an: one-shot, i miss u guys so much and hope you enjoy, in a rush because i'm so tired and kept forgetting to post this omg! i've been caught up in work so i haven't been able to write as much. wanted to try this tumblr prompt i saw featuring bonklamon (other shorts and prompts there, my username is backandimbamon)

if you enjoy and would like to tip, you can support me over at kofi. thank you to all who have supported thus far, it means sooo much. trying my best to keep this side of me alive and well, especially when it concerns writing for bamon. my username at kofi is lazypeachx, link in my writer's bio x enjoy !

lazypeachx

scvg

"Bonnie Mikaelson." Damon has the urge to do something with his hands. They were occupied before, too busy warming his glass of dark red O-positive and bourbon cocktail but he's lost his appetite. "That doesn't even sound right."

"I think it does," Elena's viewing, no admiring Bonnie's fancy wedding invitation on the weighted paper specifically destined for special occasions. There's a picture of witchy and her fiancé together, so possessed by one another that their eyes are on each other instead of breaking the fourth wall and smiling at the camera.

Dreadful.

The Niklaus Mikaelson is staring at Bonnie like nothing else matters and her face is a reflection of his. It's unsettling; two of the most guarded individuals he's encountered in his lifetime have dropped every defense with their wide, honest smiles and knowing gazes.

Is this a practical joke, Damon wants to ask but Elena is here- if he even gives life to the words, there is a strong possibility that she will deny the absurdity of this unfortunate event, blindly in favor of whatever decision Bonnie makes even when it's the wrong one.

For now, he chooses silence. On the inside, he is shouting.

Damon sidles up next to his girlfriend, not because he's feeling romantic, but because he must investigate this picture. He's already stared for an indefinite amount of time, yet the urge to pick apart and criticize hasn't left. It's stronger than ever.

The picture is intimate, as if they are laughing at some joke no one else hears, or speaking telepathically the way couples do. They're both saying the same thing: I love you.

And Damon thinks it's deplorable.

Still, there's a tug inside of him because he could've sworn she looked at him just like that, after he'd said something completely inappropriate, and Bonnie, she doesn't want to laugh, yet he always seems to strangle the sound out of her without much effort on his part.

And sure, they might've been living the same day eternally and, yes they might've been the last two people on Earth, (or so they thought,) but it still counts for something… right?

"Right about what?" Elena's brown eyes are on him, a small glimmer of concern.

He's beside himself so much so that he's talking without his own permission. This event to bear witness to, this marriage might just be the thing that makes him… Insane, probably.

"She looks so happy," Elena sighs in content, staring at the Save the Date affectionately. "I can't help but feel the same way. Her smile is infectious, isn't it?"

He's not even hearing her.

The date of the wedding is a year from now, give or take a few days, on Sunday, May 5th.

Why they would choose a destination such as hot, stinky, swampy, bad roads, boisterous streets Louisiana, is beyond him- they'll have to plan in advance to attend. He's been looking so intently that Damon can recite the RSVP number in reverse.

The colors for the wedding are complicated and impractical, but Klaus, Bonnie's soon-to-be-husband knows about color theory…apparently when he isn't being a terrorist, or getting on one knee for Bennett witches after a measly eight months of dating, he dabbles in art.

Yeah, well, so did Hitler.

"What alternate universe are we in?" He speaks again, unable to hold his peace. "I mean, how in the hell does someone like him get to marry Bonnie? It's Klaus." He shrugs. And then he snorts, rolls his eyes to the ceiling, "That's like me proposing to her."

"Is it?" Elena is using her therapist voice, a tone she's returning to more often than not when Damon mentions anything concerning their best friend. Before, she used this tone of voice sparingly, mostly to help comprehend the shift in their relationship dynamic when Bonnie returned from the prison world, but now, it's all he hears.

Damon shrugs again, going out on a limb to say, "Maybe it's worse."

"Or maybe you're just bias. You know, a lot of people didn't understand how we worked either, once upon a time." She lifts the invitation, her index finger extended. "But these two obviously adore each other. Klaus accepts nothing less than her being up under him at all times, and Bonnie is more than happy there. She barely comes out for drinks anymore." Elena giggles at what she's just remembered. "Now that I think of it, the last time I called her, I was interrupting. Apparently they were very…busy."

