We are back with another chapter

And this time poor stefan,

he doesnt stand a chance.

also this chapter will contain torture so dont read it if it is a trigger for you!!

here we gooooo!

3: Survivor's Guilt

Caroline

The warehouse was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that buzzes in the ears and makes every creak of the floorboards feel like an explosion. The air smelled of rust and decay, a familiar scent for Stefan, Caroline, and Bonnie. They had been here before—different places, the same game. Only this time, they weren't sure if they were playing or being played.

Caroline whispered, her voice tight. "You're sure they're in here?"

Stefan nodded, his jaw set. "They're here."

Bonnie tightened her grip on the enchanted stake in her hand, the one she had poured hours of spells into. "We go in fast, don't give them time to react."

"Easier said than done," Caroline muttered, her eyes darting around the shadowy space. "Damon's not exactly the type to just roll over, and Elena..." Her voice trailed off, heavy with worry.

Stefan didn't reply. He didn't need to. They all knew what Elena was capable of now, especially with Damon by her side.

The group moved as one, their steps soundless as they navigated the labyrinth of crates and machinery. The flicker of firelight from a distant room was their beacon. As they approached, they could hear faint noises—low murmurs, soft laughter. Damon's voice, smooth and mocking, echoed through the space.

"...you're insatiable," he drawled, his words followed by a deep, throaty laugh.

"Me?" Elena's voice was teasing, sultry. "You're the one who can't keep your hands to yourself."

Stefan's stomach turned at the sound of her voice—so familiar, yet so foreign. He gestured for Caroline and Bonnie to stop, pressing his back against a wall as he peeked around the corner.

And there they were.

Damon and Elena were tangled together on a battered sofa, his shirt discarded and her hands running through his hair as their lips moved in a fervent, heated dance. Damon's hands gripped her hips, pulling her closer, as if even the smallest distance was too much. Their laughter and murmurs melted into gasps and sighs, a display so shameless it sent a flush of anger through Stefan.

"They're making out," Caroline hissed in disbelief, peeking over Stefan's shoulder. "Are they serious right now?"

"Of course, they're serious," Bonnie said, her voice edged with frustration. "This is Damon and Elena with their humanity off. They don't care about anything but themselves."

Elena broke away from Damon's lips with a mischievous grin, her voice carrying through the room. "If Stefan and the others ever catch up to us, you think they'll be impressed by this little murder playground we've left for them?"

Damon chuckled, his fingers trailing lazily up her arm. "Oh, I hope so. It's been a while since I gave my brother a proper scare. He's overdue." He smirked, his voice dripping with venomous amusement. "You think he's close?"

Elena tilted her head, pretending to consider it. "Does it matter? They'll never stop us. You know that."

Stefan clenched his fists, stepping forward, but Bonnie yanked him back. "Wait," she mouthed.

But the decision was made for them. Damon suddenly froze, his sharp eyes flicking toward their hiding spot. "Speaking of Stefan," he purred, his smirk widening. "I think we have company."

Elena's grin mirrored his as she slipped off his lap, smoothing her dress. "Took them long enough."

Before Stefan, Caroline, or Bonnie could react, Damon and Elena blurred out of sight. The next thing they knew, Damon had Stefan pinned against the wall, his fangs bared in a vicious snarl.

"Miss me, brother?" Damon hissed, his tone mockingly sweet.

Caroline lunged for Elena, but Elena was ready. She caught Caroline's wrist mid-swing and twisted it, sending her crashing into a stack of crates. "You should've stayed out of this, Caroline," Elena taunted, her eyes glittering with malice. "You're so much more fun when you're not trying to play hero."

Bonnie raised her hands, chanting a spell, but Damon was faster. In a flash, he was in front of her, his hand closing around her throat. "Ah, ah," he said, wagging a finger. "No magic tricks, Bon-Bon. You know how much I hate those."

Bonnie's vision blurred as his grip tightened, but Caroline recovered quickly, tackling Damon and forcing him to release her. Damon spun around, his smirk widening as he squared off against both women. "Two against one? That's hardly fair," he said, his tone mockingly playful. "Elena, care to even the odds?"

Elena laughed, her voice cold and cruel. "With pleasure."

What followed was chaos. The warehouse echoed with the sounds of fists colliding, spells crackling, and taunts being thrown like daggers. Damon was ruthless, his movements calculated and deadly. He toyed with Caroline and Bonnie, his smirk never faltering, even as he dodged Bonnie's spells and overpowered Caroline.

