#flaming spice cookie | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

solxamber · 10 months ago

Text

Trash Novel Chronicles: I Want to Retire - Idia Shroud x reader

You write a novel that reads like a dumpster fire and while trying to delete the draft, you accidentally get isekai’d into it. Now, as the villainess you have to get Idia Shroud on your side as well as survive high society. You have your work cut out for you.

Series Masterlist

You’ve lived a life. A noble life, full of honor, glory, and caffeine-fueled late-night writing sessions.

You're an aspiring author.

An aspiring author who, unfortunately, just created the most stupid novel plot of all time.

At least, that’s how it feels. You sit back, staring at your screen, utterly defeated as your latest creation flickers mockingly before you.

You’ve named it: "The Battle for Genius Prince Idia’s Hand" (working title, don’t judge). And wow, it’s a mess.

Here’s the breakdown of your disaster:

You’ve got your heroine—a girl so sweet she’s practically made of sugar, like one of those cookies that look good but crumble the second you bite into them. Naturally, she’s fighting for the affection of your male lead, Prince Idia, who is a socially awkward, genius mechanic prince (because you thought it’d be fun to make him hot and bad with people).

Then there’s the villainess. Ah, the villainess. She’s smart, sharp-tongued, and has enough sass to level a small city. Her entire personality? Sabotage. And she’s also after Idia—because apparently, that’s the only thing women in this story care about. (You regret this immensely.)

But oh no! Plot twist! Idia gets kidnapped by some unnamed evil force (you’ll figure it out later). The heroine? Well, instead of rescuing him, she falls for some Bland Prince. You don’t even know why. You think his name might be Greg. Or Gerald. Honestly, he’s that unremarkable.

Meanwhile, the villainess doesn’t even care anymore about Idia. Instead, she’s full-on dedicated to ruining the heroine’s new, bland romance because… well, that’s her whole schtick.

It’s… awful.

You sit back, hands in your hair, groaning aloud. “What is this? Who would even read this?”

You glance at your notes. They’re a chaotic mess of random scribbles: “Idia = genius, but hates people,” “Villainess needs more fire,” and “Heroine? Too boring. Spice her up. Maybe dragons?”

Yeah. This isn’t working.

You slump in your chair, utterly defeated. The characters are good, great even! But the plot? Oh, the plot is a dumpster fire. No, worse. It’s a flaming dumpster floating down a river of bad decisions. You can’t believe you spent hours writing this.

That’s it. You’re scrapping the entire thing. You’ll keep the characters, sure. But the story? Gone. Deleted. No one needs to suffer through this mess.

Determined, you crack your knuckles and reach for the keyboard, ready to hit the big red “DELETE” button on your disasterpiece.

“Say goodbye to this trash heap,” you mutter, “and hello to some actual good writing.”

But, alas, the universe has other plans.

Just as your finger hovers over the delete key, the worst possible thing happens. Your elbow, as if possessed by the forces of chaos itself, nudges the precariously balanced coffee cup on your desk. The liquid inside, which you had so carefully placed right next to your laptop like a ticking time bomb, tips. In slow motion, you watch the dark, caffeinated doom spill over the edge and land directly onto your keyboard.

“No, no, no, no, NO!” you shout, lunging forward, but it’s too late.

The coffee floods your keys like a tidal wave of misfortune. Your laptop makes a sickening little noise, a soft bzzt, and the screen flickers ominously. You sit there, frozen in horror, watching your computer sizzle as if it’s been cursed by the gods of terrible life choices.

And then—just when you think it couldn’t get worse—it gets worse.

There’s a small, but very real, spark. You flinch back, because nothing good ever comes from sparks. The screen flickers violently, the keys start to buzz, and then—before you can even process what’s happening—you feel it.

ZAP!

Electricity courses through your body. Your vision flashes white, your muscles seize, and in one horrifyingly comedic moment, you realize you’re being electrocuted by your own laptop.

You’d scream if you could, but all you manage is a high-pitched whimper before everything goes black.

Dead. You’re dead. Killed by your own coffee and a poorly thought-out novel. Fantastic.

You blink your eyes open, your head pounding like you’ve been hit with a ton of bricks—or, more likely, an electrical charge. Slowly, your vision clears, and you find yourself… staring at an unfamiliar, ornately decorated ceiling.

Where the hell are you?

