Black Swan Books is an old bookstore located in a residential area of Richmond that's been open for about eighty years, give or take. From the outside it looks more like an Irish pub, with a green round emblem that shows a black swan nested on an open book and the name of the place in yellow letters.

When Damon opens the door to slip inside, the bell rings over his head. The cozy space smells vaguely of vanilla, the walls are yellow ocher, there's plenty of light coming from the spotlights on the ceiling where there are large, metallic pipes on sight, like the place has been converted from some kind of factory.

"Can I know your name?" a young pasty, emaciated man holding a folder and a pen asks.

"Sorry, I'm already in a relationship," Damon jokes, watching the sour look on the guy's face. Not only does he lack vitamin D, but he has no sense of humor either.

"Unfortunately there is a limited entry for this event, and I'm afraid that if you don't have a reservation you can't take part in it," he explains with a bitter smile, like he's just carried out justice against all the handsome illiterate playboys that have it easy just because they've got nice pecs and a pretty face.

"Do I look like someone that's not on the top of every list?" In fact, if the list is of people that are to kill, he is probably in the first ten spots without any trouble at all.

His pupils grow large as he stares at him and the guy doesn't even blink as he welcomes him. "Please, this way Sir."

Damon observes the little crowd filling the seats and walks around, making no sound as his eyes fall on the empty chair placed in front of the rows.

Women of different ages are bouncing on their seats and chatting animatedly, the same book resting on most of their knees. A teenager with a round face turns her head over her shoulder as she talks to her friend and squeaks slapping her friend's shoulder with both her flashy hands, looking at him with wide eyes.

Damon tries to look casual as he slips his hands into the pockets of his jeans, circumnavigating the room and throwing a casual look at the billboard on the wall announcing a meet and greet with the writer of The Roles We Play before trying to hide behind a bookshelf to observe the woman from a vantage point, but two girls practically jump in front of him stopping him before he can get away.

"Ian," one of the girls calls his name in a strangled voice. "Would you sign my copy?" she asks, hanging from his lips as she hands him a hardcover copy of the novel.

He looks at her cautiously, noticing that a bunch of girls have the same card pinned on their t-shirt, like a sort of sign for recognition. Eva M. Bamon fan n. 12.498. On the t-shirt stands out the writing: I'm in so deep. And he recognizes Damon Spada's line from the infamous nurse-patient role playing sex scene, his brain feeds him the words he's read – and apparently memorized – telling him the story of how Bonnie covered and uncovered every inch of his skin as she went up and down on his cock, of how she's let him touch her intimately, his fingers wrapping around the white garter belt like it was a bridle as she rode him in earnest. Suddenly there are tiny black specks floating in his eyesight, a vein throbs on his forehead and he tries to concentrate on the situation at hand to avoid being dragged back into the hot heaven of Bonnie's quivering sex.

Needless to say, he's dangerously on the verge of a nervous breakdown every time he thinks about that.

"I think you got the wrong guy," he tries to explain, looking about him as more heads turn in his direction.

Someone gasps and he thinks that he should have planned this better.

"Oh please, you are my favorite actor," the girl insists, ready to beg.

"Mine too!" the other interjects. More women stand from their chairs to walk to him and Damon must take a step back to put some space between him and the starstruck little crowd. "I'm not the guy you think," he insists, between the general pleading and sighing, but in a couple of seconds there are five women around him, and more are standing up from their well-guarded places, and someone is clinging to his leather jacket, forcing him to yank his arm away.

He thinks they're going to re-enact the final scene from Perfume, where people are so drawn to the protagonist of the story that they are compelled to obtain parts of his body, eventually tearing him to pieces and eating him alive, when someone has the sense to stop them.

"Guys, it's not him," a girl says, pushing her glasses up her nose as her eyes are pointed on her smart-phone. "Ian is live-streaming from his ranch right now," she says, turning the phone around so that they can watch his face on the screen. On her t-shirt it reads: I think I just came in Italian.