Elena, meanwhile, was relentless. She fought with a ferocity that left no room for hesitation, her strikes precise and brutal. She seemed to delight in their struggle, her laughter ringing out as she knocked Caroline to the ground or deflected Bonnie's magic.

But then, just as suddenly as the fight began, it ended.

Damon grabbed Stefan by the throat, lifting him off the ground with ease. "You should've stayed away, little brother," he said, his voice a low growl. "But I guess some lessons have to be taught the hard way."

"Damon, don't—" Caroline started, but her plea was cut off as Damon tightened his grip.

"Relax," he said, throwing Stefan over his shoulder like a ragdoll. "He's coming with us. I'm feeling nostalgic, and I think it's time we had some brotherly bonding."

Elena appeared at his side, her smile wicked. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

Before Caroline or Bonnie could react, Damon and Elena blurred out of sight, taking Stefan with them.

The warehouse fell silent, the weight of their failure settling over Caroline and Bonnie like a heavy fog.

"They're playing with us," Caroline said, her voice shaking. "This isn't just about survival for them. It's a game."

Bonnie nodded, her hands clenched into fists. "And we're losing."

Stefan

Stefan woke slowly, his head pounding and his vision swimming as the world came into focus. The cold, metallic scent of blood filled the air, but it wasn't his. No, his blood was currently dripping into a bag through an IV stuck into his arm. The sharp burn of vervain spread like fire through his veins, keeping his vampire reflexes dulled.

He struggled against the heavy chains binding him to a chair, his muscles straining, but the vervain rendered him weak. His hands were bound behind his back, his legs shackled to the chair's legs, and the light above him flickered, casting ominous shadows across the room.

"Finally," came a familiar, taunting voice. "I was starting to think you were going to nap through the show."

Damon emerged from the shadows, a smirk playing on his lips. He looked entirely too pleased with himself, dressed in his usual black leather jacket and dark jeans, but his eyes gleamed with something more sinister than usual. This wasn't the Damon Stefan knew. This Damon was cruel, unhinged, and utterly indifferent.

"Damon," Stefan rasped, his voice hoarse. "What the hell are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Damon gestured to the setup with a theatrical wave of his hand. "I'm giving you a front-row seat to the best performance in town. You're the star, by the way."

Footsteps echoed in the room, and Stefan's heart sank further. Elena sauntered into view, her lips curved in a mocking smile as she twirled a syringe between her fingers. "Good morning, sunshine," she said sweetly, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Or should I say good evening? You've been out for hours."

"Elena," Stefan said, his voice softening. "You don't have to do this. You can come back from this—"

Her laughter cut him off, sharp and icy. "Oh, Stefan, you're adorable when you're hopeful. But let's skip the 'come back to the light' speech. You and I both know that's not going to work."

"Elena—"

"Shh," she said, pressing a finger to his lips. "You're wasting your breath. Besides, we have more important things to discuss." She turned to Damon, her eyes gleaming. "Are we ready?"

"Oh, we're more than ready," Damon replied, leaning casually against a table filled with instruments Stefan didn't want to think about. "I was just telling him how much he's going to enjoy this little trip down memory lane."

"What are you talking about?" Stefan asked, his voice tense.

Elena crouched in front of him, her face inches from his. "We're going to show you what the Augustines did to Damon," she said, her tone as light as if she were talking about the weather. "Every cut, every burn, every piece of their twisted experiments—except this time, you'll be the one feeling it."

Stefan's stomach twisted. "You don't have to do this."

"Actually," Damon cut in, his smirk widening, "we do. You see, Stefan, you've always been the golden boy, the hero. It's about time you learned what it feels like to be completely helpless. And lucky for us, we have all the tools we need."

Elena rose to her feet and walked over to the table, her fingers dancing over the array of blades, syringes, and other implements. "Damon, which one should we start with?"

"Oh, let's keep it classic," Damon said, picking up a scalpel and inspecting the blade. "You know, a little slice here, a little slice there. Nothing too crazy. Yet."

"You're insane," Stefan said, his voice trembling with both anger and disbelief.

"No, we're efficient," Elena corrected, returning to his side. She tilted her head, studying him. "But before we begin, let's address the elephant in the room, shall we? You're going to try to talk me out of this. You're going to tell me how much I've changed and how this isn't me. So let's get that out of the way."

