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cherry-zip · 7 months ago

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─ • CSC .ᐟ Kindergarten Crush

› content ┆ ceo scoups x kindergarten teacher fem reader, fluff ✎ word-count .ᐟ 3.3k. ⌁ summary ┆CEO Choi Seungcheol can not help but fall in love with the one kindergaten teacher who takes best care of his son while he is late. He's making it his mission to be the best father so you would accept to love and take care of him too.

✧ feedback & reblog are highly appreciated!

It was the kind of late afternoon when the last streaks of sunlight filtered through the classroom windows, casting a warm glow on the cozy space inside. The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of a cartoon playing on the projector screen. A blanket was spread across the floor, surrounded by pillows of every shape and color. In the middle of it all were two figures: a small boy, whose legs were tucked beneath him as he sat cross-legged on the blanket, and his teacher, you, sitting beside him with a gentle smile on your face.

You were everything a child could ask for in a teacher—warm, caring, and endlessly patient. Your laughter was infectious, and your ability to make every child feel seen and heard was unmatched. You had a particular soft spot for one student in your class, a tiny boy named Seungwoo. He was shy, and often a bit reserved, but there was something in his wide eyes and sweet smile that melted your heart every time.

That day, Seungwoo had stayed after school, as he often did, for some extra playtime in the reading zone waiting for his father to pick him up. His classmates had all gone home, and you had promised him you'd watch his favorite cartoon together. And so, there you both were—Seungwoo nibbling on a cookie as he snuggled into a pillow beside you.

"Are you sure your mom and dad don't mind you staying a bit longer, Seungwoo?" you asked softly, your eyes twinkling with affection as you handed him another cookie.

Seungwoo shook his head, a tiny smile forming on his lips. "Dad's always busy, but he likes it when I stay here. He says I’m safe with you."

Your heart swelled with warmth at his words. "Well, you're safe with me anytime, sweetie. And I'll always have cookies and cartoons waiting for you."

Just as the cartoon reached its climax, the sound of the door opening made you turn. Standing in the doorway, looking every bit as polished and serious as he always did, was Choi Seungcheol, the CEO of a major tech company. Also well known for his handsome looks. His sharp dark suit and expensive watch contrasted with the cozy, colorful childlike atmosphere of the classroom, but the sight before him made his chest tighten.

There, sitting cross-legged on the floor, was his son Seungwoo, laughing and enjoying his time with you. You were sharing cookies, the kind you always baked with your students in mind, and sipping on fruit juice as you watched the cartoon. The sight of you—your gentle smile as you carefully adjusted a pillow for Seungwoo, the way Seungwoo’s face lit up every time you spoke—was so pure, so heartwarming, that Seungcheol’s heart skipped a beat.

His usual sharp and composed demeanor faltered for a split second as he stood there, taking in the moment. He hadn’t expected to find such a sweet scene after his long day of meetings, but it was exactly what he needed to see. It felt like everything he had worked so hard for—his long hours and high-pressure job—was being undone by something as simple as this: someone’s love and attention for his son.

You noticed him standing there, and your face lit up in that familiar, welcoming smile. "Ah, Mr. Choi! I didn’t expect you this late. Seungwoo wanted to stay a little longer, so we’re just finishing up with some cookies and a cartoon. How was your meeting?"

Seungcheol couldn’t help but smile, softer than usual. "It went well, thank you. I’m sorry for being late."

Seungwoo, noticing his father, scrambled to his feet, rushing over to him with a bright grin. "Dad! You’re here!" he exclaimed, holding up a cookie in the offering. "Want one?"

Seungcheol’s heart melted at his son’s enthusiasm. "Sure," he said, crouching down to accept the cookie, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment. You smiled at him kindly, and for the first time in a long while, Seungcheol felt his shoulders relax.

As they all sat together on the blanket, Seungwoo between you two, Seungcheol found himself drawn into the warmth of the moment. The laughter and comfort that filled the room seemed to melt away the tension of his busy, corporate life. It was strange, how just being in this simple, peaceful setting made everything feel... right.

Over the next few weeks, Seungcheol made a quiet promise to himself. He had always been a man of routine, arriving at the school late after long hours of meetings, but now he found himself arriving just a little earlier each day. He would make sure to stop by the classroom after work, even if just for a few minutes. He wanted to see that smile you always greeted him with, to hear your gentle voice speaking to his son, making him feel safe and cared for.

Every time he saw you, a flutter would rise in his chest. You were so effortlessly kind, so good to Seungwoo. He had never realized how much of an impact a teacher could have on a child’s life until now. And perhaps—just perhaps—he was beginning to wonder what kind of impact you could have on his life, too.

One afternoon, as he arrived a little earlier than usual, you were sitting at your desk, grading papers with a focused expression. Your hair was loosely tied back, and the soft light from the window framed your face in a way that made you look even more beautiful. Seungcheol hesitated for a moment before knocking softly on the doorframe.

"Hi," he said, his voice low but steady.

You looked up and smiled warmly. "Mr. Choi, you’re early today. Is everything alright?"

He took a deep breath, the weight of the moment not lost on him. "Yes. Everything’s fine," he replied. "I... I just wanted to say thank you. For everything you do for Seungwoo. He really loves being here with you."

You blinked in surprise at the sincerity in his voice. "It’s my pleasure, Mr. Choi. Seungwoo is such a sweet boy. He’s a joy to have in class."

Seungcheol’s heart skipped a beat at your words. He stood there for a moment longer, unsure of how to express what he was feeling. But there, in the quiet space of the classroom, he realized that perhaps some things didn’t need words. Not yet, anyway.

As he walked over to where Seungwoo was playing with a set of blocks, you joined them, and for the first time in a long while, Seungcheol didn’t mind staying a little longer. He knew he would be coming to school more often now, not just to pick up his son, but because—perhaps—there was more to discover in this little classroom with its cozy reading zone, pillows, and blankets.

It wasn’t just the cookies that kept him coming back. It was you.

The following days seemed to pass in a blur, but each one held something special for him. He found himself eagerly anticipating the moment when he'd arrive at the school, hoping to catch just a glimpse of you. And it wasn’t just about Seungwoo anymore—though, of course, he adored his son and cherished the time they spent together. But there was something else now, something he couldn't quite put into words, that drew him back to the classroom every day.

Each afternoon, he would arrive a little earlier, hoping to find the moment when you and Seungwoo were still together, sharing their cookies and watching cartoons. He loved the way you laughed at the silly moments in the show and the way you gently encouraged Seungwoo to try new things, even as you made him feel comfortable at his own pace.

One particular Thursday, Seungcheol arrived with a little more excitement than usual. He had no meetings scheduled for the afternoon, so he was able to leave work early. When he entered the school, he was greeted by the soft murmur of children’s voices and the sweet scent of cookies wafting through the hallway. He smiled to himself as he walked toward the classroom. He could hear the familiar sound of your voice before he even reached the door.

"Okay, Seungwoo, what’s your guess? Will it be the blue one or the green one?"

Seungwoo giggled. "The green one! It’s always the green one!"

He stopped for a moment, listening to the laughter. He couldn't help but smile, feeling warmth in his chest. He pushed open the door and saw a familiar scenery—Seungwoo sitting on the blanket, legs crossed, with you beside him. You were playing a guessing game, and there were cookies scattered around. Your eyes lit up when you saw him.

"Mr. Choi! You’re here early today!" you said, your voice full of pleasant surprise.

Seungcheol, slightly embarrassed by how eager he felt, nodded. "I finished my work early. Thought I’d pick Seungwoo up and maybe stay for a bit."

You smiled warmly, your gaze lingering just a little longer than usual. "You’re welcome to join us, of course. We were just playing a game. Want to try?"

Seungwoo looked up, his face lighting up. "Dad, you can play too! We’re guessing the color of the candy!"

He chuckled, feeling an unexpected sense of comfort. He was used to boardroom meetings, not children's games, but something about being in this space with you and Seungwoo made him feel at ease. "Alright, I’ll give it a try," he said, taking a seat on the floor beside them. The warmth of the moment was enough to make him forget the hectic hours he spent in high-rise offices.

As you played the game, he found himself enjoying the simplicity of the moment. He listened to Seungwoo’s innocent guesses and watched you with encouraging smiles. Your laughter echoed in his heart, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was experiencing something rare, something that transcended the world of high-powered deals and deadlines.

It was clear that you had a way of making everyone around you feel special. Your love for teaching, your care for each student, and your kindness toward them had started to make a significant impact. He found himself lingering a little longer each day, unable to tear himself away from the peaceful atmosphere you created in that little classroom.

By Friday, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Seungcheol realized that he was beginning to look forward to his time together with you, even if it was just a few minutes at the end of the day. He wanted to know more about the person who had become such an important part of his son’s life. And—though he couldn’t quite admit it yet—he wanted to know more about the woman who made his heart skip every time you smiled at him.

The day dragged on longer than usual, but Seungcheol finally made his way to the school, arriving as the final bell rang. He didn’t rush this time; he took his time, knowing he had a few extra minutes to spare. When he walked into the classroom, he found you packing up some of your things.

"Miss Y/N," he said, his voice a little softer than usual, "I wanted to thank you again for everything you’ve been doing for Seungwoo. He really enjoys his time here, and I can tell he’s learning so much from you."

You smiled up at him from the desk, your eyes warm and kind. "It’s my pleasure, Mr. Choi. Seungwoo is such a bright boy. I’m really lucky to have him in my class."

There was a quiet pause between you two, and you felt something shift in the air, a subtle, unspoken connection that had been growing stronger with each day. He had to take a deep breath before speaking again.

"I was wondering… if you might be free sometime? Maybe we could grab a coffee? Just… as a thank you. You know, for all the kindness you’ve shown Seungwoo and for making me feel so welcome."

The words hung in the air between you. For a brief moment, Seungcheol cursed himself for being so straightforward, so vulnerable. But when he looked at you, he saw your smile soften, your eyes lighting up in a way that made his heart race.

"I’d love that," you said, your voice gentle. "I’m usually free on weekends if that works for you."

A surge of relief washed over him. "That sounds perfect. I’ll let you know when."

You exchanged numbers with a small, tentative smile, both of you feeling the weight of what this moment might mean. Seungcheol could feel his pulse quicken at the thought of spending more time with you, outside the classroom. He had known for a while now that there was something special about you, something that made him feel alive in ways you hadn't expected.

When you left the school that afternoon, your heart was full in a way it hadn’t been in a long time. The thought of meeting him for coffee and talking about something other than Seungwoo and school made your chest tighten in excitement. You hadn’t allowed yourself to imagine this kind of connection in years, but now, with every smile from him, you felt yourself pulling closer.

As the days passed, you looked forward to your coffee date, knowing that this was just the beginning of something that felt as sweet and simple as the cookies you’d shared in that classroom, surrounded by pillows and laughter

The days that followed were filled with anticipation, and he found himself counting down the hours until Saturday. Though he had many things to do—business deals, phone calls, tasks at the office—nothing felt as important as the upcoming coffee date with you. The thought of seeing you outside of school, getting to know the person behind the kind, gentle teacher, made his heart flutter in ways he hadn’t felt in years.

Saturday finally arrived, and he made sure to arrive at the café a little early. The air was crisp, a hint of winter beginning to settle in. He stood outside, adjusting his jacket, checking his watch, running a hand through his hair. He tried hard to not look too eager, but the truth was, he had been looking forward to this moment all week.

When he saw you walking toward him, a soft smile on your face, his heart skipped a beat. You looked effortlessly beautiful, wearing a simple yet elegant dress paired with a cozy cardigan. The way you carried yourself, with grace and warmth, made you seem like you were in your element.