There are a few cries of disappointment, as they turn their attention back to the awaited guest, behaving like he was never there in the first place. "He's not even half as handsome," someone says, and Damon feels a nerve pulling under his jaw.

The girl that was begging him for an autograph gives him a dirty look, like he's been playing with her heart and dumped her for the Prom Queen, muttering the word loser under her breath.

They are out of their fucking minds, he thinks, grimacing. Never in his entire existence, alive or undead, have his looks have ever been criticized, and in such a rude manner. They should be grateful he has more pressing matters at hand, otherwise he'd teach them how to be polite to a vampire of his caliber.

Finally, someone clears their throat, calling the attention of the fans in the room. The guy very briefly introduces the writer of the book, and he doesn't need to encourage the applause because it's spontaneous and quite thunderous despite the limited number of people that had been granted access.

Sadie Koning is a small woman in her fifties with heavy breasts and auburn hair, unassumingly pretty and with a maternal look in her eyes whenever a girl under fifteen breathes a little louder. She talks about herself and what a joy it is to see so many people appreciating her latest novel, and how she was unprepared for the success she had with The Roles We Play because even if she had written romantic novels before nothing had been as popular, etc. etc.

Damon tunes out for most of her introduction speech, actually, because it's just boring. It's strange how such a plain creature managed to capture someone as passionate as Bonnie and tie her to her pages. It's intriguing, watching her and wondering if she's some sort of stalker that fell for his witch and decided to make her the leading female of a story or it was just an absurd coincidence, or maybe something in between. Because of her, of this woman that talks romance like it was the code to discovering the fountain of youth, his brain is constantly damp with Bonnie's arousal, and he knows how his cock can stretch her pussy making her feel complete and brave and wanton, and yet not. And he's grateful in a masochistic sort of way for that.

One hand shoots up when the woman starts taking questions and he reluctantly recognizes the girl. "When he says I'm in so deep," she says, choosing to discuss Damon Spada's sex talk like it's a corpse to slice open and dissect, examining every shade of every word like it's the key to eternal life, "Does he mean it in a physical way or is he admitting to have fallen for Bonnie?"

Suddenly the whole thing feels invasive, and Damon instinctively takes a step back though no one is looking at him.

"That's actually a very good question," the woman says, leaning back against the small desk where there are piles of copies of her book, holding her microphone with both hands. "He's clearly more aware of the bond between him and Bonnie, but I don't think he had quite admitted to himself what he felt until the moment they got to be together. In that moment he realized that his need of her wasn't going to be sated with one sexual encounter, and that he was going to have to break her walls little by little because he couldn't do without her." Her audience is clearly pleased with her answer, and many nod along with her explanation. "So yes, it wasn't just sex talk, he wasn't just…let's say, assessing the depth of his physical penetration, but was actually admitting to being enamored with Bonnie."

Mrs. Koning points her finger towards the back of the room giving someone else the chance to ask her question.

"Many were surprised to not find any reference to the dominant/submissive kind of relationship that usually permeates this kind of novel," the woman says, blinking behind her glasses, "even in the teaching scene, Damon actually doesn't take the opportunity to impose his authority." He wonders if the teacher scene is at all like the nurse scene. There is a growl threatening to spill from his mouth in frustration as he thinks about it. He should have kept reading instead of eating up that first sex scene like his life depended on it. "And yet he has his moments where he's clearly very territorial. Did he hold back to not scare her away? Do you think that it will be a natural progression of his character? Do you plan of making him more dominant in the next book?"

Next book? He wasn't aware the story lasted more than one book, and that usually spoke of trouble for the not-so-happy couple.

"Do you think Damon will be in the next book, too?" the writer asks, teasing, taking her audience by surprise. There is a choral answer to that, and she laughs genuinely amused by the passion her readers show.

