[TVD] mixes once again
Title: mixes once again
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries
Verse: Canon AND A Normal Life
Relationships: Bonnie Bennett / Damon Salvatore
Summary: No matter the universe, some things - like Bonnie watching Damon cook - will never change.
Notes:![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
asperity is an amazing and patient beta, and I appreciated her efforts in hammering this down. c: One of the recipes vampire Damon uses is perfect garlic bread from Smitten Kitchen, while warlock Damon uses what I remember of my sister's white cake with raspberry filling.
one. the original
Bonnie used to think that she could cook. That was before she and Damon were trapped in an eternal 90s loop, and also before she witnessed him performing magic every evening in the Salvatore kitchen.
Even now, in-between battling Heretics and solidifying their plans, Damon would take a breather and commandeer the kitchen for a night. In 2013, no less!
He would blast some Coldplay in the background as he nudged off his leather jacket and chopped ingredients with a fine, practiced precision. A hundred and fifty years (or a few months of making pancakes??) had given him a leg up on everyone, Bonnie supposed.
Damon would then caramelize onions in a saucepan as he let some stock simmer on the stove. Once the onions were golden, he would add it to the stock and let the juices flow. The heat from the stove almost - almost! - made her forget about their impending troubles.
For a few hours, she could pretend that they were normal friends about to share a meal. She cradled a bottle of bourbon in her hands as she leaned forward and watched him work.
After a moment, she figured she should ask, "Need a hand?"
He shook his head. "I've got it from here."
"You sure?" Brow furrowed, she took another sip of bourbon. Hard to believe that only a few months ago, she'd disdained the taste. Now, she couldn't imagine reaching for anything else. "I could wash the dishes..."
Damon snorted. "That's how our kitchen got flooded. With bubbles, no less."
Our. Bonnie's heart twisted into knots as he took the onions off the stove and poured them into the soup. After a couple of seconds, she said, "It wasn't that bad."
"You also used magic to clear the whole thing up." He coughed, swatting away an imaginary bubble. "Seriously, Bon - leave it to me. I can manage from here."
"If you're sure." She took another uneasy sip of bourbon.
"Very sure. You're witnessing a master at work here."
She stifled a laugh. "Sure thing, Chef Salvatore."
He gave her a slow, almost vulnerable smile before slicing a baguette lengthwise and slathering it with a warmed mixture of garlic, pepper flakes, kosher salt, and fresh butter. His art was an effortless one. Bonnie almost envied it.
"Hey, Damon? When'd you learn how to cook?"
"A long time ago." He paused, peering up at her. New worry lines emerged, and he let out a breath as he reached for the aged pecorino. Even sprinkling cheese was a glided, careless effort. (What couldn't he do in the kitchen?)
When he didn't offer any more information, Bonnie's voice grew quieter, "You taught yourself, right? You weren't nearly this good in 1994."
He choked on thin air. "You don't have to sound so surprised. I happen to be a natural."
If she were up for the challenge, she would've refuted that claim. She remembered the half-burnt pancakes from that first week. She remembered the smoke alarm dousing their first, and second, and maybe third breakfasts, until Damon had clawed that thing out of its misery. By the fourth day, he had perfected that pancake flip.
She could imagine the soup - and this savory-smelling bread - to take as long to master. She must've been smiling at him like some dumb sorority girl, because his expression softened.
As he slid the garlick-y baguette into the oven to bake, he murmured, "Or maybe I might've brushed up on the basics after we got separated. Can't exactly have you going around and telling everyone that I can't cook."
She stifled a laugh, pressing a finger and willing the bottle to refill its contents. "Who'd I tell?"
"Stefan, mainly. He thinks he can go around and dazzle everyone with his stupid pasta."
"Hey, Elena said it had mozzarella. The homemade kind."
Damon let out a groan. "That's even worse."
Setting a timer for both dishes, he then joined her with his own bottle of bourbon. The bubbling soup and the soft roar of the fire were all she heard for a few seconds. Damon's senses must've picked up on more, like Stefan crunching on leaves outside, or even her own heartbeat picking up when his bottle clinked against hers.
"You're beating like a hummingbird." He frowned. "Bon, what's going on?"
Nothing, she wanted to say. Because truthfully, in this sacred space, they weren't a witch and a vampire fighting against the world. He acted so human that it almost startled her. Let her worry about him sometimes, alright?
"Nothing important," she settled on saying, leaning on his shoulder. "Thank you. For everything."
He let out a small, almost-fond sigh as he kissed her hairline. "Don't mention it."
two. the adaptation
Even by human standards, Damon spent far too much time in the kitchen. Bonnie grew used to the various, intermingling scents that would betray Damon's presence: anise, saffron, and even turmeric would greet her at the front door. Lemons and caramelized sugar too, if he were baking up a storm.
