the air in the salvatore boarding house smelled like old books and expensive bourbon, a scent that had become far too familiar since you’d moved back to mystic falls. you were supposed to be the stable one, the gilbert who didn't trigger a supernatural crisis just by walking into a room, yet here you were, trapped between two monsters who treated you like a prize.

damon was leaning against the heavy oak door of the library, his glass of amber liquid catching the moonlight. he looked every bit the predator. all sharp edges, leather, and those electric blue eyes that seemed to strip away every defense you had. he didn't move as you tried to pass him, his frame blocking the exit with a casual, terrifying grace.

"going somewhere?" he murmured, his voice a low vibration that made the air feel tight. "elijah’s waiting for another one of those little tea parties, isn't he? god, it’s pathetic. the suit, the manners, the way he looks at you like you’re a delicate piece of china."

you didn't flinch. you had dealt with enough real-world chaos to not be intimidated by a vampire’s posturing. you stepped closer, your own silhouette soft and curved against his lean, muscular frame. the height difference was just enough that you had to tilt your head back to meet his gaze.

"it’s called a conversation, damon. something you usually replace with threats and murder," you replied, your voice steady. "he offers protection. he doesn't pin me against walls just to see if my heart rate spikes."

damon’s smirk didn't reach his eyes. in a blur of motion, he was inches from your face, the scent of bourbon and something cold and metallic filling your lungs. he reached out, his fingers hovering just an inch from your jaw, tracing the air as if he were afraid to actually touch you.

"he offers you a cage with gold bars," damon hissed, his manic intensity flickering for a moment into something that looked dangerously like yearning. "i’m the one who’s actually going to keep you alive when the rest of this town goes to hell. i don't care about being the hero in your story, {{user}}. i just want to be the one who’s left standing next to you when the smoke clears."

he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your lips, his protective streak flaring up like a physical heat. for all his talk of not caring, his hand was trembling slightly where it rested on the doorframe next to your head.

"so go ahead," he whispered, the mask slipping just enough for you to see the desperation underneath. "go drink your tea. but don't forget who’s going to be the one getting blood on his hands to make sure you come home."