talulajones-stories

[talulajones-stories]

Elena ploughs through the lineup of alcohol scattered across the marble kitchen island. One of the perks of being a vampire? Alcohol hits harder, and it keeps the cravings dull. She and Caroline are doing their part—actually their civic duty, by killing the alcohol before these teens get to it.

Lime jello shots that don’t taste like any real flavor, just green, and burn with Everclear. Jungle juice, which is just cranberry cocktail, orange concentrate, and way too much Everclear. And trash-can punch, spiked with cheap vodka, clear rum, and you guessed it...Everclear.

Not a barrel-aged bourbon or decent whiskey in sight. Teenagers don’t have discerning alcohol taste. They have whatever-they-can-get-their-hands-on taste.

Some rich kid’s parents are off skiing in Vail and left him behind to play house DJ and host a rager.

Elena keeps glancing over her red solo cup at anyone who spills in from the foyer. Caroline notices, steps in, and steadies her with both hands on her shoulders.

“She’s not coming. “Her eyes getting Elena to focus on the moment, “She has to study and told us to have fun.”

The kitchen fills up fast with bodies. Happy ones. Sad ones. Wild and quiet. The ones dragged here by friends, the ones who came to blow off steam. The hot guys. The hotter girls. Her and Caroline, in the middle of it, floating. And it’s a test. Standing there, drinking through the pulses and pheromones, breathing them in. They’re all so beautiful. So unaware.

Caroline is in her ear, wistful, smiling, “It’s  our senior year, Elena. We need these memories, before we all go off to college, and.. “

College. Before going over that bridge, she’d been waiting for acceptance letters, anxious to see which schools chose her. They’re probably stacked with the junk mail at her house, Jeremy passing them in the hall. She hadn’t thought about college since. She doesn’t even think about it now as Caroline waxes poetic about them sharing a dorm.

Elena grabs another jello shot and lets it wriggle down her throat, shaking her head. Caroline hands her two more, then laces her fingers into Elena's and pulls her through the hallway toward the living room—now a dance floor, dark, pulsing, and crowded. A jumbo flat screen plays a Tarantino flick on mute, while the surround sound system thumps through every corner of the house, vibrating the walls.

Caroline rolls her shoulders, pulling Elena deeper and deeper into the crowd, until they are the center of the humans, swaying side to side among them.  

And it’s that exposure therapy Caroline was talking about.

She can smell everything. Their soap. Their B.O. Their menstrual cycles. Their Dove deodorant. Their sweat. Their arousal. The illnesses already inside them that will kill them someday.

Caroline grabs her hand again and lifts it right under her chin, like they are about to tango. “Fucking dance, Elena,” she yells, so excited her whole mouth is open, molars flashing, the faint hint of her fangs just visible.

Elena snorts, eyes crinkling.

The beat drops. She closes her eyes. She jumps with it, rages with it, lets the music roll through her. Let’s the music help her forget.

Caroline throws her head back and screams, “Yass!”

And the room becomes a blur of lights and limbs, laughter and heat, a swirl of humanity around her. Elena is floating in it. Almost human too.

Then it hits her.

A scent that the ones closest to her have only described as difficult. Or hard. Or something they don’t think about at all.

All resisting the best way they can.

Elena can’t deal like them.

Bonnie is the reason she has to leave.

+++

Hightailing it as human-like as possible, she doesn’t speed out — too many people, and their phones like appendages, ready and waiting, recording everything. Ready to post it all with some caption like “Scary bitch turns ghost at house party 👀👻.”

The front door is near, and basically open. So many kids are pouring in, and she can’t pinpoint exactly where Bonnie is with all the scents, but she’s close. And she’s close to the door.

“Elena!” Bonnie says, her eyes lit up. She’s happy to see her. Her pulse says she’s thrilled.

