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apocalypse-shuffle · 21 days ago

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DAMON SALVATORE (the vampire diaries)

—

“Terms and Conditions” (Damon Salvatore x Fem!Reader)

| Damon helps you get ready for the Founder’s Day “festivities” but can’t help damning himself after a few too many instances of putting his foot in his mouth.

| SFW, established relationship, canon divergence, founders day politics -witch!reader & slight goth!reader

| Mostly practice for writing Damon. Also let’s just assume the Reader’s a college aged adult at the youngest. (Pic source: The Vampire Diaries)

| 🎃!!!HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!🎃

| part one of two

| 2k+ words

You’re watching yourself in the mirror, gown poofing up some and bodice dangling from one hand as you move around to adjust all its bells and whistles. You’ve yet to start the process of putting the dress on, still in your underwear as you prep everything, but you are admiring it.

Honestly, the last thing you want to do is go and put on a face for a whole bunch of people you don’t like and have them actively do the same back to you, but your mother was one of the heads of the planning committee so it was kind of expected.

Then to top it all off it seemed like the news of your failed attempt to overhaul the ‘founding families only’ stipulation that didn’t allow anyone that wasn’t part of the club to vie for the Miss Mystic Falls title (or even her court) had gotten around to everyone.

Naturally Caroline had been the first to inform you of the drama in the most uppity way possible. Why you continued to put up with these teens and their bullshit you had no clue, but you had a protective streak a mile wide and a wannabe supervillain turned fling turned kind-of-friend who was a stage one instigator so really you never stood a chance.

Still the memory of Caroline's haughty voice makes your face twist even worse from where you’re looking back at yourself in the mirror.

You just didn’t think it was a fair rule on top of the whole celebration itself being disgusting, so you’d started kicking up a fuss so your little cousin would have a chance at joining the little makeshift pageant. If they weren’t going to drop the unnecessary aggrandising and the founding family stipulation then you’d damn sure argue your own family’s qualifications, but you digress.

You were only one person you had to protect your peace every once in a while.

For all that though, it’d still been the Lockwoods who owned your family way back when so y’all should one hundred percent count as a founding family. People in this town’s insistence to meat ride the confederacy but clam up when someone even mentions slavery be damned.

The fact that five generations ago your great grandfather changed y’all’s family name when he’d gained his freedom shouldn’t matter.

Especially when the Lockwoods could still coast on their generational wealth, and all of the other founding family members’ names could get them out of an issue five towns over. Not one of them had a leg to stand on claiming your connection to the Mayor and his people had in any way “expired” in the time that’s past.

After they’re emancipation most of your family had moved north during the Great Migration, where everyone stayed until your mother decided she needed a change of scenery while she was pregnant with you and came back to Mystic where some of your grandfather’s descendants' family still lived, but that shouldn’t have been a point they could use against you either. It was moot at best.

You huff.

Honestly fuck everyone though, you were gonna wear this damn dress alongside your cousin and go watch that insolent parade even if Mama Lockwood or anyone else bitched at you for it. And despite how much it would for sure have you cringing. You were a part of a founding family too - hell - your people built Mystic Falls, they deserved to do that stupid dance and stand on that damn nepo baby float too.

Great. Okay, enough of this.

You turn away from the mirror with a small frown and shimmy into your little peasant dress one leg at a time.

“Aww, why the long face?”

“Shit!”

You jump as Damon flashes in, appearing behind you in the mirror, and then starts to laugh. You roll your eyes after catching yourself and go back to fixing up your dress for the “festivities”.

He doesn’t deserve the satisfaction of sneaking up on you he so obviously wanted.

“Oh yeah, I’m definitely excited to celebrate a whole bunch of dead white men.”

Damon stops laughing but there’s still a smirk on his face as he invites himself atop your bed with a flourish.

“Hey, I’m one of those ‘dead white men’,” he snipes back. His accusation is said with a light air but you don’t feel like matching his energy today.

You’re getting tired of the town’s theatrics enough as is.

“Yeah, confederate you,” you deadpan.

He pauses, expression twitching, then gives you a nod as he’s picking up one of the stuffed animals laying on your bed. It’s a bat.

“Touché. That comment was in poor taste. Won’t happen again,” he says, relinquishing his words.

“Oh, if fucking only,” you snap, glaring at him.

Briefly your eyes lock in the mirror and his face loses a little more of its usual sharpness. He’s saying sorry. You scoff, but dismiss the line of conversation right afterwards despite how sharp your tongue feels at the moment.

In any case, in a rare show for Damon, he wasn’t the source of your frustration today so there really wasn’t any use in taking your anger out on him.

“Glad we're on the same page,” you say, voice dipping sarcastically. “Now what do you want?”

Damon’s reflection puts a hand to his heart, face contorting like he’s been staked. Many would wish.

“It’s painful you think so little of me. I don’t want anything.” He inclines his head, face evening back out and smirk falling back in place. “Right now.”

