Ok guys...so I'm a bit of a scatter brain, ok? I cant focus on one thing. I get these story ideas in my head and I have to get them down on paper...or Microsoft Word, whatever, or I'll forget it. I dont think this will be a one shot. I'll most likely continue it but I guess that depends on if you guys like what I have so far.

Of course this is another Bamon story because I dont think I'll ever let them go. I hope my Bamon lovers are still here with me and hopefully you enjoy this treat.

As always, reviews and suggestions are welcome. I read all of your reviews and you all are really gracious so thank you! Ive also read your suggestions and I am definitely taking them into consideration as I work on my writing.

***Disclaimer*** Even though these characters are not mine, the dirty fantasies I make up in my head about them are entirely mine :)

He isn't sure if he would call it karma or if he would say he's just a glutton for punishment.

Or maybe he just got the shitty hand in this card game called life…or in his case, animated death.

Simply speaking though? He's just insane. Full on bat shit crazy, because any sane person wouldn't continuously fall in love with women he knows he can never have.

First of all, Katherine? Come on. He was just too damn eager for her attention to begin with. He was so thirsty for it, hanging onto her every word while Stefan ate away at her ego by playing the nonchalant card.

Stefan had made her work for his affections while Damon cut his own heart out and served it to Katherine on a silver platter, decorative garnishing and all.

She'd easily become bored with Damon, who could blame her? But instead of telling him that, she'd decided to amuse herself by playing ping pong with both of them.

Katherine had flipped and twisted his feelings to her advantage for decades until his soul burned like acid. She'd done irreparable damage to his psyche and he thought he'd never feel again.

And then he'd met Elena. His take two, if you will. And what a kick in the balls that had been. Life itself had felt so sorry for him that it had given him a do over. He couldn't possibly fuck this one up could he?

This time, instead of being the bleeding-heart step stool he had been for Katherine, he'd decided to play the Devil may care bad boy for Elena.

Well, he wasn't necessarily playing a role. It's just that life had chiseled away at his heart enough to the point that he'd almost forgotten what it was like to fall in love. No one could hope to get close enough to try since he'd built up a century and a half worth of gooey feelings barriers by the time he'd met Elena.

And she'd looked just like Katherine and it had made him feel the phantom stutter of a heartbeat that had long become a ghost of a memory.

Maybe Life hadn't felt sorry for him. Maybe Life felt bad for screwing him over. And maybe Elena was Life's apology.

Hope is a bitch.

He'd been too reckless, too careless, and too much of a flight risk for Elena and his own inability to filter and process human-like emotions had caused him to lose the girl to his brother…again.

So it turns out, he'd done a fine job of fucking up take two after all and maybe he should have expected it. He should have seen it a mile away.

Stefan had been The Golden Child since birth. Why would the odds suddenly be on Damon's side now?

Hope is a fucking bitch.

And apparently Life is the bitchiest of all, which is why he's sitting in his favorite leather armchair trying to drink himself to death right now to avoid the third heartbreak of his life.

He's a good-looking guy, no one can argue that.

He'd been confident at first with Katherine and he had even held on to a glimmer of hope with Elena that she'd reciprocate his affections.

But this time? He can honestly say that this time around he knows he doesn't stand a snowballs chance.

A person like him should never have the audacity to fall in love with Bonnie Bennett.

But here he is. In all his glory. Hopelessly and unwaveringly, head over heels in love with her. And he thinks he has been for quite a while. Maybe even as far back as when he'd thought he was still in love with Elena.

When he first met Bonnie he'd immediately pegged her as the judgy little unremarkable best friend of the love of his life. She was always giving him the side eye or insulting him or just straight up ignoring him whenever she felt the need and it irritated the hell out of him because when was the last time he wasn't able to use his looks or his charm or his gigantic…ego…to seduce his way in or out of any situation?

Bonnie would never let him get away with anything and she always made him own up to his shit and it got under his skin so deep that it felt like a needle to the vein and the poison of choice? Feelings.

She'd forced him to feel things he never thought he'd have to willingly feel again with the whole flip switch thing.

She'd made him feel ashamed, unworthy, and worst of all…guilty.

Bonnie made him look in the mirror and evaluate himself.