"Elena," Stefan said, his voice steady despite the fear coursing through him. "This isn't you. This isn't who you are."

Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second before she recovered, her expression hardening. "You're right. It's not who I was. But it is who I am now. And you know what? I like it."

Stefan's eyes flicked to Damon. "You're letting her do this? You're encouraging her?"

Damon's laugh was low and cold. "Oh, Stefan, you don't get it, do you? Elena's not some fragile little girl who needs my permission. She's a force of nature. I'm just lucky enough to be along for the ride."

Elena smirked, leaning into Damon's side. "See, that's the difference between you and Damon. You wanted to save me. Damon lets me be who I really am."

Stefan's jaw tightened. "This isn't who you are. It's what you've become because you shut off your humanity."

Damon rolled his eyes. "Oh, spare us the therapy session, Dr. Phil. You're not going to guilt her into flipping her switch. And for the record, even if you could, it wouldn't work on me. I don't care about your righteous speeches or your moral high ground. For once, I got the girl. So you can save your breath."

Stefan's gaze shifted back to Elena. "You're stronger than this."

"Stronger?" Elena echoed, her eyes narrowing. "Let me tell you something, Stefan. Strength isn't suppressing who you are to fit someone else's idea of you. Strength is embracing the darkness and not being afraid of it."

"And," Damon added with a smirk, "strength is also being the best in bed." His eyes flicked to Stefan, his smirk turning cruel. "But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you, little brother?"

Stefan's fists clenched against the chains. "You're pathetic."

"Am I?" Damon said, leaning closer. "Because from where I'm standing, I'm the one with everything I've ever wanted. And you're the one chained to a chair, about to learn what real pain feels like."

Elena's laughter rang out as she picked up the scalpel from the table and twirled it between her fingers. "This is going to be fun."

Stefan's heart raced as he tried to think of a way out, but the vervain left him weak and helpless. He locked eyes with Elena, searching for any sign of the girl he once loved, but all he saw was cold, unfeeling indifference.

"Elena," he said, his voice cracking. "Please. Don't do this."

Her expression softened for the briefest moment, but then Damon stepped behind her, his hands resting on her shoulders. "Don't let him get to you," he said, his voice low. "He's just trying to mess with your head."

Elena nodded, her resolve hardening. "You're right. He doesn't deserve my mercy."

"And he won't get it," Damon said, his smirk returning. "Let's get started."

Damon

The apartment was unnervingly quiet. Damon leaned against the doorframe, his sharp gaze fixed on Elena as she sat cross-legged on the sofa, staring out the window at the city lights. Her usual smirk, her sarcastic edge, all seemed to have vanished, replaced by a stillness that didn't suit her.

"Elena," Damon drawled, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade, "what's with the brooding? That's Stefan's shtick, not yours."

She didn't turn to face him, her honey-brown eyes distant as she toyed with the edge of her leather jacket. "I'm not brooding," she said softly, though her tone lacked its usual bite.

Damon's brows furrowed, and he moved closer, his boots echoing on the hardwood floor. "You've been sitting there like a statue for the past hour. You're either plotting something devious, or—" He stopped, narrowing his eyes. "Or you're thinking. And we both know nothing good comes from you thinking right now."

Elena finally turned her head to look at him, her lips pressing into a thin line. "What if we're wrong, Damon?"

Damon froze mid-step, his eyes flashing with a mixture of irritation and disbelief. "Wrong about what?"

"This. Us. Turning it all off," she said, her voice wavering ever so slightly. "What if—"

"Nope," Damon interrupted, holding up a hand. "Don't even finish that sentence."

She stood abruptly, her movements sharp. "What if Stefan's right?" she snapped, her voice rising. "What if this isn't who we are? What if we're just running away from everything we can't handle?"

Damon's jaw clenched, and he crossed the room in a flash, standing inches from her. His piercing blue eyes bore into hers, a storm of emotions swirling beneath their icy surface. "Don't do this, Elena," he said, his voice dangerously low. "Don't let him crawl into your head. That's exactly what he wants."

Elena's shoulders tensed, but she didn't back away. "What if he's not wrong, Damon? What if turning my humanity back on is the only way to fix this?"