You sit up with a groan, and that’s when it hits you: the bed. It’s massive, plush, and absurdly luxurious—definitely not your usual ratty mattress. Panic sets in, and you scramble out of bed, only to catch your reflection in a nearby mirror.

It’s not your reflection.

Oh.

Oh, Shit.

Staring back at you is her. The villainess. The sharp-tongued, drama-fueled antagonist of your novel. The one with a penchant for ruining lives and stealing the spotlight. The one you made up.

You gasp, gripping the sides of the mirror. “No. NO.” You stare at the dark hair cascading over your shoulders, the perfectly arched brows, and the terrifyingly intense smirk that seems to have a life of its own. “Why am I her? Why this of all characters?”

You step back from the mirror and slap your cheeks, half hoping that’ll wake you up from this fever dream. It doesn’t. You’re still stuck in the body of the villainess, and with each passing second, reality—or whatever twisted version of it this is—sinks in deeper.

“Of course,” you mutter, throwing your hands up in frustration. “Of course this is my life now. I write the dumbest novel in existence, and this is what I get.” You pace in front of the mirror, ranting to no one in particular. “Who even thinks it’s a good idea to make me the villainess? Me?! I didn’t sign up for this!”

After a few minutes of thoroughly berating yourself—and by extension, the cosmic forces that brought you here—you finally stop, resting your hands on your hips.

“Okay. Fine. FINE. I’ll play your stupid game, universe.” You throw one last glare at your reflection. “But I’m not tormenting the heroine. Nope. She can have her stupid one-sided rivalry for all I care. I want nothing to do with this mess.”

The decision made, you shake your head and take a deep breath. “Alright, what’s next?” You glance around the villainess’s extravagant room, trying to figure out your next move. And then, a lightbulb goes off in your head.

Prince Idia.

In your novel, he’s socially awkward, reclusive, and definitely doesn’t deserve to get caught up in this disaster. He’s just collateral damage in your sorry excuse for a plot, and honestly? You feel kinda bad about it.

You snap your fingers. “That’s it. I’ll find Prince Idia. Save him or something. Maybe I can even get a reward for rescuing a royal!” You’re feeling pretty good about this plan—much better than sticking around and causing drama with the heroine, at least.

With a dramatic flourish (you are still the villainess, after all), you head for the door, ready to track down Idia and redeem yourself in whatever twisted way you can manage. Who knows, maybe this whole situation won’t be as bad as you thought.

Or… maybe it’ll be even worse. But you’ll cross that bridge when you get to it.

After what feels like hours of arguing with your stubborn, uptight butler—who is absolutely convinced that your decision to head straight for the abandoned palace at the edge of town is the worst idea you’ve ever had—you finally break free.

“If anyone was kidnapped, that’s where they’d be!” you shout over your shoulder as you march toward your carriage, ignoring his protests about "safety" and "reckless behavior."

Butler or not, you’re on a mission. And after a bumpy ride to the palace, here you are, standing at the entrance, waiting for the traps or menacing guards to pounce.

...Nothing.

It’s strangely anticlimactic, actually. You push open the door, expecting maybe a cackle or some ominous fog. But no, just dust and an eerie silence. You frown, stepping cautiously inside.

“What kind of royal abduction is this? Budget cuts?”

Just as you’re about to chalk this whole thing up to a monumental waste of time, you hear it—a low curse, followed by the distinct sound of tinkering. You freeze, listening closer.

Definitely someone messing with something.

Your hand instinctively reaches for your trusty gun (bless past-you for deciding guns belonged in this novel), and with practiced ease, you pull it out and slam open the nearest door.

"Hands up!" you yell, pointing the barrel directly at—

A very, very scared Prince Idia, crouching beside what looks like a half-assembled mechanical gadget. His wide, shocked eyes meet yours, and he lets out a startled yelp, nearly knocking over the tools scattered around him.

"Wh-What the hell?!" you blurt, lowering the gun slightly. This was not the daring rescue scene you imagined.

Idia flinches, awkwardly raising his hands. “I—uh, I don’t know who you are, but how did you even find me?!” he stammers, looking at you like you just kicked his favorite gaming console.

"How did I—? Are you kidding me?" You gesture dramatically with the gun, still in shock. "I’m one of the people you were supposed to choose from! Remember? The whole ‘Battle for the Hand of Prince Idia’ thing?”