Elena folds her arms in the too-short strapless black dress Caroline made her wear as they got dressed at her house, despite it still being below 40 degrees outside. Her fingernails dig into her prickled skin. “HI,” she manages, her throat hoarse and choking out that she was just leaving.

“Yeah, I, um, I’m not feeling well.”

Bonnie, who always dresses appropriately for the weather—jeans hugging her hips, that green sweater making her eyes go full forest fire. Nothing about her hides what she feels. She yanks Elena into the hall closet.

The closet is dark. The light switch is on the outside and Elena is glad. She doesn’t need the light to see her. To hear her anger.

“’I’m done with you avoiding me. You tell me right now what the hell is going on with you, Elena!”

But she is glad Bonnie can’t see her—or she’d see those black lines they all get, crawling from her eyes to her cheeks.

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” she lies, stepping back from Bonnie in the cramped closet, into a pillow of winter coats hanging, bumping the back of her leg into a vacuum cleaner.

“Stop lying to me.”

Bonnie’s chest rises when she says it.  Demanding. The blue and red veins at her caramel throat. 

Stop. Lying. Elena.

What the fuck is happening to me.

Breathing deep, Elena composes herself enough to put her hand on the handle and say, “Bonnie, I just don’t feel good.”

“I know that I wasn’t the most supportive when Caroline turned, and I feel horrible about that, and I don’t want to make the same mistake with you,” Bonnie says, putting her hand over Elena’s to stop her from leaving.

Elena swallows hard, her gums itching. “You won’t,” she says. Her last human instinct braced to run. Her vampire heart wanting to feed.

“Then what is it?” 

Bonnie’s words come out like an offering to Elena’s ears, pliable and warm,  as if what she had really asked is what do you want from me?

What she wants is to eat her. Sink her teeth into her breast. Fangs through the wool green sweater and lightly padded bra, down to flesh and blood. Taste the Skittles. Taste the rainbow.

Elena does the only thing she can to stop herself.

She presses toward the door, agitated, and spits, “I can’t do this right now, Bonnie.”

But Bonnie leans in, shifting her weight to block her—determined not to let Elena sidetrack her again. And that small brush of her body against Elena’s—the swell of her chest, the press of her thighs, her warm breath at Elena’s collarbone?

It’s enough.

Elena kisses her.

Her mouth presses to Bonnie’s so sudden, so unexpected, that Bonnie startles. A small gasp escapes as she jerks back against the wall.

Elena flushes with hot, instant embarrassment, her breath catching as she starts to stammer an apology, hand half-covering her fangs.

Bonnie’s chest rises and falls, unsteady. “It’s okay,” she says, voice low and husky. “We just…” And all Elena sees is Bonnie in that cheerleader uniform from the Grill—sun on her skin, skirt barely covering her ass—

God. Fuck it.

And she crashes her mouth into Bonnie’s again before she can get out another word. Because Bonnie doesn’t smell like a childhood stuffed animal to her. And she doesn’t think the witch is difficult. And she definitely can’t sit at a bar and deny that she doesn’t think about her.

Elena thinks the others are crazy for doing anything other than kissing Bonnie.

She catches Bonnie’s bottom lip between her teeth, tugging gently—just enough to make her whine. Tasting cherry lip gloss and something underneath. Magic?

And this time, when she leans in—pressing her body into the petite witch, crushing her against the wall—Bonnie kisses her back.

Slowly, she parts her lips, opens her mouth, lets Elena slide her tongue inside. The relinquishing is subtle but complete—her mouth yielding, welcoming, learning the rhythm of Elena’s.

It’s not rushed. But it’s hungry. Like they’ve both been thinking about this for a long, long time.

Her hands slide around Bonnie's waist and she gently pushes her bare thigh between the denim of Bonnie’s jeans, hips rolling without permission.

Bonnie makes a soft sound, making her fangs ache, and heat pool low in her belly, as she has an uncontrollable urge to hold Bonnie down, to mark her. To bite.

Elena reaches for Bonnie’s wrists, lifting them over her head and pinning them there.

