The warmth of the Fairy Hills kitchen was a completely different kind of battlefield. There was no metallic smell of gunpowder, nor the acrid taste of blood and fear in the air. It was the sweet, almost intoxicating scent of batter baking slowly in the oven, mixed with the fresh, citrusy, and vibrant aroma of newly washed strawberries, and the rich, greasy smell of butter being beaten until it transformed into a cloud of pure indulgence. A warmth that, unlike the heat of Natsu's flames or the fury of a battle, was an embrace. A warmth that promised comfort and, maybe, just maybe, a little bit of peace.
I stirred the vanilla cream with fluid movements, almost lazy in their economy of gesture, but each rotation of the wooden spoon was precise, calculated, perfect. Skill, my dear, non-existent audience, doesn't just come from exhaustive training: it comes from countless past lives cooking in radically different places, from filthy medieval taverns where 'hygiene' was a foreign and probably cursed word, to the kitchens of culinary competitions so insane, so competitive, and so full of ego that they would give any young, hopeful apprentice chef terrible nightmares and an identity crisis. Cookery, like war, has many facets. And I was a veteran of both.
Behind me, sitting uncomfortably on the cold marble kitchen counter, was Erza. Her intense, curious brown eyes were fixed on my every move, her feet swinging slightly, like a child mesmerised by a magic show. She watched my process with a concentration she usually reserved for studying new swordsmanship techniques or for the tactical analysis of her opponents. It was... adorable. And a little intimidating.
I smirked, without taking my eyes off the silky texture of the cream taking shape in the bowl.
"If you keep looking at me like that, with all that intensity, Red, you'll end up falling head over heels for the cake before you even get a chance to taste it," I murmured, my voice low and with a touch of provocation. "And that would be a real tragedy. For the cake, of course."
"I just… I just never imagined you like this," she hesitated for a moment, her gaze quickly darting to the dark window, as if embarrassed at being caught in the act. "So… so calm. So focused."
"Calm?" I tasted a small amount of the cream with the tip of the spoon and licked my lips with an air of satisfied disdain. "Ah, my dear, naive Titania. Don't be fooled. This," I gestured with the wooden spoon towards the kitchen, the perfectly aligned ingredients, the oven emanating a controlled heat, "is a war. A war of flavours, of textures, of temperatures. Only a much more elegant, tasty war with considerably less blood and screaming. A war with butter, sugar, and the very real possibility of getting a stupid burn."
She laughed, a genuine, crystalline, and surprisingly loud laugh that echoed through the silent kitchen, and just that sound, that simple, unpretentious display of happiness, already made the room feel even warmer, more alive, more... ours.
After a few minutes of comfortable silence, broken only by the soft hum of the magic oven and the rhythmic sound of my spoon against the bowl, I realised that she, little, stubborn Erza, still hadn't taken her eyes off me, watching my every gesture with an almost childlike curiosity. So, with a smile that I knew was particularly dangerous and full of ulterior motives, I decided to tease her a little more. After all, what are friends for if not to pull us out of our comfort zones?
"Come here, you curious little spectator." I held out my free hand to her. She blinked, surprised and a little confused by the unexpected invitation. "If you're going to stand there staring at me with that look of admiration, you might as well be useful. Come and help."
At first, Erza, the great and fearsome Titania, looked so out of place in the kitchen it was almost painfully cute. She held the wooden spoon as if it were a rare and delicate sword, her shoulders tense, her movements stiff and clumsy, as if she feared one wrong move might make the cream explode. For someone who had sliced three-headed monsters in half without breaking a sweat, she was surprisingly insecure near a bowl of cream. I moved up behind her, closing the distance between our bodies until my chest lightly brushed against her back. I held her hands, which were surprisingly warm, calmly guiding her tense movements with my own.
"Like this…" I whispered near her ear, my voice deliberately low and soft, feeling her shiver slightly at the proximity of my breath on her skin. "Not too much force. Confectionery isn't about brutality, Red. It's about... seduction. About delicacy. Stir very gently, in circles. Like a dance."
I felt her shoulders relax under my touch, the tension dissipating like smoke. And, little by little, almost magically, the spoon in her hands began to move with a grace and smoothness I didn't know she possessed, the circles becoming more fluid, more confident, more... perfect.
When we finally moved on to the task of slicing the strawberries, that's when she truly shone with an intensity that was almost frightening. The wooden spoon might have been a mystery to her, but a sharp blade... ah, a sharp blade was a dear old friend. Her nimble, precise fingers moved with an enviable speed and precision, turning each ripe, red strawberry into thin, perfect, and uniform slices, in a display of skill that would make the most experienced of chefs feel a pang of professional jealousy.