"There are some sparks of territoriality in the book, but it has nothing to do with the core of Damon and Bonnie's relationship." There is a buzzing in the room, someone is filming the answer with their smartphone. "Bonnie is used to controlling things and Damon is absolutely fine with following her lead and giving her the time she needs. He's had his share of bad girls before so there's nothing particularly titillating about the punishing or otherwise controlling scenario for him. He's very aware of his power and he doesn't need to flaunt it. In fact, his position as basically her boss it's a problem to him because he wants them to be equal. On the other hand, Bonnie is a nice girl and he likes that about her. She appeals to a protective nature he had never fully acknowledged before. So, if Damon is still going to be around in the next book," there is a disappointed chorus in the room, "in that case, he's not going to tie her up or spank her." Someone protests and suddenly there's a chant of bamon, bamon, bamon the woman cannot calm down for a few minutes.

"I think it is important to let Bonnie explore—"

And again there's a chorus of bamon, bamon, bamon, and though half an hour ago he would have murdered them all, Damon is proud of the passion they use to defend Damon's relationship with Bonnie. Those girls are his personal army now.

"Tell her," he eggs them on from behind the bookshelf where he's observing 's barely felt the ghost of the taste of her love and it seems he's getting dumped before he can even enjoy it, pushed aside for someone else. Someone that does not deserve Bonnie, that won't endure the ridiculous amount of times she wants to watch The Bodyguard and won't make her pancakes and won't take care of her the way he does when she's sick or tired. And why? It's not like Bonnie needs anyone else, he's perfectly capable of taking care of all of her needs. But those crazy girls won't let him be put aside in favor of some other man.

#

"What are you doing?" Bonnie asks as Caroline sits on her bed with her legs crossed Indian style cutting her Hermione outfit to pieces.

"I think I should be giving the example for the twins, and no fire is allowed, so I decided not to burn it down like I had previously decided I would," she says, feeling very like a very proud and accomplished mother.

"Playing with fire is bad but they can use scissors?" she asks, crossing her arms under her breasts.

"Blunt tips," Caroline announces, raising the scissors in the air like a scepter.

Bonnie sighs patiently, unable to be angry at Caroline. She loves her too much and is way too relived to see her attention diverted from her beloved fanfictions to be angry at her.

"That was my plan A, and my plan B for the party," she just says, shrugging her shoulders, "Plan C is a sheet with two holes and a chain."

"I will give you one of mine."

"I don't see that ending well," Bonnie says, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Nonsense," Caroline replies with a wave of her hand to shoo away her friend's worry. "My costumes are always the best."

"You once dressed as Miss Wet T-Shirt."

"And won best costume with it," she nods in agreement, "But that's not the point," she continues, getting off the bed to walk to her room. Bonnie follows her out of curiosity…and probably masochism.

"I know how to make something spectacular out of ordinary things. That's talent."She announces proudly, "And any of my old costumes will save your night for sure."

Bonnie hopes she's not proposing the Miss Wet T-Shirt thing because that's a definitive no from her.

Caroline opens up one of her closets and pulls out a large trunk.

"There's Alien Abduction," she says, taking out a costume that's made of a sheer body with tubes on the breast, stomach and lower down. The guy she liked back then was a bit of a nerd, and she made it a point to attract his attention. Of course, she got everyone's attention with that one.

"Pass."

"Soldier," she proposes, but the mimetic costume is basically culottes with a skin-tight top that has a fake zipper, making it impossible to cover her breasts even if she wanted to.

"Nope."

After a few more proposals, Bonnie accepts to try on the sexy pirate costume. It's full of belts and straps and it consists of mostly a red velvet corset with a black skirt. She looks incredible, but the skirt is open on the front and longer on the back, and she doesn't have a pair of shorts that go with it. Caroline wore that only with a black pair of leather panties and she's not that brave, she thinks, looking at herself in the mirror.

Her eyes fall on the last costume left at the bottom of the trunk.

"I can't believe I'm really saying this," she admits with a loud sigh, "But...what about that one?" she asks, pointing a finger at it.

"I wore it when I was twelve," Caroline laments, her nose crinkling at the memory. "The skirt was longer than it was supposed to be, and my mom sewed the front so I couldn't open the middle button."

"The skirt is still longer than decency should allow, and the top is perfectly fine because I don't want to flash anyone with my breasts," Bonnie replies, satisfied with her idea.