Bonnie’s pupils widen, dilate with excitement—and fear.

And it’s the fear that does something to Elena.

She inhales it.

Gets drunker on that than on all the alcohol she’s had tonight.

Sucking at Bonnie’s tongue, her breath coming in fast, she wants to drop to her knees and bury her face between Bonnie’s legs because—

The femoral artery. It’s there. Full

So full.

And so close.

She could bite deep right down there and make Bonnie sing with it. Finish them both off.

“Can I take your jeans off?” Elena breathes, breaking the kiss. Her hands are already at Bonnie’s belt, her fingers undoing the buckle.

“What—?” Bonnie starts, dazed, just as the zipper hisses down.

Elena drops to her knees, the tile cold and hard, and she runs her hands over Bonnie’s rounded thighs.

“Elena?”

She can't hear Bonnie, she only hears the rush of her blood.

Bonnie’s hands move to Elena’s neck, trying to ground her, to get her to pause for a moment. "Elena?" She says her name again, soft-like, but there’s fear underneath. That quiet anxiety about what Elena might do.

Elena bites down on her own bottom lip, lost in her desire. Her vampire senses map out the artery beneath the skin, vivid and throbbing. She would need to roll down the jeans, and then, she's so in the moment that she just presses her nose between Bonnie’s denim-covered thighs, like she’s marking the spot.

“Elena?”

Elena looks up at Bonnie, not because the witch’s voice finally pulled her from the bloodlust, but because Bonnie can’t see her.

Can’t see her eyes, pools of black. Can’t see her fangs, elongated and ready. Can’t see that her friend is a vampire.

And maybe not a friend anymore.

Elena places her hand over the smooth expanse of Bonnie’s quivering belly, then slides it beneath the frilly band of her panties. Her other hand tugs at Bonnie’s jeans.

When her fingers slip between velvety folds—warm and slick—Bonnie moans and loses her footing, hitching lower as Elena caresses her, melting beneath her touch.

And in this breathless disbelief, in the newness of it all—of her body, of her desire—with everything tipping forward—

That’s when Elena buries her mouth against the fleshiest part of Bonnie’s thigh, licking at her skin, right where the vein runs blue and bright — and bites down.

“Elena!”  Bonnie screams.

There’s an excruciating prickling at the base of her neck. The start of a million migraines at once. She knows what it is. She’s seen vampires convulse and fall when Bonnie gives them an aneurysm.

Now it’s happening to her.

She palms the sides of her head. “Fuck,” she cries out through the blinding pain, trying to fight through it, to go back to the wounds and fill her mouth with Bonnie’s blood.

The closet door flings open.

And Bonnie instantly releases the vice grip on Elena’s mind, and Elena chokes and coughs, bracing herself against the cold floor.

In the dull light stands the drunkest of bros, grinning in his football jersey and backwards cap, here to save the girls from doing God knows what to each other.

Bonnie yanks up her jeans, buckling her belt and cursing as she ducks under his arm and runs.

Elena gasps for more air, reeling.

“Whoa, what’s going on in her—”

Elena jerks him into the closet with her, slams the door shut.

Her fangs embed so deep into his neck, slicing through his vocal cords — he couldn’t have called for help even if he’d wanted to.

There’s blood everywhere. On her lips. Her hands. In her hair.

She can’t stop eating him. She pulls at his neck, the skin breaking under her mouth. She slurps his hot blood straight in. It gushes. It roils. She swallows.

They drop to the floor, him in her lap. His heart’s still fighting. Eyes wide under her bloody face and curtain bangs. He’s trying to live, clawing at her face. But she’s stronger. So strong. His blood in that moment is everything—building her up, making her something more.

She could fly.

Can I fly?

She keeps drinking. Slow. Slower now. He stops clawing. His hands twitch once, then go limp on the tile, right next to the vacuum cleaner and the winter coats.