"Hm. Impressive," I crossed my arms, leaning against the counter and pretending to be a stern, hard-to-please judge on some cooking competition. "Clearly, you have an undeniable, natural talent for cutting things into small pieces. A very... useful skill. And a little disturbing."
"…You say that as if all I'm good for is cutting things," she grumbled, without stopping her slicing, but she raised an eyebrow in my direction, a challenging glint in her eye.
"No. Not just for that," I replied, a slow, rather predatory smile forming on my lips. I picked up a perfect slice of strawberry she had just cut and, with a slow, deliberate movement, I gently touched it to her lips, which parted in surprise. "You're also good for making everything around you a little more... beautiful. More interesting."
She blinked, surprised and perhaps a little confused by the unexpected compliment and the intimate gesture, before, hesitantly, but with an adorable blush spreading across her cheeks, she accepted the fruit, her lips brushing my fingers for an instant. Her teeth bit into the fruit, and her fingertips, almost accidentally, but entirely intentionally on my part, grazed lightly against my hand. It was a quick touch. Fleeting. But hot as a coal.
The sharp, irritating beep of the magic oven broke the delicious, electrifying tension that had settled between us. Damn technology.
The cake batter was ready.
I opened the oven with a sharp movement, perhaps a little stronger than necessary, and the sweet, warm, and comforting smell of freshly baked cake spread through the kitchen like a wave of pure comfort, filling every corner of the room and, for an instant, making me forget everything else. For a brief, precious moment, it was as if there were only the two of us, the comfortable silence, the smell of cake, and the promise of something sweet to come.
The freshly baked cake, with its perfect golden colour and fluffy texture, rested majestically on the kitchen worktop, letting out small, lazy clouds of steam and that warm, delicious smell that seemed to have the power to embrace the senses and calm even the most tormented soul. While it cooled a little, the silky white cream in the bowl, now exuding an intoxicating vanilla aroma, was ready and waiting. And the strawberries, sliced with the precision of an obsessive, perfectionist swordswoman, formed a bright, red, and perfectly aligned row on the chopping board, as if they were giving a silent, respectful salute to our dear and fearsome Erza.
"Hm… not bad for a real first time, Red," I commented with an air of false superiority, resting my chin on my palm as I watched her admire her own impressive skill with a knife. "You've got a future. Maybe."
"…First time?" she frowned, looking away from the strawberries and at me with an expression of feigned offence. "Excuse me, but I have cooked before, you know. Several times."
[Yes, Azra'il. And I have the records. Instant noodles with cold water and a scrambled egg that more closely resembled burnt rubber do not definitively count as 'cooking' in most known civilisations with a minimum of culinary standards,] Eos's voice sounded in my mind, with that clinical, precise, and utterly compassionless tone of hers.
I almost laughed out loud at the comment but managed to contain myself and maintain my pose as an experienced culinary master, smiling slowly at Erza.
"I meant, my dear, real food. With soul. Like this," I pointed dramatically to the cake that was starting to cool on the worktop. "Food that doesn't come in a packet and doesn't just require the addition of hot water and a prayer that it might be edible."
She made an adorably indignant face, clearly offended by my accurate assessment of her culinary skills, and I took advantage of her moment of distraction to pick up the piping bag I had already filled with the delicious, silky vanilla cream.
With the grace of an artist painting their masterpiece, I began to spread a generous, perfectly smooth layer of cream over the surface of the cake, with soft, precise, and hypnotic movements. But, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed her gaze was once again fixed on me, with an intensity that was almost palpable.
"...What is it now, Red?" I asked, without stopping my icing, raising an eyebrow in question. "Fascinated by my superior technique and my undeniable mastery of the art of confectionery?"
"It's just... whenever you cook... you seem... different," she said, quickly looking away at the bowl of strawberries, as if embarrassed at being caught watching me. "You seem... softer. More... happy." Her voice was a murmur, almost a secret confessed in the quiet of the kitchen.
"And you," I said, with a slow smile and a dangerous glint in my eyes, "look like someone who is desperately asking to try the final result." And, before she could even think of reacting, in a quick, bold move, I touched the tip of my finger, which was conveniently covered in sweet, delicious cream, to her lips, which parted in a small, surprised gasp. "Open up."