"Hi, Mr. Choi!" you greeted him, your voice light and friendly. "I hope I’m not late."

His nerves settled at the sound of your voice, and he couldn’t help but smile. "Not at all, Miss Y/N. I just got here a few minutes ago. I’m glad you could make it."

You walked into the café together, the scent of coffee and fresh pastries welcoming you inside. Seungcheol led you to a quiet corner, where the soft hum of conversation and the low music in the background made the space feel intimate and cozy. As he sat down, he couldn’t help but notice how at ease you seemed, how your presence brought an unexpected peace to your usually hectic world.

"I have to admit," he said, leaning back in his chair, "I wasn’t sure what to expect. I mean, we usually talk about Seungwoo, school, and all the little things in his life. But this—this feels different."

You smiled, your eyes sparkling with warmth. "I think it’s nice, don’t you? A change of pace. We get to talk about something other than lesson plans and school activities."

He chuckled, the sound deep and genuine. "Definitely. I’ve spent so much of my life focused on work and responsibilities, that I forget that there are moments like these that actually make life feel… complete. Like this. With you."

Your smile softened at your words, and you tucked a strand of hair behind you ear. "I understand what you mean. Teaching is a big part of my life, but there’s also more to it, more to me. Sometimes it’s nice to step away from the classroom and just be yourself for a moment."

Seungcheol nodded, his gaze lingering on you. He hadn’t realized until now just how much he longed for these quieter moments—the ones that weren’t filled with the buzz of the corporate world. He was used to being the one in charge, the one who always had to make decisions, led meetings, and set the pace. But with you, there was a kind of tranquility, a balance that he hadn’t known he needed.

As you talked, the conversation flowed easily. You shared stories about your childhoods, your favorite books, and even silly things like the kinds of music you liked. Your laughter was infectious, and he found himself opening up in a way he rarely did with anyone. There was a lightness to the way you spoke, a genuine interest in everything he had to say, and it made him feel like he was finally allowed to be more than just the CEO, more than just the father. For the first time in a long while, he felt… seen.

"I have to admit," you said, your smile turning playful, "I’ve always been curious about what it’s like to run a company. I mean, you’re so busy with meetings and traveling, right? How do you manage it all?"

Seungcheol leaned forward, intrigued by your question. "It’s not easy, but it’s all about balance. Finding time for the things that matter—work, yes, but also family. And now," he added, his eyes softening as they met yours, "I’m starting to think I need to make more time for things like this."

You blinked, your eyes wide as you took in his words. "Things like this?"

he hesitated for a moment before replying, his voice quieter now. "Things like… spending time with you. I know it’s unexpected, but I really enjoy these moments we’ve been sharing—getting to know you, and seeing the way you care for Seungwoo. It’s been… refreshing."

Your cheeks flushed slightly at his words, and you looked down for a moment, a soft laugh escaping your lips. "I didn’t expect that," you said, a bit shyly. "But I’m glad you feel that way. I think there’s something special about the time we’ve spent together too. You and Seungwoo have a warmth to you that’s hard to ignore."

Seungcheol smiled at your response, feeling a sudden surge of hope in his chest. This wasn’t just a fleeting moment, he realized. There was something genuine here—something that he wanted to explore further.

The coffee date continued into the evening, the conversation never running dry. You talked about everything and nothing, the kind of easy companionship that made time seem to stand still. By the time you finished your drinks, you both knew one thing for certain: you wanted more of this.

As he stood up to leave, he took a step closer to you. "I’m really glad we did this," he said, his voice sincere. "And, um… if you’re free again sometime, maybe we could do it again?"

You smiled warmly, your eyes lighting up at his words. "I’d love that."

His heart raced at the thought, but there was a calmness to it now, a certainty. He had known, even before he asked, that this was just the beginning of something. The connection between you two was undeniable, and he was more than ready to explore it.

"How about next weekend?" he asked, his voice soft.

"Next weekend sounds perfect," you replied with a smile that made his chest swell with warmth.

As you walked out of the café together, side by side, he felt like something had shifted, not just in the world around him, but within himself. Maybe it was because of the way you made him feel—like he was more than just a CEO, more than just a father. Maybe it was the quiet moments, like the ones you shared over coffee, that made him realize how much you had been missing.

And as you parted ways that night, a promise unspoken hung in the air– that this was only the beginning.

✧ feedback & reblog are highly appreciated! › anonymous review form

honestly inspired by real life.. somehow, i'm just obsessed with one of the little one where i teach - he so adorable

@ credits┆big thanks to @tusswrites for beta & proof reading, one of my much needed grammar saviours ☆彡

❀ a/n┆ finally on vacations - happy holidays everyone

☘︎ taglist: @zozojella

‧₊ ᵎᵎ “CHERRY.zip"🍒 ⋅ ˚✮

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lazysoulwriter · 1 month ago

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sweet on you. - pedro pascal ── .✦

requested! thank you. content: pure fluff, chef!reader, established relationship, food is love, pedro is obsessed and well-fed.

---

Pedro always knows when you’ve been in the kitchen.

It’s the smell first — something warm, sugary, or slow-roasting, something that makes his stomach rumble before he even sets down his keys. Then the sound — your playlist playing, quiet clinks of pans, the occasional little hum of a song you like.

And finally: you.

Usually barefoot. Hair tied up. A smudge of flour on your cheek or chocolate on your wrist. You’re always mid-something — stirring, whisking, plating — and you light up like sunlight the second you see him.

“Try this,” you say tonight, holding out a spoon before he can even say hello.

He opens his mouth obediently, lets you feed him like he’s your very favorite customer. “Mmmph—what is that?”

“Caramelized onion and goat cheese tart,” you say proudly. “I’m testing it for that new brunch spot.”

He moans. Actually moans. “Marry me.”

You smirk, grabbing his jacket and tossing it over the chair. “Already did, cariño.”

“You’re right.” He kisses your forehead, then the tip of your nose. “Best decision I’ve ever made.”

You roll your eyes but your smile betrays you.

It’s always like this. You’re always making something. Cookies, sauces, stews, late-night pancakes. And Pedro? He’s your taste-tester, your number-one fan, the guy who leans against the counter watching you like you’re magic.

Because to him, you are.

You feed him love in every bite. You show it in flavor and texture and sugar dusted on his lips. And every time he tells you he loves you, it’s followed with, “and also that muffin—what the fuck, baby.”

Tonight, he sneaks behind you while you’re icing cupcakes and wraps his arms around your waist.

“You gonna keep feeding me forever?” he murmurs into your neck.

“Long as you keep taste-testing.”

He presses a kiss to your jaw. “Then I’ll never leave.”

You laugh, leaning back into his chest. “That’s the plan.”

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

---

taglist: @sarahhxx03 @lloydmustache @lolareadsimagines @greenwitchfromthewoods @silksepia @pascalswiftie @itstokyo-cos @mani-pedro @llsister @authorbriannarae13 @introvrtedjellyfish @aj0elap0l0gist @spencercmlover @cixrosie @cherrqbaby @cup-half-full-of-anxiety @joelmillerpascal @freakbobcult @sunlightpleasure @mooniscrying @ohnaurshayla @croissantbakerylws @nellispunk @kasienka @taylorswiftsrep-blog @emerencedaily @byzyz @noovaarq @kristend512 @alltounwell @libbyaller @beaagiannelli @broad-shouldrs @oceanmcu @kysosa @melloispunk @jollycupcakeblizzard @angvlicsoulll @needz1nk @daddypascal17 @agustdpeach @mrsbilicablog @k4t13ispunk @hotdadlvr95 @lnnysnts @pedropascalfan221 @queenofklonnie22 @christinamadsen @ilovecheriies @stvr-bloom @m4yb3-k3tlyn3@umadirectioner@barnes70stark

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fixated-cookies · 3 months ago

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nghghgh all i can think about is jealous pure vanilla + fucking the jealousy out </33 I NEED him so bad it's not even fair </33

my brain exploded writing this MDNI

It all started with a simple, elegant interaction.

A visiting noble from the neighboring Vanilla region—a refined gentleman Cookie with a sugar-dusted mustache and far too much charm—took your hand delicately in his gloved fingers. He bowed. Gracefully. Classically.

Pressed his lips to your knuckles.

And praised you.

“A blossom as rare as you should not be kept in the shade. You deserve to be adored in full sunlight.”

His voice was a murmur. Gentle. Flattering. Appropriate.

And yet…

You felt Pure Vanilla Cookie's gaze before you even turned your head. That soft presence, that warmth—he hadn’t moved. He hadn’t said a word.

You didn’t notice the way his eyes opened fully for once. You didn’t see the twitch of something dark behind the gold and blue.

Later. Behind the closed doors of your shared quarters. It’s silent.

You try to speak, maybe even joke.

He cuts you off gently.

“Did you enjoy it?”

The question is simple. Soft. Utterly terrifying.

You blink. “Wh-what?”

His hands are so tender, cupping yours. His smile is there, but it's tighter. His fingers stroke the spot where that noble’s lips had touched.

“The kiss. The compliment. His voice, his hands. Was it sweet? Was it sweeter than mine?”

You try to reassure him, but the look in his eyes is… shattering. The crack in that ever-composed mask. That trembling silence of a man who has never known fury like this before.

He kisses your hand—slow, deliberate, lingering.

“I’m going to kiss you everywhere he didn’t.”

Another kiss. Higher on your wrist. Then your elbow. Your throat.

“And then…” he murmurs, voice dropping like honey off a spoon, “…I’m going to fuck the idea of him out of you.”

His trembling hands glide over your body as if in worship. The silken robes he always wears are discarded with less grace than usual. There’s something raw behind his movements tonight. No pomp. No ceremony. No soft-spoken control.

Only him. Only his need.

He kisses your cheek, your jaw, your chest—but he’s quiet. Not speaking. His lips shake against your skin, like he’s biting down words he’s too ashamed to say aloud.

Until he finally breaks.

“I try,” he whispers, voice cracking like old glass. “I try to be enough for you. I try to be patient. Gentle. Good.”

His forehead presses to your collarbone. He’s breathing hard, body trembling with restrained hunger. He’s always been the composed one. The light. The guide.

But tonight, he’s just a man. A man who aches.

“But when I saw him touch you—” He swallows, painfully. “—I realized something awful. I’m not kind because I’m holy.” “I’m kind because I’m terrified of losing you.”

He raises his head. His eyes are open again. Fully. Shining. Tears glitter along his lashes, but he doesn’t look away.

“Tell me you love me.” “Not out of pity. Not out of mercy.” “Tell me you choose me.”

Your hand cups his cheek. And that’s all it takes.

His control snaps. --

He moans—quiet and high, like he’s been holding it back for centuries—and presses into you with aching need. Every thrust is deep, and slow, and so reverent it hurts. He’s whispering your name like a chant, his hands shaking as they clutch your waist, your hips, your throat.

“Only you,” he gasps. “Only you make me feel this. This—alive.”

He sobs into your neck when you wrap your legs around him, desperate to be closer, to be claimed.

“Please, please, let me stay like this… Let me give you everything.”

Your name falls from his lips over and over. His body is pressed so close you feel him in your soul—warmth and light and need all fused into one, driven to ruin by you.

Your fingers dig into his back as he rocks into you with trembling control—each thrust slow, deep, meaningful, but growing sloppier by the second. His golden hair hangs in his face, sweat beading at his temple, his mouth hanging open in breathless awe.

"You're—" he gasps, voice rasping, "you're perfect... You always are... I can't—"

He leans in, lips brushing yours but not kissing—just hovering, like he's afraid a kiss would make him come undone completely. But the way you're clutching at him, the way your hips meet his with every thrust... he's faltering.

