Skin
Sixx:a.m. - This Is Gonna Hurt

Just rise above this
Kill them with your kindness
Ignorance is blindness
They’re the ones that stand to lose

monxlith:

im sorry, but you can’t do that.

cersei lannister style

The Art of Villainy with Tom Hiddleston

Do I wanna know? 
If this feeling flows both ways
Sad to see you go
Sort of hoping that you'd stay
fuckyeahdavidgillian:

gillyanderson:

AND NOW THIS

I HAVE A LIFE TO LIVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

fuckyeahdavidgillian:

gillyanderson:

AND NOW THIS

I HAVE A LIFE TO LIVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Landfill

He could easily leave her behind and she would never have the chance to even see his back, but what would the fun be in that? Moreover he likes to have a pretty girl following him around, even if all her passion is probably set on cutting off his balls right now. Sooner or later he will have to tell her there are better things she can do to his balls.

He grins.

Damon can hear her heartbeat over the music they’re leaving behind and the rumbling of the approaching storm.

"Call  Enzo and tell him to let Jeremy go," she says, walking after him in a fast peace. She has pretty legs but not as long as his.

"That’s rude, who do you take me for?" he asks, grimacing, "Certain things must be done in person."

"Fuck you, Damon!" the way she shortly linger on the F, like she can’t decide if actually say the words or not, almost makes him snigger, but a couple entering the building as they’re leaving looks their way from under the yellow umbrella they’re sharing and Damon stops in his track to turn around. Bonnie almost crashes against his chest but manages to stop in time.

He looks down at her with the ghost of a grin upon his lips, “Please, do.”

She’s righterously indignat - he’s quite sure a voice inside her head is scolding her for cursing - and does not back down. Doesn’t even let her body shiver because of the cold rain.

"Jeremy trusted you," she says, her voice cutting like a blade.

He chuckles offering her a mocking look, “Oh, no, he didn’t,” he says, shaking his head, “But you did.”

And then it comes the slap.

That’s what it burns her, under the cold air and wet clothes. She trusted him - he would like to think that deep down she trustes him still.

The tiny dress is plasterd to her body, he can see the curve of her thigh, the fabric is glued on her stressing the space between her legs, her nipples point out from under the bodice and he wishes very badly that the damn dress was white so that he could enjoy the show better.

"Whenever I’m about to forget why I should hate you, you go and remind me," she tells him, with shining eyes and a tense smile, pushing back from her face her wet hair

"Always at your service," he replies dramatically, taking a bow to hide the short-lived regret. Stilling himself in that position he looks up at her, wishing he could hurt her, just a little bit. Because he’s hurting so fucking much and, after all, they say that sharing soothes the pain. He’s got no one else he cares to share anything with but her.

Bonnie can barely see the black blur in front of her eyes before she gets pressed against the wall. Hard chest against her breast; he grins down at her and she’s sure he can feel her hard nipples. It takes everything she has to keep holding his gaze as she feels her cheeks burning out of embarrassment and something else entirely.

Damon knows it is just another blow to her pride to be so vulnerable in front of him, against him. Now, if he would just push his growing erection against her stomach, he could ignite a reaction from her body which would make her unable to face herself the day after.

She’s his favorite object of any fantasy and any torture, like somehow, he will get rid of his useless coscience if he can get himself free of her, and yet that, he cannot do.

"If by any change that poor excuse of a boyfriend is still alive I’ll make sure to tell him you said Hi," he tells her, before kissing her cheek for just one moment too long and disappear from her sight.

Is there more to this. I love it. I’ve missed your writing! :)
Thank you. That’s actually a drabble request I fullfilled, not an actual fiction, sorry, but I’m going to work con chapter 3 of The Master’s Sun this weekend.

otteroflore:

the-absolute-best-gifs:

iwannabe-abadguy:

[x]

RDJ is blurring the lines between work and reality again„

What are you talking about all I see is Tony Stark

potty-potterhead
Turning page-Sleeping at last. Bamon please :)

Sorry to disappoint you, the song is very beautiful but I can’t work the story into a drabble. However, later on, once Preludio is done, I can start a new long fiction, I already have a plot that could work out. What do you say about that?

image

Red Light

"He’s late, just a problem with the car…" Elena says with an apologetic expression on her flawless face, and Bonnie smiles at her through the reflection of the mirror.

