A/N: Hello, friends! I know I've abandoned my other story, but good God, the season took a turn I was not prepared to write, and I need to reevaluate... everything.
Anyways, I've been on the Bamon tag on Tumblr, and I found a couple of OTP prompts-needless to say, I was inspired. So, here's what I came up with.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the TVD characters.
Prompt: "Listen you may be a famous (and extremely attractive) guitarist, but that gives you no right to practice on the electric at 2 a.m. when we live right next to each other" (I changed it up a little within)
Beginning
Bonnie Bennett was, by no means, a short fuse.
She patiently guided her friends through easily avoidable life dramas. She helped the mothers of screaming toddlers whenever she stumbled upon one in the grocery store. She had volunteered at retirement homes and hospitals. She even spent weekends in other people's houses to watch their pets for a weekend—for free.
Who knew it would be the wailing guitar solo in the early and delicate hours of the morning that would more than shred her last nerve?
She spent more than half of the day in her apartment, cramming for a Civil Rights exam amidst a running-like-a-faucet kind of cold with a long-lasting, delirium-inducing fever. At one forty-five, she decided to turn in for the night. She felt her bones sink into her twin mattress like bricks in sand. It felt like a hug from some cosmic being. Good job, little one, it said, you may rest now.
Her neighbor, however, had something different to say.
She prayed, for a full five minutes, that the blaring noise would stop. She bargained with any god with ears on—she'd fail the test tomorrow, she'd give up law, she'd sacrifice her firstborn, she'd become some kind of nun—but it didn't seem like any god was in the mood for bribery. With a sigh encompassing defeat and pure aggravation, she pulled herself out of her comfort, and she stumbled through her dark home, out her door, and slammed her small fist against the apartment door one over.
Finally, the distorted sound of angrily strummed and picked guitar strings stopped. Bonnie sighed contently, ready to pivot and to march right back to her bed—when the door opened and a god appeared. Maybe that's why her prayers weren't answered—the closest god was the one causing havoc on her beauty rest.
Porcelain skin. Ripped jeans hanging low on his hips. Perfect abs partially concealed an open black button-up shirt. Disheveled ebony hair. Cold and sharp blue eyes.
It was the Damon Salvatore.
He was in the hottest band of the century with his brother, his brother's girlfriend, and his best friend—or, at least, that was the story the tabloids sang. Bonnie wasn't really into their dark and edgy music, but she also didn't hate it. She had even recognized the song he was playing, Immortal, but she didn't think anything of it. Her best friend, Elena, had been a fan since day one and would die if Bonnie told her the lead guitarist of Blood and Bourbon was interrupting her sleep.
She'd also die if Bonnie told her she killed the lead guitarist for Blood and Bourbon for interrupting her sleep.
"Cute onesie, little bird."
Bonnie's pajamas were a red bird onesie, with a small beak on the hood and scalloped sleeves as wings. She crossed her arms, her tired eyes barely staying open as she glared.
"Did you come by for an autograph or something?" Damon disappeared into his apartment before Bonnie could deny or decline. "Well, come on in," she heard somewhere from within, "I just need to find something to write with."
Bonnie tentatively walked into the dimly lit apartment. She didn't know anything about musicians firsthand, but based on made-for-TV movies and any enduring magazine, they were notorious for drugs, sex, and, well, rock-n-roll. She edged closer to the sound of his mumbling, dodging objects he tossed over his shoulders.
"I'm not here for an autograph," finally blurted out of her mouth. Damon spun around with a permanent marker, ready to defile her onesie with his name. He paused, her words finally sinking in. "I came by to—"
"Take a picture? I can grab the lights."
He leaped over something she couldn't see, and she began to protest, but the flood of light invading the living room made her swear loudly and screw her eyes shut.
"You kiss your mother with that mouth?"
"She's—" Bonnie pried an eye open painfully. "Listen, Mr. Salvatore—"
"Mr. Salvatore is my brother," he smirked, running a hand through his hair. "You can just call me Damon."
"Okay, Damon—"
"What's your name, again?" His hands tucked in his pockets, and he leaned a little closer to listen. He was quirky. And probably wired on something stronger than the empty energy drink cans littering the carpet.
"Bonnie," she complied with a sniffle. "Listen, Damon, I—"
"Bonnie," he repeated with a thoughtful smile. "Like bonbons. I like bonbons. They're like… filled with ice cream, right? God, they're so—"
"Okay, shut up." With her cold, her voice came out like a growl. His mouth shut with a loud click of his perfect teeth. She took a deep breath and said, "I'm sorry, I—"
"It's okay."
"I just came by to ask you to turn down your music."
Suddenly, Damon's face contorted like she shoved a lemon wedge in his mouth, and his mood fell to a broody and dark place.
"My music is my living," he declared pompously. "Turn down my music? I shall never turn it down! It is beautiful! It is perfect! It is—"
"Obnoxious as hell when you're trying to sleep." Bonnie was getting irritated by the theatrics so early in the morning. Why the hell was he living in her ratty apartment building in the first place? "Listen, you may be a famous guitarist and all, but that gives you no right to practice the electric guitar at two a.m. Not while I live right next to you."
"Then, move," he concluded. He folded his arms, stuck his nose in the air—and looked like a damn toddler to Bonnie's lazy observation.
"I'll get right on it," Bonnie drawled sarcastically. "For tonight, though, shut the hell up."
"I'll just crank it louder," Damon challenged.
Bonnie stepped over a pile of dark clothes to stand right in front of the insanely attractive man. His confidence wavered, aside from the only move to straight his spine, and he blinked as Bonnie glared into his eyes.
"You may be famous and everything, Salvatore, but I'm a law student. I can kill you and easily cover it up."
"Damn, that's kind of hot."
"I'm running a fever," Bonnie spat as she turned around and began stepping out. "Just let me sleep. I promise I'll be kinder tomorrow."
"Don't bother, Bonbon," he called behind her. "I kind of like this… witchy side of you."
First time writing an AU, first time writing without an OC. Are Damon and Bonnie too OOC?
What do you guys think?
xo,
glass27doll