"Busy?" He shudders. (It isn't jealousy that runs down his spine.)

Her brown eyes are on him again, gentle, imploring as if she's reminding herself she's not chatting with Caroline. "I know you're super protective over Bonnie, I get it, me too, but Klaus is perfect for her. She probably hasn't been this happy since…since…." at first Elena thinks, then it turns into a full on falter and he realizes she's about to say since before the Salvatores came into town and ruined her bubbly little Sabrina-the-teenaged-witch life.

Elena abandons the sentence altogether.

Damon clenches his jaw. His mind is on the wedding invitation again, a wiry impulse to do everything he's capable of to prevent such an on occurrence, for fear that bearing witness to it might unleash an ancient curse.

Something like indignation moves through him because yes, he looks closer with squinted eyes, a year ago, he was on the receiving end of Bonnie's bleeding heart stare.

He wonders how could he have been dense enough to not notice that she was whispering her love without moving her mouth for so long.

He wonders why it's so clear now that she isn't looking at him.

"Just look at them," Elena gushes, she's been sold since the script typography, "We have to find a frame. "

.

"Happy May Tenth,"

"It's May seventh,"

"Time is an illusion, isn't it?"

Damon is being a good friend, the best friend that he is, by keeping shots in a constant rotation for Bonnie to down. He is allowing her to think that she can outdrink him for old time's sake. Waiting the extra three days for their "anniversary" was a thought he contemplated but it felt like a cavity had formed in his chest ever since receiving the invitation. Damon needed answers. Now.

They're at some seedy bar, secluded from the rest of the patrons in a small booth by the window; inside, the air is a cool contrast from the almost summer night's heat. It's quiet, save for kitchen buzz and an atmospheric chatter, though without the waitress checking in on them occasionally, it feels like they're the only ones here.

Damon hums distractedly.

After every shot of tequila, Bonnie licks salt from the back of her hand; the gesture is innocent, (very innocent,) but he finds it increasingly difficult to ignore.

"You're such a pervert." She shakes her head, weary of him and his ways already.

He doesn't ever recall her being this aware of his awareness of her but tonight she picks up on the way his eyes stray to her lips and tongue and sometimes her cleavage. Because she dresses differently now, apparently. Hyperfeminine with flattering necklines. She wears a special bra with lace edges that peeps out against her little black dress.

Bonnie looks different, too. Glamorous. Her hair falls in perfect brushed out curls. She wears mascara on her lashes and shadow on her lids that make her eyes even more mesmerizing. On her skin is a particular cocktail of perfumes that complement her body chemistry- white sage, black tea and another thing that reminds him of rainwater or moss.

He likes to think that she's done up for him but he knows better.

"Must you always assume the worst of me, Bon Bon? I'm a respectable man." He smiles to sway her into smiling back, once upon a time, he could get the ends of her mouth to at least lift- his charm seems to have fallen flat.

"You're a lot of things, Damon. Respectable? Hardly. Now, what do you want?"

"Hold on," he frowns, genuinely taken aback by the hostility, "you're mad at me."

She sighs. "You do realize every time that we meet, just me and you, it's cuz you're asking me for something, right?"

"That's not true," She gives him a pointed look that makes him rethink. "I mean- not every time.."

"Nearly. So, what is it? Because if you're here to talk me out of marrying Klaus, I can leave now."

"He hates me, Bonnie."

"You hate him back. Which is crazy because you're both so much alike."

"Alike? This is Klaus, Klaus. The psychotic, evil, all powerful Original Vampire."

"I knew it." She starts to gather her things, unwilling to hear him draw up this negotiation. He's a fool to think that she'd compromise her love life for his convenience.

Her keys are the first thing she grabs, followed by her phone and purse.

Damon speaks up to stop her. "I honestly just wanted to see you." The words sound too honest, too real so he cracks a smile. "Make sure you were okay and not being held hostage."

"I'm fine, better than I've felt in a long time, actually. Don't worry." Cautiously, she sits back down but keeps her belongings right next to her just in case.

"Is that the Stockholm Syndrome talking?"

"Not this time."

"Not this time." He mocks, a pensive expression on his face. He chuckles at a moment faraway, so distant it feels like he'd need a ship to retrieve it.