"It’s okay," she ressures her with a warmth that scares her a bit more. She’s about to marry, and her husband to be is late, and she feels relived.

"Everything’s perfect," Elena reminds her, "Caroline has everything working like a clock, The best men are waiting at the altar, in a few minutes Jeremy will be here and you will start this new life together," she tells her bending over her to hug from behind. Bonnie feels like she’s being pushed into a corner and she must remind herself to breathe.

It’s cold feet, she explains herself. I want this.

"I’ll go waiting for him outside and come back for you as soon as he’s here," Elena tells her, stroking the lenght of her naked arms.

Bonnie can’t help but feel part of the weight lifting away from her. She can’t shake away the feeling that something is wrong. Maybe it’s the dress, she thinks looking at herself through the mirror, she has let herself being talked into buying the strapless a-line gown in organza so that she would please Jeremy’s taste, while her heart was set on the sherbert ball gown in tulle.

Yes, it must be it. Of course, it’s because of the dress. And yet, she’s not at  ease.

Maybe she needs some fresh air.

She leaves through the back door, she can see the parked cars of her friends, whom are all waiting inside. Only Jeremys’ car is missing. And Damon’s blue camaro. What better things does he have to do then attend her wedding? He’s such an underserving jerk she shouldn’t have invited him in the first place.

When she turns to go back inside her feet won’t move. The new shoes are killing her. She takes them off, keep them dangling from one hand while she raises the hem of her gown so that it won’t touch the green grass and get dirty. But the feeling under her naked feet is so alluring she can’t resist brushing her toes on the grass and twirl around like a ballerina.

She should really go back inside, and get married, and live happily ever after. Only she’s not happy to start with, she realizes. And she walks away, hiding behing a tree when Jeremy’s car passes her by.

It’s a hot summer day and she must walk alone for ten minutes before a car finally passes her by. Mind you, it’s a blue camaro.

Damon pulls closer and look at her from under his sunglasses.

"Judgy," he says, perplexed to say the least. He only wanted to get a glipse at her and leave her to do the most idiotic thing of her life, instead here she is.  All pure and white, a mirage on the concrete road. He must take off his glasses to make sure she’s there.

She doesn’t know what to say or how to explain what she is doing walking barefoot away from the church on her wedding day, so she blurt a “You were supposed tob e at my wedding!” because suddendly she realizes it did really hurt the fact that he was not.

"Well, I could say the same about you…" he replies looking at her, from head to toe,  "The dress is nice, by the way". Truthfully, he feels like swallowing his tongue for how stunning she looks, but he must keep his face.

"Thanks," she replies, very graciously. "I wanted the sherbet one," she blurts suddendly, "Elena thought Jeremy would have liked this one better. I starved myself because I was scared the dress would not fit anymore by this day, and now I’m hungry. I skipped breakfast."

Damon opens his mouth to say something but he’s at loss for words. He gasps and tries again, “This is not you.”

It’s not like her: the whole thing, the dress, the rushed talking, the scared self.

She looks down at the beautiful dress, at her feet which are starting to burn, looks into his eyes, and suddendly it makes sense. “It’s not me,” she says, “I don’t want to get married,” she’s amazed at her own words, surprised she didn’t get it before,” Not now, and not to-” she must bite her lip to not say the name.

When she sees the smile on Damon’s face he turns away like he’s been cought doing something very bad, which would not surprise her, yet she’s the one standing up to her own wedding. Oh, it’s not like it really matters right now.

Her stomach rambles and he can’t help but grin.

"Get in the car," he says, "I’ll buy you breakfast."

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