"Too bad, I'm sure they would love it" Caroline replies, crossing her arms under her breasts. Every now and then she should try and reap the delicious fruits that her beauty allow. She's not suggesting, strictly, that she gets frisky with someone, though that would do her some good to release all that tension, but at least she could enjoy the attention.

Still, the party is supposed to start in a few hours and there's no way they'll manage to find a good costume by tonight. If Caroline allows Bonnie to go shopping for one she will come back with some hideous thing that shows nothing of her shape, like the time she dressed as a Tetris block piece and she used the inherent distance that people had to keep from her as an excuse to never dance with anyone.

Caroline's old costume is already a vast improvement on her boring standard.

"Fine, let's try it on," she concedes, sighing "How bad can it be?"

Considering the age she was when she wore it, it is still bound to fit on the tight side. And if that isn't enough, she can always find a way to spice it up a bit.

#

He slips quietly in the back room of the bookstore, and a petite woman with short gray hair with a bearing that kind of reminds him os Sigourney Weaver in Alien tries to intercept him immediately. "I'm sorry Sir, but you're not allowed—" she starts, before her clear eyes grow larger behind the thick glasses she wears. Her mouth opens in surprise and the chain dandling from her glasses swing as she raises her head to look at him in awe. "You're—"

"Not Ian Somerhalder," Damon interrupts her, already irritated with this stupid guy playing him.

Sadie Koning turns around ready to gently refuse to entertain any more fans before she sees him, too. Her eyebrows fly up and recognition strikes her with a quiet "Damon".

"In the flesh," he confirms, waving away the other woman standing between them.

"Francesca," the woman starts, "it's okay, I know him." She smiles at her agent, before turning towards the table behind her to find something to offer to her guest.

Damon studies her, evaluating the danger she represents. Other than effectively managing to almost give him a stroke, she doesn't look like she could hurt a fly.

"There is coffee, and a couple of sandwiches, you want some?" she asks, nervous and embarrassed, like she's been caught by her parents while making out with her boyfriend. "Maybe we could order something else if you—"

"The refreshments are not my priority at the moment," he explains dripping sarcasm, "but thanks for the offer," he adds, circling her to put himself on her right. Damon leans back, sitting against the edge of the table the woman was staring at, and offers her a predatory smile.

"How are you?" he quips, "Are things going well for you?"

The woman nods, head jerking nervously as his blue eyes pierce through her.

"I'm so glad to hear that," he replies, words almost cutting. "I'm not sure I can say the same," he adds. "You see, the strangest thing is happening to me." He starts, like he's about to tell her a mysterious story. "There is a woman that's making some serious money writing about people that hold quite a resemblance to me and a very important person of my life, and I'd like to know how that coincidence came to be, considering I have no fucking clue about this woman at all."

"I see how that could… upset you," she offers, twisting her fingers, suddenly looking much younger.

"Thanks," he replies, tilting his head to the side, "I'm a sensitive guy," he mocks in a whisper. If he wasn't to bothered by the fact that she's basically foretold and published his dirty fantasies about his best friend, he would have added, "especially when someone strokes the piece of flesh between my cock and the underside," but he's had enough.

"Last summer, I lost my inspiration to write," she begins. "It's not easy to write a satisfactory romance. I hadn't written anything in three years, and even the books I had published before were nothing really amazing. My agent, Mrs. Wallace was kind of hinting at the fact that maybe I had to move on to different—"

"Not that it's not a gripping story," he interrupts her, trying not to let his canines slide out, "but that's not what I want to know."

"Of course," she says, shaking her head in a silly me silent reply. "Well, because I was so down my husband took me on a trip to Europe, and we stopped in Amsterdam," she explains. The mention of that city brings back the feeling of Bonnie's skin under his fingers as he held her against a van when he decided to save her life and keep her around for the next sixty years rather than having his girlfriend back immediately. It was the first time he had a conscious, self-aware, mindful realization about the importance of Bonnie Bennett for his mind's sanity. It was the moment it started to dawn on him that her presence counted more than Elena's absence.