This tiny little five foot two witch who he'd claimed to not give a flying fuck about…turned out to be the one to make him actually want to give a fuck.

If forced to pinpoint the exact when or how, he's not entirely sure he could do it.

It's like one day he was listening to her call him a self-centered asshole who cares only about himself, and all he could seem to register was the smell of the strawberry flavored Chapstick she'd worn on her lips and how he'd really, really wanted to lick it off.

Maybe somewhere in the deepest, darkest parts of his subconscious he'd known that the soft honey scent that she'd always carried around with her would go instantly hotter when he was around. And only when he was around did she smell like fire and cinnamon.

It was most likely because she was mere seconds away from skinning him alive, but still, that spicy scent of hers was custom made for him.

He'd never really had anything or anyone for that matter, to call his very own so the first time he'd caught a whiff of her all riled up and angry because of something he had done, he was instantly addicted to it and wanted more.

Which is how he'd ended up on the ass end of witchy brain explosions almost twice a week.

The way her breath would hitch and her plump upper lip would curl slightly and the way her eyes would darken as she focused only on him had given him a dark satisfaction that was almost sadistic in a way.

Maybe that's why he didn't recognize it as love at first. It had felt too antagonistic way back then. Too heated.

Too…dangerous.

It was almost like he'd wanted to fuck her and kill her at the same time which had left him feeling more than a little confused. And angry.

How dare she tilt her defiant little chin up at him, meeting his death glare head on with one of her own anytime he was bold enough to get in her face? Her warm emerald eyes burning into his icy ones, unblinking and daring him to make a move.

Her heartbeat jumping deliciously in her chest had given her away on more than a few occasions, but her eyes never wavered. No matter the subject of their argument of the week, she pushed him just as hard as he pushed her.

Although he hated to admit it, he respected her from day one. She was the only one in that town who could handle him and constantly showed him that. She'd kept him on his toes, made him rethink his approach. Made him second guess his actions.

"If you hate me so much, why did you give me your blood to save my life?"

He remembers her asking him this what seems like ages ago and he honestly hadn't had an answer for it at the time so he'd just spouted out something that she'd expect him to say while his brain remained perplexed. He didn't know why he'd saved her life that night. He'd only known that she could not die. Even back then, when her entire existence was supposed to be a burden on his life, he knew he'd feel empty without it. He hadn't even hesitated. He remembers crouching down next to her crumpled body on that cave floor and straining his hears, praying for a heartbeat and when he'd heard the tiny but strong thrum in her chest it had made ripples run through his own.

He remembers sliding his hand under her, gently cradling her neck while he bit into his wrist and poured his life force down her throat and when he'd felt her stir under his fingers as his essence made her stronger he'd actually felt like he'd accomplished something. He'd given, and she'd taken willingly and the feel of her lips against his wrist made him grit his teeth and the moment her eyes opened he'd ripped his arm away from her and put space between them.

She'd smelled like him for days after that incident and it had done so many things to him. He couldn't keep his brain from repeating minemineminemineminemine over and over again and he wasn't sure he had even wanted to.

After that day, their dynamic had changed. He'd gone from wanting to hurt her to just wanting to irritate her to no end so that she wouldn't forget him. She'd given him the starring role in some of her most emotional moments and he wanted to keep that spot.

He never wanted to fade to the background again.

So when the team was gearing up to battle their latest freak of the week, he would volunteer to team up with Bonnie. She'd given him the side eye, predictably, and he'd just given her his best angelic face.

"What are you doing?"

She'd asked him when Jerry the Incompetent Hybrid was finally laying headless at their feet.

"What do you mean?" His eyebrows were furrowed as he looks up at her from where he'd been crouched next to the body going through the pockets.

He stands up, waving the wad of bills and silver flask he'd stolen from the mans inner jacket pocket.

"Oh come on. It's not like he's gonna be looking for it!"

He rolls his eyes, opening the flask and takes a hit. Grimacing because, what the fuck? Vodka? He knew that guy was a pussy.

Bonnie just looked at him like he was a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of her shoe.

"No…stealing from a dead person is what I would expect from you. But this?" She waves her hand between the two of them. "Volunteering to work with me? That's a sign of the apocolypse."