“Mmm.” You smile, nice and closed mouthed and fake. “That mean I’m being subjected to you just for fun?”

“Oh yeah,” he says. You catch the way his eyes go lidded when he watches where your under dress is pulled taunt against your backside and turn to flip him off. Those same intrusive eyes roll. “I’m sorry, haven’t I seen you naked before?”

“Hush,” you grunt, twisting the under dress around on your body with a narrow look at the strings you needed to lace up at the back.

The fact that your mother hadn’t arranged for your gown (and all its many components) to come with written instructions was ridiculous because just watching a few people tie this thing up on YouTube had simply not been enough; you were still confused.

It’s not a minute later that Damon seemingly grows tired of watching you struggle and tosses out a tip about how you’re actually supposed to put on the under dress you’re useless twisting around your torso.

You shoot him a look in the mirror, brows furrowed and lips forming into something between a scowl and a pout.

Damon’s brows raise and he lifts your bat up in front of his face like it’s a shield. “I’m not being a dick. Promise.”

“Hn.” After a second you heed his advice, huffing in shock when the first step actually works to get the piece of clothing in position properly. “So you’re just full of surprises today, huh?”

With a short laugh he peeks at you from behind a spined fabric wing, crystalline eyes sparkling with an emotion that’s not just excitement.

The look makes you want to squint at him harder, makes your mouth twist and lips purse.

Following more of his “tips”, and with the direction of the under dress now fixed, you cinch the strings at the back then wrap the them around to tie into a bow below your breasts. You don’t really take your eyes off Damon, however.

If he realizes what you’re staring for he doesn’t comment on it, just brings the plush back to his lap and begins running his palm across its soft oversized head, looking down at it.

Your gown goes on easier after the under dress is on, the ruffled garment far more straightforward to manage when all you have to do is slip it over your head like any other sundress. Minus the sea of fabric you briefly get swept up in, of course.

All of that finally on, you drop your gaze to the bodice waiting for you to put on next with a frown.

Ugh.

Picking it up you loosen the even greater amount of lace, pulling the ivory ribbon like you’re picking out your least favorite vegetable in an otherwise fantastic dish.

There was no doubt in your mind really that you’d look damn fine in this dress but the prep could kiss your ass.

“So…?” you find yourself asking. The type of guy that Damon was, him quiet either meant he was brooding or he was plotting.

And both could lead to bloody bloody outcomes you’d rather avoid right now.

“So,” he repeats, giving you a steady look that you return right away by turning to look him headon. You screw up your face at him, questioning.

The corners of his eyes actually crinkle and he chuckles when he registers your expression, visibly beginning to look more mischievous in real time. “Fine. You asked for it, Pushy. I heard about your little flop with the Miss Mystic pageant from Liz,” he starts, and you’re already rolling your eyes.

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

You throw the bodice in your hands down on the foot of your bed and Damon shifts forward in intrigue.

“Really, why not?” He grins at you and your eyes dart immediately to see his fangs. They’re not out but you still have to shake off that instinctual unease at the prospect that they could be. At any second. “I thought it was very commendable,” he’s saying.

In spite of his words, the tone he’s saying them in gives off the unarguable impression that he’s mocking you. Though you suppose an argument could be made for teasing but you’re not in the mood for giving Damon that much benefit of the doubt currently.

Just him being here without a reason was suspicious, let alone whatever secrets were hiding in his gaze.

“Sure you do,” you scoff.

Not looking at your face he raises his hand, rocking it back and forth in a so-so motion. The way the feel of his gaze travels over your body is nearly a physical thing.

“Mystic Falls is midwestern generational wealth central, you never stood a chance trying to fight that battle, but it’s very sexy that you cursed them out anyway.” His eyes climb back to your face. He points the bat at you. “Which you could’ve done for real since you’re literally magic but for some bizarre reason didn’t. Explain that decision to me, again?”

“We can’t all compel our way into city council, Jackass.”

“Mm.” He scrunches his face sarcastically before shaking his head from side to side. “Except you totally could though.”

Sighing, you turn to give him a bland look. “Yes Damon. I have the ability to do that, but do you know what else I have?”

“What?” he murmurs, eyes sparkling as he gazes over at you.

“A conscience, Damon. I have a damn conscience.” You smile, and Damon huffs dramatically, before you let your face drop once more. “Now, for real, tell me what the hell you want.”

Still watching him you reach over to grab your bodice, taking a fortifying breath before pulling it over your head. You don’t miss the way Damon hides his laugh by turning it into a cough, but you just want this cursed thing past your shoulders at this point so you don’t bother pausing to address him.

He’d be alright.

Damon — demented primadona he was — got more than enough attention from everyone as it was.

“I already told you. I just wanted to see you in person,” he winks at you.

“Right?” you say shortly, before turning to snap your fingers at him and point to the space beside you. “Alright. Then help me into this thing.”

Damon smiles as you shake the bodice at him. Makes a big show of saying goodbye to your bat before rolling off your bed too. Your conversation isn’t over, but you won’t be pissing in his blood over it any time soon either.