It was the starting point of the whole fucking book. And she had seen it all, in details, before he himself could.

"So you took a look at me and my best friend and had dirty fantasies about us to try and get out of your literary dry spell?" he asks, trying to diminish the relationship depicted in the book and the effect it has had on him.

"She was your best friend?" she asks, thrilled to get to know the reality behind the people she saw and depicted into her story.

"Is," he corrects her, irritated.

"Yeah, but now you're more, aren't you?" she asks, naively.

Damon's right eye begins to vaguely twitch, which is something he's not used to. It had started last night, when he's read the sex scene and his eyesight blackened and he became so hard he had to jerk off twice under the shower (and once when he woke up).

A nerve under his jaw is pulling and he contemplates breaking this woman's neck; only, if the book ends in Bonnie dumping Damon's sorry ass, he needs her alive to fix it. Not that it changes anything at all for him, but the characters are meant to be, and he prides himself in being interested in the organic conclusion of a well told story.

He doesn't reply to her question, but his cold stare seems to be an answer clear enough.

"Oh," she mutters, "But there was such a sexual tension between you two," she protests, "I could see the bond" so unashamedly disappointed he feels kind of at fault. "I mean, she's gorgeous and you are too, and—" the woman stops in her tracks, before asking as gently as possible, "You're not gay, are you? I'm not judging you if you are. That would actually explain a lot."

Damon starts counting in his head, valiantly trying not to choke her to death on the spot.

"I am already in a perfectly satisfactory relationship," he explains with firmness, "with Bonnie's best girl friend."

"Oh." One hand flies to her chest, pressing over her heart. "You shouldn't bring her to see the movie, then" she whispers, like it's a national secret that Damon and Bonnie have multiple very graphic sexual encounters in the movie. And in the book, too, for the matter.

"That's so embarrassing," she reflects aloud, chuckling. "I'm an artist, you see. I see things and I interpret them, expand them to their full potential, but it's not like I am Cassandra or anything," Sadie explains. "You'll see. Everything will be fine once I'm done with the second book and Bonnie moves on to Santiago." For a moment he thinks she's having Bonnie pack her bags and move to Spain, but she continues. "I'll try to have Ryan Guzman playing him in the next movie. I'm sure he's going to have crazy chemistry with Kat."

"You'll do no such thing," he replies, eyes flashing with anger.

"Why?" she asks, confused. "I think he's really hot—"

"That's not what I mean," he interrupts her again, irked with the ease she has in having her female lead move on from her natural counterpart. "You won't have Bonnie being with any other man but me," he barks, before he realizes his misstep. "I mean, people obviously want her with Damon." He's doing this for his loyal army, for bamon fans everywhere in the world. They deserve their unshakable loyalty rewarded, after all.

"Right," the woman nods slowly, trying not to snicker at his territoriality.

"And what message would you send to the youngest generations?" he asks, trying to divert her attention away from his pathetic confession, "that a girl must absolutely get away from a guy that tries to protect her and make sure she's giving her consent before making a move?"

"Well, actually," she replies in all seriousness, "she's young and not fully conscious of her possibilities and desires in life, so it would be acceptable to have her explore different kinds of relationships. It doesn't mean that at the very end Bonnie and Damon's path won't cross again and—"

"She loves him," he declares, his pupils growing larger as he stares down at the woman and uses his powers to drill the notion into her head. "She might be insecure about her future, she might have a few self-esteem issues, she might have trouble accepting the depth of her feelings for Damon," he explains, "but she loves him and she won't be able to have sex with another man because at the end of the day he's still the only one she wants."

Sadie Koning nods obediently.

#

Note: I hope everyone is doing fine, and that this chapter as my stories in general might keep you company in these strange times. Please, leave me a review and let me know what you think, what you enjoy, anything at all. If you want, and if you can, buy me a kofi, you'll find the link to my kofi page in my profile. I hope I'll be able to publish more soon, but in the meanwhile stay safe, and take care.