Setting her leather jacket aside on the coat rack and tossing her stilettos by the door, she hummed one of Damon's favorite melodies. He would've never admitted to Coldplay, but oh, her senses were far better than his.
From the doorway of the kitchen, she could see his hands performing magic upon the stove. He had already rolled up the sleeves of his linen blazer, and this time, he was stirring raspberry syrup with a fine, gentle precision. She saw the remnants of white, homemade frosting on the counter and the oven light indicating some sweet cupcakes (cakes?) baking. The heat almost - almost! - warmed her chilly bones.
"Smells good," she said in greeting, brushing past him towards the electronic kettle.
Damon snorted. "Just in time for taste-testing, I see."
"Even if I offered my help, I don't think you'd want it."
He turned his head towards her. "How come?"
"Too many cooks spoil the cake." She turned the kettle on and reached for one of her familiar blends. The Salvatores added vervain to everything these days; unless she left her own muslin tea bags, she was doomed to accidental poisoning. (It kept them safe, but God, at what cost?) "Should I wash the dishes?"
Damon let out a laugh before resuming his work. "Don't even think about it. I can't afford to use my magic here - not after you flooded the place with bubbles."
Her cheeks burned a bright red. Bonnie pouted, suddenly grateful that her back was turned towards him. "It wasn't that bad."
"I had to dispel it myself. I'd say it was pretty bad." As he opened the oven, a warm, strong vanilla scent wafted through the air and enveloped the space.
Mm, Bonnie could practically taste it on her tongue. It had been far too long since she'd courted - no, sorry, dated someone who could cook.
See, most vampires were attracted to witches who performed flashy maneuvers on the battlefield. Damon was capable, certainly, but his domain was the kitchen. When he tied that stained apron around his waist, his defenses were strewn aside. This was his home, his sacred space, and he was about to create another offering to the one God he cherished (pretended to cherish? Bonnie didn't know his relationship with the Lord).
As he simmered the syrup, she couldn't help asking, "Hey, Damon? When'd you learn how to cook?"
"When I was sixteen. Mom pulled me in and decided that if I was gonna be an alchemist, I had to know my heritage." Damon's voice was almost wistful as he stirred the pot. He took a taste, before reaching in and adding more spices. "Then I realized cooking was cheaper than take-out, so...."
"So you taught yourself."
He shrugged. "Kind of. Mom gave me the basics, and Teita showed me the rest."
Teita? As in, his maternal grandmother? Bonnie sat up straighter.
Stefan mentioned Teita before in the context of family reunions, but Stefan also didn't care what other people thought of him. He would've praised his family without a second care. Damon, on the other hand, caged his heart with a sarcastic attitude and biting wit.
She must've been staring too long, because Damon's cheeks flushed a bright red.
"You don't have to look so surprised," he grumbled, turning his back towards her.
Bonnie held her tongue, hiding her smile behind her sleeves. "Sorry, I just - I thought she lived all the way up in Boston."
"She does. I also went to school in Boston. So I'd take the commuter rail or Jeddo would pick me up, and we'd spend the weekend together." Damon turned the heat down and stepped aside to admire his handiwork. "Mom taught me the basics. Teita taught whatever Mom didn't."
Bonnie settled on brewing a blend of English Breakfast & Earl Grey; a sweet dessert should have strong, full-bodied tea to accompany it. "She sounds amazing. You really learned all of this from her?"
"Mostly. The alchemy in this is all me." Damon stirred the frosting together, peering at her with new eyes.
She huffed. "You had to synthesize something, didn't you."
"Of course. Come and taste this."
Bonnie rolled her eyes as she walked over and took a teaspoon to sample. The light frosting tasted of sweet vanilla. A twinge of something else - something tingly and warm - faded with the next bite.
His eyes twinkled with that same energy. "I put some mana into it. It'll be a safeguard next time some warlock decides to cast a spell on you."
"Ah, yes, because Stefan hexes everyone he knows." She couldn't even try to hide her amusement.
Sometimes, her boy was so human with his concerns and worries about her. The tables should've been turned; she should've been fretting about him with this exchange of energy. Instead, he was fusing magic with mundane to protect her in his sacred space of food magiscience. It would've been comical, had it not become the foundation of their shared life.
Damon pouted. "No, but..."
She cut him off with a kiss, careful to lick the remnants of frosting off his face. Mm, its sweetness only multiplied.
"But you're fine. We're fine. Thank you for protecting me."
His smile was so bright that for a second, the entire world seemed to light up. "Don't mention it."