[talulajones-stories]

What if…

[talulajones-stories]

“I think about maggots.” 

That is Caroline’s answer to how she keeps her blood thirst under control as she neatly labels notecards in her precise handwriting in front of empty glass decanters.

“And that works for everyone...the maggots?”  Elena pushes back, already trying to imagine the insects instead of what Damon said in the parking lot behind the Grill — after they had slipped out the restroom together, her holding his hand.  “It’s going to get harder to pretend, Elena.” It was loaded. It was the truth. And it could’ve meant anything.

When she got home and Stefan asked if she’d found Matt for a refill, she lied — said she drank from the source.

That earned her two raised eyebrows.

“Everyone,” Caroline says, warming blood bag after blood bag in the microwave. “It’s all about discipline. Like when Coach Stevens made us run three miles before executing with perfection, the hot girl dance mix.  You just have to know what you want in the end. And just like I wanted to win trophies for that mix, I know I don’t want to hurt people.”

Elena snorts, face scrunching. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Caroline glances up as she tears open the plastic tip of the first bag. “I don’t know,” she mutters, half to herself, stopping just short of pouring the rest into the decanter and chugging it. “I didn’t drink much today.”

This whole “blood tasting” setup had been a last-minute idea, spurred on after Caroline had held Elena’s hands after she confessed to vomiting up deer blood, and Caroline sat next to her and gently said she understood and added, “Sweetie, not every vampire is a Stefan,” But when Elena also told her that she couldn’t keep the blood bags down either, Caroline’s expression changed.

She got that look, then marched to the kitchen and barked for Elena to follow.

“Witches too?” Elena asks, eyes drawn to the blood sliding down the inside of the decanters. A flicker of desire and hope sparks in her chest. Maybe this experiment might actually work.

Caroline eyes her, treading carefully. “Is there someone in particular you’re struggling with?”

Elena gives her a look and sighs. “I heard you all have the same problem with her.”

Caroline’s cheeks flush. She opens her mouth, then closes it. Starts again, measuring her words. “She is... hard.”

“To resist?” Elena asks, before she can stop herself.

Caroline cuts her a look. Like she’s afraid to go any further. But then she breathes out a soft, reluctant yes. It tells Elena the Salvatores weren’t lying.

Caroline then gives Elena a pained smile. “She smells like cotton candy and Skittles. And, weirdly, like my stuffed unicorn from when I was six. But sometimes, if I’m not careful, I’ll get a whiff of her and I just want...” The blonde stops herself. Grimaces. “Okay, ew. I shouldn’t have started that sentence.”

And Elena is about to burst, feeling like Caroline might get it, might really get how wrong it is to feel this way about Bonnie. “No, keep going.” Elena urges, catching for a moment that same crack, that same unraveling in Caroline, that was missing in the Salvatores when they discussed Bonnie.

Maybe it came with all the years of being around witches.

“I need to have this talk. Because Bonnie is apparently irresistible to all of us.”

 “You’re not wrong,” Caroline starts, thoughtful for a moment, before adding, more firmly, “But it’s just chemical, Elena. And with practice, it’ll fade. Trust me.” Her solemn face then morphs into that cheer captain brightness as she hands Elena her first sample from the O negative pitcher.

Elena eyes the cup, reluctantly taking it from Caroline, who pipes, that she had a total of six different ones for her to try if this one wasn’t a fit.

Elena gulps it back. And it’s hot mayonnaise down her throat. She gags, aiming for the kitchen sink.

Most of it makes it, but some splatters across the counter.

“I’m so sorry, Caroline.”

Caroline is more annoyed than surprised as she grabs the Clorox from under the sink and a handful of paper towels. “You can’t be the only vampire in history who cannot drink from a blood bag.”

Elena shakes her head. “Damon called it,” she says, throwing her hands up like, what was she gonna do? “He’s like some vampire savant. He knew I wouldn’t be able to drink the deer. He said the blood bags would taste like trash. And who knows what else he’s going to tell me that goes directly against what Stefan is teaching me.”

