‘ ‘Healing Remedy, ,
Premise; Leona kisses your hand after you scald them with water
Starring Characters; Leona Kingscholar x GN! Reader
Word Count; 2.0k
Side notes; I fear I need more domestic fluff with Leona, even though the prick is a prince😞
It had been close to three months since you and Leona had decided to move in together. Half of it was spent bickering over who would do what chore. His insistence that he could just get a housekeeper to come in periodically during the week, and your blatant, stubborn refusal, arguing that doing household tasks was an important part of life. The rest, managing the tasks in between your livelihoods, quarreling over what dish soap brand to get in the store, the apartment getting encroached by a particular hyena who kept raiding your fridge, while trying not to wring a lion's neck when he'd complain and lament about sweeping the floor. Leona, dragging the broom against the floor, the plastic bristles resembling the agonizing scratch of chalk on a board that even music couldn't hide, except in a horrid cacophony of noise that penetrated his ears like a vendetta, staring at you deadpanned. The slight eye twitch, evident as you tried to hide your growing amusement, covering the corners of your mouth that seemed to quiver upward with your hand, biting your lip to keep from snickering outwardly at his disgruntled face. Though it did nothing to conceal your shoulders, which shook from the effort it took not to cackle at his irritation. But despite all of the havoc, it was going surprisingly well…
It was a place you looked forward to returning to, day in and day out. Burrowing yourself in the dozens, if not hundreds, of pillows and blankets that draped the surface of the couch after an exhausting day, melting into the cushions as your hand rummaged through the sheets for the remote. Historic, leather-bound books with yellowed, curled pages sprawled over in stacks on the coffee table. An orange ceramic cup with a cream-colored cat painted onto it, long cast astray. Drifting off to the sound of a movie or series you'd been dying to watch. Only to find Leona perched on the couch beside you when you drowsily awoke, your legs moved over his lap as you heard the flip of a page. With a bass hum emitting from the beastmen, paired with the whir of the AC, the sole steady, constant sounds around you. The living room, saturated in the warm illumination of candlelight and the lamps that sporadically dotted the apartment, yet still dim enough to lull you back asleep; clutching the plush couch pillow in your arms for dear life. Or maybe the days when Leona managed to drag himself home earlier than you. When he'd stand in the kitchen with that stupid hot pink apron you got him as a joke last week that had the words 'kiss the cook' imprinted in a black cursive, hair pulled back into a low pony-tail to prevent it from being crisped by the flame, ladle in hand, as you pushed open the door that felt a hundred times heavier than usual. Only to be met with the thick aroma of cooked meat. The scent penetrating through your delirium as you gawked at him, star-struck, as he glanced up at you; the corners of his mouth twisting up into a smirk. His mocking voice, ringing out through the small space, "Welcome home, honey." The gentle kiss to your temple as you leaned against him, your head on his shoulder, inhaling the sandalwood, spiced smell that always seemed to linger on him—one you could always pick up on, even against the overwhelming smell of meat and even the ocean's fresh saltwater. Him standing before you and the stove, making sure the splashes from the butter wouldn't fly up and sizzle against your skin. Or at least, it was peaceful until… It began to wreak havoc over your criminally blissful domestic lifestyle that most could only dream for. One of the worst chores imaginable, right with the laundry, looming heavy on your part of the chore chart.
The dishes.
The stacks of dishes in the sink stared at you tauntingly. You'd been avoiding it for days now, almost a week. To a point where it was starting to actually feel like it was going to pour over the sides and walk out themselves in protest. At some point, you hoped the ceramic and glass would fuse together, become a sentient monster so fragile it'd shatter if it collided dramatically to the floor, and wash themselves if you let it alone long enough, having enough of your dawdling. You'd even thought about living off of styrofoam plates and plastic utensils, but those weren't microwavable. Which was a major deal breaker when you could barely stand to function, much less cook a meal. When you'd even debate just inhaling the slice of cold pizza.
So, here you were. Glaring at a sink full of your impending doom and the nonliving proof of your procrastination. But you had to man up. Face the treacherous, bacteria-coated— An involuntary shiver ran up your spine at the thought before you slapped your hands to your face. "You can do this… You can stick your hands into the grimy water and survive to live another day," You murmured, hyping yourself up, because sometimes in life, you had to be your biggest hype person.
You took a step toward the sink, hesitant, maybe even suspicious that the plastic containers you'd saved from nights of takeout that you swore up and down you were gonna find a purpose for were gonna reach up and snag you into the dishpan, but still fully committed to your cause. In a quick, precautionary motion, you turned the valve for the water on, drew your hand back to your chest, glared down at the dishes, only to see it still. Your shoulders sagged with relief at the sight.