Fandom: The Vampire Diaries
Verse: Canon AND A Normal Life
Relationships: Bonnie Bennett / Damon Salvatore
Summary: No matter the universe, some things - like Bonnie watching Damon cook - will never change.
Notes:
asperity is an amazing and patient beta, and I appreciated her efforts in hammering this down. c: One of the recipes vampire Damon uses is perfect garlic bread from Smitten Kitchen, while warlock Damon uses what I remember of my sister's white cake with raspberry filling.one. the original
Bonnie used to think that she could cook. That was before she and Damon were trapped in an eternal 90s loop, and also before she witnessed him performing magic every evening in the Salvatore kitchen.
Even now, in-between battling Heretics and solidifying their plans, Damon would take a breather and commandeer the kitchen for a night. In 2013, no less!
He would blast some Coldplay in the background as he nudged off his leather jacket and chopped ingredients with a fine, practiced precision. A hundred and fifty years (or a few months of making pancakes??) had given him a leg up on everyone, Bonnie supposed.
Damon would then caramelize onions in a saucepan as he let some stock simmer on the stove. Once the onions were golden, he would add it to the stock and let the juices flow. The heat from the stove almost - almost! - made her forget about their impending troubles.
For a few hours, she could pretend that they were normal friends about to share a meal. She cradled a bottle of bourbon in her hands as she leaned forward and watched him work.
After a moment, she figured she should ask, "Need a hand?"
He shook his head. "I've got it from here."
"You sure?" Brow furrowed, she took another sip of bourbon. Hard to believe that only a few months ago, she'd disdained the taste. Now, she couldn't imagine reaching for anything else. "I could wash the dishes..."
Damon snorted. "That's how our kitchen got flooded. With bubbles, no less."
Our. Bonnie's heart twisted into knots as he took the onions off the stove and poured them into the soup. After a couple of seconds, she said, "It wasn't that bad."
"You also used magic to clear the whole thing up." He coughed, swatting away an imaginary bubble. "Seriously, Bon - leave it to me. I can manage from here."
"If you're sure." She took another uneasy sip of bourbon.
"Very sure. You're witnessing a master at work here."
She stifled a laugh. "Sure thing, Chef Salvatore."
He gave her a slow, almost vulnerable smile before slicing a baguette lengthwise and slathering it with a warmed mixture of garlic, pepper flakes, kosher salt, and fresh butter. His art was an effortless one. Bonnie almost envied it.
"Hey, Damon? When'd you learn how to cook?"
"A long time ago." He paused, peering up at her. New worry lines emerged, and he let out a breath as he reached for the aged pecorino. Even sprinkling cheese was a glided, careless effort. (What couldn't he do in the kitchen?)
When he didn't offer any more information, Bonnie's voice grew quieter, "You taught yourself, right? You weren't nearly this good in 1994."
He choked on thin air. "You don't have to sound so surprised. I happen to be a natural."
If she were up for the challenge, she would've refuted that claim. She remembered the half-burnt pancakes from that first week. She remembered the smoke alarm dousing their first, and second, and maybe third breakfasts, until Damon had clawed that thing out of its misery. By the fourth day, he had perfected that pancake flip.
She could imagine the soup - and this savory-smelling bread - to take as long to master. She must've been smiling at him like some dumb sorority girl, because his expression softened.
As he slid the garlick-y baguette into the oven to bake, he murmured, "Or maybe I might've brushed up on the basics after we got separated. Can't exactly have you going around and telling everyone that I can't cook."
She stifled a laugh, pressing a finger and willing the bottle to refill its contents. "Who'd I tell?"
"Stefan, mainly. He thinks he can go around and dazzle everyone with his stupid pasta."
"Hey, Elena said it had mozzarella. The homemade kind."
Damon let out a groan. "That's even worse."
Setting a timer for both dishes, he then joined her with his own bottle of bourbon. The bubbling soup and the soft roar of the fire were all she heard for a few seconds. Damon's senses must've picked up on more, like Stefan crunching on leaves outside, or even her own heartbeat picking up when his bottle clinked against hers.
"You're beating like a hummingbird." He frowned. "Bon, what's going on?"
Nothing, she wanted to say. Because truthfully, in this sacred space, they weren't a witch and a vampire fighting against the world. He acted so human that it almost startled her. Let her worry about him sometimes, alright?
"Nothing important," she settled on saying, leaning on his shoulder. "Thank you. For everything."
He let out a small, almost-fond sigh as he kissed her hairline. "Don't mention it."
two. the adaptation
Even by human standards, Damon spent far too much time in the kitchen. Bonnie grew used to the various, intermingling scents that would betray Damon's presence: anise, saffron, and even turmeric would greet her at the front door. Lemons and caramelized sugar too, if he were baking up a storm.
