A/N: Sorry this particular request took longer than the others, but at least it's done, no? I hope you guys like it! It's quite a bit different tone, I think, than my other crossover fic. Written for dhfreak, jo_winchester, and tennysonslady.

I Put a Spell on You

Damon loves drunk chicks.

And he doesn't mean tipsy, giggling school girls. He means, unapologetically, stumbling, word-slurring, stranger-slapping wasted chicks. No disrespect, of course. Who would want to offend the pretty little glittering things in their short skirts and towering heels (his father would have had a heart attack)? He sympathizes with the poor ladies who have to drink away their sorrows, all the while counting their calories and ordering anything with the word "lite." He absolutely understands.

Wait. No, he doesn't. The whole not-aging thing does the trick.

But there is one thing to be said about them. They're psychotic - just the way Damon likes them. They'll kiss you one minute and throw water on you the next. They'll say "no" even as they put their hands on his crotch. They dance like epileptics and walk circles around strangers. After a century, little brushes of surprise are welcoming.

All women are the same, really, regardless of the decade. They want to be loved and needed and what's more irritating is that it's en vogue to deny it all. Mostly, they have a way of being completely transparent about hiding it. With alcohol though, it all comes pouring out. The insecurities, the lonely nights, the I-can't-believe-she-got-married-before-me's. Damon found them hilarious.

This one right now is pretty much spilling out of her top while she laments the fact that her younger sister is married and pregnant and she's still drinking at some trendy club trying to find a husband. She carries on for a while with her acidic insults and before long, Damon gets a little bored of even that. For two seconds, he contemplates ditching - he wasn't that hungry anyway - but he's been listening for twenty minutes already and what a waste of time that would have been.

Then she walks in.

She's trailed by a boy and a girl, the whole lot of them obviously way too young. She stood out in blood red with her dark hair and pale skin. He drowns out Ms. Desperate and listens in to the suit walking towards her, catching just the tail end of the embarrassingly bad pick up line.

"You know, I usually say 'never say never.'" Must be the guy's lucky day. Like he said, all women are the sa- "But for you I'll make an exception."

He chuckles among the "oooooh" of the businessmen and the cackling of the high school girls.

Damon watches her even as he leads the other girl out to feed. He likes her style (and she's not even intoxicated) and decides to keep an eye on this one. He catches her name in the wind - Blair Waldorf.

* * *

The next time he sees her, he knows by experience that she's not quite right.

Yes, she's definitely a little intoxicated. Girl's got moves though. She swings and she flirts, drops and rises. He has that little friend of hers to thank, he supposes, but he's honestly too busy staring at her ass (just a little higher with that slip). She smiles big then frowns, and there's so much he wonders about that his mind feels like it'll blow.

For a second she looks right at him and from that second on, he owns her. He'll carry the baggage she comes with and drag it along the ground until it disintegrates into dust.

He knows what will happen when those two get in the limo, but now's not the time. Fortunately for Damon, he has all the time in the world. He'll give her some time to grow up - to hurt, to love, to scorn, to fuck.

* * *

She's a bitch - surprise, surprise. This kid in her acquaintance, Dan Humphrey, reminds him a bit too much of his brother for his taste (the torturous brooding, fucking Jesus) and she puts him in his place like nothing else.

He watches her exile a psycho from her kingdom ("I'm the crazy bitch around here") and for once thinks that maybe he could use a companion for eternity. He's never one for the whole "what's the point of eternal life without someone to share it with" bull. What's the point? You get to live forever, so shut the fuck up and enjoy it.

But she makes him laugh. It's refreshing.

* * *

Her schemes are juvenile at best (Yale? Really?). Her attempts to catch a boy's attention is laughable at best, but what makes him wonder even more is why she tries so hard. She hurts herself - that's obvious enough to anyone with a set of eyes - and it's unfathomable why her friends would do her job for her too. Sad Blair isn't fun. She's just pathetic and it turns his stomach.

He tries to talk to her once, in the restroom of a bar. "Throwing up and crying in the stall is for fat chicks, you know."

"And leather jackets are for guys who think they're cool but don't realize that they haven't been cool since the 80s." She gives him one withering glance. "Or lesbians." The pink of her lipstick doesn't match her volatile personality.