Okay… Maybe won't get murdered by a spoon, that's good. No signs of revenge just yet. You let out a small hum before turning your attention back to the task on hand, a sudden wave of motivation to finish dawning on you. Maybe a reward was in order after this. Your thoughts began to dwell to what was in the fridge, a snack for later likely lurking within; reaching for the faucet. Maybe something from the pantry..? A bowl of cereal sounded good, though you weren't too certain if the milk was bad yet—steam coiled around your arm, the mist of it coaxing your skin as you glanced up toward the ceiling, biting the corner of your lip in thought. You took the faucet in hand; takeout could be nice too… But you had tak— "Motherfucker!" You hissed at the touch of the metal, retching your hand back, but before you could fully, the scalding, boiling water cascaded down your wrist and hand. Curses flung out of you every few seconds you clutched your hand close to your chest, tears beginning to swell within them. Unknowingly, startling the pride out of a lion in the amidst of your agony, who stumbled out of bed at your shriek; knocking over a house plant or two that you swore made the room seem "livelier" and "aesthetic." Crouching down to the floor, oblivious to the racket within your room over your distress, the door to your shared room slammed open, grabbing your attention. You stared at him. He stared at you, equally as bewildered. Maybe even startled. His hair was disheveled, his breath quickened to a rough pant. The normally calculating, cunning jade eyes that you adored(however debated sometimes whenever you'd lose yet another chess game) seemed to bulge out of his skull. "The hell happened to you?" His voice was a near grumble as he took in the scene before him. The sink's faucet, still gushing water, likely to overflow the sink if left unattended. Droplets trailing to your crouched form, clutching your hand and wrist close to your chest. The frenzied look in your eyes before you turned away, a frown evident on your face. "… You scald yourself again?" "… I don't wanna talk about it." "Uhuh… 'Whatever you say," Leona mumbled, "Lemme' see your hand," before stepping out of the comfort of the threshold. Reaching you in just a few strides, he crouched down beside you, holding out his hand, "C'mon, hand it over." "Was that a pun?" His eyes narrowed into slits as he met your gaze, his irritation palpable. "Want my help or not?" "Ask nicely and I might." He rolled his eyes. "Oh yes, your majesty. Please will you give me your hand?" "What are you even going to do? Kiss it better or something?" You'd retort, a frown twisting further. It wasn't like it was blistering… Wrapping your hand around a cool drink would've done the trick, or the pack of green peas that's been haunting the freezer for like, ever, since the day you'd leased the apartment. "Y'know, for someone who looks like a kicked puppy, you really ain't makin' this any easier," he grouched. "N' I might just. Now han—… give it." You sighed out, giving into his stubbornness, placing your hand in his outstretched one; wincing at the contact before easing into his touch. Warmth radiated from it, yet the ridge of his palms were calloused, unbefitting for a prince… "Happy now?" "Yes, your majesty." "… You're annoying." "And you're a pain, now quit yippin'" he grumped, lifting your hand closer to his face, examining it. A question bubbled on the tip of your tongue. Maybe even a snarky comment, asking if he needed his reading glasses; but words escaped you when his lips grazed against your knuckles. A rarity, when you were dating a man who spoke strictly in sarcasm. The touch, so featherlight, you would've been convinced you'd imagined it if you weren't staring at him, gobsmacked.
"What are you—?" The tinge of heat rushing to your face was instant, sputtering whatever came to mind. But it was that fucking smirk when he lifted his head, meeting your gaze, his eyelashes casting shadows over his irises, coaxing them into a dark pine; a taunt looming within them. "Wasn't this your suggestion, herbivore?" He'd murmur, his voice gentler than his previous one, sultry, almost. The tone of voice that he knew made your heart stutter and flounder about uselessly within your chest, no matter how much you heard it, scrambling your thoughts until they were in total— TWUNK ! You slammed your free hand against his face, earning a grunt from the lion. "Get— The peas! We uh— have peas in the freezer! That should work." You scrambled to your feet, scurrying to the fridge as if that might save you, ignoring the way he watched you carefully out of the corner of his eye before dragging himself up, using the kitchen counter as an anchor. "Thought I told you to get rid of 'em last trash day," he said, peering over your shoulder as you dug into the freezer. "What do you mean?" Great Sevens, how far back did your freezer go..? You scooted a slab of frozen meat stuffed into a plastic bag, "They're still good!" "… They've been in the freezer for over a month." "Things in the freezer don't go bad." You pulled out a bag of beef, shoving it into his hands. "That's just a conspiracy the government and grocery stores made up to make people buy their food." You glanced over your shoulder, grinning as he grimaced, staring at the bag as if it was his personal damnation. "… You and Ruggie have been hanging out with each other too much." You snorted, but ignored how your hand didn't ache as bad as it did previously as you dug through your calculated meal preps. In fact, as soon as you'd gotten up, it'd been dulled to a hum of what it once was, to where knocking one of your fingers against the side of the freezer didn't cause you to cringe or hiss in pain. Maybe Leona's kiss was magical or something… … Nah. Even if it was, you'd never tell him. You could barely stand his pompousness now. You could only imagine how arrogant he'd be finding that out.
… Maybe you should see about getting a dishwasher, though, with the landlord.