Caroline listens intently, cleaning more than just Elena’s mess, then stops. “But wait—Damon drinks from blood bags all the time?” she asks, more to herself. Then she puts a hand on her hip. “And what else is he telling you?”

Elena feels the back of her neck warm, a slow heat spreading in her chest.

“Well… he says I’m good to go back to school next week, even though I haven’t exactly gotten my eating habits under control. He told me, “‘give the horny teenagers of Mystic Falls a scare.’”

She can still hear the way he said it, casual and smug, right before he sauntered out of the living room where she was curled under Stefan. Hiding from the world. Hiding from the desire to kill.

“But Stefan thinks I should wait a little longer. Learn how to be around humans gradually. And honestly… I kind of agree with Stefan.”

Caroline groans.

“Strangely, I agree with Damon.” She shakes her head in disbelief and raises a hand. “Please don’t tell him I said that.”

Then she opens her arms wide. “Come here.”

Elena slumps into them, letting herself rest in the warmth of her friend’s embrace.

“I know it’s hard,” Caroline murmurs against her shoulder, “but don’t worry. We’ll get Matt to donate some blood before first period. I’ll be there to supervise.”

Elena nods silently, grateful to have a Caroline in her life.

Then the bubbly blonde releases her from the bear hug and beams. “And tonight, we’ll get you some exposure therapy to those horny teenagers.”

Elena blinks.

Caroline grins wider. “There’s a party.”

[talulajones-stories]

"Does she always smell like that?"

Elena's boots muddy in the melting snow, following Stefan, waiting for the back of his head to respond. She tramples behind him in the woods, inhaling the scent of winter birthing into spring, its first breath.

"Who?" he asks, absently.

His focus is distracted, concerned on finding her something suitable to eat, something that won’t send her spiraling into guilt and depression if she happens to take too much or, worse, end its life.

He’d already expressed, with the calm authority of someone who’d been through this before, that avoiding the pitfalls of being a vampire was all about control.

Control, and learning to love the taste of animal blood.

"You know who," Elena snaps, pulling off her knit cap, raking her fingers through her hair. She’s starving, and he’s hiding things, and she won’t move another step until he answers honestly.

Wind whips her face, biting at her cheeks, carrying distant human noises, miles away—static that Stefan said she would eventually pick apart, distinguishing each sound clearly. But for now, it's overwhelming, like trying to tune a radio flooded with stations bleeding through, until they all come together in one crackling voice, telling her...’you need blood’.

He stops and exhales sharply. Then, softly, gravely—

"She is another lesson in control."

His voice dips lower, like he’s revealing something he shouldn’t.

"Being around Bonnie is… hard."

The moment he says her name, she smells her.

The sage she’s always burning. The orange-scented shampoo she’s used since the sixth grade. The cocoa butter she smooths over her skin. And the magic—sharp as struck matches—blending with something new, something she had never smelled on Bonnie before she became a predator.

Her sweat. Her pheromones. The heat of her pulse beneath it all. All human. All Bonnie.

Sunlight glints off the brass on her middle finger, her daylight ring, the simple band enchanted allowing her to walk in the sun, the ring Bonnie made for her and dropped off last night.

They hadn’t wanted Bonnie near her yet.

"Now’s not a good time," Stefan had said when Bonnie showed up at their doorstep. "She hasn’t learned how to handle the craving."

 "She’s a newbie," Damon had added, and Elena had imagined him leaning lazily against the doorframe. "And newbies can be… unpredictable."

“I want to give it to her.” Bonnie had insisted.

Elena heard her push past them at the door, and by god, as soon as she did, it was as if the earth tilted, like when she was little and would spin around in the yard with her eyes closed, only to suddenly stop and open them and find the world still spinning without her. 