“Look at me.”

His voice sharpens, firmer than you’ve ever heard it. A rare break in his soft tone.

“Please... don't look away. I want to see your eyes—when I give you everything.”

Your gaze meets his—and he shudders. His hips jerk. His rhythm falters.

And then he’s gone.

“Ah—! I—!”

The cry rips from his throat as he spills into you with a broken moan, his entire body convulsing from the force of it. “Mmh—hnngh—y-you’re mine—mine—mine—” he babbles, chest pressed to yours, hips still twitching as he pulses deep inside, his magic glowing faintly between your joined bodies.

His hands claw at the sheets beside your head, trying not to crush you beneath him as he empties himself—years of restraint, love, jealousy, everything poured into one desperate release. He groans your name again, a low, reverent chant that sounds like a man praying in tongues.

And he doesn't stop moving. He keeps grinding into you, gently, slowly, like he’s trying to push it deeper. Like he thinks he can bury it inside your heart.

His lips find your cheek, your temple, your shoulder—"I love you, I love you, I love you"—whispered between panting, dizzy gasps.

When his body finally stops shaking, he collapses forward, still buried in you, forehead resting against your chest.

“Forgive me,” he breathes, kissing your skin. “I just... I needed to know I was yours. I needed to feel it. To fill you.”

And there’s so much of him inside. Warm. Sticky. Claiming.

And he’s not pulling out.

#pure vanilla cookie smut #pure vanilla cookie x reader #pure vanilla cookie #crk smut #smut

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lanadelreyscokewhor3 · 2 months ago

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HOT 'N HUMID- J. TODD

day eleven of the june bug masterlist

pairing: boyfriend! jason todd x baker! fem! reader

word count: 1.3k

summary: its the hottest day of the year, and of course your air conditioning is broken. turning the oven on to bake would be ludacris, but perhaps making your boyfriend some ice cream would do the trick?

warnings: just pure FLUFF! :), but undertones and implications of future smut... hehe.

It was too hot to use an oven today.

You knew this, as much as your inner voices nagged at you to switch it on. One little treat in the oven wouldn't hurt, would it?

Yeah… it probably would.

You had worked at a bakery for most of your teenage years, whether it be washing dishes, preparing doughs or shaping pastries. It grew as hot as the sahara back there in the summer months, and you often would step outside thinking that was cooler- despite the blazing sun.

The air-conditioning at you and Jason's flat had been faulty all week, and he had been meaning to look at it.

However, time got the better of him- duty called, and you became too preoccupied with customer orders to focus on it. Baking had turned from a hobby into a business, and you loved it. When you weren't at the bakery, you were home baking instead.

It was never a surprise when Jason walked in, his girlfriend coated in flour, sugar and spices on her face, in her hair- especially on her clothes despite the apron.

But today, it was much too hot to even consider making cookie dough. They’d practically start to cook in the sunlight that filtered through the opened windows.

A gentle breeze spilled into the apartment, bringing some relief as you poked your head out the window.

Gotham was dead.

It seemed everyone had tried to escape the heat, and stay out of the streets. The sun beat down on the pavement so hard you swore you could see smoke tendrils curl up from it.

“Please don't tell me that oven is turning on today.” Jason called from the front door as he shut it, back from whatever meeting he had with Bruce.

You smiled to yourself. “Oh of course it is. It's not even that hot.” you called, laughing as you heard him scramble to take his boots off- rushing into the kitchen with wide eyes.

“Baby you know how much I love you and your treats but I really think- oh. You minx.” he laughed as he saw you giggling- the oven clearly turned off.

You knew he of all people loved your treats more than anyone, as you’d often find one or two brownies or biscuits “missing” before you'd take them to the store.

Jason claimed you were fattening him up, saying he was getting pudgy. It was all bullshit of course, and anyways- you liked when he was a little softer around the edges. It was attractive beyond belief.

Jason was the only person in the world you would allow to touch you right now, all sweaty and sticky and hot. You leaned into his embrace as he slid his arms around your middle, pulling you flush against his chest.

“Baking is on hold today. But I have some extra treats in the fridge if you wanna help them go missing.” you smiled, feeling a soft kiss planted on the top of your head.

“They’ll keep me going while I fix this air conditioner. It's getting done today. Don't let me get distracted.” he grumbled, cursing himself for the way his attention tended to stray.

It would be extra difficult to work while you were home, in that little floral dress he loved so much…

“You, distracted? Never.” you teased, earning a smack on the ass as he made his way to the fridge to pop a cookie in his mouth before heading over to grab his tools.

You’d both be equally distracted today- as watching Jason get all hot and sweaty with his tools never failed to have your eyes glued to him. Maybe you could find something to do to keep you preoccupied…

No. No, get your head out of the gutter.

There would be plenty of time after the AC was fixed to do other things. In the meantime…

You grabbed a bowl from the cupboard, tying your apron around your waist. You couldn't bake, technically- but it didn't mean you couldn't do other things that didn't require the oven.

And you had the perfect sweet treat in mind. You had never made ice cream from scratch, but it couldn't be that hard… right? Surely you had a recipe buried somewhere from one of your old mentors.

You thumbed through the pages of an old cookbook, stopping on a coffee stain free page for vanilla ice cream. You had all the ingredients, so all that was left was to somehow make it. Gathering the ingredients, you whisked them together in a pot over the stove, listening to Jason tinker away with the unit, humming along to some old dad rock he played from his speaker.

Once the sugar had dissolved, you added the remaining creamy ingredients, before placing it in your ice cream machine you dug out from the back of the cupboard.

When the hell did you even get this, and why hadn't you used it sooner? It was still in its packaging- practically brand new.

“Whaddya doin sweetheart?” you heard him call, unaware he had been sneaking glances at you when you weren't looking, eyes studying your body in that dress as if he was about to be tested on it the next day.

“Making something secret.” you called, eyes not shying away from the little instruction booklet, slowly adding the mixture to the machine and turning it on, fingers crossed it wouldn't blow up and splatter cream, milk and sugar all over your face.

When you were sure it was working properly, you got to work chopping up cookies and brownies into little pieces. Those sprinkled on top of the creamy treat with some chocolate sauce? To die for.

Maybe not being able to turn on the oven today had been the universe's way of nagging you to think more out of the box.

Twenty minutes later, when the machine had beeped at you- you smiled with delight, clapping your hands together at the reveal of the soft, creamy dessert that was formed. You were so happy it had worked, and that the two of you would be able to cool down, even if it was for a brief second.

Not wanting it to melt, you quickly divided it into two bowls, drizzling the sauce and toppings over it, and hurrying it over to Jason.

“Ta da!” you sang, handing your sweaty hunk of a boyfriend a little bowl that looked like a dolls toy in his hand. “What's this?” he smiled, eyes looking up at you with a childhood-like wonder.

You forgot how much Jason loved ice cream. You cursed yourself for not remembering you had that machine a long time ago.

“My special ice cream! Well not mine, I just found a recipe but… I made it for you! Now we can cool down. Well, for a minute at least.”

You plopped down next to him, watching as he got a large spoonful and placed it on his tongue, eyes closing as he hummed in delight. “Oh baby this is so good. Fuck. You really are something, aren't ya?”

You giggled, taking a bite of your own. It was good. Not to toot your own horn.

“Makin me ice cream and being that pretty in that little dress, you sure you're not hot in it?” he asked, a smirk on his face.

“What, are you trying to get me out of it?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged. “Something like that.”

Taking another bite of your ice cream, you licked the spoon clean before taking a spoonful of his. “Well, I’ll tell you what handyman. You finish your ice cream and get this AC up and running again, and I’ll leave this dress off for the rest of the weekend.”

You had never seen a man be so focused and work so quickly in his life after that statement.

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beloveds-embrace · 6 months ago

Text

(a series in which you are a witch living in the woods, and a group of knights have decided to keep you safe and sound in exchange for kisses and charms.)

Johnny’s arrival was always a joyous affair, heralded by the lilting whistle that preceded him through the trees, hung up bells tinkling through the breeze. You recognized the tune before you even saw him, a signal of his approach as familiar as the rustling leaves and the delighted the hum of your wards.

“Hello, bonnie lass!” he called, stepping into view with his usual bright grin. He strode up to your door with an armful of wildflowers, their petals slightly crushed but still vibrant. “Brought these for you. Dinnae ask what they are- I just grabbed the prettiest ones I could find.”

You laughed, reaching out to accept the bouquet. The mix of blooms, some medicinal, some purely ornamental, spoke of his eager hands plucking whatever caught his eye. But you didn’t mind- the thought was appreciated regardless. “They’re beautiful, Johnny. Thank you.”

“Ah, well. Pretty flowers for a pretty lass.”

You shook your head fondly and stepped aside to let him in. Johnny’s presence was like a burst of sunlight through the dense canopy, and the magic in your cottage reacted to him like ivy reaching for warmth. The air inside seemed lighter when he was near, the flickering candle flames burning just a little steadier, the herbs hanging from the rafters swaying as if drawn to his energy. Even the floorboards, which creaked under every step but yours, barely made a sound when he moved- perhaps the house itself leaned into his presence, unwilling to startle the warmth he carried

As you arranged the flowers in a ceramic vase, he leaned against your wooden table, arms crossed, grin never fading. “You’ll never believe what happened today!” He began, and without any prompting began retellinh you of his day.

You listened with rapt attention as he spoke of training exercises gone awry, not unusual, of weapons misfiring, and- his personal favorite- Gaz slipping face-first into the mud.

“And then wham! Right into the muck, poor bastard! I swear, he was swimming in it!” Johnny cackled, slapping a hand against the table. He kept in mind not too slap too hard, and away from your little bottles.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Poor Gaz. You’re terrible for finding it so funny.”

“He’ll live,” he said, waving a dismissive hand. His face softened as he watched you place the flowers in the vase, the firelight catching in your hair. “Got anything for me today, lass?”

You reached for a small leather cord, from which dangled a small, hand-carved wooden charm, smoothed by your touch and etched with runes only you could read.

“For speed and sure footing,” you tied it around his wrist, your touch sure and gentle. “You’re quick enough already, but this should help in a chase- or when dodging.”

Johnny turned his hand, studying the charm with quiet admiration. His fingers brushed against the carvings, tempered by something more serious and came. “Aye, that’ll come in handy.”

He flexed his fingers, feeling the weight of the charm- or perhaps the weight of the thought behind it. When he looked back at you, his smile was different. Softer.

“Cheers, lass. You are a delight.” He murmured, and it was almost reverent.

As he turned to leave after stealing some cookies, you tugged him down for a quick, fleeting kiss on the cheek.

He winked at you, and his grin returned. “Careful, hen. I might get used to this.”

“As if you already aren’t… but anyways. Thank you for dropping by!”

You loved his visits, truly. They were always so… carefree. But little did you know, his visits weren’t always as untroubled as they seemed.

Earlier that day, before his cheerful whistle cut through the trees, Johnny had dealt with a different kind of visitor- one he would never tell you about.

No need to worry your pretty head, after all.

A small group of the crown’s men had wandered too close to your woods, their voices carrying through the underbrush. Johnny had been returning from a patrol, then on hisbway to you, when he spotted them, their armor glinting brightly in the midday light. They spoke in hushed tones, movements cautious as they studied the ancient trees around them for any traces that could lead them to you.

“Reckon she’s real?” one of them muttered.

“Don’t be daft. ‘Course she is. Locals swear by it.” Another replied. “A witch, hidden out here, practicing magic. If the king knew- ”

“Shut it,” the third man snapped. “We get caught sniffing around lile this with no evidence, we’ll have bigger problems than a witch’s curse.”