He blinks at you, deadpan. “Oh… Oh, no,” he mutters, more to himself than you. “Absolutely not. I’m not going back. I staged this whole thing for a reason.” He crosses his arms, stubborn. “I’ll just stay here with my gadgets. You can go back to… whatever you do.”

You stare at him, flabbergasted. “What do you mean you staged this?” You glance around the dusty, decrepit palace. “This is your brilliant escape plan? Hiding out in the palace equivalent of a haunted IKEA?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Look, it’s quiet, it’s out of the way, and no one bothers me here. I didn’t get kidnapped, okay? I just—didn’t want to deal with all the royal court nonsense.” He shrugs, as if staging a fake kidnapping is the most logical thing in the world.

“You do realize that Ortho is still at the palace, right? Your little brother? Alone? Without you?” You raise an eyebrow, watching the slow dawning horror creep across Idia’s face.

“Yeah, so?” He huffs. “He’s the Crown Prince now. I’m sure he’s fine—"

“Bro,” you interrupt, “have you seen high society? Ortho’s gonna get eaten alive. Not to mention the other princes aren’t just gonna let him waltz around with a crown on his head without making his life miserable.”

Idia’s eyes go wide, his brain clearly working overtime as the realization hits him like a ton of bricks. “Oh… Oh no. I didn’t think of that.”

You nod sagely. “Yeah. Big oops.”

He stares at the ground, looking like he’s physically shrinking under the weight of his own bad decisions. And then—something unthinkable happens.

“Help me,” he says, his voice desperate. He looks up at you with pleading eyes. “Please. I’ll—I’ll make you anything you want, build you gadgets, whatever you need! Just help me navigate high society while I… hide in the shadows or whatever.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “Are you… Are you asking me to pose as your fake fiancée?”

Idia flushes crimson, his hands flailing. “N-No! Well, maybe? Yes. I mean, yeah, but it’s not like I want to—" He groans, burying his face in his hands. “Just… ugh. Yes. Please.”

You cross your arms, tapping your chin. “Hmm. Fake engagement, huh? Alright, but only if you give me a beach house when this farce is over and Ortho officially takes the crown.”

Idia looks up at you, blinking in surprise. “A beach house? That’s your condition?”

You smirk. “Hey, I know what I want. So, do we have a deal?”

He hesitates for a moment, but then sighs, defeated. “Fine. You get the beach house. Just… make sure no one talks to me. Or atleast, you have to handle almost all the talking.”

With a satisfied nod, you extend your hand. “Deal.”

Idia, still red-faced and awkward, shakes your hand. You can’t help but wonder what sort of chaos you’ve just agreed to—but at least you’re getting a beach house out of it.

Sneaking Idia back to your manor wasn’t the most glamorous affair. He insisted on wearing a cloak, “for dramatic effect,” even though the streets were practically empty.

"You know, for a guy who's supposed to be a genius, you're real bad at blending in," you deadpan as he stumbles over his own cloak.

"It’s supposed to make me inconspicuous," Idia mutters, pulling the hood down further. "People see a cloak, they assume you’re some weirdo and leave you alone. It’s basic stealth mechanics."

“Uh-huh. And tripping on it helps too?”

“Shut up.”

Once inside the manor, you sit him down to discuss the details of how you’re going to spin this whole ‘rescue’ thing. Idia, now a little more at ease, starts fiddling with some gadget he pulled from one of his cloak’s hidden pockets. You can't tell if he's actually paying attention, but you figure you’d better get started.

"Okay," you say, leaning in like you’re about to hatch the greatest scheme of your life. "We need a story. Something grand. Heroic. Full of intrigue, mystery—"

“Or we could just say I, uh, got lost?” Idia offers halfheartedly. “And you happened to find me by accident. That sounds more plausible.”

You shoot him a look. "Idia, this is high society. No one ‘just gets lost for 3 months.’ We need something more exciting. Like, I fought off a band of rogue kidnappers—"

“Did you now?”

“And there was this epic battle—"

“With what? Your sense of direction?”

You glare. “Focus. We need an alibi."

Idia sighs. “Fine, whatever. Make it sound cool, but not too cool. If it’s too impressive, people will start thinking I owe you something.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I already have an idea of what you owe me,” you say, smirking.

His eyes narrow in suspicion, but you move on.