Damon's laughter was dark and humorless, a sharp contrast to her vulnerability. "Fix this?" he repeated, his tone dripping with mockery. "Do you really think flipping your switch will suddenly make everything better? Newsflash, Elena: turning it back on doesn't erase what we've done. It just makes you drown in it."

Her lips trembled, and she looked away, but Damon wasn't about to let her retreat. He grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. "Do you remember what it felt like before you turned it off? All that pain? The guilt? The endless spiral of misery? Because I do. And I'm not letting you go back to that."

Her voice was barely a whisper. "Then make me remember why it's a bad idea."

Damon's smirk returned, slow and wicked. "You want a reminder?"

She nodded, her eyes searching his.

"Alright, princess," he said, his voice dropping an octave, "let me remind you."

Before she could respond, Damon's lips crashed against hers, hard and unyielding. His hands tangled in her hair, pulling her closer as he kissed her with a fervor that left no room for hesitation. Elena's initial surprise melted away, and she surrendered to the kiss, her hands gripping the front of his shirt.

Damon pulled back just enough to speak, his lips brushing against hers. "Do you feel that, Elena? That fire? That hunger?"

She nodded breathlessly, her eyes half-lidded.

"That's who we are now," he murmured, his hands sliding down to her waist. "No guilt. No pain. Just us."

Elena's resolve wavered, and Damon seized the opportunity to kiss her again, his lips trailing down her jawline to her neck. She tilted her head back, giving him access, her breathing growing uneven.

"You don't need humanity," Damon whispered against her skin. "You have me."

Elena's grip on his shirt tightened as his words sank in. He was relentless, his kisses growing more demanding, more consuming. Each one seemed to chip away at her doubts, replacing them with something darker, something primal.

"Say it," Damon urged, his voice low and commanding. "Say you don't need it."

"I don't need it," she murmured, her voice barely audible.

"Louder," he growled, his hands sliding up her back.

"I don't need it," she said again, stronger this time.

"Good girl," Damon said, a smirk tugging at his lips. He lifted her effortlessly, carrying her toward the bedroom without breaking their kiss.

Elena wrapped her arms around his neck, her doubts evaporating under his touch. He laid her down on the bed, his weight pressing against her as he leaned in, his lips hovering inches from hers.

"Now," he said, his voice a seductive whisper, "let me remind you who you belong to."

[...]

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the curtains, casting a golden glow over the room. Damon lay sprawled on the bed, a satisfied grin on his face as he watched Elena get dressed.

She caught his gaze in the mirror and raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Nothing," Damon said, his grin widening. "Just admiring my handiwork."

Elena rolled her eyes, but a small smile played on her lips.

"You're welcome, by the way," Damon said, propping himself up on his elbows.

"For what?"

"For saving you from yourself," he replied, his tone teasing. "Again."

Elena turned to face him, her expression softening. "Thank you," she said, her voice sincere.

Damon's smirk faded, replaced by a genuine smile. "Anytime, princess."

As Elena walked over to him, Damon reached out, grabbing her wrist and pulling her back onto the bed.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, his voice playful.

"We have things to do," Elena said, though she made no effort to leave.

"They can wait," Damon said, his lips brushing against hers.

Elena laughed softly, shaking her head. "You're impossible."

"And you love it," Damon replied, his eyes gleaming.

She kissed him hard, making him want her more just to take a step back smirking. "I don't love anything Damon, my humanity is off."

Damon just smirked.

"Good girl."

Stefan

The room was dim, the only source of light a single, flickering bulb that swayed overhead. The scent of blood, metal, and despair clung to the air. Damon leaned casually against the wall, twirling a scalpel between his fingers, the very picture of calm menace.

Stefan stirred, groaning as he tried to lift his head. His wrists and ankles were bound to a metal chair, vervain-laced cuffs biting into his skin. An IV snaked down from a stand, dripping vervain directly into his veins. His muscles were weak, his strength depleted, and the pain of the poison searing his body kept him from healing.

"Rise and shine, little brother," Damon drawled, his tone mockingly cheerful.

Stefan blinked against the harsh light, his vision swimming as he took in his surroundings. Then his eyes locked on Damon, and a wave of dread washed over him. "Damon..."

"Ah, there he is," Damon said, straightening. "How's the head? Still spinning? Or is the vervain working its magic yet?"

"What—what are you doing?" Stefan rasped, his voice hoarse.

Damon smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. It was a cold, calculating expression, devoid of humor. "I figured it was time for a little... family bonding. Thought we'd try something new. You know, shake things up."