He sidles up to you easily, cool hands cinching the back of the bodice together and then lacing it up without a second thought; the subtlest reminders of his age.

He gets the lacing done halfway before pausing. “What do you even need a bodice for anyway?”

“I need it to give the dress shape. There’s a lot of fabric, Damon.”

“I mean sure,” He puts his hands to your waist, molding them to your shape. “That’s the boring reason, but I don’t know. Seems pretty cinched already.”

Eyes lighting up you knock his hands away. “Just tie the damn laces,” you bite out in between the laughter threatening to bubble past your lips.

He chuckles, finally tying the ivory ribbon into a drooping bow without you having to say so.

Afterwards he takes a few moments to run his hands down the skirt of the dress, and it takes you longer than you’d admit to realize that he’s very carefully smoothing out the few wrinkles that have found their way into the fabric. Despite how tight the overarching situation around the ball is making you, his ministrations make you smile.

Once he’s satisfied with the fabric after a minute or two he looks up and catches your eye. When he notices you smiling he ducks his head, but those hands return to your waist without a second to spare regardless.

In the mirror his eyes strip you from head to toe.

“I’m surprised you didn’t go for black.”

“Hmm?”

You slide both of your ornate earrings on and then start fiddling with the backs for them.

“Your dress,” Damon murmurs. “You’re usually much more psycho goth chick than this.”

You chuckle, “Yeah, well my mom begged me to go for a little more color so…” you gesture towards the dress.

“Royal purple.”

“Uh huh, but don’t worry the rest of my wardrobe remains very very black.”

“I wasn’t worried; such a dark purple looks good on you.” You watch his eyes slide intently over your primped form, his cold breath fanning over the dark skin of your shoulder. “Plus a style change can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

You watch him roll his eyes in the mirror, his hands trailing from your waist to settle at your hips and squeeze. He leans closer.

“Don’t lie.”

You roll your head back, granting him more access to your throat while pretending to ponder his words, your hand coming up so you can trail your nails along his jawline. His breath hitting the curve of your neck makes you shiver.

He didn’t have to do that for you. Breathe every once in a while to ease the slope of your heavy shoulders.

You lay your hand flat against the side of his jaw and, quick as a blur, he briefly diverts to press a kiss into the pad of your pinky finger.

“Mmm,” you sigh, finger tingling, “…maybe sometimes, when you’re being particularly obnoxious.”

He presses a kiss to your neck, “Like right now?”

“Nah.” You rest your head on his shoulder and watch the way he smirks and easily takes your weight.

Your smile drops some, an earlier thought coming to you, and you focus your gaze at the edge of the mirror.

“Earlier though…”

“Earlier?” Damon says into your skin. He pressed another wetter, less delicate, kiss over your jugular.

The sharp points of his teeth just barely graze over your vain, and you want to fall into it. This is the point in your couplings where you’d start singing for him and Damon liked nothing better, but the earlier memory dampens the mood too much for you to let go like that. Even if you could use the distraction.

“Uh huh,” you click your tongue against your teeth. “I saw you watching Elena earlier.”

The vampire’s eyes snap up to yours in the mirror from where his head is still bent into the crook of your neck.

“Mmm,” another kiss, he squeezes at your hips. “It was a little disconcerting how much she looked like Kathrine in that moment. Dressed like that.”

“And what you told Stefan?”

You hear him open his mouth before his eyes furrow and he shifts back up to his usual height. Both of your hands drop back to your sides.

He looks down, eyes narrowing, “How…did you even hear that?”

You don’t bother talking to him in the mirror. Turning your head sideways with an uptick of your brow, you answer him.

“Oh? You didn’t see me? I hadn’t noticed.”

The smile he throws your way rankles.

“Deflection isn’t pretty on you, Y/n,” he says. Low, rough. So inconsequentially Damon in his delivery.

You let out a big sigh and pull away from him.

If he wanted to actually acknowledge the giant Elena and Kathrine sized rips in your relationship by playing dumb then so be it. Damon wasn’t the only one between you too who craved a little chaos from time to time.

NOTES: Hope you enjoyed!!

This isn’t scary or Halloween themed but I’ve run out of time, and there is vampires, so this is what I’m posting. And I do love this fic, I just wasn’t planning on releasing it for Halloween.

We’re just gonna go ahead and imagine that for the sake of this fic Damon did not have that relationship with Caroline that was basically a domestic violence situationship, but that the show just straight up didn’t acknowledge the full ramifications of. So yeah��Damon did attempt to make up for it by giving Caroline his blood after her accident and the tomb situation, but I still think either more needed to be said or less needed to be done because rewatching season one those scenes were too brutal to not be properly addressed when you’re trying to redeem a character. Alright, rant over.

There’ll be more expansion on what happened in this au instead of the Damon/Caroline thing in part two, also.

btw: if you’d like to leave a comment I’d very much appreciate it!

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