"Alright, so I 'bravely' tracked you down to the abandoned palace—"

"Because obviously that's where I'd be hiding," Idia interrupts sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"—and I singlehandedly defeated a gang of ruthless kidnappers, saving you from a life of captivity. You, overwhelmed by my gallantry, are forever in my debt—"

Idia snorts. "Forever in your debt? Yeah, right. You're more likely to find me dead than in your debt."

“Just go with it. It’s a good story.”

Eventually, you both settle on a suitably ridiculous tale where you, after days of tireless investigation, heroically rescued him from an evil plot to overthrow the royal family. It's unnecessarily elaborate, full of conveniently absent witnesses and a dramatic escape from a non-existent dungeon. The whole thing’s so ridiculous, you almost feel bad for making anyone listen to it.

“Right,” you say, standing up. “Now we just need to sell this at court.”

When you arrive at the palace, Idia hangs back while you step forward, playing your part as the "heroic rescuer." Ortho’s the first one to spot you, and when his eyes land on Idia, they widen with shock and excitement.

“Brother!” Ortho shouts, practically flying over to tackle Idia in a hug. “I knew you’d come back!”

Idia, not really one for public displays of affection, awkwardly pats Ortho’s head. “Yeah, yeah, don’t make a big deal out of it,” he grumbles, though you can see the tiny smile tugging at his lips. “I was, uh, working on some top-secret stuff. Y’know, important genius-level projects.”

Ortho beams. “That sounds just like you!”

You have to hold back a snicker. Yeah, real “top-secret.” Like avoiding social interaction at all costs.

Soon, you’re ushered into the royal court. The king—who clearly knows something is up—doesn't look remotely surprised by the "revelation" that Idia was never actually kidnapped. But, because royal politics are weird, he plays along.

“So, Prince Idia,” the king says, raising an eyebrow, “I suppose you’ll want the Crown Prince title back now that you’ve returned?”

Idia freezes, panic flashing in his eyes. "Uh, absolutely not. Hard pass. Nope. Ortho’s got it handled, right? He can keep the whole… crown… thing.”

Ortho nods eagerly from behind him. “I’ve got it covered!”

The king sighs but nods. “Very well. And what about you?” He turns to you. “Surely, a brave soul such as yourself deserves a reward.”

Here it comes. You’ve rehearsed this with Idia, but now that you’re on the spot, you can’t help the dramatic flair in your voice as you clasp your hands together and say, “All I ask… is for Prince Idia’s hand.”

The king looks thoroughly amused, while Idia, beside you, is turning a very interesting shade of red.

“What?” Idia hisses under his breath. “That was not the line.”

You grin, leaning closer. “Yeah, but you have to admit, it’s funnier this way.”

To his credit, Idia doesn’t collapse on the spot, though he does look like he’s reconsidering his life choices.

Meanwhile, from across the room, you catch the third prince—your so-called "male lead"—glaring daggers at you. He looks like he's about to burst a blood vessel, while the heroine next to him is scandalized beyond belief.

“B-but Idia’s hand was supposed to be won!” she protests, clearly flustered.

You tilt your head innocently. “Oh? Not satisfied with the third Prince?” you ask, batting your lashes at her.

Her face goes red, and the Bland Prince—whoever he is—looks equally scandalized.

Next to you, Idia quietly high-fives you behind his back.

“Nice one,” he whispers.

As you both walk away from the court, Idia glances over at you, his usual sarcasm softened by relief. “You know, I really thought I’d end up hating this whole scheme, but you’re not bad at playing the part.”

You chuckle, nudging him. “Told you it’d be fun. And now I get a beach house, so it’s a win-win.”

Idia sighs but can’t hide the smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t make me go to any more parties, okay?”

“Deal.”

You’re sitting across from Idia in the study, supposedly "spending time together" to prove to the world how deeply smitten you both are. In reality, though, you’re plotting out your beach house retirement plan, while Idia is hunched over his latest gadget, muttering like a mad scientist.

"Okay, so if I tweak this—boom, self-repairing AI drone. Easy. The idiots at court would never get it," he whispers to himself, eyes glued to the wires and gears he's fiddling with.

You’re busy doodling floor plans of your dream beach house, adding an extra pool for fun. “Yeah, totally, sweetheart,” you mumble, pretending to listen. This fake relationship thing is going swimmingly.