Stefan's heart sank as he realized where they were—an abandoned laboratory, eerily similar to the one Damon had described when he spoke of his time with the Augustines. A chill ran down his spine.

"Damon, you don't have to do this," Stefan said, struggling against his restraints.

Damon's laugh was low and dark, a sound that sent shivers down Stefan's spine. "Don't I? Because, see, I've been thinking, Stefan. About all those years I spent in a cage, being poked and prodded like some kind of science experiment. And you know what I realized? You never came for me."

Stefan froze, the weight of Damon's words sinking in.

"For five years," Damon continued, his voice tightening with barely contained fury, "I sat there, day after day, waiting. Waiting for my little brother to come save me. But you didn't. You didn't even notice I was gone."

"Damon, I—"

"Save it," Damon snapped, his voice cutting through the air like a whip. He stepped closer, his face inches from Stefan's. "You didn't care then, and you don't care now. But don't worry, brother. I'm going to help you understand exactly what I went through. Maybe then you'll feel something."

He stepped back, picking up a syringe filled with a clear liquid. He tapped it once, the sound sharp in the silence.

"Damon, don't do this," Stefan pleaded, his voice breaking.

Damon tilted his head, feigning thought. "Oh, but I have to. This is educational. You're always so quick to play the martyr, to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. But this time, Stefan? This time, the guilt is yours to bear."

With a flick of his wrist, Damon plunged the syringe into Stefan's arm, injecting the liquid. Stefan cried out as his veins burned, the vervain coursing through his system like fire.

"You know," Damon said conversationally, setting the syringe aside, "the Augustine scientists used to do this for fun. They'd watch us writhe in pain, taking notes like it was some kind of sick game. I used to scream for you, you know. Beg for my little brother to come rescue me. But you didn't. And do you know what that taught me?"

Stefan panted, his body trembling from the pain. "Damon... please..."

"It taught me," Damon continued, his voice growing colder, "that I was alone. That the one person I thought I could count on didn't give a damn about me."

Stefan's throat tightened, guilt clawing at his chest. "I didn't know... I didn't know where you were..."

"Didn't know, or didn't care to look?" Damon retorted, his eyes flashing with fury.

Stefan's head dropped, shame washing over him.

"Let me show you something else they did," Damon said, his tone almost casual. He picked up a scalpel, holding it up so the light glinted off the blade. "They were fascinated by vampire anatomy. Always curious about how fast we could heal, how much pain we could endure."

Damon stepped behind Stefan, dragging the blade lightly across his brother's arm. Stefan winced as the vervain in his system slowed his healing, the cut stinging more than it should have.

"They liked to test limits," Damon said, his voice low and menacing. "How many times can you rip a person apart before they stop putting themselves back together? How far can you push them before they break?"

He moved to Stefan's other side, slicing a shallow cut across his cheek. Stefan flinched but didn't cry out, his jaw clenching against the pain.

Damon leaned in close, his breath hot against Stefan's ear. "You're trying to be brave. I get it. But let me tell you something, Stefan: bravery doesn't last long under a microscope."

Stefan turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting Damon's. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Damon straightened, his expression hard. "Sorry doesn't cut it, brother. Not after five years of hell."

Stefan swallowed hard, his heart aching at the pain he saw in Damon's eyes.

"Do you know what the worst part was?" Damon asked, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "It wasn't the experiment. It wasn't the pain. It was the realization that no one was coming for me. That you weren't coming for me."

Stefan's head dropped, tears slipping down his cheeks. "I failed you," he admitted, his voice breaking. "I failed you, Damon. And I'm so sorry."

Damon stared at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he stepped back, setting the scalpel aside.

"You're damn right you failed me," he said, his voice cold. "And now, you're going to live with that. Just like I did."

He turned and walked away, leaving Stefan alone in the chair, his heart heavy with guilt and regret.

Elena

The once luxurious mansion in the Hamptons had seen better days, its grandiosity long overtaken by decay. The chandeliers were dusty, the wallpaper peeling, and the air was thick with a sense of foreboding. Down in the basement, Stefan Salvatore sat chained to a rusted chair, his wrists raw from the vervain-soaked bindings. His breathing was heavy, not from physical exhaustion, but from the weight of what Damon had just put him through.