Johnny had heard enough.

With the ease of a man who moved like he belonged in the wild, he circled behind them, steps silent. By the time they realized they weren’t alone, he was already there.

The first man barely had time to turn before Soap grabbed him by the collar and yanked him back, slamming him against a tree. The others froze, their hands inching toward their weapons. In the face of a knight like him, they couldn’t even pretend to hold a little respect. Nothing more than fear.

“Now, now,” Johnny crooned, deceptively light. “What are you fine gentlemen doin’ in these woods?”

The man in his grasp stammered. “We- we were just-“

“Just stickin’ your noses where they don’t belong?” Johnny interrupted, his grip tightening. “Bad idea, lads. Very bad idea.”

One of the soldiers shifted on his feet. “We- we meant no harm. Just heard stories-“

“Aye, you heard stories,” Soap repeated darkly. “And I suggest you keep ’em as stories. ‘Cause if you so much as breathe a word about these woods to the wrong folk, I’ll make sure you don’t leave ’em.”

The threat hung heavy in the air. None of them doubted he meant it.

“You understand me?” Soap asked, bright blue eyes- you often likened them to the ocean- now cold and sharp.

They nodded, their confidence crumbling under the weight of his presence.

“Good lads.” Johnny laughed, finally releasing the man in his grasp. He clapped a hand against the soldier’s shoulder, grin returning- but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Now, off you go. And remember: some places aren’t meant to be found.”

The men didn’t need to be told twice. They turned and fled, disappearing into the underbrush without a second glance.

Soap waited until their footsteps faded before letting out a slow breath. He rolled his shoulders, casting a glance toward the distant outline of your cottage, hidden safely within the forest’s embrace.

You’d never know.

He wouldn’t let you.

By the time he reached you, his usual mirth had returned, and the only thing he carried with him was a bouquet of wildflowers and the promise of laughter.

The flower field did so nicely to mask and wash away the scent of blood clinging to him, after all.

Witch of the Wood Masterlist || Simon “Ghost” Riley

#noona.posts #noona.writes #cod x reader #cod x you #cod #tf 141 x reader #tf 141 x you #tf 141 #cod imagines #johnny soap mactavish x you #johnny soap mactavish x reader #soap x you #soap s reader #johnny soap mctavish x you #soap imagine #johnny soap mctavish x reader

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thebiscuitlabryinth · 6 months ago

Text

(ep8 spoilers ahead!)

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a king who honoured Truth.

He was as gentle as a lamb, as pure as driven snow, as warm as sunlight, and his citizens revered him for these qualities. His Truth was his kindness and his hope, and he was said to be able to heal a Cookie of all their woes and pain with a single touch, so blessed by the heavens he was.

Unfortunately, his Truth was no armour, and eventually it became a blade that turned against him. His soft heart failed to protect his kingdom when disaster fell like a fog over it, thick with malice, and those citizens who once revered him came to despise those very same traits they once praised.

The king of Truth, as gentle as a coward, as pure as a martyr, as warm as the remnants of his burning kingdom. The king, dismayed by his Truth failing him, had little idea of what to do as his citizens abandoned him, one by one until only he remained.

One day, a wise scholar happened upon the shell of that kingdom and, curious to know its story, he went to visit the king. The king, still at a loss for what to do and hoping the scholar may impart some of his knowledge, freely shared the tale of the kingdom's downfall with a deep sorrow in his voice.

The wise scholar, taking pity on the king, stepped up to the weary silhouette curled in that old throne and said, "Is it not obvious? You should let go of your Truth."

"My Truth?" The king murmured, disbelieving. "I certainly must have misheard you. I have dedicated my life to Truth. I cannot possibly part with it."

"Whyever not? Look at where Truth has lead your life – to complete ruins, hasn't it?" The wise scholar explained, oh so patiently. "It has paid your dedication back with anguish and despair. Why should you live like that? Deceit would be far more merciful to you, and it would surely soothe your poor heart, if you'd let it."

The wise scholar had offered this morsel of Knowledge out of the goodness of his heart, and for a blissful moment, the king considered it. Sadly, the king could not see it as the act of goodwill that it was, too blinded by his own petty pride, restrained by his years of stubborn devotion to the false idol of 'Truth'.

"No, what you have said is a lie meant to mislead me. I can tell, because Deceit drips from your tongue like poison." The king foolishly declares, his face hardening with misplaced determination. "This must be a test sent to me from the Witches, to test my strength, and I will not fail so easi––"

—No, that's not quite right. Let's try again.

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a great hero.

This great hero was benevolent, noble and self-righteous, known as a friend and ally to all, but he harboured a dark secret. His Soul Jam, the source of all of his awe-inspiring power, was not wholly his.

Indeed, it had once belonged to an illustrious sorceror, a manifestation of his very soul. But this sorceror had suffered a great injustice under the hands of the fickleminded Witches, and his Soul Jam had been torn asunder. While he had clung fiercely to one half, the other had slipped out of his grasp and fell into the hands of our great hero, the unwitting thief.

Of course, the sorceror came to confront the hero, to claim back what was rightfully his and reunite with the full extent of his power. But the hero was unwilling to give it up, and after much consideration, the sorceror decided to be gracious. He allowed the hero to keep his half of the Soul Jam, granted that he never stray from the sorceror's side.

For a blissful moment, it seemed like this compromise would work well for the both of them. One day, however, the hero approached the sorceror, fidgeting with his long sleeves.

"My Soul Jam calls for yours," The hero admits, soft and careful, "and so too does my soul. Even though I am by your side, it is not enough."

The sorceror smiled, flashing teeth, pleased by the admittance because it proved his emerging hypothesis correct. That the other half of the Soul Jam could not have landed in anyone else's hands but the hero's, for they were meant for each other.

"Then come closer." The sorceror goads, reaching for the hero. "Unite our two halves and become one with me, as it should be."

The hero does, pressing into the sorceror's arms, pushing the softened middles of their Soul Jams together until they begin to merge, light melting into the dark of the sorceror's tight embrace. Truth into the comfort of Deceit.

For a blissful moment, they are together and whole and one.

Then pain bursts through the sorceror's back and he screeches as the hero pushes and stumbles out of his twitching arms. The sorceror's wide, blurry eyes catch on the icy glint of a dagger in the hero's hand, sticky with jam.

The sorceror heaves as his hand scrambles to his own back, finding an open wound weeping thick jam that seeps through his clothes. He starts to taste it, sour on the back of his tongue. Sure enough, the hero had stabbed him in the back with a blade he had hidden in his long sleeves.

The hero stares down at him passively, unremorseful. The sorceror's back burns with gouging pain, and his chest burns with boiling rage, coming up through his teeth in a mighty growl. Jam leaks through his clenched fingers as he curls into himself, his Soul Jam crying in the hollow of his throat, calling for its traitorous other half, ringing, ringing, ringing, RINGING. "YOU--"

—NO! No, no, no, that's not right either, absolutely not. Let's take it from the top, one more time.

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a humble shepard.

The shepard was sweet and languid as honey, content in spending his days tending to his vulnerable flock. He had no interest in the world at large, though he welcomed any travellers that passed through with friendliness, making peace in his little meadow.

One day, another shepard, hooded and pale, arrived at the meadow with a single sheep trailing sadly at his heels. He asked for a place to stay for the night, as he had recently lost the rest of the flock to a wolf and, in his grief, took to wandering the lands as a nomad.

The shepard, sweet as he was, agreed. He led the hooded shepard to his flock, where the hooded shepard settled his sheep in for the night. Then, he led the hooded shepard to his little cottage, where the hooded shepard settled himself in for the night, right beside the shepard in his small wooden bed.

Little did the shepard know, the hooded shepard laying beside him was, in reality, a wolfherd. Little did the shepard know, the sheep he had allowed to rest in the comfort of his poor flock was, in reality, a wolf bundled in sheep's wool, trained to behave mildly in the presence of Cookies.

When morning came, the shepard was horrified to find that his flock, which he had dutifully nutured since young, had been eaten whole. The wolfherd's wolf, smeared in red with its woolen disguise hanging off it in sticky clumps, trotted up to its master lazily as the shepard helplessly fell to his knees.

For a blissful moment, there was just the shepard's sobs as his world crumbled around him, ready to be remade.

Then, the wolfherd came up to the miserable shepard and lunged.

He pinned the teary shepard to the damp grass, bathing him in lamb blood as the wolfherd bared his fangs and dug his claws into dough, shedding a disguise of his own.

A thin throat gave way under the wolfherd's teeth, and he discoverd that the shepard really was as sweet as honey, all the way through, as jam spilled into his mouth. He made cracks as the shepard weakly tried to struggle, tearing into his dough in reprimand, in retribution. The shepard deserved it.

He dug into his chest with his wet teeth, pulling out his jammy heart, his pulsing Soul Jam, his writhing soul. He savoured it as he swallowed it whole, as the shepard went obediently still beneath him, because he deserves it, this is his, he is his, and the shepard deserves it too. He deserves it, he DESERVES it, HE DESERVES IT--

—HE DOES, he does, but not quite like that. No, no, something's still off. Maybe a change of angle is needed. A change of perspective.

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a liar.

He was beautiful, magnificent in his dark robes and rough around the edges in a captivating way. He watched the world from the top of a spire, looking down on Cookiekind from above with dozens of golden eyes, turning his back on Truth.

The liar was not alone. At his side, and he at his, was the beast that strung the world in shimmering strings, playing the universe like a grand orchestra to seranade his companion. Their power did not just blend harmoniously; it was a singular one, feeding into an endless cycle between the two of them, driven by the thrum of their Soul Jam.

For a blissful forever, they stood together, casting the veil of Deceit over the world, dampening the blistering light of Truth until it coalesced into the shadow of Deceit, becoming what it always should have been. The two of them were unstoppable, bowing to nothing and nobody, rising above it all. They were unstoppable, they could have been, they would have been unstoppable-- IF--

—IF THOSE GNATS HADN'T– IF HE HADN'T–

(Stupid, traitorous, weak fool!)

—No, no, enough, enough, enough. This still isn't getting anywhere. How about this?

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived a saint of Truth.

He was blindingly bright, too bright, and he could drive the shadow monsters away with a single swipe of his staff, so radiant was he. And yet, for all his shining power, he was also a complete idiot, driven by his soft, squishy heart.

For instead he cleaved the monster out of the shadow, held out a hand and said, "Let me be your...friend."

Friend. Friend. How ridiculous! Laughable, really, in its absolute stupidity. The saint's eyes were so soft, gentle in contrast to the harsh edge of the light, gooey like melted chocolate, like the saint was doing the monster a favour even though it was the other way around, it was SUPPOSED to be the OTHER WAY AROUND--

—NOPE, no, that's no good either. Come on, what else, what else, what else– aha!

Once upon a time, in a land far away, there lived an angel.

This angel was once a shepard, once a king, once a hero, once a saint before he ascended to the light of the heavens. He was beautiful and benevolent, warm as sunlight, sweet as honey, blindingly bright and infuriatingly beloved. Until he wasn't.

You see, when the angel had ascended, he had thought that he had risen from the rock bottom of the river. He had foolishly believed that he now knew everything, that he had captured the essence of Knowledge through a brief meeting of two halves of a single Soul Jam.

He hadn't realised that a new rock bottom can always be created – all you need to do is dig.

And so, the demon did, dragging the angel down from the picturesque heavens and back to him, backed by a symphony of screams.

The angel tried to reason with him, with his faulty logic. The angel tried to fight but wouldn't risk crumbling him for good. The angel tried to reach out to him, like he really, truly believed it would work.