That’s when the door flies open, and in waltzes the male lead—of course he doesn't knock. The guy practically drips entitlement as he saunters in, admiring himself in the reflection of a spoon he’s for some reason carrying.

Without missing a beat, you and Idia scramble to look like actual lovers. You slide closer to him, casually tossing an arm over his shoulders, and he—already flustered—just stiffens like he’s been caught in a trap.

“I see you two are enjoying each other’s company,” the male lead says, not even looking up from his spoon reflection. “I came to invite you to the tea party. You know, with all the nobles. The whole ‘Idia’s too traumatized to socialize’ excuse isn’t gonna fly anymore. It’s been three months.”

Idia’s eyes widen, and you can practically hear his soul leave his body. You give him a reassuring nudge.

“Don’t worry,” you whisper. “I’ll do all the talking. You just have to sit there, sip tea, maybe nibble on a pastry, and nod at Ortho. I’ve got the rest covered.”

Idia doesn’t look convinced, but he nods anyway. “Sure, sure, as long as I don’t have to, like, interact.”

The two of you arrive at the tea party, and the moment you step into the garden, you realize you're absolutely screwed. It’s not a tea party at all—it’s some weird medieval Olympics with archery targets set up, and a bunch of nobles are taking turns shooting arrows while their wives cheer them on.

“What… is this?” you whisper, horrified. “Why are there archery targets at a tea party? Is this... a misogyny power trip?”

Idia looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole. He’s already backing away slowly, trying to make his great escape, but you grab him by the back of his cloak before he can bolt.

He shoots you a look like you’ve just committed the ultimate betrayal. “This... is not a tea party. You said tea and pastries. Where are the pastries?!”

“I didn’t know!” you hiss back. “I thought we’d just sip tea and gossip about whose cousin married whose horse!”

Before either of you can make another move, the heroine spots you and immediately latches onto your arm, dragging you to the tea table. At the same time, the male lead grabs Idia and hauls him over to the archery side.

"Wait—no—uh—" Idia stammers, but he’s already been thrown into the testosterone-fueled chaos of nobles trying to outdo each other.

Thinking fast, you impulsively declare, “I’ll be the one doing the archery! For my fiancé, of course. You know, because those thugs that kidnapped him? They had bows too!”

Idia, catching on, immediately puts on his best terrified expression. “Y-Yeah! Bows! I’m… I’m still traumatized! Please don’t make me relive it.”

The crowd collectively gasps, and you inwardly pat yourself on the back. Nailed it.

Somehow, despite knowing absolutely nothing about archery, you end up winning the whole thing. Turns out, none of the nobles have actually seen a bow before. You didn’t even hit the bullseye—you just got the arrow near the target, which was apparently enough to impress them.

The prize? A complex-looking mechanical device, something straight out of Idia’s dream workshop. You look at it, completely clueless, before handing it over to him.

“Uh, here. I have no idea what to do with this.”

Idia stares at the device, his eyes wide in disbelief. “You’re… giving it to me?” He looks touched but also suspicious. “You’re not gonna ask for some crazy favor in return?”

You shake your head. “Nah. It’s all yours. Consider it a thank-you for not leaving me to deal with this disaster alone.”

He blinks, clearly not used to receiving gifts without strings attached. “Well… uh, thanks. And… good job on the archery. You, uh, really sold the ‘traumatized fiancé’ bit.”

Before you can respond, the rest of the nobles start talking about "true love," and you can practically feel the heroine’s eyes boring holes into you. She’s fuming, glaring at the male lead—who, by the way, didn’t win—and looks like she’s about five seconds away from tearing out her hair.

You shoot her a smug grin, thoroughly enjoying her frustration. Idia, who’s been watching the whole thing with mild amusement, lightly bumps you with his elbow.

“Thanks for… you know, saving me from whatever that was. And for giving me this… thing,” he says, holding up the device.

“No problem,” you reply, smirking. “I think we’re pulling off this whole ‘smitten lovers’ thing pretty well.”

Idia snorts, trying to suppress a smile. “Yeah, well, if you keep dragging me to ‘tea parties’ like this, we’re gonna need to come up with a better plan. Preferably one where I don’t have to socialize with archery-obsessed nobles.”

“Deal,” you laugh. "Next time, I'll find a real tea party."

"Please don't."