He nods because. Yeah. She's got a point.

"God knows we don't need an apocalypse." He says while loading the body and assorted attachments into his trunk. "But you gotta admit, Bon. We make a hell of a team."

And they did.

That should have been clue number one. No matter how much they swore they hated each other and couldn't stand to be around one another, it was almost like they were too in sync with each other when it was time to get serious and get shit done.

When she moved, he moved. He'd give her a look and she'd know how to execute off of that look alone. They were the only ones who got shit done.

"And it doesn't hurt that you're kinda hot when you're being all bad ass and witchy."

It was the first time he'd tried to flirt with her and a shocked thrill ran through his body when he'd heard her heartbeat speed up a little and her breath hitch even though her face told him that she was annoyed and a little grossed out.

In their earlier days he had been pretty sure that the only thing Bonnie Bennett could ever want from him was his head on a stick, no sexual undertones whatsoever, unfortunately. But he had also been very aware of the fact that…well, she hadn't killed him yet.

So maybe he hadn't paid enough attention to the changes in her body when they'd get into their weekly heated spats. Had there been something way back then that he'd missed? A hint of foreplay in their constant bickering? Maybe a bit of hunger in her eyes hiding behind the disdain that always sat proudly at the surface when dealing with him?

Possibly.

Or maybe he's just imagining things where there are none because he refuses to believe that his luck with women could be this tragic.

The more realistic reason as to why Bonnie hasn't skinned him and made him into a coat is probably because his connections to Stefan and Elena granted him some sort of immunity from the more murderous forms of wrath he knows Bonnie to be capable of.

Or maybe he did die all those centuries ago when his father killed him and he's actually in Hell, forced to repeat a vicious cycle of heartbreak for eternity.

He rolls his eyes, slightly annoyed at himself for how dramatic he's being.

For all the times he's condemned Stefan's broody forehead, Damon's own heart is just as broody but were Stefan's worries are crowding in the form of worry lines and permanently creased eyebrows, Damon's scars are hidden safely behind his breastbone where he likes them.

Speaking of Sir Broods-A-Lot, Stefan comes strolling in the front door smelling like sex and Elena and Damon's stomach rolls. He looks down at the brown liquid in his glass and grimaces.

Maybe drinking two bottles of bourbon back to back wasn't such a good idea.

Stefan comes to stand beside him, eyeing him warily. Scanning Damon's form, from his tousled black mop of hair to his wrinkled, deep purple Armani button up, open and exposing his chest, and down to his bare feet resting on the matching leather armoire.

Damon keeps his eyes on the fire burning in the fireplace in front of him, smirking with the side of his mouth that Stefan can't see, and lets his brother put the pieces together.

Stefan has watched Damon for two lifetimes and he thought he knew everything there was to know about his big brother. But finding out he was in love with Bonnie sorta blindsided him. He'd been convinced that he and his brother had been cursed to share the same girl for eternity until Damon and Bonnie returned from the other side three months ago.

The way Damon's eyes would linger on Bonnie when she wasn't paying attention. Or the delighted glint in his eyes when Bonnie had stopped flinching away from his touch, which he seemed to find every excuse to do. And the way he would always find a way to bring her up in a conversation all just screamed that something was up.

He seemed lighter and more at ease when he'd come home, and Stefan knew that look. The darkness that always followed his brother around was usually only lifted by some form of love.

So, when he'd cornered Damon the other day after he'd returned to the Boarding House smelling like honey and magic, Damon had no choice but to fess up.

And after days and days of bitching and moaning and coercion, Stefan had all but forced Damon to reveal his feelings to Bonnie.

Judging from Damon's physical appearance alone though, he can tell that things hadn't gone as planned this afternoon. He can't say that he's all that surprised.

"What did she say, Damon?" And he sounds resigned.

Damon looks up at his baby brother, feigning an innocent look. "Whatever do you mean, Brother?"

Stefan rolls his eyes and plucks the glass from Damon's fingers before carelessly slapping at his brothers toes until he finally relents and moves his feet to the floor so that Stefan can take the space on the armoire across from him.

Stefan takes a slow swig from his stolen glass of bourbon before he glares at Damon through slitted eyes. "You know what I mean."