Erza's eyes widened, surprised, perhaps even a little shocked by my audacity and the sudden proximity, but to my delight, she obeyed without question. The tip of her tongue, small, pink, and curious, touched my finger slowly, hesitantly, tasting the sweet cream with a delicacy that made me hold my breath. For a second that seemed to last an eternity, time in the kitchen seemed to stop completely: the soft warmth emanating from the freshly baked cake, the sweet, intoxicating smell of strawberries and vanilla, the warm, soft skin of her lips brushing gently against my finger.
I felt my breath catch in my chest, my ancient heart giving a stupid, entirely inappropriate lurch.
She licked the remaining cream from my finger and swallowed hard, an adorable, intense blush spreading across her freckled cheeks. "...It's... it's very good, Azra'il. Delicious."
"Hm." I leaned my face a little closer to hers, my smile becoming slower, lazier, laden with a contained mischief and an amusement I could barely disguise. "I know."
With the atmosphere now charged with a delicious tension and a palpable embarrassment, I decided, in my infinite wisdom and with a wicked desire to tease her even more, to get my own back for the hormonal confusion and discomfort she, even if unintentionally, had caused me. With a quick, precise movement, I took a small spoonful of the whipped cream that was in the bowl beside us and, with a quick, delicate touch, I left a small, perfect white dab right on the tip of her nose.
"...Azra'il!" She blinked, surprised and indignant, her eyes comically crossing as she tried to look at the tip of her own nose.
"Oops… seems my aim failed for a moment. How clumsy of me," I said with a feigned innocence that wouldn't fool even the most naive of rabbits. I leaned slowly towards her, closing the distance between our faces even more, feeling the heat rise and the electric tension grow between us. "Would you like me to... clean that for you?" My voice was a whisper, a soft, loaded provocation.
The world, in that instant, became ridiculously small: just me, her, the sweet smell of strawberries that seemed to permeate every particle of air, and the bated breath between us. For a moment, I really thought she would pull back, that she would push me away, that she would shout at me for my audacity. But... she didn't pull back. She just stood there, still, with wide eyes and flaming cheeks, waiting. And that, in itself, was an answer.
With a slow, almost torturous gesture, I ran my thumb gently over the whipped cream on her nose, wiping away the white smudge... and then, with a boldness that surprised even myself, I brought the finger to my own lips and licked off the sweet cream, never taking my eyes off hers.
Erza, if it were even possible, turned even redder, from the roots of her hair to the tips of her ears, and I just smiled, with the purest, most crystalline feigned innocence I could muster. "Hm. Really, very sweet. Just like you, Red."
The silence that followed my provocation was soft, heavy, laden with something that didn't need, and perhaps couldn't, be put into words. I continued to ice the cake with a calm I didn't feel inside, but now the kitchen, once so spacious, seemed to have shrunk, to have become warmer, more intimate, as if the entire vast, chaotic universe could fit right there, in that small space: the two of us, the strawberry cake, the sweet smell in the air, and the silent promise of something new, something exciting, something that, for the first time in a long while, the two of us might not even need to name.
The cake was finally, gloriously ready. A work of confectionery art, modesty aside. Perfect layers of fluffy, golden batter, filled and covered with a smooth, shiny white vanilla cream, and adorned with the red, juicy strawberries that had been sliced with the precision of a perfectionist swordswoman obsessed with symmetry. It was simple, in its essence, but for the two of us, at that moment, it felt... ours. A joint creation, a symbol of our strange and growing complicity.
I took a sharp knife and, with a clean, precise cut, removed the first, most generous slice, placing it carefully on a small porcelain plate. The kitchen, which had previously been full of laughter and teasing, was now immersed in a comfortable silence, broken only by the distant ticking of the living room clock and the soft sound of the wind lightly tapping against the kitchen window. I held the plate out to Erza, as if offering a trophy or a crown.
"The honours of the first and most important bite, my dear and talented confectionery assistant." I tilted my head with a smirk. "You've earned it."
She picked up the small dessert fork with an almost reverent slowness, as if she were about to face a deadly challenge or defuse a bomb, instead of just eating a piece of cake. When she finally put the first, long-awaited piece in her mouth, I saw her shoulders relax completely, the built-up tension dissipating like smoke, and her brown eyes closed for a brief, delicious instant of pure, absolute ecstasy. The blush, which had faded a little, rose again with force on her freckled cheeks, almost at the same time as a small, almost inaudible moan of pleasure escaped her lips.
"Azra'il…" her voice came out soft, muffled by the cake, almost shy, like a secret whispered in the twilight. "…This is... absolutely and utterly wonderful. Divine."
"Of course it is, Red. I made it," I smiled with a smugness I knew she would forgive, moving closer to lean my elbow on the worktop beside her, closing the distance between us once more. "And besides, I solemnly promised I would sweeten your day, didn't I? And I, as you know, always keep my promises. The important ones, at least. And the delicious ones."