Upstairs, Damon lounged on a tattered leather sofa, one leg propped up on the armrest, a glass of bourbon swirling lazily in his hand. He looked like the epitome of nonchalance, but his jaw tightened as he glanced toward the window, his blue eyes darkening with unspoken thoughts. Elena strolled into the room, her lips curved into a sly smile as she leaned against the doorway, a vision of beauty and danger wrapped in leather and dark allure.

"You're quiet," Elena remarked, her honeyed tone laced with curiosity. She sauntered toward him, her heels clicking against the wooden floor. "Not like you to let silence do all the talking."

Damon's gaze snapped to her, and for a moment, the humanity buried deep within him flickered. But it was gone just as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual devil-may-care smirk. "Just thinking," he said, setting the glass down with a soft clink. "About how we're going to top the little symphony of guilt I composed for Stefan. It's your turn now, Elena."

Her smile faltered, and she tilted her head. "My turn? What exactly do you have in mind?"

Damon stood, his movements fluid and predatory as he crossed the room to her. He placed his hands on her hips, pulling her close. "It's simple. Stefan has always put you on a pedestal, like you're some untouchable saint. Now's your chance to rip that pedestal to shreds. Make him see the blood on your hands. Make him feel the weight of all the people you've killed—because of him."

Elena arched an eyebrow, intrigued but not entirely sold. "Because of him? That's a bit of a stretch, even for you, Damon."

"Not at all," Damon said, his voice low and persuasive. "Remind him that he's the one who dragged you into this world, who couldn't let you go even when it meant destroying your humanity. Every drop of blood on your hands is a result of his selfishness. Twist the knife, Elena. Make him feel it."

Elena studied him for a moment, her sharp eyes narrowing. She could see the cracks in his armor, the faint tremor in his hand as he released her. Damon was shaken—whether it was from the guilt he was forcing onto Stefan or the memories of his own torment at the hands of the Augustines, she wasn't sure. But she could feel it, the weight of his burden pressing against him.

"You're shaken," she said softly, her tone losing some of its edge. She reached up, brushing her fingers against his cheek. "I know what you're doing, Damon. You're trying to drown out your own guilt by making Stefan feel worse."

Damon scoffed, but he didn't pull away from her touch. "Don't psychoanalyze me, Elena. I'm perfectly fine."

"No, you're not," she said, stepping even closer. "But that's okay. You don't have to be fine, Damon. You have me, and I'm not going anywhere."

For a moment, the air between them was charged with something unspoken, a connection deeper than their shared darkness. Elena leaned in, her lips brushing against his in a kiss that was both tender and possessive. Damon responded instantly, his hands gripping her waist as if she were the only thing anchoring him to the world.

When they finally broke apart, Elena's smirk returned, this time tinged with mischief. "So, you want me to guilt trip Stefan? Consider it done. But first…" She trailed off, pulling him toward the worn sofa.

Damon allowed himself to be led, his trademark smirk back in place. "First what?"

Elena pushed him onto the couch and straddled his lap, her hands tangling in his hair. "First, I remind you why you don't need to drown in guilt. You have me, Damon. I'm yours, and I'll do whatever it takes to keep us both from turning soft."

Damon chuckled, his hands sliding up her thighs. "Now that's the kind of motivation I can get behind."

The room was heavy with tension, the kind that came with two people who had abandoned humanity and let nothing but raw instinct drive them. Moonlight poured through the open window, casting a silvery glow on their bare skin. Damon's blackened eyes raked over Elena, a predatory smirk on his lips as he looked at her.

"You feel it, don't you?" Damon taunted, his voice low and gravelly, dripping with sin. "The only thing left—this. Lust. It's the only emotion that doesn't hurt."

Elena's lips parted, her breathing uneven as she stepped closer, matching his energy. "Why run from it when we can drown in it?" she murmured, her voice as smooth and venomous as his.

Damon's hand shot out, grabbing her waist with bruising force, and in an instant, their mouths collided. There was nothing soft about the way he kissed her—teeth clashed, lips bruised, and their breaths came in sharp gasps as they fought for dominance. Elena moaned into his mouth, her nails raking down his chest, leaving angry red marks in their wake.

He growled, spinning her and slamming her back against the wall. The thud reverberated through the room, a precursor to what was about to happen. His hands pinned her wrists above her head, and his lips found her neck, biting down hard enough to make her gasp.