Vampcakes, arguments, laughter and that unsettling tension in the room that would take a confession or two to acknowledge. But it was much easier to deny.

All that time he tried to rationalize his attraction to Bonnie- demystify it. It was so innocent at the start, a small thing, hungry nonetheless. He tried his best to suffocate the feeling he'd get at the smallest brush of their shoulders or the desire that left him silent for hours some days. Pining. The want turned into need which quickly, became desperation. Yearning that fed itself to intimidating stature. Huge and invisible, the elephant in the room.

What's worse, he felt alone in his desire for her. He was wrong to think of Bonnie as anything other than his saintly best friend yet his eyes would drop to her mouth, wearing the smirk he invented and he'd wonder when he'd rub off on her. Then his mind would escape him to a point of no return- turns out rubbing off was a trigger word.

He clears his throat, "Remember that night when you came back to me? From the prison world?"

Bonnie shakes her head in protest. "Damon," she sighs.

"You ran into my arms and all I could smell was leather and bourbon. Like hugging myself."

Apparently this is a stone he shouldn't turn by the way she crosses her arms and seems adamant on not going back, not even in her mind.

"He didn't want me to meet with you tonight," she salts her skin again, licks it off and downs another shot. "Klaus thinks you're in love with me."

No one laughs. There isn't a single snort from Damon, he only looks at her solemnly. She returns the expression.

She cautiously slides a few shots his way, the sound of the glass on the polished wood the only thing that breaks the silence. Before she has the chance to pull away, he grabs her wrist, salts the back of her hand and kisses it, in the same spot where her tongue was.

Bonnie snatches her hand back with her heart beating out of her chest like he's just burned her.

"Bottoms up," he takes his shot to the head.

.

"You aren't alone." Klaus says, he's using Damon's face as a doormat, so to say that it's at the bottom of his shoe. "I suspect it wasn't unrequited."

Damon remains quiet because he's already tried to strain out insults a while ago but the cracking sound of his jaw under Klaus's heel left him humbled.

"Imagine my surprise when my little witch returns home to me after our disagreement and there's this toxic stench all over her." Klaus clucks his tongue. "I hate your scent, even more when it's on Bonnie."

Damon should feel embarrassed. Instead he feels triumphant. If he could smile, he would. It's only right that she smell like him, Bonnie was his first.

"And out of the Salvatores, she picks the lowly of the two to befriend. Not the Ripper, but the other one, the self-obsessed one. The weak one. The one who constantly overestimates his own will. Damn that pesky inclination of hers to fix broken, discarded things- it's in her nature to recognize potential first." He adjusts his weight "…I don't trust you around her but it'd be remiss of me not to mention I don't trust her around you either."

Despite the bitter taste of blood in his mouth, the corners of his mouth upturn.

"I'm sure Bonnie loved you once upon a time, maybe she still does. Not as much, though… Your dear Elena's in denial. Your entire friend group is. Everyone around the two of you turning a blind eye as if they never knew you were starving for one another all along. Bonnie wouldn't allow it to get too far. You on the other hand…"

He eases the pressure before letting up his heel altogether to lean against the doorframe of the boardinghouse. "Oh, bloody hell, I can't fault you for having good taste," he chuckles, "though I can kill you for taking the liberty of marking my fiancée with your filthy mouth. Hand or not, that was very bold of you."

Klaus glares down at Damon, towering over him in a way as if he's talking to an ant. "I was told to be good, so I'll listen now but… consider yourself uninvited from our ceremony." He starts to walk away, halts mid-stride to call over his shoulder. "Oh, and Damon?" Klaus turns to face him again, a small smile on his lips. "If I even so much as catch a whiff of your odor invading my nose on the day Bonnie becomes my wife, I will rip you apart with my bare hands."

Damon has no proof but he knows he's been on his back for hours with his eyes closed long after Klaus's little… intervention. His limbs are sprawled out as if he fell from the sky.

In the distance, he hears large wings flap, preparing for a wake. He must smell like he's dying, Damon certainly looks the part.

He cracks his eyes open to reveal vultures, a family of them in quiet introspection; birds of prey trying to decipher if he's a reliable food source or not.

Inky black feathers, sharp beaks, unrelenting talons. Reminds him of crows.

Crows.

Suddenly he knows just how he'll attend this sacred ceremony without Klaus finding out about it.