The Little Witch's Imagines

Damon Salvatore: I can't help it

IMAGINE: You can't help but like Damon even though you hate the idea of it.

He was generally a thorn in your side. He was impulsive, reckless, and overly-charismatic—that was your own definition of "weird." You lived in the house adjacent to the Salvatores, so they saw you most mornings on your run before work. Damon always leaned in the doorway of his house those mornings, blood dripping from his chin or most likely in the mug he held you were confident didn't hold coffee, tea, or the like. You enjoyed seeing him that way, it was comforting and you hated it.

You hated that you had to force yourself to stop smiling as he flirtatious waved at you from the windows as you got in your car. You loathed his constant invites to the parties he attended and made yourself say no. And you downright despised the moments he told you, "You know, you'd be a lot more enjoyable if you actually let yourself like me a little."

"Oh, would I?" you replied one morning when you came over to fix Stefan's car. "I bet you've got a nice smile," he flirted. "As a matter of fact, I do. But not for you," you pretended. He leaned on the hood as you adjusted one of the rims, testing its hold. Damon tilted his head to the side as he swished his morning drink around in a glass cup and looked at it in his familiar "puppy dog" eyes. "I bet some of this would really make you get that little grin going in just a few minutes," he snickered. "I can hold my alcohol just about as well as the bottle," you scoffed. "So, if I gave you some of this you wouldn't get drunk?" he continued to play with you.

You rolled your eyes as you finished on Stefan's car, setting the wrench aside. "I'm done. Tell Stefan to give it a whirl when you see him and let me know if it's okay," you changed the subject. "C'mon, Y/N. One drink. And if you don't like alcohol, you should try a blood bag because you'd be sucking the life out of the party if you say no," Damon said to you. You stopped in the opening of the large garage as you tried to force a frown. Say no, your brain said. "Will you stop bugging me if I say yes?" you said instead.

You were asking for it with that question. You spent the entirety of the morning drinking with Damon and forgot what you were fighting exactly. Maybe you didn't want to like him because you thought he wouldn't like you. Maybe you judged a book by its cover. You didn't remember. You got a first-hand look at the extremity of Damon Salvatore every day afterward.