She opened her eyes slowly and looked at me, and there was a vulnerability and a gratitude so genuine in her gaze it almost made me look away. Her fingers, which had previously held the fork with an almost painful tension, now held it more delicately. And then, to my surprise, they hesitated for a second, before, with a decisive movement, they held out a small piece of cake in my direction.
"Here… you try some too. You did most of the work." Her voice was a gentle invitation.
The fork, with a perfect piece of cake and strawberry, stopped inches from my lips, and I made a point of leaning forward and taking a slow bite of the piece, without ever, not for an instant, taking my eyes off hers. The sweetness of the strawberry, the softness of the batter, and the creaminess of the vanilla melted in my mouth in an explosion of flavour, but to be completely and painfully honest, it wasn't the taste of the cake that made my ancient heart do another stupid lurch and accelerate in a totally inappropriate manner. It was the way she looked at me, with that intoxicating mix of pure admiration, a silent gratitude, and something else, something that burned deeper, more intense, something hidden in the depths of her brown eyes that she herself might not yet understand.
"Hm… indeed, perfect," I licked my lips slowly, savouring not just the cake, but the moment. "But I think it's mainly because it has a subtle taste of victory over hunger... and, most importantly, of a stubborn and finally happy redhead."
Erza laughed quietly, an adorable, slightly embarrassed sound, and almost shrank under my veiled compliment. I took the opportunity to run my hand through her soft, red hair, which still smelt of fruit and vanilla, stroking her head slowly, lazily, and entirely intentionally. She didn't protest. On the contrary, she closed her eyes for an instant, leaning subtly towards my touch, relaxing completely under my fingers like a needy little cat.
"If you keep this up, Erza Scarlet…" I murmured quietly, my voice little more than a breath, leaning a little closer until my lips almost brushed her ear, feeling her shiver slightly, "…I'm going to end up getting dangerously used to this new and surprising sweet and docile version of the great and fearsome Titania."
She opened her eyes slowly, her face still flushed like a summer poppy, but now with that familiar, stubborn, and challenging glint I knew so well.
"Then you'd better get used to it quickly, Azra'il Weiss," she replied with a newfound confidence, picking another strawberry from the cake and biting into it with an air of defiance, a small, provocative smile escaping the cream-smudged corner of her lips.
And, for a long, delicious instant, there was absolutely nothing in the universe but the comforting warmth of the kitchen, the sweet taste of sugar and strawberries on our lips, and the almost palpable feeling that the entire world, with all its dangers, its sorrows, and its complications, could fit right there, in that small, humble kitchen, between quiet laughs, long, lingering looks, and silent promises that, for now, did not need, and perhaps should not, be spoken aloud.
We finished the rest of the cake slowly, in a comfortable, conspiratorial silence, as if eating quickly would be an almost heinous crime, a sacrilege against this rare and precious moment of peace we had built together. The last, delicious spoonfuls of cake disappeared in the same way as the hot, aromatic tea I had prepared to accompany it, and the kitchen, once so full of tension and unsaid words, was now immersed in a comfortable, lazy silence, full of a mutual satisfaction, broken only by the distant, hypnotic ticking of the living room clock and the soft, melancholic sound of the night wind lightly tapping against the kitchen window, as if wanting to join in our small, secret moment.
With a sigh of pure, absolute satisfaction, I stretched lazily in my chair, feeling the warmth of the oven and the sweetness of the cake making me dangerously sleepy. I looked at Erza, who was sitting opposite me, with an equally satisfied and sleepy look on her face. Her long red hair fell in soft, messy waves over her shoulders, and there was a serene, almost dreamy glint in her brown eyes, a glint I rarely had the privilege of seeing outside of moments of victory in particularly difficult battles, or in stolen, unexpected moments like this. She looked... at peace. Genuinely at peace.
"Ready to hibernate for a week, Red?" I asked, with a light smile and a yawn I could barely disguise.
"Hm." She nodded slowly, her eyes already heavy with sleep, and then she looked away at her own hands on the table, almost as if she were suddenly embarrassed or shy. "…Thank you again for the cake, Azra'il. And... and for..." she paused for a moment, her lips hesitating for an instant, as if searching for the right words. "…And for... for today. It was nice."
I stood up with the slowness of a satisfied cat and, on an impulse I didn't bother to question, I offered her my hand. She took it without the slightest hesitation, her fingers lacing with mine with a naturalness that was both surprising and strangely comforting. The feeling of her palm, warm, strong, and slightly calloused from her swords, against mine, was... pleasant. Very pleasant.