Damon sighs and drops his head to rest on the back of his armchair, eyes on the ceiling because he doesn't care to see the pitying look that Stefan is no doubt wearing.

"I never got the chance to tell her." His voice sounds bland to his ears.

Stefan stays quiet, a clear request for more information.

Damon runs his fingers through his hair for the hundredth time to brush it off of his forehead. He can't even remember the last time he'd had a haircut so it's constantly falling in his eyes, the back strands tickling his neck and brushing against his shoulders.

He could lie and say that he hasn't had time to think about something as mundane as a haircut when there is always a Big Bad around the corner waiting to kill or steal someone he cares about.

Or he can be honest with himself.

It was about a month ago and he doesn't remember why he and Bonnie had been arguing on that particular occasion, but he does remember that it had been one of their more violent arguments. To the point where it had gotten physical.

He'd wrapped one of his hands around Bonnie's throat and pinned her to his living room wall, growling in her face with his fangs extended and lethal and for some reason, Bonnie's fingers ended up buried in the hair at the back of his head.

He hadn't even registered it at first, being too busy salivating over the feel of the vein on her throat jumping wildly under his thumb.

But then she'd tightened her grip, bending his head back slightly. He'd hissed through his teeth, eyes slammed shut.

"I'm gonna give you three seconds, Vampire." She'd whispered sweetly against the shell of his ear. "Take your hands off of me now …or I'll drop you to your knees."

If she'd felt him shiver under her hands she hadn't let on about it. And he had barely registered what the hell she'd said because he'd been blindsided with such a violent rush of arousal that he'd almost begged her to put him on his knees.

She'd tugged against the thick strands of his hair once more when he hadn't budged, and he finally unwrapped his fingers rom her neck, trying hard to swallow the low groan rumbling in the back of his throat.

And when she'd finally released him and shown herself to the door, flicking her hair behind her shoulders and swaying her hips, he could do nothing but watch.

She hadn't even bothered to spare him a second glance as she slammed the door behind her, heels of her black leather booties hammering the pavement of his driveway as she'd made her way to her car.

"Fuck…"

He'd whispered to himself as he lightly tousled the growing strands of hair at his nape, inhaling the ghost of cinnamon in his nostrils.

So yeah, maybe he was hoping to get the chance to have Bonnie run her fingers through his hair under more pleasant circumstances eventually.

He lifted his head, finally meeting Stefan's eyes as he sat patiently waiting for his brother to finish the story.

"What do you want me to say, Stefan?" Bonnie and I have never had the best of relationships, okay?" He gets up then, bare feet sinking into the plush carpet as he goes to fill himself another glass. "So I went over there to profess my undying affections, as you so eloquently put it, and it ended in an argument before I ever got to tell her." He reclaims his seat and crosses his feet at the ankles. "Pretty par for course if you ask me." He says, shrugging before taking a sip of bourbon.

"And can you honestly say that you didn't deliberately try to pick a fight with Bonnie because you're a coward and you're too afraid to hear what her answer might be?"

He's got a knowing look on his face and all of a sudden Damon wants to punch him.

"Fuck you." He deadpans and Stefan chuckles.

"I know that you and Bonnie got off to a rough start but for the past couple of months or so, I have seen a steady improvement in your relationship. I mean, she can actually stand being in the same room with you for more than five minutes at a time now."

Damon glares at his brother, watching him fight against the smile playing at the edges of his lips.

"You dick, you're enjoying my pain aren't you?"

Stefan finally gives in and lets the smile spread across his lips. "Well…I wouldn't necessarily use the word enjoy. But it is a relief to not be in love with the same woman for a change."

Damon gives his brother a look. Yeah right.

Stefan ducks his head. "Okay, okay. Maybe it is a little funny." He lets his smile soften. "But that still doesn't change the fact that I honestly believe you do deserve happiness too, Damon."

And Damon just stares at his brother, searching his eyes for any humor or mirth and finds none, whatsoever.

"Holy Hell." Damon groans. "I'm gonna need to be way drunker than this if you're about to psychoanalyze me."

This time Stefan laughs outright, full and hearty and Damon can't help his answering grin as he watches Stefan stand to grab the alcohol decanter from the drink cart.

"Well…I guess you better drink up then, Brother."