Damon glances at Elena in the passenger seat. She leaning against the window and staring at the stars.
"Admit it, Gilbert," Damon smirks. "You only came for the ride because you missed my face. Couldn't stay away, could you?"
"Keep dreaming, Salvatore," Elena snorts. "I came because you begged me to talk, and I'm not heartless enough to leave you sulking alone." She adjusts her jacket, tugging it tighter. "But if this is you 'talking'," she air-quotes the word, "I'm out at the next stoplight."
"Begged? I offered you a front-row seat to the Damon Salvatore experience. You're here because you're hooked, even if you're too stubborn to admit it." He shifts gears, and the car surges forward.
"Hooked? On your ego? Please. We're toxic, Damon. One minute we're good, the next we're screaming. That's not a win."
"Mm, but what a poison!" he purrs as he glances at her again. "You love the chaos, Elena. Don't lie. You'd be bored with some nice guy who brings you flowers and calls you 'sweetie.'" He pulls over onto a gravel shoulder and turns to face her. "Admit it. You're here because it's us."
"Us?" she repeats. "Us is why I can't sleep, Damon. We burn too hot, and then we crash. What are we even doing?"
"We're living, Elena. Messy, reckless, real. You want safe? That's not me. But this?" His hand reaches out and takes her wrist, his fingers lingering on her pulse. "It's real."
Elena's breath catches. "Real doesn't mean reckless, Damon. I want something that lasts, not something that burns out." Her eyes search his. "You scare me... but I can't stop feeling this." She hesitates, "I don't know why you're always in my head."
"You probably dream about me." He winks and his eyes drift to her mouth. "I bet you even write my name in your journal over and over again with a little heart drawn around it..."
She's about to argue, but his touch undoes her. She leans in, and he meets her halfway. They kiss. It's fierce, all teeth and tongues as his hand tangles in her hair. His tongue slips inside her mouth, and it's nothing like she's ever experienced. Elena suddenly understands why people describe kissing as melting because every square inch of her body is dissolving into his. Her fingers grip his hair to pull him closer.
When they break apart, panting, Damon smirks. "Told you," he murmurs, tracing her lips with his thumb. "You're in deep, Gilbert."
She laughs and shoves him back. "You're impossible...why do we keep doing this?"
"Because we're worth it," Damon winks and steals one more kiss before leaning back. "And...because you're just as bad as me."
"Oh, I'm not as bad as you," Elena teases as she leans in to kiss him again. "But maybe… maybe that's why I understand you." As the kiss deepens, she finds his shoulders as she climbs onto his lap and begins to grind against him.
Several weeks later...
Elena Gilbert is sitting on the edge of the couch, nervously twisting the hem of her sweater. She's been at Damon's place countless times, but tonight, she has a secret that threatens to upend the meticulous world Damon's built.
He strides in from the kitchen with a glass of bourbon in hand. "You're fidgeting, Gilbert," he observes, dropping into the armchair across from her. "What's the disaster? Did you spill a latte on your diary?"
"Damon," she says tensely, "I need to tell you something."
He leans back, crossing one leg over the other, and takes a slow swallow. "Let me guess. You've finally admitted I'm the superior Salvatore? Sorry, Stefan's too busy hugging trees in Oregon to care."
She fights back an eyeroll as she reaches into her purse and pulls out the pregnancy test, holding it up like a grenade with the pin pulled. The two pink lines read, "I'm pregnant."
Damon freezes, the glass halfway to his lips. Then he lets out a sharp, incredulous laugh. Bourbon sloshes, but he doesn't spill. Not Damon, never Damon. "Pregnant?" he snorts, still chuckling. "Nice one, Elena. You almost had me. Where's the punchline?"
She doesn't flinch as she holds the test. The laughter fades, and Damon's eyes dart from her face to the stick and back again. "Wait," he counters. "You're not joking."
"Dead serious," she replies, crossing her arms. "I took three tests. All positive."
He sets the glass down on the coaster and leans forward, elbows on his knees. "Three?" he repeats like the number is a riddle he can solve. He runs a hand through his hair, mussing it. "Okay, rewind. How did this happen?"
Elena's brows shoot up. "Seriously, Damon? You want a play-by-play?"
"No, I..." He gestures vaguely. "I know the mechanics, Elena. I'm not a monk. But we were careful, right? Condoms, caution, common sense...something!"
"Not careful enough," she mentions as she leans back against the couch. "It's real. I'm pregnant. With your kid."
The word "kid" lands like a brick through his pristine windowpanes. Damon begins to pace like a predator. "My kid," he mutters, almost to himself. "My kid. Oh, hell no." He stops, pivots, and points at her. "You sure it's mine?"
Elena's responding glare could shatter his decanter. "Damon," she warns.
He raises his hands in mock surrender. "Kidding! Mostly." He resumes pacing, muttering under his breath. "False positives happen, right? Faulty tech. We sue the manufacturer, buy a villa in Italy, call it a day."
"It's not a fluke," Elena spits out. "I saw the doctor this morning. Eight weeks along."
"Eight weeks?" He spins to face her with wide eyes. "You've been incubating a mini-me for two months and didn't mention it?"
"I just found out!" she snaps. "I've been panicking all day, Damon. This wasn't on my bingo card either."
He stares at her, chest rising and falling, as tension hangs heavy in the air. Then he groans, dragging both hands down his face. "This is karmic payback," he declares. "I've mocked the universe too long, and now it's handing me a pacifier."
"Damon, can you be serious for once?"
"Serious?" He drops his hands. "I'm always serious, Elena. Seriously doomed, in this case." He flops into the armchair again. "So, what's the move? Keeping it? Adoption? Ritual banishment?"
Elena tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm keeping it," she announces as her hand brushes her flat stomach. "I don't know how we'll do this, but… I want it."
Damon tilts his head, studying her. "You want it," he echoes. "Guess I'm a dad then. The kid's screwed with me as a role model."
Elena nudges his knee with her foot. "You're not screwed. You're just… Damon."
"Exactly," he quips, grabbing his bourbon and raising it in a toast. "To the Salvatore heir. May it inherit my jawline and your patience." He downs the drink, then coughs lightly. "And may I not ruin it worse than my liver."
Thank you for reading. This is a short, fluffy story. Because as my friend, Kerry said, "the world is a mess and we all need a little fluff sometimes."
My favorite 'feel-good' story has always been "His Best Girl" by tsukikomew. I hope this one will become that for some of you.
Massive thanks to wattsKerrylou for suggesting the story and for the cover image. She's just wonderful in every way. Do read her stories. Thanks to Eva for pre-reading. Love you both.
I hope you all have a wonderful day.