Setting her leather jacket aside on the coat rack and tossing her stilettos by the door, she hummed one of Damon's favorite melodies. He would've never admitted to Coldplay, but oh, her senses were far better than his.
From the doorway of the kitchen, she could see his hands performing magic upon the stove. He had already rolled up the sleeves of his linen blazer, and this time, he was stirring raspberry syrup with a fine, gentle precision. She saw the remnants of white, homemade frosting on the counter and the oven light indicating some sweet cupcakes (cakes?) baking. The heat almost - almost! - warmed her chilly bones.
"Smells good," she said in greeting, brushing past him towards the electronic kettle.
Damon snorted. "Just in time for taste-testing, I see."
"Even if I offered my help, I don't think you'd want it."
He turned his head towards her. "How come?"
"Too many cooks spoil the cake." She turned the kettle on and reached for one of her familiar blends. The Salvatores added vervain to everything these days; unless she left her own muslin tea bags, she was doomed to accidental poisoning. (It kept them safe, but God, at what cost?) "Should I wash the dishes?"
Damon let out a laugh before resuming his work. "Don't even think about it. I can't afford to use my magic here - not after you flooded the place with bubbles."
Her cheeks burned a bright red. Bonnie pouted, suddenly grateful that her back was turned towards him. "It wasn't that bad."
"I had to dispel it myself. I'd say it was pretty bad." As he opened the oven, a warm, strong vanilla scent wafted through the air and enveloped the space.
Mm, Bonnie could practically taste it on her tongue. It had been far too long since she'd courted - no, sorry, dated someone who could cook.
See, most vampires were attracted to witches who performed flashy maneuvers on the battlefield. Damon was capable, certainly, but his domain was the kitchen. When he tied that stained apron around his waist, his defenses were strewn aside. This was his home, his sacred space, and he was about to create another offering to the one God he cherished (pretended to cherish? Bonnie didn't know his relationship with the Lord).
As he simmered the syrup, she couldn't help asking, "Hey, Damon? When'd you learn how to cook?"
"When I was sixteen. Mom pulled me in and decided that if I was gonna be an alchemist, I had to know my heritage." Damon's voice was almost wistful as he stirred the pot. He took a taste, before reaching in and adding more spices. "Then I realized cooking was cheaper than take-out, so...."
"So you taught yourself."
He shrugged. "Kind of. Mom gave me the basics, and Teita showed me the rest."
Teita? As in, his maternal grandmother? Bonnie sat up straighter.
Stefan mentioned Teita before in the context of family reunions, but Stefan also didn't care what other people thought of him. He would've praised his family without a second care. Damon, on the other hand, caged his heart with a sarcastic attitude and biting wit.
She must've been staring too long, because Damon's cheeks flushed a bright red.
"You don't have to look so surprised," he grumbled, turning his back towards her.
Bonnie held her tongue, hiding her smile behind her sleeves. "Sorry, I just - I thought she lived all the way up in Boston."
"She does. I also went to school in Boston. So I'd take the commuter rail or Jeddo would pick me up, and we'd spend the weekend together." Damon turned the heat down and stepped aside to admire his handiwork. "Mom taught me the basics. Teita taught whatever Mom didn't."
Bonnie settled on brewing a blend of English Breakfast & Earl Grey; a sweet dessert should have strong, full-bodied tea to accompany it. "She sounds amazing. You really learned all of this from her?"
"Mostly. The alchemy in this is all me." Damon stirred the frosting together, peering at her with new eyes.
She huffed. "You had to synthesize something, didn't you."
"Of course. Come and taste this."
Bonnie rolled her eyes as she walked over and took a teaspoon to sample. The light frosting tasted of sweet vanilla. A twinge of something else - something tingly and warm - faded with the next bite.
His eyes twinkled with that same energy. "I put some mana into it. It'll be a safeguard next time some warlock decides to cast a spell on you."
"Ah, yes, because Stefan hexes everyone he knows." She couldn't even try to hide her amusement.
Sometimes, her boy was so human with his concerns and worries about her. The tables should've been turned; she should've been fretting about him with this exchange of energy. Instead, he was fusing magic with mundane to protect her in his sacred space of food magiscience. It would've been comical, had it not become the foundation of their shared life.
Damon pouted. "No, but..."
She cut him off with a kiss, careful to lick the remnants of frosting off his face. Mm, its sweetness only multiplied.
"But you're fine. We're fine. Thank you for protecting me."
His smile was so bright that for a second, the entire world seemed to light up. "Don't mention it."