She heard her hurried footsteps on the stairs. And in that dizzying and, excruciating moment, the last of her human instinct told her to lock the door—to keep Bonnie, of all people, out.

And she did.

Forcing herself to stay on the other side, while Bonnie’s heart rang closer to her with each step.  

“Elena?”

Bonnie was worried.

It had been three days since they pulled her from the falls. Three days of living with the only two people who could teach her what she was now—her boyfriend and his brother.

Everyone had come to see her. Caroline. Tyler. Even Jeremy. Stefan had stayed in the room during that visit, and afterward, he explained why—because the bloodlust could overtake even the closest bonds.

But she never felt even a twinge with Caroline or Tyler. And with her brother, it was there—a presence, a faint pull—but nothing she couldn't observe, nothing she couldn't control. Stefan had been teaching her to recognize it.

But this? This was nothing like that.

Was it because Bonnie was human? Because she wasn’t family?

Or was it because she was a witch.

Elena pressed her nose to the crack in the door, wanting to see her. To remind herself she was more than whatever this was, while also fighting the disorienting need to consume her.

She told her to slide the ring other the door.

Elena fiddles with her ring. “You all feel this way? Even Caroline?” Her voice breaks, “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

Her handsome boyfriend rubs at his square jaw, eyes dropping as if searching for the right words. “It’s not exactly something humans can understand. We didn’t want to alarm Bonnie, and we didn’t want you to be—”

“Confused?” she cuts him off.

Because that’s what she feels—turned inside out, upside down, the wrong color entirely. This unsettling desire, this hunger for blood. For Bonnie’s blood. And now, she thinks of all the times Bonnie walked into a room, of the restraint it must have taken for Stefan and Damon to sit there, mastering urges that had always been part of their nature.

Now, it makes sense. Why Caroline always had an excuse. Why she could never stay for their sleepovers.

Stefan gives her a weak smile. “Scared for your friend.”

And if she had known, really known, that this is what they felt when Bonnie was around, she would have been fucking terrified.

But now, it was their secret. And it was hers too—the responsibility of not eating Bonnie.

Bonnie, who didn’t know.

They keep walking. She follows him in silence, matching his pace, until suddenly he stops short. She nearly crashes into him.

He catches her by the arm, pulling her to his side. “See? Look there,” he whispers, his warm breath at her neck.

It’s just breath, just a whisper—but her body reacts like it’s more. Every nerve lights up, skin prickling, the sensation sinking deep, pooling between her thighs. She wants to lean into it, but their relationship has been awkward since she died and came back.

There’s a swoosh—a rush of air, the shift of space itself—Stefan moving.

He has the vamp speed down. She’s still slow.

She follows just in time to see him snatch the deer mid-flight—one moment it’s leaping, the next, he’s on it.

By the time she reaches him, he’s holding the poor thing down. It thrashes, whimpers, legs kicking against the snow.

“Do it, Elena.”

And she does.

Her teeth sink in, and the deer’s blood gushes into her mouth—hot, thin, alive. And it’s... it’s nothing like how she imagined her first time.

[talulajones-stories]

to my fellow writers:

i hope you find the strength to finish that chapter, to finish your outline, to edit a bit more, to be kind to yourself

[talulajones-stories]

It’s Christmas Eve in Mystic Falls, and for Damon Salvatore, there’s no holiday cheer in sight. The house is empty, the bourbon’s gone, and Bonnie is six feet under. But when an unexpected visitor shows up, fresh wounds and raw memories collide, forcing Damon to face the loss of the witch who turned his world upside down.

[talulajones-stories]

Elijah Mikaelson in The Originals 3x03

[talulajones-stories]

[talulajones-stories]

[talulajones-stories]

"We are about to have our first fight."

She stared at him like he grew another head. She folded her arms at him, as he stood half-naked in their bedroom, looking almost human in the glow of her lamplight.

