Elriel Oneshots

Pastries and Peonies

Author's note: Hey guys! To celebrate the holidays coming up, I've written some more Elriel stories! This first one is for the #elriel secret santa event on tumblr, so it will also be available on my tumblr account actuallyACOTARtrash. I will also have a winter solstice story posted one December 21st, so mark your calendars! But until then, enjoy this sugary oneshot ;)

"Love, what are you making?"

Covering the table like an undersized tablecloth was a thin sheet of dough, liberally floured, buttered, and currently being scattered with ground walnuts and brown sugar. The mahogany floors looked like a blizzard had torn through, dusted with white.

Elain beamed up at her husband as she sprinkled more sugar onto her mysterious dessert. "I'm making a special dessert for tonight," she explained.

"And what might this dessert be, if I may know?" Azriel inquired, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Other than you, of course."

"It's....I don't really know the true name for this," she began. One of her hands rested atop his, the other scattering milk-soaked raisins over the other fillings. "But I remember watching the housekeepers make this every winter solstice. My favorite part was always to watch them roll this up and trace the swirls. Aside from eating it, of course."

Her husband chuckled softly and kissed her cheek. Somehow, even after being shunned by her mortal world, she continued to find beauty and warmth in it; in her past life, full of wealth and joy and pain and poverty. And yet, she would never have arrived in his arms, in his home, without enduring the obstacles thrown at her.

"So it's a little taste of home," he murmured, letting go but keeping a hand on the small of her back.

Carefully, his wife plucked at the edges of the dough and folded it up, forming a ridge. Grinning, she replied, "Well, you're my home now, but yes."

He watched her as she carefully rolled the edge toward the opposite end of the table, tucking any stubborn bits of filling under the layers of dough. Somehow, despite the effort it took to ensure no air was trapped between the layers, Elain was able to coax the delicate sheet into a log.

Even after years of knowing her, memorizing every detail and quirk he could, he couldn't quite fathom why she chose him. She glowed like a plush peony in sunlight whereas he was shadows and brambles. He'd told her as much so after she professed her love to him.

"I don't care if the Cauldron or the gods have given me a mate," she declared, cheeks pink with frustration. It took all of Azriel's willpower to refrain from kissing her. "I don't care if there are thousands of other males lining up. I fell in love with you, Az. It was always you."

He'd simply blinked at her with confusion, head tilted in that infuriatingly adorable way of his. For the first time in months, she could read him. His hazel eyes swirled with conflict, no doubt a battle between his demons and the glowing affection he felt. There had to be a reason he was letting her see him like this, but she wasn't sure if she wanted to know the reason.

"Well?" she asked, voice wavering. "Tell me something. Anything."

There was a pause as his eyes met hers. Then, he murmured, "You deserve better-"

"I deserve someone who loves me for who I am," she interrupted, taking his hands in her own. Tracing his knuckles with her thumb, she continued, "I deserve someone who takes the time to walk with me through the garden in rain or shine. Someone who cared enough to rescue me when I was taken by the Cauldron. Who risked his life for a stupid girl who was hung up on a fae-hating bastard."

No answer.

Well, at least, not verbal.

Azriel leaned in and pressed his lips to hers, reveling in the sweet scent that washed over him. His hands drifted down to pull her closer, gently stroking the bodice of her dress. Once her arms locked behind his neck, he dared to run his tongue along the seam of her lips. It was a question, a request. May I come in?

When a soft moan escaped from her, he took that as a yes.

"The walnut filling is what I grew up with," she explained, snapping him out of his memory. "In my village, only the wealthiest could afford it. Those who were less fortunate still had them, but theirs had different fillings. Sugar and cinnamon, mostly. At least, that's what I've been told."

"And this recipe...is it your family's?" Azriel asked. He knew all too well the range of diversity that could be present simply based on status.

"I never learned; not really." Nodding at an open recipe book, she continued, "I found a similar recipe in there, but I made some adjustments to match what we had."

What her sisters had before they lost their fortune. Before Feyre crossed to Prythian and Hybern threatened to conquer the continent.

They fell into silence. Golden-brown strands fell out of her updo as she leaned over the table, twining around her pointed ears, which were flushed pink from the warmth of the kitchen. Or, perhaps, the gaze of a certain shadowsinger.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been watching her until she spoke.

"If you keep looking at me like that, darling, we might not have anything for ourselves or our friends during breakfast," she warned, her mouth tilting up in a smirk reserved only for him. "Feyre and Nesta love this but can't bake to save their own lives, so you know how that'll end if we don't have anything ready by tomorrow."

Pouting, Azriel stepped up to the table, fingers tapping anxiously on its surface. "Is there anything I can do to help?" To speed this up so we can move on to other things?

When Elain's smirk grew, he knew he was in trouble. If there was one rule they had, it was to not rush her while she's baking. Unfortunately, that often meant the shadowsinger was left glancing longingly at his wife, who would pour more attention onto the pastries than him.

"No," she shook her head innocently. "This'll just take another ten, maybe fifteen minutes."

"I can wait," her husband responded, taking the opportunity to shrug off his leather armor. Ideally, it would have been someone else's hands undressing him, but those hands were a little bit busy.

"Oh, that's just for this batch," she hummed, taking a moment to indulge in her husband practically stripping in front of her. "I have three more to make."