lips, slowly melting you to a puddle. – “Proof it.” – responded you out of breath. Damon tilted his head up, smirking at you. You didn’t have to say that twice. He kissed you forcefully, using a bit of tongue whilst pulling the sheets over him. Your body melting with his.
Putting on your shoe, moved Damon his hands down your chest. He brought his lips to your ear. – “Damon.” – said you as he brushed his lips against your ear. – “You don’t have to leave yet Y/n.” – whispered he to you. You chuckled softly, pulling your leg up on the bed as you turned towards him. – “But I do.” – replied you pitiful, pouting your lips a bit. Guiding your hands to his cheek, kissed you him long. Licking your lips, bend you down to tie your shoe. Damon reached his hand out, wanting to touch you again when you got up. Disappointed, laid he down again with a deep groan. On your way, collected you, your phone, seeing several texts from Klaus.
“See you later, Damon.” – said you, blowing him a kiss. The doorknob in reach, stuck you, your hand out. Lowering your hand, exhaled you soft with a glance that you had no time for this. Damon stood before you, blocking the door from you. – “Your going to see him, aren’t you?” – asked he. Shaking your head, told you him otherwise, yet he didn’t believed you. He took a firm step more in front of the door, keeping you captive. – “Don’t lie to me, Y/n!” – called he out, his eyes squinted a bit. – “Damon.” – sighed you out. – “I assure you I am not.” – He huffed loud, looking around, overlooking you.
“Besides, why do you even care.” – stated you. – “Because!” – interrupted Damon, quick to hop on the wagon with you. You waited for him to explain himself more. When he didn’t, pushed you him aside. – “I’m running late.” – said you, opening the door. Damon gritted his teeth, catching the door in his hand, preventing it from shutting. Sighing loud, stared he at the trail you left behind. You could do whatever you wanted; Damon had no say in that. The only thing that counted to him was that you still were hooked on him. He hoped you still were. In the beginning it was just a casual hook-up, but over time grew it into something more.
That he wasn’t the only man in your life, was something he was willing to let slide. Why did it just had to be Klaus Mikaelson. Out of all people, choose you him. His biggest rival in love now as well. Below the stairs, encountered you Stefan. You ran past him like a whirlpool. – “Leaving already?” – shouted he out, seeing you spurt for the door. – “Bye Stefan!” – responded you, waving your hand quickly over your shoulder. Outside ran your phone again. Right, in all the haste had you forgotten to respond to Klaus. Knowing how impatient and worried he could be, would he stalk you till he heard your voice.
“Yes.” – picked you up, immediately hearing a deep exhale on the other end of the phone. Squashing your phone between your ear and your shoulder, reached you for your car keys. – “Finally! You know I hate being left on call.” – replied Klaus bitsy. You sighed, taking the phone in your hand whilst opening the car door. – “I do, but I was… busy.” – there was no lie in that. You were indeed busy, exploring Damon’s body. – “Can I see you later? I have a craving for my sweet love.” – his voice alone, made you fluster. – “I…I can’t.” – commented you, getting behind the wheel.
You didn’t need to see him to know what kind of facial expression he was giving you. – “You know I’m working at the community center, helping Caroline out.” – remined you him. – “Ah!” – answered he slow and long, sounding a bit uninterested. – “Klaus, I truly have to hang up now. See you tonight or so?” – before he could respond, ended you the call. Driving off in a haste. Damon’s manor faded away in the background, making way for the busy town of Mystic Falls. Arriving at the community center, honked you loud at Caroline. She shrieked loud, throwing a box in the air. – “Y/n!” – called she out, startled.