We went up the stairs together, in a conspiratorial, comfortable silence, our soft footsteps echoing through the now-dark and silent corridor of Fairy Hills, which, at night, smelt of polished wood, candle wax, and a faint, almost imperceptible scent of flowers coming from the garden outside. The corridor was dimly lit by the pale, silver light of the full moon, which filtered through the large windows, and the cold night wind made the white lace curtains sway slightly, like ghosts dancing in the twilight. We stopped in silence before the doors of our rooms, hers, as always, opposite mine, in a symmetry that Master Makarov, with his matchmaker's wisdom, had surely planned.
"Goodnight, my stubborn little Red," I leaned my shoulder lazily against my doorframe and gave her that slow, drawn-out smile of mine that I knew was particularly effective at flustering her. "Sleep well. And try not to dream too much about cakes. Or me."
"Goodnight to you too, Azra'il..." she replied, her voice a little lower and softer than normal, and then she hesitated. Her gaze met mine for an instant, and there was something there, something new, something I couldn't quite decipher.
For a brief, tense moment, I thought that was it. A simple, chaste farewell. But then, to my total and absolute surprise, Erza took a small, decisive step forward, closing the already scarce distance between us. Before I could even think of making a sarcastic comment, or of simply moving away, I felt her lips, soft, warm, and with a faint scent of strawberries, press gently against my cheek.
It was a quick touch. A shy gesture. Almost chaste. Warm, gentle, and totally, completely, and utterly unexpected. When she pulled away, as quickly as she had approached, I realised, with a secret delight, that her face was a shade of red so intense it rivalled her hair, but her eyes, ah, her eyes, were surprisingly firm and full of a resolution that caught me off guard.
"...Have sweet dreams, Azra'ril," she said quietly, almost a whisper, and then, before I could regain my composure, before I could process what had just happened, before I could, most importantly of all, tease her about it, she turned and quickly entered her room, closing the door behind her with a soft, definitive click.
I stood there, in the silent, moonlit corridor, for a few long, endless seconds, touching the place on my cheek where her lips had been, still feeling the phantom warmth of her touch. A slow, satisfied, perhaps even a little smug smile was born, stubbornly, on my lips.
(Well, well, my brave little Titania... the first step has been taken… and she was the one who took it. Interesting. Very, very interesting,) I thought, with an amusement that was almost palpable, as a feeling of childish and entirely inappropriate triumph spread through me.
With one last, lazy sigh, and with a growing, strangely comforting warmth spreading through my chest and, to be honest, my entire body, I finally entered my own room and threw myself backwards onto the soft bed, without even bothering to change my clothes. I closed my eyes, expecting sleep to take a while to come, as usual. But, for the first time in many, many days, it came quickly, almost instantly… but it didn't bring a peaceful, dreamless rest. Oh, no. It brought vivid memories of the soft, hesitant touch of her lips on my skin, of the shy but brave little peck that still burned on my cheek like an invisible mark, of the way her beautiful brown eyes had shone with a mix of fear and determination before she fled to the safety of her room.
And, in that warm, comforting silence, full of possibilities, my dreams, for the first time in a long time, became warmer, more vivid, more... intense. Dreams populated by hair as red as fire, by brown eyes that shone like stars, and by imaginary hands, strong and gentle, that dared to go much further, that dared to explore much more than in real life. Damn that redhead and the effect she was having on me. And damn my own, treacherous imagination. Tonight, I knew, was going to be long. And very, very hot.
----------
🍓 Author's Note
----------
Okay, listen… I needed to write a soft, romantic scene. 😭
It's been so long since Azra'il and Erza had a moment like this, right? I think the last one was back during the Fairy Hills Christmas chapter and ever since then, it's just been tension, chaos, and those dangerously long, unresolved stares.
So I thought: "You know what? They deserve a break… and a cake." 🍰
I really wanted to write something warm and intimate, the kind of tenderness that grows slowly, naturally. No rush, no drama, just two people (and a cake) quietly figuring out what they feel for each other.
Now I want to hear from you guys:
👉 Was this an overdose of fluff?
👉 How do you feel about the pacing of their relationship so far, is it flowing naturally, or should I turn up the heat a little 👀?
Personally, I love slow-burns that take their time, where tension and tenderness grow side by side.
Anyway, I hope this chapter made your hearts as warm and melty as Azra'il's (even if she'd never admit it). 💞
Let me know what you thought in the comments! Did you also smell the strawberries and danger in the air? 😏🍓