Her head tilted back, her body arching into him as her legs wrapped around his waist. "Harder, Damon," she demanded, her voice thick with need. "Make me forget."

His laugh was dark and breathless as he hoisted her higher. "You'll be screaming my name soon enough," he promised, his voice rough with lust.

They didn't bother making it to the bed immediately. Damon turned, carrying her to the dresser and slamming her down on top of it. The furniture groaned under the weight, but neither of them cared. His hands were everywhere—tangling in her hair, gripping her thighs, leaving bruises in their wake. Clothes were torn away in a frenzy, the sound of fabric ripping mixing with the desperate moans and growls that filled the air.

When he finally moved them to the bed, it was chaos. Damon pushed her down, her hair splayed wildly across the pillows. He hovered over her, his body pressing hers into the mattress as he moved with unrelenting force. The bed creaked loudly, the headboard slamming into the wall in a relentless rhythm.

Skin slapped against skin, the sound loud and primal, echoing through the room with every thrust. Elena's cries rose in pitch, her hands clawing at his back as she urged him on. "Don't stop," she gasped, her voice raw and needy. "Don't you dare stop."

He smirked, his breath hot against her ear as he whispered, "I wasn't planning to."

The bed frame protested under their combined force, but they were relentless. Damon's hands roamed her body, gripping her hips hard enough to leave marks. Elena writhed beneath him, her head thrown back as her screams filled the room, loud and shameless.

"You're so loud," Damon growled, his teeth grazing her jaw as he thrust harder. "Do you want the whole damn world to hear you?"

"Let them hear," she shot back, her voice breaking as her body trembled. "Let them know you're the only thing that feels good anymore."

Her words spurred him on, his pace growing even more brutal. The bed creaked louder, the headboard slamming against the wall in a punishing rhythm. The sounds of their bodies colliding filled the space—skin against skin, loud and unrelenting, mingled with their cries and the occasional growl.

Elena's nails dug into his shoulders, drawing blood, but Damon only grinned wickedly. "Is that all you've got?" he taunted, his voice rough and breathless.

Her response was a scream of pleasure as she arched into him, her body taut and trembling. "Don't stop," she pleaded, her voice breaking. "This is all we have, Damon. Don't you dare stop."

He gripped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. His smirk was dark, his eyes blazing with intensity. "Look at me," he demanded, his voice a growl. "I want to see every second of you falling apart for me."

Elena's eyes fluttered open, her gaze locking onto his as the room filled with the sound of their shared passion. Every moan, every cry, every slam of the headboard against the wall was deafening, the noise echoing around them like a symphony of their recklessness.

When they finally collapsed against each other, their bodies slick with sweat, the silence that followed was almost deafening. The air was thick with the scent of their shared passion, the bed a mess of twisted sheets and broken limits.

Elena smirked, her chest still heaving as she looked over at him. "This is the only thing that makes sense now," she murmured, her voice low but confident.

Damon chuckled darkly, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her thigh. "Lust," he said simply. "The only thing we have left."

"And it's enough," Elena whispered, her lips curling into a dangerous smile. "For now."

Stefan

The basement was dim and oppressive, the flickering lightbulb overhead casting erratic shadows across the damp, cracked walls. Stefan sat slumped in the rusted chair, his wrists raw and bloodied from the vervain-soaked chains that bound him. His head throbbed from Damon's last round of torment, and his body ached with the weight of guilt Elena had mercilessly thrust upon him. But it wasn't just the physical pain that had hollowed him out.

It was their voices.

Their laughter.

Their moans.

The echoes of Damon and Elena's lusty, unrelenting performance upstairs still rang in Stefan's ears like a cruel symphony. He had tried to block it out, to focus on anything else—the chains digging into his wrists, the cold air biting at his skin—but their voices seeped through every crack, every corner of his fractured resolve.

It wasn't just the intimacy of it; it was the way they reveled in their chaos, their unity in destruction. Together, they were unstoppable. But together, Stefan realized, they were also vulnerable.

Their weakness wasn't something physical or strategic—it was each other.

Forcing himself to sit upright despite the agony coursing through him, Stefan's mind began to clear, piece by piece. He replayed their taunts, their games, and the moments they let their guard down in the haze of their obsession. They had taken him as a trophy, a pawn in their vicious game. But they had made a mistake. They were too consumed by each other to realize that keeping him alive had given him an advantage.

They wanted him to feel guilt. Instead, they'd shown him how to fight back.