You laughed loud, getting out of your car. – “Am I on time?” – questioned you, coming in for a hug. – “Better late then never.” – exhaled Caroline out, patting you on the back, whilst hugging. Caroline motioned for you to follow her inside. Going up the steps, went you inside after her. – “It is literally chaos in my mind.” – called she out, shaking her head. – “I have a million things to do.” – placing your hand on her shoulder, wanted you to give her some sort of comfort. – “Just breath.” – expressed you, following her into a room. Caroline took a deep breath, on the verge of tears at the state of the room. – “Hey! I’ve got this.” – said you, stepping in front of her. – “Don’t worry.” – Caroline thanked you silently.
She left the room to leave you alone in the chaos. – “Time to work.” – muttered you to yourself. It didn’t take long for you to be surrounded by the chaos. Files of papers on different piles around you. Empty boxes near you. Holding at least five different pages in your hand, were you debating on which pile they should be. Groaning frustratedly, rubbed you, your eyes. A knock on the door, startled you. You watched as the door slowly opened, showing you a smiling Klaus. – “Klaus!” – called you out, getting up carefully to not knock over some piles. – “Wha-what brings you here?” – questioned you, maneuvering your way across to him.
Klaus lend you a hand, helping you safely across towards him. – “I was missing you, love.” – confessed he, letting go of your hand, guiding his hand down to your waist. You smiled when he brought your lips closer to him. He kissed you meaningful, wanting to taste every bit of you. You chuckled, moving your lips away from him. – “Now that you are here.” – started you, throwing your arms around his neck. – “You can help me out.” – whispered you, brushing your nose against his. Klaus groaned wild, loving your teasing. Turning away from him, pushed you a box full of papers in his arms.
He huffed loud, feeling the sudden weight in his hands. – “Take these to Caroline.” – informed you. With just a bit of protest, left he the room, doing as he was told. You continued stocking away papers when he returned, empty handed. Pointing at another box, lifted he that one up. With a soft roll of his eyes, knew he that he was bound. He would do anything for you. Whatever you told him, he would willingly do it. Having moved a lot of boxes, joined you him. You entered the room Caroline was in, smiling. Klaus was just handing a box over to her when you entered. Caroline glanced teasingly at you, then at Klaus.
“Allow me, Y/n.” – said he, leaning in close to give you a kiss. A kiss that made your knees wobbly. His hands brushed against yours when he took over the box from you. – “I can be such a gentleman.” – chuckled he out, winking at you. You laughed loud, joining Caroline. Klaus came standing behind you, moving his arms around you. – “God! Can you guys hire a room or so!” – grunted Caroline out, turning her eyes away. Klaus could care less, placing a kiss on your shoulder. – “Caroline is right.” – snickered you out, giving Klaus a push with your shoulder.
“We have much work to do.” – you removed yourself from his grip, collecting a clipboard on your way. You went out of the room, caught off guard by Damon. – “Jeez!” – called you out, dropping the clipboard. – “Missed me, darling?” – you picked up the clipboard, spotting from the corner of your eye that Klaus was coming your way. At the sight of Damon, slid he his arm around you. Damon clenched his jaw, glaring at Klaus. To make him even more jealous, kissed he against your cheek.
It was amusing for Klaus to see Damon fed himself so much up over this. – “Hey, Y/n.” – said Caroline, startled by Damon suddenly. Damon mouthed something to you, making Caroline widen her eyes. – “Did he just say, I love you?” – questioned she. You slowly shook your head. – “No, he said, I own you.” – translated you, seeing Damon smirk beyond himself. It made Klaus grit his teeth, pressing his hand deeper onto you. Caroline gaped, staring between the three of you. She then puffed, moving her hands up as you clearly had your hands full with them. – “Join me, when this circus is done!” – turning on her heel, walked she out of the hallway.
You stared at both your lovers, seeing the jealousy in both their eyes. – “I’ll see you boys when you are done fighting.” – patting Klaus against his cheek, stepped you away from him. With a flirtatious wave at Damon, went you back in the room where Caroline was. Damon and Klaus turned more towards each other, staring intensely with a mean glare at each other. They both hated the other player in the game, but there was nothing they could do about it since they didn’t want to lose you.