In the end, the angel lays crumpled at the demon's feet in a heap, cheeks wet with tears but eyes tired and wild. His painful light dims into something bearable, close to snuffing out entirely, flickering weakly like a candle in the wind.

"You were right." The angel whispers, about his hope, about his kindness, about anything, about everything. "You were right. It was always going to end like this."

And when the angel looks up, it is as if he is giving all of himself to the demon. Properly, this time, no clever tricks even passing his mind. His life and soul forfeit.

There. Perfect.

Shadow Milk sighs, a heavy sound that thickens the air. He is not quite satisfied, because he cannot be, not with his dough crawling with restless viciousness, but he is satisfied enough. With the story, of course. Not with anything else.

Just thinking of that, Shadow Milk scowls, finally looking back down at his hands. He had forgotten about the little plush doll he was holding. It's a cute little replica of Pure Vanilla, small enough to fit neatly into the palms of his hands. He had been fiddling with it for no reason in particular, mostly agitated boredom.

In the midst of his storycrafting, he must have tightened his grip too hard. His claws have ripped its chest in half, stuffing bubbling out of the wound like sea foam.

He stares at it blankly for a moment, claws idly toying with the fluff. Then he narrows his eyes, growls, and twists his claws deeper into the tear.

Lonely, Pure Vanilla had said, with the absolute gall to act like he could read him perfectly. Like he could understand him.

As if! There was no way he understood him, and his new little light show only proved that. Whatever understanding Pure Vanilla thought he had was conjured by his own mind, his poor little heart's attempt to find a peaceful solution. It's like Shadow Milk had told them – in the face of the unknown, Cookies tend to fill in the gaps with whatever fits best with their existing belief system, and what they want to believe is true.

Shadow Milk huffs, finally pulling his claws out of the Pure Vanilla doll. It's a sad looking thing, droopy with the lost stuffing. He considers it for a moment, before gingerly beginning to push the stuffing back in, tuft by tuft.

There is one thing Pure Vanilla got right, though. He really is the only one with the potential to truly understand Shadow Milk. He was close to it, even, tantalisingly close before he pulled himself back out again, but he hadn't gotten there yet.

Shadow Milk knows that he hasn't. Because Shadow Milk knows what it will take to get him there, and it involves tearing him to shreds–

Shadow Milk summons old marionette strings, now mostly unused, and begins to sew up the open chest of the doll with lazy flicks of his finger. Despite the casual movement, the stitches are precise and perfect. Once he's done, the doll looks almost as good as new, but inarguably altered.

—before fixing him back up in Shadow Milk's design.

Only then would Pure Vanilla really be able to understand Shadow Milk. Only then would Shadow Milk believe it.

Shadow Milk rubs his thumb over the doll's cheek, something ugly twisting in his chest. His claws twitch, eager to tear the doll apart again, to have an outlet, but he refrains because he does have self-control and he just fixed it.

Instead, he lifts the doll up and presses a kiss to the little stitched star on its forehead. No, not a kiss. It's more like a curse, a harsh press of lips with the slightest snarl of teeth, with enough pressure to create a dent in its soft head.

Yes, this isn't the end. They have eternity, after all. The wait may be agonising, but eventually, he'll understand him. Shadow Milk will make sure of it.

The something in his chest loosens just slightly, as if relieved.

#so. that update huh #i was possessed by demons (sm) again and wrote this in a wild burst of inspiration. enjoy!!#i've been working with fairytales a lot recently. if you couldn't tell #it's midnight man i need to SLEEP #shadowvanilla #vanilla milkshake #shadow milk cookie #the biscuit library

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umbrella-show · 9 months ago

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https://www.tumblr.com/umbrella-show/766905601979727872/httpswwwtumblrcomumbrella-show76562826466233?source=share

Ooooooooh I love it! Great now i wanna send this in as a genuine request of your requests are open...y/n can be timid or not depending on what you wanna do but still want twist where y/n was only crowned ruler so there is an excuse for y/n to stay in the castle and be cared for/watched over by all the cookies...like to expand and explain more...cookies claimed y/n is their ruler when in reality, the cookies are the ones making up laws/creating rules, doing all the stuff rulers do and y/n's job is just to sit there with their little crown, that the cookies made sure was very comfy for y/n, and accept affection and attention from the cookies lmao!

(Also now I can't help but imagine in a funny scenario like this...to give an example of what I had in mind lol...

Some bad guy cookie...maybe DE or shadow milk...will call em bad cookie as place holder:

Bad cookie: MWAHAHAHAHA!

*all the cookies panic!*

Gingerbrave: OH NO! IT'S (insert name!)

Bad cookie: IM HERE TO TAKE OVER THE KINGDOM-

*cookies still panic...some readying to fight and others running for their lives and others just having zero clue what to do!*

Bad cookie: -AND TAKE Y/N FOR MYSELF!

*Suddenly, all the cookies froze...and slowly turn to the bad cookie, all going dead quiet. The kingdom became so quiet, you could hear a pin drop.*

Bad cookie: what the-?

*suddenly, all the cookies whip out various weapons...either their signature weapons or torches and pitchforks.*

Gingerbrave: you messed up the moment y/n's name left your mouth....CHARGE!

*all the cookies of the kingdom absolutely SWARM the bad cookie.*

Bad cookie, not expecting all the cookies to share a braincell: SON OF A- OH DEAR WITCHES! AAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

*Bad cookie screams in terror as they are now in the middle of a giant horde of angry cookies.*

Meanwhile...

Y/n: *was gaming...suddenly heard a little noise.* what was that?

Strawberry, who was sent to y/n earlier to distract them from the chaos outside: that was probably just the wind...say, how about we do this level next?)

And late reply is ok! I know life gets busy sometimes lol!

Kay i love this idea it made me laugh a little-

Have a short fic!

As you placed down another card on the table from your deck, you couldn't help but wonder. Is this all a ruler does? All the stories you’ve read about kings and queens usually had them attend to important affairs or run their kingdom. After becoming a ruler yourself, you found out that there wasn’t much you needed to do in the first place. All you really did was sit there and look pretty. Your friends, the Ancient cookies, who ruled their own kingdom, did more than you. They were more involved with actually running their kingdom. And you did practically nothing.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when Pure Vanilla cookie said it was your turn again. Looking up at him, you saw him smiling at you with his deck of cards in his hands. He had an excellent poker face when it came to these sorts of games, you had learned. He always kept a gentle smile no matter what. You didn’t know whether it was an intimidation tactic or because he genuinely enjoyed playing these types of games.

You placed a card from your deck down on the table and took a few seconds to glance out of the window right in front of both you and Pure Vanilla cookie. It was a beautiful day. The vibrant blue sky, clear of any clouds, caused the sunlight to shine onto you and Pure Vanilla cookies from the window. You could hear birds chirping and leaves gently rustling from the light breeze.

As Pure Vanilla cookie had just placed down his card a sound made you perk up. It was quiet at first, but it grew louder as the source seemed to come closer to where you were. It almost sounded like..screaming? You looked out the window, searching for the noise. You were worried and confused. Was everything okay? Did something happen? Were people in danger? It wasn’t long until you saw what was happening.

Licorice cookie, with Bat-Cat and Choco Werehound Brute close behind, were all screaming and running from something. They just ran by, screaming their lungs out. A horde of cookies followed, yelling and brandishing their weapons. As they chased, you noticed and recognized them as almost all of the cookies in your kingdom, with Gingerbrave and his friends leading the charge. Heck, even some of the children such as Pancake and Cherry cookie were trailing along in the very back, but were determined to catch up.

As the horde passed, you could only sit in a state of shock with Pure Vanilla cookie, looking out the window with raised eyebrows while you attempted to process what you had just seen.

“Oh my. Seems as if that cookie caused quite the stir.”

Pure Vanilla said after a few seconds of stunned silence from the sight both he and you had just witnessed. However, his voice was as soft and tranquil as it always was.

“Well, Gingerbrave and the rest seem to have the situation under control.”

Pure Vanilla cookie then placed down a new card on the table, smiling at you with closed eyes as if nothing happened.

“Why don’t we continue from where we left off.”

BONUS

Licorice cookie scowled, muttering complaints as he brushed the leaves off of his robes. Bat-Cat and Choco Werehound Brute followed him, looking shaken up from their previous experience. Licorice cookie and his companions had narrowly escaped the insane cookies' anger. They had ran into the nearby forest on the outskirts of the kingdom, losing the horde in the trees. Now, they all trudged, defeated and shaken, back to the castle. Dark Enchantress cookie won’t be pleased, and Licorice was sure Pomegranate cookie would rub his loss in his face once he got back. The thought made him grip his bone scythe tighter in anger.

He may have failed to indoctrinate you into the Cookies of Darkness this time, but he promised he would get to you before Pomegranate cookie.

#umbrella asks #crk #self aware crk #crk baker au #yandere crk #cookie run kingdom #yandere cookie run kingdom x reader #yandere cookie run kingdom #cookie run #cookie run kingdom x reader

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wampipti150-classic · 5 months ago

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Vote end

and the top vote rate I'll draw first is

And the first one will release soon just check out my page @wampipti150-press-start-together

The first one belongs to @marakorusky Vanilla Cream Belongs to @princkleeatscookies Crème Cheese Cookie belongs to me @wampipti150-classic Pure Sunlight belongs to D1ary Milk on Instagram

#crème cheese cookie #creme caramel cookie #vanilla cream cookie #pure sunlight cookie #Wampipti150 fanchildren

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yoiisa · 3 months ago

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𝐁𝐋𝐋𝐊 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 #𝟐 ⋆.˚ ☾⭒.˚

fluff! pure fluff and nothing more! also to make up for that other angsty nagi fic i wrote lol (ᵕ—ᴗ—)

thinking about how to celebrate nagi seishiro's birthday with him!! (っ˶ ˘ ᵕ˘)ˆᵕ ˆ˶ς)

see, normally in the morning's he has you trapped underneath his massive body weight, so you can never leave until he wakes up and lets you. Not today though, no, you are determined to surprise him with breakfast. it takes you about forty five minutes just to pry yourself out from underneath him.

you hurry up in using the bathroom and brushing your hair. you wanna look cute after all when you're serving up his food. then, you hurry off into the kitchen to start cooking.

you premade some pancake batter last night that's been sitting in the fridge since 11:00 last night. it's still good when you pull it out from the fridge and you take out a pan to preheat on the stove. you wince at the sound of metal clattering and hope it wasn't enough to wake up your boyfriend.

when he doesn't appear, you set to work. you turn on the stove, and as the metal heats, you also quickly wash some fruits- strawberries and blueberries- to plate the pancakes with. by the time all of that's done, your pan's ready to go. you pop a square of butter into it, and let it melt and sizzle as you spread it around.

it'd taken you a while to find one when you went shopping last weekend, but you'd managed to snag a cookie cutter in the shape of a bunny head. you place it into the pan then pour the batter into the mold. you repeat this process three more times, until you have a small stack of bunny pancakes.

you grab chocolate syrup, chocolate chips, and whipped cream before getting ready to decorate. small little eyes, a little x for the mouth- miffy! you giggle as you stare down at the face, the sound reverberating through the kitchen. you take the chocolate syrup and, as carefully as you can, write "happy birthday sei!!" alone the edge of the plate. it's a little lopsided, but it's the thought that counts. you put a dollop of whipped cream in between the miffy's ears, and the blueberries and strawberries all around the pancakes. you slice some apples and put them on a separate plate, and finally, you're done.

just in time for the birthday boy to show up.

he's yawning and scratching his head as he walks through the doorway of the kitchen. his grey pajama shirt rides up on him, the old thing too small on his tall body. his pants hang loosely around his waist, and he pulls them up a little before opening his eyes and looking around at the dishes and the plate.

he takes in your beaming smile and glowing eyes before tilting his head to the side and asking, "what's all this?"

you can't hold your delight in. you take the plate and present the miffy pancakes to him, cheering, "happy birthday seishiro!!"

he blinks down at the pancakes, before a tightness constricts in his chest. in the glow of the sunlight from the windows, you in your pajamas, your bright smile, the cute food- it's too much. he might die.

he takes the plate and sets in on the countertop, seemingly dismissing it. "it is my birthday isn't it, i completely forgot." you're just about to scold him when he turns around and gathers you in his arms, squeezing you tightly against him.