"You'll fall in love with me one day."

She takes a paper towel from the dispenser he's leaning on. "Not even if I were in jail and you wanted to make me your bitch."

He gets a whiff of her as she walks by. It's worth the wait.

* * *

That whole thing with Elena and Stephen turns out to be a colossal waste of time. If his brother chooses to saddle himself with a doppelganger of his former love, that's his problem. And Katherine... Katherine's beyond saving. There is something beautiful about a woman who needs and trusts him, but he knows that will never be the same Katherine again.

He comes back and she's still the same. Delightfully scheming away in the corner, twiddling her fingers and sticking her nose in places she doesn't belong. Little Ms. Blair Waldorf isn't so little anymore. A college girl now, more age-appropriate for him, he supposes. Apparently those fuckers at Yale didn't approve due to the permanent sticks in their asses.

Good thing, he'd hate to stalk in New Haven.

She tries and tries and fails so many times he's lost count. As soon as the boyfriend throws the whole I love you drama back in her face, he knows it's his cue.

"If that's your boyfriend, he's not very nice." He sidles up to her after she storms off from the indignation of being uninvited to a club opening.

"Do I know you?" She says it in such a condescending tone that it actually makes him feel better about being forgotten.

"Probably not, but I know you."

She scoffs. "Everyone knows me. Damn it!" He catches her when her heel breaks and she treats him like a wall, put there just for her benefit. He must be some sort of masochist. "This is all your fault." Of course. She sounds like she's about to cry and he sighs. He hates his women weepy.

"Come on, princess." He leads her by the elbow to his car and by some minor miracle (or, you know, mind control), she gets in without complaint. Damon smirks. He's sure that this Chuck Bass saw the whole thing.

He's driving down the Long Island Expressway when she makes a sound. "Where are you taking me? Who are you?" She yells it against the wind.

"Aw, don't worry, princess. I'm harmless." He flashes her a smile that probably does more harm than good. "Ok, fine, that's a lie. I'm your worst nightmare. Is that better?"

"My stepfather is going to slap a lawsuit on you so fast your head is going to spin. Take me home."

"In due time, princess. In due time."

* * *

"It's a good deal. You should take it." She knows better than to try to run now. He's just... faster. "Eternal life, youth, all that crap. Think about how much money you'll save on beauty products. You won't even need to try to keep this pretty little face." He runs his fingers down her cheek.

"Just take me home, please," she whispers. Maybe this was a bad idea, showing her his fangs and all that. She just smells so...

"Polite." He kisses her trembling, yet unresponsive lips. She looks at him with wide, Dorothy eyes.

"Are you going to kill me?"

"Only to bring you back." To me. He curses himself when she cowers. He was too impatient. This is all happening too fast, too soon. He didn't mean to scare her. "Close your eyes." He rolls his eyes when she gulps. "I'm not going to bite you."

In two hours, she's safe in her own bed. He takes her memories of him with him.

* * *

"Miss Blair! Wake up!" Blair opens her eyes at the maid's insistence. She had the weirdest dream... what was it? "Your mother want you to meet new investor. They wait for you downstairs."

"Thanks, Dorota."

She gets ready and he's there at the bottom of the stairs - one of the most handsome men she had ever met. She wishes she had chosen to wear the adorable-sexy Chloe dress instead of the more business appropriate Michael Korrs. When Dorota said investor, she was expecting someone like Bart Bass, not a delicious mix of her ex-boyfriends' most handsome features.

Yes. Ex. She and Chuck are over now, she almost forgot. 'I couldn't say I love you because I didn't trust you.' - that's not something a relationship can recover from. It's like the end of an era and her face couldn't help but sulk in the corners of her lips. She feels a cold hand slip between her fingers and brought to equally cold lips. "Damon Salvatore, at your service."

There is something familiar and sinister in his blue eyes, in his smirk, but she can't help but smile back. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Salvatore." He leads her by the hand to the breakfast table where her mother patiently awaits. She always was easily charmed by beautiful young men.

He pulls out her chair and just as she seats herself, his face close to her neck, she remembers a whisper from what seems like a lifetime ago.

You'll fall in love with me one day.