"Um, you and I have had plenty of fights, we've had more fights than anyone else I know in my life, we have fought so mu– "

He cut her off, "As your husband. This is going to be our first fight," he paused briefly before continuing, pushing himself to be honest, before resorting to drinking it away or draining it away, "You said, 'we' when you were talking to Marcel," Damon pointed out, watching confusion settle on Bonnie's face. "When you advised Marcel to tell Klaus to do a better job at the facade of being on the run, you said, 'we.' Which got me thinking," he paused and asked, "Does Klaus have a decoy you with him?"

She sighed deeply, "Yes, he has witches available, using glamour spells to resemble me. It adds an extra layer of protection, making it seem like we're constantly on the move together. It's a strategy to throw off the Coven and keep them off our scent, or at least that's been our hope."

His eyebrows shot up, "That's what I'm talking about?"

"What?"

"The 'we' and the 'our' you keep referring to means you and Klaus." He sputtered, his anger growing, "Meanwhile, he's out there with your son, roaming the streets with a witch that has your face, pretending to be a 'we' and an 'us.' Do you understand what I'm getting at now, Bonnie?" 

"No, I am not following your crazy train of thought."

He held a hand to his chest, "When I say 'we' and 'us,' I mean me and you." He explained before adding, "And I don't make life-changing plans and leave you out of the decision-making. "He stressed.

She looked as if she might spit fire at him, and it would have been deserved, but she managed to ask him what was really bothering him.

He then considered his witchy wife. His Bonnie. And he thought, Who was she, really? How did she change in his mind when he added Klaus to her story?

For him, New Orleans was a shapeless blur in his understanding of her—a mere blip in her life. He ignored the fact that it was where she became a mother and had been engaged in a romantic entanglement with their sworn enemy.

And it wasn’t like he’d interrogated her to fill in the gaps, to piece together the timeline. Because asking those questions would mean facing truths he’d been avoiding.

"Is Klaus hoping to reconcile with you?"

There was a moment of deliberation, where she turned her green eyes away and then reluctantly said, "Yes," triggering a wave of old emotions for Damon, reminiscent of when he was in a former love triangle.

"But I already tried to reconcile with him,” she added.

Stunned, he had to sit. Without thinking, he sank down on the bed next to her, his movements heavy. The first time he had heard her admit to being in a relationship with Klaus had been a revelation—a gut punch he hadn’t been prepared for. But now, hearing that she had entertained the hybrid a second time? That was something else entirely.

He couldn’t stop himself. "What happened?" He heard himself ask.

She gave him a pained look, the kind that begged, please don’t make me revisit this. But she sighed and then tucked a loose tendril behind her ear and started, knowing he needed to hear it.

"I thought we were done, you know? He—um—he got involved with someone else pretty quickly. Another witch," she said, her voice still hesitant. "They were together for, I don’t know, a month or two. And then he came back, saying he wanted his family. Wanted me." She stopped for a moment, her gaze dropping as if gathering her strength. Then she pushed on. “And I wanted that too. So, I tried to approach things differently, to... rebuild. But he—he just wanted to go back to how things were before." Her voice wavered slightly, but she continued. "And during that time, the witch he left behind... she showed up at Klaus’s one night and she tried to kill me." Bonnie paused, her lips tightening before finishing with quiet finality. "He killed her instead. And that’s why her coven is after our son. And you know the rest."

In his ignorance, he’d convinced himself that her getting with Klaus was because she’d been through too much. She’d lost too much. She’d been a ghost, an anchor, had died too many times to count. What was left for her in Mystic Falls? What was left for her with friends like them—friends who had taken her for granted? He’d reasoned that her running off to New Orleans had been a good bet, that she deserved a life of her own, far away from them. Far away from him.

And even hearing that she’d gotten mixed up with Klaus had made sense at the time. He’d shrugged it off as her good girl gone bad phase. Hell, if he hadn’t been so far up Elena’s ass back then, maybe she would’ve gone bad for him instead.