" 'ts cute, but you're cuter," he mumbles. "thank you for all that work."

you can't help but giggle and wrap your arms around his neck. in an instant, he lifts you in the air and carries you to the couch. he collapses onto it with you still held tight in his grasp.

"but no more work for a few hours, let's sleep some more!"

you groan, although your smile never wavers for a moment.

"sei."

"sleep," he silences any more protests of yours with a kiss.

a/n: my sweet little baby, I adore him so much. he was my fav character for a long time, before it flipped to Isagi lol

#blue lock #bllk #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #nagi seishiro #seishiro nagi #nagi x reader #nagi seishiro x reader #nagi seishiro x you #seishiro nagi x reader #seishiro nagi x you #bllk fluff

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lohotine · 8 months ago

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▪︎ The Strange Thing About Mortality ▪︎

Ft: Longan Dragon, Shadow Milk Cookie, Pure Vanilla

Warnings: Longan's is pretty obsessed and can be seen as toxic and stalker like, at least in mindset. The other two are fairly normal.

AN: Yeah, I'm back. Happy Holidays, I guess. Don't expect more food. (But send more requests if you have them because if they're good, I'll prepare a feast.)

This is mainly my take on three different ways of experiencing mortality. One where it was always considered disgusting until they met you, another where they had always lived so close by it, yet never truely understood it until they met you, and the last where they had once lived through it, but had become so far detached from it until they were allowed to relive it through you.

Longan Dragon

As many would know, Longan Dragon hates mortals. No, perhaps "hates" is too calm of a description.

If they were given the chance, they would not hesitate to erase every mortal, along with the trace of them ever existing, off the face of the planet.

And it was true.

Keyword being: "was"

Truth be told, their will was not as strong as they had originally thought. Now, do not misunderstand; Longan Dragon has a very strong will. A will that they have harbored for many years now. This was the will to restore the world to how it had been originally: pure, untainted, ethereal, and untouched by the hands of mortals.

To Longan, there was nothing more repulsive than the existence of mortals.

How weak and corrupt they were.

Nothing more than a waste of time. A waste of space.

Or at least, most of them. There was one mortal who Longan did not mind co-existing with...

Yes, they admit, perhaps you were an exception that didn't quite deserve to be erased. Longan would tolerate you.

Oh, who am I kidding.

If anything were to ever happen to you, Longan would lose their touch with reality. They swear, nothing that exists in this filthy world is even deserving of basking in your presence. Not even themself.

Everything about you was practically holy. It is rather unfortunate that you had to be born a mortal.

To be mortal meant living with a title that will always be tainted.

But Longan could excuse it since everything else about you was something they revered as "something even the heavens would be envious of."

Now, Longan took great care with ensuring none of the other dragons found out about you.

The others weren't quite deserving of knowing about your existence. Not now, and most likely until the end of time.

Though Longan could not help but think about what might happen if you were to be associated with them.

Longan does not doubt the fact that they have enemies. If others were to find out that they cherished a mortal such as you...

Well, mortals were always quite fragile. It was not an idea that Longan enjoyed entertaining.

And besides, if you were to ever meet Longan, they were sure you would be displeased. After all, they had killed thousands of your kind already. Longan would not burden you with the memory of meeting someone like them.

And so, they would carefully watch over you instead.

Oh, how they lived for everything that you did. The way you carefully ran your fingers over the different flora. The way the sunlight bounced off your skin and how the sun's rays would refract in your eyes.

Longan swears you are some kind of angel who was gifted to the world. Your very being seemed like it was hand-sewn by the heavens.

You were perfect.

No. You are perfect. At least, as perfect as any mortal could be.

Longan couldn't even entertain the idea of locking you up somewhere since doing something like that would only darken your bright and ever-glowing light.

And it's not like they can't keep you safe as is. After all, they could easily watch over you from a distance with the help of their all-seeing eyes. Protecting you couldn't be easier.

And besides... Longan enjoyed seeing you act in a way that was perfectly mortal. Taking away your freedom would remove that aspect from you, and though they enjoyed the thought of you being freed from your mortal chains, being mortal was a key part of what made you divine.

Ah, now that they think of it, being divine and being mortal at the same time was very contradictory.

Oh well. To Longan, you were both and so much more all at the same time.

Shadow Milk

He had lived alongside mortals for a long time, having once been their promised savior alongside the other beasts.

Even if his more perfect years were a long time passed, he still remebers his time with them quite well.

Mortals were sporadic at times and still at others. Though, if you spend enough time living alongside them, you quickly learn how boring and predictable they really are.

To him, mortals were just more actors he could use in the play that was his life. Pawns on a chessboard. Puppets on a string.

With fear and a bit of deceit, you can get them to do whatever you want!

And for a long time, mortals proved that very idea. They were just so easy to control.

In truth, Shadow Milk never saw anything special about them. They would often speak or write about "the wonder of being mortal," yet no matter how hard he tried, he could never understand it.

Sure, they could create things like music, and they could form relationships with each other, but so could he! What was so different about them besides the fact that they were weaker and dumber?

Shadow Milk just didn't know.

And trust me when I say that he wanted to know. He spent many, MANY nights in private trying to understand why so many of their stories were about the beauty of being mortal. It was the one thing mortals were better at than him...

Understanding what it meant to be mortal.

The scholarly part of him still desperately wanted to understand, but that small fragment of him had been so long burried that he just didn't really care anymore.

After all, what good would understanding mortals really even do for someone like him?

Now, Shadow Milk had basically given up on trying to understand. He simply chalked it up to them being confusing and spouting nonsense to try and feel more important.

I mean, how could there be beauty in being imperfect?

When he met you, he started to see that very beauty.

It all started when you quote on quote "went off script."

Shadow Milk had spent many years studying how mortals reacted to certain situations. Like I stated earlier, to him, they were nothing more than glorified puppets.

Sure, every once in a while, someone might deviate slightly from the expected path, but it all ended up in the same way.

That was what was so wonderful about you. You never did what he expected you to do. It was strange...

He probably shouldn't have cared as much as he did, but you were just so interesting!

He wanted to learn everything about you. And so he began to do just that.

At first, when he spent time with you, it was just out of curiosity. He'd act a certain way just to see your reaction to it.

In the end, you always ended up surprising him.

As he spent more time with you, he started to experience more things.

One of these examples was baking. It was so simple in concept that he never really thought much of it.

Sure, he knew about it. He knew about food, and he knew about flavor. It's not like he's never attempted activities such as eating or baking in his many years of living.

He never really needed any of it, but he tried anyway. And he understood the concept. Mortals bake food so they can eat it since they need the sustenance to survive.

It was so boring to him, until he tried it with you.

For some reason, trying it with you was different from the time he tried it by himself all of those years ago.

He couldn't really explain it. It was like you had given the activity a certain flare. Like... the activity now had a mortal's touch to it.

When he tried it all of those years ago, it consisted of calculations and reading. He assumed the task was tedious since eating was a necessity for mortals. Cooking was even a job for many, and jobs were often described as bothersome by many mortals.

So, when he saw you baking with a smile on your face, it confused him.

Was this really an activity that brought joy to people?

You just seemed so happy doing it... and for a moment, Shadow Milk was happy as well.

Oh, right, emotions.

He hated the way you made him feel sometimes. You did such simple things, things that held no meaning, yet they were so fascinating to him.

It didn't make sense. How could these simple actions catch his attention in the same way that a magnificent performance could?

As Shadow Milk spent more time with you, his understanding of mortals only became worse.

He thought mortals were predictable. You threw this into question.

He thought performing tasks that were nessecary to live was tedious. Sometimes, they were. Other times, they weren't.

Mortals were just so confusing!

Yet, the one thing that he understood was that he was happy doing these seemingly pointless things with you.

Perhaps that is what it meant to be mortal. To find joy and purpose in seemingly useless things.

If that is what it meant, then perhaps mortals weren't as bad as he thought.

Pure Vanilla

Pure Vanilla, though now akin to some sort of god, was once mortal.

He, too, once required nine hours of sleep each night. He, too, required three meals every day. He, too, required social interaction.

Yet, he had spent so many years not needing these things that he had grown detached from the ways a mortal would live.

After all, why would he waste time sleeping when he hardly needed it? There were other things that required his attention.

Sure, a nice rest every once in a while was fine, but he found himself doing that less and less....

Pure Vanilla just couldn't waste his time doing these activities when there were other things that needed his attention so much more.

Of course, he still understood social cues and whatnot, but it was different now than how it was then.

Then, he had empathy, and with that, he understood other people's emotions and reacted accordingly.

Now, he simply read people's expression and determined what to do from there. It was tuition more than anything.

Sure, the ways were similar, but it just wasn't the same.

He acted calm and happy around others because it's what gave the best results socially. Not because he particularly felt that way.

He lacked the warmth that being mortal once gave him simply because he didn't have the time to be mortal. It just wasn't necessary.

But, then he met you.

At first, the relationship between you was respectable. Nothing too personal, just professional.

Through circumstances, no matter what those may be, you two became closer. You spent more time with each other.

And sure, Pure Vanilla spent time with the other ancients as well, but it was different with you. They weren't mortal anymore. They were much more like him.

You, unlike them, were fully mortal. This meant you spent time doing regular, ordinary, mortal things.

As a result, Pure Vanilla was often roped into doing these things with you.

It was strange. He had done these things thousands of times in the past... yet now they were so alien to him.

Despite this, the actions held a certain warmth to them. A warmth Pure Vanilla had not felt in a long time.

It was all so nostalgic to him. He never realized just how much he missed being mortal.

This feeling... was so familiar yet so foreign all at the same time.

But he wouldn't trade the feeling for the world.

As he spent more of his time with you, he remembered the joys of being mortal.

The smile he once wore as a habit had now become genuine.

He must thank you for allowing him to relive this feeling once more.

A feeling he once knew so well.

A feeling he didn't know was possible to forget until you forced him to remember it.

It was strange. He hadn't even realized he had forgotten it.

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mint-mania · 19 days ago

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Pure Vanilla with a sleepyhead. When i mean sleepyhead i mean it needs reader minimum 40 minutes to get out of bed...and not to mention its almost 12pm....

Pure vanilla cookie x sleepy!reader

୨୧・・・・୨୧・・・・୨୧・・・・୨୧・・・・୨୧

“Good morning my bluebird!”

“Eehh five… more minutes…”

The king sighed, they had told him the same thing almost an hour ago. This had become something of a morning ritual. Every morning he spent at least an hour trying to coax his partner out of their, very warm and comfy, bed.

It seemed that no matter how much they slept it wasn’t enough to keep them moving through the day. So it no longer was a cause of concern for the king or his subjects to find them napping in odd places. Their favorite being the reading nook in Pure vanilla’s study. The way sunlight shines through at noon makes it warm, almost as nice as their bed.

Pure vanilla has long since grown used to working while they nap nearby, occasionally cuddling up with him if he has a moment to spare.