Stefan's eyes scanned the dimly lit room. The IV bag hung limply on a rusty stand, dripping vervain into his bloodstream at a steady pace. His legs were chained to the chair, and every movement sent sharp jolts of pain through his battered frame. But none of it mattered.

Damon and Elena had made a crucial error in their twisted game. They thought breaking him emotionally would render him powerless. They thought chaining him in a dark basement would make him their victim.

But Stefan had been through worse.

He closed his eyes, drawing on memories of his ripper days—memories he tried so hard to suppress. He'd been ruthless once, calculated and unrelenting. It was a side of himself he loathed, but now it might be the key to his survival.

He inhaled deeply, steadying his thoughts. If Damon and Elena were so caught up in each other, they wouldn't see him coming. He just needed to get free.

The chains around his wrists burned with vervain, each tug searing his skin like fire. But Stefan gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain. He tested their strength, pulling against them in subtle, controlled movements. If he yanked too hard, the noise might alert them. If he moved too fast, he might not be able to suppress a groan of pain.

Time passed—minutes, maybe hours. He wasn't sure. His muscles screamed for relief, but he didn't stop. Slowly, deliberately, the chains began to loosen.

Every creak of the rusted metal was a victory. Every drop of blood that trickled from his wrists was a reminder of what was at stake.

Stefan glanced toward the basement stairs, listening for any sign of Damon or Elena. But all he heard was the occasional muffled laugh or murmur of their voices upstairs. They were distracted.

Good.

As Stefan worked, his thoughts returned to Damon and Elena. Their obsession with each other had blinded them, made them reckless. Stefan had always known Damon's greatest strength was his love—his ability to cling to those he cared about with ferocious loyalty. But now, with his humanity off, that love had twisted into something dangerous.

Elena was the same. Her humanity switch had turned her love for Damon into something primal, all-consuming. Together, they were a force of destruction.

But Stefan knew that kind of connection came at a cost.

They were so focused on each other that they hadn't noticed the cracks in their foundation. Stefan had seen it in the brief moments they let their guard down—the possessive glances, the jealousy, the need to outdo each other

It was toxic. It was unstable. And it was exactly what Stefan could use to his advantage.

Finally, the chain around his right wrist gave way, the rusty clasp snapping with a soft click. Stefan froze, his heart pounding as he waited for any sound from upstairs.

Nothing.

He quickly freed his other hand, biting back a groan as blood rushed to his swollen wrists. His legs were next. The chains around his ankles were tight, but the rusted metal was weak. With one final effort, he broke free.

Stefan staggered to his feet, the room spinning as he adjusted to the sudden movement. His body screamed in protest, every muscle aching, but he pushed through the pain.

He limped toward the basement door, his bare feet silent against the cold concrete. The old wooden stairs creaked beneath his weight, and he winced, pausing after every step to listen for any sign of movement above.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Stefan pressed his ear to the door. Damon and Elena's voices were faint but unmistakable, their laughter carrying through the mansion like a haunting melody.

They were still distracted. Still lost in their delusion of power.

Stefan pushed the door open slowly, peeking into the dimly lit hallway. The coast was clear.

As he moved through the mansion, Stefan's mind raced. He needed to get out, to regroup, to find a way to turn Damon and Elena's weakness against them.

But as he approached the grand staircase leading to the front door, he paused.

They had taken him for a reason. Not to kill him, but to torment him. To remind him of his failures, his mistakes. But in doing so, they had revealed their own vulnerabilities.

Damon's rage. Elena's jealousy.

Their love for each other had turned into a weapon, but it could also be their undoing.

Stefan glanced back toward the direction of their voices, a flicker of determination sparking in his eyes.

"They think they've won," he muttered to himself. "But they're wrong."

Stefan pushed open the front door, the cold night air hitting his face like a splash of water. The stars above the Hamptons glimmered faintly, their light dim compared to the fire burning in his chest.

For the first time since his capture, Stefan felt a sense of clarity. Damon and Elena might have stripped him of his dignity, but they had also given him a weapon.

Themselves.

As he disappeared into the shadows, Stefan made a silent vow.

He would bring them back.

Not because he believed in their redemption, but because he believed in his own.

Sooo here is chapter 3

at the end i decided to leave damon's strength in torture for the best and i don't see him physically torturing stefan.

anyways thanks for reading!

pla review!!!!