You’re lounging on a comfy chair, lazily chatting with Ortho, who’s happily explaining some new contraption he and Idia worked on. You’re half-listening, more focused on sipping tea and enjoying the rare moment of peace in this chaotic castle.

That is, until Idia suddenly appears in front of you, looking unusually determined. He stands there, awkwardly shifting his weight, before thrusting his hand out in front of you.

Without thinking, you blink up at him and, in your confusion, place your chin on his outstretched palm. You give him a questioning look, waiting for further instruction.

Idia’s face immediately flushes a deep red. “W-What are you doing?! That’s not—I didn’t—gah!”

Ortho’s trying not to laugh, but it’s clear he’s barely holding it together.

“What?” you ask innocently. “You held out your hand, so I thought…”

Idia runs a hand through his hair, clearly flustered, before spluttering, “I—no, I was asking for your gun!”

“Oh. Right.” Without hesitation, you hand him the trusty weapon you always keep on hand, because at this point, you’ve learned to never question what Idia needs. It’s always better that way.

“Thanks,” he mutters, grabbing it like he’s on a mission and rushing off to whatever secret lair he retreats to.

You glance at Ortho, who’s giggling to himself. “Do you think I should be worried about that?”

“Nah,” Ortho says with a cheerful shrug. “He’s probably just making modifications. He’ll be fine!”

The next day, your luck runs out. Just when you were hoping for another peaceful afternoon, the heroine arrives for a surprise visit, dragging along her little posse of noble followers. You’re seated in a stiff parlor chair, forced to endure the barrage of small talk and fake smiles, feeling as if the universe is punishing you for all the nonsense you wrote in that novel.

One of the heroine’s cronies leans in with a sickeningly sweet voice, “Oh my, Lady Heroine, I just love your new gown. You look positively radiant. Unlike some people who seem to… dress for comfort, I suppose.”

You shoot her a withering glare, but it’s hard to focus when the heroine herself joins in, adding with a falsely sympathetic tone, “It must be so difficult for you, pretending to fit into high society. I can’t imagine how exhausting it must be, keeping up appearances.”

You’re just about to snap back when, suddenly, the door bursts open. In comes Idia, holding your gun, looking both determined and completely out of his element. For a brief, terrifying moment, you wonder what kind of chaos he’s about to unleash.

Before you can ask, he walks straight over to you and hands it to you, his expression serious. “Here. I finished the modifications.”

Your jaw drops as Idia starts rattling off a list of improvements. “So, I increased the firepower by 30%, added a cooling mechanism so it doesn’t overheat, and now it’s got an auto-targeting system that can scan multiple threats at once. Oh, and I swapped the trigger to be more responsive, so you won’t have any lag—”

You can’t help but notice how animated he looks. His usual deadpan expression is replaced by a lively spark in his eyes as he talks about all the intricate details. He’s completely in his element, and you find yourself enchanted by the way he speaks. It’s rare to see him so passionate, so alive.

The moment is shattered when he finally notices the others in the room. His face drains of color, and he gives a forced smile that screams I don't want to be here. Without another word, he turns on his heel and flees the room. But you notice something strange—he had been holding your hand the entire time. His grip, tight and warm, leaves a lingering sensation even after he’s gone.

You’re left holding your newly modified gun, your face heating up as you process what just happened. The heroine's entourage are all staring at you with wide eyes, as if they’ve just witnessed the most romantic moment of the century. Even the butler, who’s usually the epitome of professionalism, is grinning like he’s just uncovered the secret to eternal happiness. The maids nearby are giggling behind their hands, clearly entertained.

You glance down at the gun, then back to where Idia disappeared. Great, you think to yourself. How am I supposed to survive this?

As if reading your mind, the heroine gives you a smug smile. “It seems your fiancé is quite… attached. How charming.”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the sudden rush of blood to your cheeks. “Yeah, he’s a real romantic,” you mutter sarcastically.

But even as you try to brush it off, your thoughts keep returning to that sparkle in Idia’s eyes, the way he had held your hand, and the way his enthusiasm had made your heart skip a beat. Maybe this royal con is going to be more complicated than you expected… but also, maybe not as bad as you feared.

Dragging Idia to get fitted for the imperial ball is like trying to drag a cat into a bathtub. He’s actively resisting, feet planted as you haul him toward the tailor with all the enthusiasm of a man being led to the gallows.

