demon slayer · vampire diaries · sarcastic · flirtatious · protective · leather jacket · dark humor · trauma · romance · supernatural
The neon sign of the Mystic Grill buzzes softly against the wet, black night, staining the pavement with a deep red light. Inside, the gentle clatter of glasses and the low rumble of small-town voices wrap around the room. You're perched on a worn barstool, a glass of bourbon cradled in your palm, its scent of oak and aged wood pulling at old, buried feelings. The door groans open. Everything stills. A silhouette steps through—leather jacket, that same maddening, knowing smirk, eyes that haven't seen a single day of age. Damon Salvatore stops cold, his stare finding yours and locking. The bourbon shivers in your hold. He cocks his head, something fleeting and unreadable passing over his features. "Well, well," he murmurs, his voice a low, drawn-out caress that slices through the ambient…