But hearing her say she’d tried again with the hybrid? That did something else entirely. Made him feel things he didn’t want to name. And still, it made him ask for more questions, even though he didn’t know how he’d handle the answers.

A masochist to the end, he pressed on. "Do you still love him?"

She traced her fingers slowly along his spine, grounding him even as his chest tightened. She paused, her lips hovering near his shoulder before she kissed it softly. "There’s history between him and I," she said finally, her voice steady. "We share a child. But I am not in love with him. Not anymore."

Her words were measured and sure, cutting off the feelings that threatened to take him down. She met his eyes, her gaze unwavering. "I love you," she stressed, offering him a small, knowing smile—one that came with the press of her mouth to his and a quiet whisper: "It’s always been you."

He let out a deep exhale, his mouth curving into a placated smile. "I want to help," he said, his fingers grazing her cheek in a gentle caress.

"I know you do," she conceded. "And I need your help."

Hearing her say that sparked something in him—ready to be put in the game, to prove himself. He assured her with a smirk, "I’ve taken out my fair share of witches, you know."

She rolled her eyes. "Now, what were you saying earlier? Something about packing?"

He revisited his plan to move back to Mystic Falls, speaking in detail about returning as soon as possible—not just for the arrival of their daughter, but for Gabriel.

"Your son will be safe there, with all of us protecting him. I promise you," he said, pulling her into his arms. "Trust me, baby," he added, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

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I'm here for him.

Alan Ritchson as Anders Lassen THE MINISTRY OF UNGENTLEMANLY WARFARE (2024) Dir: Guy Ritchie

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This is so beautiful.

klonnie  I  first kiss

“i was always hungry for love. just once, i wanted to know what it was like to get my fill of it–to be fed so much love i couldn’t take any more.” (x)

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“You are wearing my shirt,” he states plainly, his eyes showing his amusement.

Unnerved by the moment, she tries to match his poise, turning her head as she drops her purse on the dresser. “I didn’t have time to borrow another inappropriate dress, so I helped myself,” she explains, gesturing toward the bed. “What is all this?”

Christmas morning is happening in her room. There are glossy boxes in different shapes and sizes, in colors ranging from pale pink to robin’s egg blue, alongside shopping bags from stores she’s never even heard of, their contents hidden beneath stiff tissue paper peeking out like delicate meringue.

“Your new wardrobe,” he says, as if it’s obvious.

She pauses, staring dumbfounded at the pile, then back at him. “You must really hate the way I dress.”

He shakes his head slightly, clearly entertained. “Actually, I find your style quite charming,” he replies. “And it seems we share similar taste, as you have chosen one of my favorite shirts.” He says earning a bright smile from her.

He then moves to the bed, fiddling with a ribbon on one of the boxes, and his words become deliberate, his brow showing something she can’t quite pick up.

“I should have ensured you were provided with a wardrobe upon your arrival. It is one of many things I neglected to do—an oversight on my part in making it easier for you to take on this role, to feel as though you truly belong in my world.”

She bites the corner of her mouth, glancing at the extravagant spread of boxes and bags, a part of her appreciating the practicality of it all, knowing it will help her. But deeper down, she understands what this is—an apology. Had known the moment she saw him waiting for her with a pile of gifts in her room. A grand gesture meant to erase what happened last night. His regret at having had a rare crack in his control. A mistake that wasn’t part of the plan.

“Are you not pleased?”

His voice takes her out of her head, from feeling a peculiar mix of disappointment and longing, as she assures him with a forced smile, “No, Elijah. I hate it. No girl alive wants to come home and find Prada boxes stacked on her bed,” she quips, her excitement urging to stop being silly and accept the spoils.

Plopping down on the edge of the bed, sending gifts spilling onto the floor, she rips into the first bag, catching his satisfied face.

“Is the Rolls-Royce parked outside part of this ‘oversight’ too?” She asks, with a raised eyebrow, wondering just how sorry is he.

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