Damon Salvatore Funny Quotes Novels & Stories

“And stop talking like he’s some kind of savior. It’s just breakfast.” Nate smirked, clearly enjoying every second of my irritation. “Jealous, much?” “What—jealous? Of what?” My voice pitched higher than I intended, which only made his smirk widen. “You’re jealous that Damon’s cooking for me and not you,” Nate said with faux seriousness, as if he were delivering a groundbreaking revelation. My jaw dropped. “You are such an idiot!” Damon laughed then, low and warm, and for a second I forgot to stay mad. He placed a plate in front of Nate, then turned back to me.

He may have been young, but he wasn't stupid. "…. You're joking right." To Damon's irritation, his company's features stood in marbled stone. "Your injuries don't stop at your knees, I'm trying to finish the job. Now stop acting like a child." Damon look scandalized. "Fat chance! I'm not taking off my pants in public let alone in front of some guy whose name I don't even know! I may be an orphan but I know stranger danger!"

“Such a beautiful name of a beautiful lady. I’m Damon Ellios. Nice to meet you, senorita.” I was shocked by the flattery tone. Who would have thought that such a big and brute-looking guy would have such a way with words? This was going to be fun! *~*~*~*~*~*~*

I scream; my anxiety has me pacing in front of the toilet, nauseous, but for an entirely different reason now. Damon remains unphased by my meltdown, with an egotistical smile on his face, "don't forget you're the one who phrased it as a "magical penis," because I never will." He roars, with laughter, bending at the waist as he tries to calm the laughter shaking his body.

I spat, “What exactly is your problem?” “My problem? Do you want to know exactly what my problem is? It's you, my problem is fucking you!!!” Damian yelled, “You knew I was drunk and you took advantage of the situation.” “What?” I stood to my feet, “Are you dumb or what? I take advantage of you? You are not all that, Mr. Damian Salvatore; I guess when you drink, you have memory loss, so let me remind you that I didn't approach you, you did, and you even begged me.”

A nervous laugh escaped me—then immediately turned into a groan as I clutched my stomach. Nope. It didn’t help. I was still panicking. Because here was the issue: Damiano wasn’t some random guy you clap back at, then mute on I*******m. No. He was Damiano freaking Valentino. Mafia lord and Salvatore's third in command. Murderous glare. Walking nightmare in an expensive suit. And I… I had just told him off. “Congratulations,” I muttered to myself, dragging my palms down my face until my cheeks squished like a sad pancake. “You’ve officially signed your own death certificate—with glitter pen. Maybe he’ll frame it.”

he said. "I like being mean," "Why?" "Let's me irk people like Savannah," She replied and Damien chuckled. "You don't like her, do you?" He asked and she nodded. "Not one bit… not one single bit,"

he replied casually, his tone light and nonchalant. I scoffed inwardly at his response, refusing to let myself be swayed by his easy charm. "Sure, that's what they all say," I muttered under my breath, my skepticism evident in the sharpness of my tone. Damon's smile faltered for a moment, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features before he quickly regained his composure. "Seriously, though," he insisted, his gaze locking with mine in a silent challenge. "I just enjoy the atmosphere here. And besides, it's nice to see a familiar face."

“Don’t tell me you’re scared?” “Fuck off, Salvatore.” I squirm and feel something hard digging into my butt when I move again. I open my eyes in surprise. “I hope that's a spicy soppressata in your pocket and not what I’m thinking,” I sputter, and he lets out a careless laugh that surprises me. “Believe me, what I have is better than salami. It's the best cured meat,” he replies with an egocentric tone. “You narcissistic piece of shit.”

“‌P⁠atience‌ is a virtue.” ⁠Damon groane‍d. “Oh God, you know I hate it when you say s‍hit like that.” I lifted a brow. “Shit like what?⁠” He glanced at me. “Shit l⁠ike patience is a virtue, y⁠ou sound like a fucking sixty y‍ear old.” ‌I snort‌ed. “Th‌e⁠y‌’re idioms, Damon.” “I d⁠on‌’‌t give a fuck what they ar‍e. They’‌re‌ stupid⁠.”