#minty’s mailbox 📨#minty writes ୨୧ #crk #cookie run kingdom #crk x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader #cookie run x reader #pure vanilla x reader #pure vanilla crk #pure vanilla cookie x reader #pure vanilla cookie

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aventurineswife · 1 month ago

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wait wait wait what if creator!reader was literally just pure vanilla cookie from crk. identical colors, imagery, demeanor, i feel like sagau and sahsrau would love them.

Oh.

Oh my god.

PURE VANILLA COOKIE?! 😍

If Creator!Reader was literally like Pure Vanilla Cookie from Cookie Run Kingdom—with that soft gold-and-cream aesthetic, gentle wisdom, warm aura, and "calm in the storm" energy?

SAHSRAU and SAGAU would lose their minds in the most devotional, heart-wrenched way possible.

SAGAU

You—glowing softly, voice warm like spring rain, robes billowing in honey-tinted wind—arrive not with a grand divine boom, but with a gentle hush.

You hold out a hand to the wounded Adepti, to exhausted knights, to the weeping Archons and say something like,

“You’ve done well. Let me take it from here.”

AND THEY JUST. MELT.

Zhongli kneels immediately. You remind him of peace before war. His godhood feels small in the presence of your grace.

Venti can’t stop smiling. He sits near you, humming soft melodies like a child resting beneath a tree.

Ei doesn't speak at first. She's frozen. You are the gentleness she never allowed herself, and she feels both comforted and painfully unworthy.

Xiao flinches when you touch him—and then doesn’t move again, terrified of scaring off the only warmth that’s ever reached him.

You’re like… divinity that forgives. The patience of eternity. A god who listens.

And they would follow you into any storm just to earn another soft smile.

SAHSRAU

Now here it gets even more dramatic.

Because in a world full of chaos, weaponized people, corrupted systems and alien horrors—you show up like a walking balm.

Your cloak glows faintly. You speak calmly. And when things glitch, you stabilize reality just by existing.

You place your hand on Kafka’s shoulder mid-fight and whisper,

“There’s a gentler path, if you’d like to walk it.”

AND SHE JUST STARES AT YOU LIKE SHE’S NEVER BEEN TOUCHED BY A GOOD DREAM BEFORE.

Dan Heng is struck speechless. You’re everything he’s been trying to control inside himself—softness, acceptance, inner stillness.

March 7th clings to your side like a flower to sunlight. She looks up to you like a warm younger sibling.

Silver Wolf is confused. You don’t fight? You heal? You’re… sweet?

She starts following you around anyway. “For study purposes.”

(She’s being healed just by your presence.)

Blade HATES how calm you make him feel. He hates how when you look at him, he feels seen and not judged. And he keeps coming back anyway.

Even Herta, who studies everything like it’s data, stares at you in awe. Because you are the perfect variable:

You don't force peace. You invite it.

You’re the kind of Creator who doesn't need to command loyalty.

You just exist like a soft light in the dark—gentle, unshakable, golden.

You help people not by changing them, but by being a place where they can rest.

And in both worlds, that is so much more powerful than any divine lightning bolt or glitch-blade.

#x reader #honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #gi x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x you #sahsrau #sagau

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fixated-cookies · 1 month ago

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Milk, Vanilla, and The Witches Pit.

Pairing: Witch!Reader x Shadow Milk Cookie, Witch!Reader x Pure Vanilla Cookie, (past) Witch!Reader x Burning Spice Cookie Word Count: ~2k Rating: Explicit Warnings: Tentacle kink, soft dubcon elements (aphrodisiac influence), magical manipulation, possessive behavior, emotional breakdowns, light worship kink, humiliation (non-cruel), voyeurism, orgasm denial, forced arousal, non-canon worldbuilding (eldritch witch magic, enchanted maze, sacred ritual spaces), power imbalance, Pure Vanilla corruption, oral fixation,, dom!reader dynamic, emotionally compromised cookies, pure vanilla point of view, burning spice kinda mentioned hahaha

part one

COMISSION

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

At first, it was only whispers. Unconfirmed, scattered, and strangely poetic.

A baker passing through the Vanilla Kingdom had spoken of a scent he couldn’t place—berries steeped in lust, he’d said, half-joking, eyes twitching. Another Cookie from the outskirts claimed they saw the stars shift over the southern hills, as if pulled down toward something hungry.

And then there were the dreams.

He’d received three letters in as many days. Each from a healer he trusted. Each confessing the same thing: they woke gasping, wet between the thighs or legs, after visions of a throne carved from mouths. They wrote with trembling hands. They asked if he felt it too.

He hadn’t. Not until today.

Pure Vanilla stood in the study of his sanctum, sunlight curling softly across the glasswork. A low thrum echoed at the base of his skull—magic, old and unclean, threading its way through the air like perfume from a broken bottle.

He pressed his fingers to his Soul Jam.

Something has awakened. Not evil. Not quite. But… wrong. Beautifully, dangerously wrong.

By dusk, he had already departed. No fanfare. No speech. Just a quiet command for the court to carry on and not follow.

The land of Beast Yeast was thick with mist by the time he arrived. And there—where once lay scorched earth and memory—stood a castle that should not be.

It rose like a mirage built from lust and grief: obsidian stone slick with dew, towers shaped like talons, rivers that shimmered red as pomegranate wine.

And something else.

The maze.

It stretched from the castle gates like a serpent’s jaw, rows upon rows of blackened rosebushes twisted into arches and curves. The petals gleamed wet, as if sweating in anticipation. The thorns pulsed.

Pure Vanilla stepped forward slowly, quietly. His robes trailed behind him, a hush in the overgrown silence. The closer he came, the louder the maze breathed.

That’s when he saw him.

Shadow Milk Cookie.

Standing before the mouth of the maze, dressed in ceremonial black and sapphire. He looked... different. Cleaner, almost reverent. His coattails had been brushed and pressed. His crown-jester hat removed, tucked under one arm like a sacred offering. In his arms: boxes. Dozens of them, wrapped with trembling care.

He was checking his reflection in a glinting goblet. Wiping sweat from his upper lip. Adjusting the cuff of his left sleeve. Breathing hard. Like someone preparing for a confession.

Then—

He smiled.

A grin more sincere than any Pure Vanilla had seen.

And then… he bolted.

Straight into the maze.

No theatrics. No backward glance. Just his silhouette swallowed by the red-black roses and the twisting mist.

And Pure Vanilla—heart tight, Soul Jam humming uneasily—followed.

Because the rumors were true.

Because something had returned to Earthbread.

And it had called him. The moment Pure Vanilla stepped past the first arch of thorns, the air shifted. It wasn’t sudden. No sharp burst or slam of magic—just a slow, insidious tilt. Like the floor of the world had been set on a slope and his balance hadn’t caught up. The scent hit first. Not the saccharine rot of rotting fruit, but something deeper. Thicker. Heavier than air had any right to be. A haze that clung to his lungs with every breath, sweet as nectar and just as dangerous. He tried to purify it on instinct, a soft glow emanating from his Soul Jam. But the mist simply curled around the light—mocking, amused—and whispered back.

The roses pulsed as he passed. Not just the petals—the stems, the thorns, the roots. Like they were watching. Like they knew he didn’t belong. Yet nothing reached for him. Not yet.

He walked in silence at first. Left, right, straight. The maze wound in spirals, designed by a hand not meant to obey geometry. Every path looked the same. Red and black. Red and black. But the deeper he went, the warmer it became. Not oppressive heat, but something more bodily. Wet warmth. Breathing warmth. Like the inside of something living.

And then the whispers began.

Not words, not yet. Just sounds. Breaths that weren’t his. Laughter without mouths. Echoes of sighs. A voice he thought he recognized—just at the edge of memory—moaning faintly into the velvet air.

He kept walking.

The gift boxes Shadow Milk had carried appeared along the trail like breadcrumbs. One by one, discarded. A ribbon tangled in a rose. A box crushed by what looked like trembling hands. A silk handkerchief spotted with something viscous and glimmering faintly under the mist. The deeper he went, the more disarray he found. Until finally he heard it—not a whisper, not an echo—but a sound so real and close it stopped his heart mid-beat.

A sob.

Choked and wet. Followed by a moan.

His steps faltered. Not from fear. From confusion. The mist was thicker now. And it did something to him. His thoughts grew slower. His body… warmer. His clothes clung too tightly. His fingers twitched, grasping at the staff he barely remembered drawing. It pulsed faintly in his grasp, the flower ornament blooming without light. The air tasted like sugar and want.

A voice broke through the haze, soft and low, drawn out like a sigh at the end of a prayer.

“You made it…”

He turned. No one. Just the roses breathing.

Another sound. A wet one.

Something was happening up ahead. Something rhythmic. Deliberate.

Pure Vanilla kept moving.

The last arch gave way to open air. Not light. There was no sun here—only the low thrum of magic humming like a heartbeat beneath velvet clouds. The courtyard stretched wide and obscene. Petals littered the slick stone, red and black, glistening with dew. Obsidian statues rose in rings around the center—mouthless angels, weeping roses, serpents wrapped around limbs locked in ecstasy.

And in the center—

A throne made of nothing but silk and sin.

He saw them before they saw him.

Shadow Milk Cookie was on his knees. His arms hung limp at his sides, palms twitching against the stone. His mouth was full—latched to the breast of a stranger, lips slick, tongue greedy. His eyes were rolled back, one of the hidden ones in his hair blinking in delirious rhythm with every suck. His body convulsed slightly as her hand jerked his cock in smooth, precise motions—each one pulling a cry from him that echoed off the rose-drenched walls.

The gifts lay scattered at her feet. Torn ribbons. Crushed boxes. The effort of devotion trampled beneath lust.

She looked down at him with a gaze too calm, too cold. The Witch had not changed. She didn’t have to.

Pure Vanilla did not speak. Could not. The tentacles writhed behind her—some brushing across Shadow Milk’s thighs, others coiling lazily near her lap. The air reeked of sex and magic. It curled in his lungs like incense lit on a grave.

Then her eyes flicked up.

Saw him.

The air did not change.

Shadow Milk whimpered at her chest. She spoke to neither of them.

Not yet.

She simply let it continue.

Her thumb slid over the head of Shadow Milk’s cock just as her nipple left his mouth with a pop. He cried out—high and pretty—and spilled into her hand with a force that knocked his head back. His hips jerked once, twice, his thighs trembling. The orgasm tore through him like prophecy, and she held him steady through every shudder.

Only when he stilled did she finally speak.

“Watching is not a crime.”

Her voice cut through the haze like a slow knife.

Pure Vanilla flinched.

A single tentacle slid toward him across the stone. Unhurried. Confident.

“You came for truth, didn’t you?” she asked, gently brushing Shadow Milk’s hair back. “You always did prefer it clean.”

The tentacle curled around Pure Vanilla’s ankle.

He moved to resist—then didn’t. His fingers trembled.

Another tendril coiled at his waist.

She turned her head slightly—one breast still wet with Shadow Milk’s spit, her fingers stained with seed—and beckoned him with a smile that was not kind.

“Come closer,” she said. “Let me show you what devotion looks like.” The moment the tentacle coiled around his thigh, Pure Vanilla’s breath hitched. He tried to step back. He didn’t. Couldn’t. His limbs felt heavy—clouded—not with fear but with warmth. A dangerous warmth. The kind that started low, between the legs, and spread outward like molasses poured too slow. The aphrodisiac mist wasn’t thick here—it was concentrated. Refined. Meant to soften even the hardest conviction.

He blinked, and the throne felt closer. Another tendril hooked under his arm. Velvet against his wrist. A subtle tug. He didn’t resist.

Not because he wanted this. But because his body had forgotten the word no.

Shadow Milk whimpered beside the Witch’s leg, cheek pressed against her thigh, his spent cock twitching, lips still parted around phantom pleasure. He didn’t even lift his head when Pure Vanilla was dragged across the marble.

“You look tired,” she said sweetly. Her fingers twitched, and more tentacles came.

Pure Vanilla gasped as silk bound his ankles. Not cruelly. Not tightly. Just enough to hold. Enough to part him. His robe bunched at his waist. He could feel the air on his thighs.

He opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

She tilted her head—and then, from the corner of his eye, he saw it.

Another figure. At the edge of the circle.

Slumped forward, mouth gagged by some glowing spell-silk. Body flushed and gleaming with sweat. Muscles trembling with denied release. Crimson marks bloomed along his chest, his arms, his throat—where tentacles had kissed and left their claim.

His eyes were glazed.

He did not look at Pure Vanilla.

He only thrust weakly into the air, hips grinding against nothing, rutting against a pleasure just out of reach. A ruined shell of a warrior. His hair was different. His expression empty.

Pure Vanilla didn’t recognize him.

Not as Burning Spice Cookie.

Not as anyone.

Just another sinner in the altar’s glow.

He turned back to the Witch—

And her hand touched his chest.

Light bloomed from her palm—not burning, not blinding. Inviting.

It bled through the fabric of his robes like oil through lace. His Soul Jam flickered—once, twice—and then dimmed.

She smiled.

“You can leave,” she whispered, voice soft as syrup. “You always could. But you haven’t.”

A tentacle brushed his thigh. He trembled.

Her lips leaned to his ear.

“So let me ask, little light... what are you really here for?”

And then her fingers drifted lower.

The first moan that left Pure Vanilla’s lips wasn’t his.

It slipped from his throat like it belonged to someone else—soft, breathless, humiliated. Her fingers had only grazed the edge of his Soul Jam, and still his cock stirred, twitching against the air, his thighs tensing in shame. The tentacles didn’t restrain him, not tightly. They only held, cradling his body like something precious. Like something offered.

His breath trembled. His vision swam. His crown sat crooked on his head.

“Ohhh…” came a voice. Lazy. Liquid. Mocking.

Shadow Milk stirred from his place beside the Witch, one eye opening beneath his tangled bangs. He looked ruined, dazed, lips still red from suckling. But he grinned through it. Theatrical. Drenched in bliss and spite.

“You’re quite the picture, mmm,” he murmured, voice laced with cracked glee. “Our dear beacon, all fogged up and twitching. Tsk, tsk… Is this what it takes to peel back those holy folds?”

“Quiet,” Pure Vanilla rasped.

But his voice was thin. Barely present.

Shadow Milk only laughed—a low, fractured chuckle that dissolved into a whimper. “Still playing saint, even while your thighs tremble? My, my. You’ve missed quite the show.”

A tentacle slid along Pure Vanilla’s inner thigh. He bit back a gasp, his head tipping back. The mist licked at his lips, syrup-sweet, heady. His cock throbbed now—shamelessly.

The Witch watched.

She didn’t touch him again. Not yet. She let him unravel.

Shadow Milk crawled closer—not with the grace of a predator, but the limp, sensuous drift of someone who had given in. His fingers brushed the edge of Pure Vanilla’s robe, gaze half-lidded.

“You came here for answers,” he whispered. “But I think you just wanted permission.”

“Permission…?”

“To fall.”

He chuckled again. It cracked in the middle.

“Don’t worry. I did too.”

Pure Vanilla’s breath hitched. A tentacle brushed his tip—barely. He gasped, whole body twitching, stars popping behind his eyes.

“I�� I won’t,” he hissed, but his hips lifted of their own accord, chasing the contact. “I can’t.”

“You already are,” Shadow Milk said sweetly, resting his cheek against Pure Vanilla’s thigh. “And you look so pretty doing it.”

The Witch leaned forward, her lips just inches from Pure Vanilla’s jaw. Her breath was cool, her eyes deep. Not cruel. Not kind.

Just waiting. He tried to hold it in.

Even with her mouth near his ear, even as the tentacle curled around the base of his cock like a gentle promise, even as Shadow Milk suckled at his throat with lips still wet from the Witch’s breast—he tried.

He did.

But the pleasure didn't beg for entrance. It slid in—sweet and low, like fog under a locked door. Her magic didn't command him. It coaxed. Her fingers didn’t tear at his robes. They simply pressed, so lightly over his Soul Jam that the echo of it ricocheted through his spine like a lover’s sigh.

"You're trembling," she whispered.

“I know…”

"You don't want to leave."

“I… can’t.”

"You never did."

Pure Vanilla’s knees buckled. He would have fallen had the altar not already cradled him, held him in its velvet grasp. His thighs parted without a word. His cock leaked shamelessly against his belly. Every twitch, every breath was a confession.

Shadow Milk kissed his collarbone. “You taste like surrender,” he crooned.

The Witch watched. Silent. Steady.

Then, she moved—just a little. Her hand slid between his legs, not greedy, not fast. The tentacles wrapped around his hips, lifted him just enough to tilt his body forward, exposed and open. Her touch was like fire wrapped in silk.

Even though

He came undone like a vow broken at last.

Cum play

Shadow Milk clung to his side, pressing kisses to his temple, his jaw, his lips. “Beautiful,” he breathed. “So good like this…”

The Witch didn’t speak.

She simply cupped his face.

And he—soft, ruined, light dimmed but not gone—nuzzled into her palm.

He didn’t ask what came next.

He didn’t want to know.

He was no longer a visitor.

He had entered.

And the maze… would never let him leave.

#shadow milk cookie x reader #pure vanilla cookie x reader #burning spice cookie x reader #shadow milk cookie #pure vanilla cookie #burning spice cookie #crk smut #smut

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pilotingdreammsss · 2 months ago

Text

Cookie Comforts '*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

You are seen, valid and loved. But you don't need to hear that from me!

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ANCIENTS ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

[PURE VANILLA COOKIE]

"...You look weary, friend... Please do sit down, in all my years on Earthbread have I never seen a face so tired. Is something on your mind?"

[You nod. And begin relaying your troubles.]

[He smiles comfortingly.]

"I hear your problems... life gets so rocky sometimes, but that doesn't mean you ought to stay suffering forever... no suffering is permanent, friend. After the Dark Flour war, I felt so lost.. but now I thrive with the friends I have made... You can always come to my tent if you need anything, I will be of the greatest help I can be."

[You nod along. Though for good measure, he approaches you to give you a light hug. His vanilla scent is particularly potent today.]

"I'll always be there for you."

[You leave the tent feeling a little less tense before. The scent of warm vanilla lingers with you for the rest of your day. You can rest now.]

[DARK CACAO COOKIE.]

[The scent of cocoa and incense lingers in the air. The throne room is lit up in hues of purple.]

"You have been absent, cookie. That posture... something close to a weary dark cacao warrior! You must be deeply troubled. Speak."

[You open your mouth to relay all your toubles to him. He nods attentively at every single one, eyebrows knitted together in thought.]

"I see. You must be stronger than any dark cacao fighter to be carrying around such mental weight."

[You stare, confused.]

"Come, cookie. I cannot cut down your problem, as much as I wish to do so. But I can lessen your burden."

[He gestures vaguely to himself. You move closer until he stops gesturing, pulling you onto his lap.]

[He is warm, surprisingly, and the armor's a little uncomfortable, but when he begins to gently run his hands through your hair, you cannot help but feel at least somewhat heard.]

"The mightiest warriors came out of the worst battles alive, whichever battles they be. You must come out triumphant, cookie! Your battles are not in vain, but are the proofs of your strengths. You are capable, cookie."

[He allows you to sit in his lap to your content. Though you leave the throne room feeling more grounded and empowered than before. Mighty cacao warrior, you can do this! You are strong enough!]

[HOLLYBERRY COOKIE.]

[The party's in full swing, though you had decided to remain in your dwelling, alone with your thoughts. There is a knock on the door.]

"Hellooo? There you are! I was wondering where you were. You've not been attending any galas lately, is something on your mind?"

[You hesitate, but she seems sober, so you relay your problems pensively.]

"Oh dear... you should've told me! I didn't know all this was on your dear little mind."

[She looks saddened. You apologize vaguely.]

"No, no! No apologies. Your troubles are mine too, equal struggles! How about I go get you some soda water and you can.. unload all this..."

[You nod slightly, she smiles and pats you on the shoulder.]

"I'll be right back. Like always."

[She leaves and returns with some soda water, relaying it to you. The cool, carbonated drink helps the dehydration after your tears.]

"All your problems are not permanent, friend! Circumstances get better... but some days, you just need some cold soda and a shoulder to lean on."

[She joins where you're sitting, allowing you to lean on her fully. The tears return. She pretends not to notice when you bury your head in her chest.]

"...I'll be your shoulder to lean on, always."

[You sniffle and wipe your tears on her clothing.]

"That's what friends are for."

[GOLDEN CHEESE COOKIE]

[The midday heat batters your windows, sunlight filtering into your dwelling. Despite having all you wanted, today was eerily unfulfilling. Mozarella Cookie had passed by earlier after noticing your poor mood.]

[There is a knock on the door. It's loudly demaning, and it's immediately evident who it is. You greet her majesty with a bow, but she stops you mid way.]

"This visit is not about my Radiance! I was relayed that someone was not utilising their greed for their happiness!"

[You avert your eyes. It's hard to bring yourself to explain your feelings to her, though you watch her face contort from sadness to gentle concern.]

"Oh my... I never quite thought a citizen of the Golden Cheese Kingdom could feel so horribly!... More riches! Cheesebirds, prepare a warm spa day at the hot springs!"

[She insists that she give you some of her jewlery. You try to decline, but she shoves it into your hands in an effort to make you feel better.]

[It's a simple gesture, but you crack a smile at her anyway.]

"My subject, come accompany me to the cheese springs, that will surely melt some of that bothersome worry away!"

[Two cheesebirds lift you onto a palanquin, you giggle lightly as her majesty floats beside you. She quietly adds:]

"...I can't lose any of my subjects... not ever again. Stay, for me."

[WHITE LILY COOKIE.]

[The grove is silent, only the restless rustle of leaves and the flutter of lilies echoes in the wind. There's a floral, light aroma in the air that is instantly calming.]

[You had been hidden in a particularly overgrown corner, sniffling quietly, convinced that no cookie would hear you.]

"Hello?... were you the one sobbing quietly?"

[You shake your head. She immediately notices that you're lying to her face - though her face is not of anger.]

"I'll sit with you... what's wrong?"

[She kneels down, placing her arms on her knees. Her staff clatters to the ground with a slight thud.]

"Please... tell me what's wrong, cookie."

[You relay your problems quietly to her. She nods along knowingly, as if she too had experienced them before.]

"Cookie... I know how that feels... I too have made my own mistakes."

[She shuffles closer, eyes solemn and gentle.]

"Would an embrace lessen the burden?"

[She offers you a hug - you...]

[ACCEPT - She pulls you close, smelling of lilies, she pulls her bandaged arms around you. You sit there for a moment, breathing in tandem. It's a comfortable silence.]

[DECLINE - She nods in understanding, pulling away from you immediately. The two of you discuss your problems a little more instead.]

"You're always welcome to come to me... I know how it feels to feel alienated and isolated from other cookies... you can always talk to me."

[You nod silently.]

"... You are not irredeemable, cookie... These feelings are not permanent."

First part done! Legendaries + Beasts to get through...

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