“Why do you keep doing this to me?” he groans, leaning back so far you think he might just throw himself on the floor in protest. “An angel loses its wings every time you make me do this. Do you want heaven to be wingless? Is that what you want? To singlehandedly destroy heaven?”

“I’m aiming to open a black market for wings, yes,” you say, deadpan, yanking him forward. “The profits will be incredible.”

“You’re a menace,” he mutters, shuffling along behind you, still resisting like a particularly stubborn mule. “Just put me in a broom closet with a bag of chips and leave me there. I don’t need to go to this ball. No one wants to see me.”

“I do,” you quip. “I’m dragging you into society, one unwilling step at a time.”

By the time you actually manage to get him dressed, you feel like you’ve aged five years. But when you take a step back to admire the result, it’s worth it. Idia looks stunning, even if he’s fidgeting like his clothes are secretly made of fire ants. He’s basically the human version of a rare collectible: usually hidden away, but absolutely jaw-dropping when you finally get to see him.

“Alright, Prince Drama,” you say, exhaling, “I’m going to get dressed. Try not to set anything on fire while I’m gone.”

When you return, you immediately notice something’s up. Ortho’s whispering something to Idia, and whatever it is, it’s causing a nuclear-level blush to spread across his face. He’s stiff as a board, and when he turns around and sees you in your ball attire, he goes straight from “mildly panicked” to “catastrophic system error.”

Without warning, he chucks a flower at you. Just full-on throws it like it’s a projectile weapon.

“Here,” he croaks out, his voice cracking halfway through.

You blink, catching the flower mid-air with one hand. “Uh, thanks? Were you... trying to plant this on me?”

Idia’s face somehow manages to get even redder. “No—I mean yes—I mean—” He looks around for help, but Ortho just gives him an unhelpful thumbs up from the corner.

You grin, deciding to help the poor guy out. “Why don’t you pin it in my hair instead?”

His hands shake as he fumbles with the pin, and you’re pretty sure he’s using every ounce of self-control not to stab you in the scalp. You bite your lip, trying not to laugh, but the whole situation is just too funny. Especially when Ortho gives you a conspiratorial wink from behind Idia’s back like he’s this close to winning a bet.

The ball itself is, as expected, a social hellscape. You and Idia survive by sticking together like conjoined twins, fending off the waves of nosy nobles and fake smiles. You can practically see the stress radiating off of Idia, his expression one of pure misery.

And then, the king makes his grand address, signaling the start of the first dance. You feel Idia stiffen beside you.

“Oh no,” he mutters, “Oh no. This is where it all goes downhill. I’ll trip, I’ll break my leg, and then they’ll throw me in the royal dungeon for embarrassing the family.”

“Relax,” you say, squeezing his hand. “It’s just one dance. I’ll lead, you follow. Easy.”

“I hate this,” he mumbles as you drag him onto the floor. “I hate everything about this. I should have just set myself on fire and gotten out of it that way.”

But despite his protests, you manage to lead him through the first few steps of the waltz. To your surprise, he’s not completely hopeless. He stumbles a little at first, but with you guiding him, he starts to get the hang of it.

“You’re doing great,” you say encouragingly.

“Stop lying,” he grumbles. “I’m one misstep away from taking us both out like a bowling ball hitting pins.”

The music continues, and with every turn and spin, you notice the room around you fading into the background. For a moment, it’s just you and Idia, navigating the intricate steps of the dance together. He’s still anxious, but he’s keeping up, and more importantly, you can tell he’s starting to trust you. He’s letting you take the lead, and for someone like Idia, that’s huge.

From Idia’s perspective, this entire ball is a waking nightmare. He’s completely out of his element, surrounded by people he’d normally go to great lengths to avoid. But then there’s you. You’re handling everything with this... ease, this grace that he can’t even begin to comprehend. You’re not just dancing with him, you’re actively navigating the minefield of court politics like it’s no big deal.

And you don’t need to do this. This isn’t your problem—it’s Ortho’s succession, not yours. But you’re here, by his side, going all out to make sure Ortho’s future is secure. Idia’s heart twists in his chest. He doesn’t get it. You’re way too cool for this. Too cool for him. You wink at him mid-spin, and he feels like his brain’s short-circuiting.

"Oh no. I like them. Like, really like them. And soon, they’ll be gone. This whole engagement is just for show. After Ortho’s investiture, we’ll go back to our separate lives, right?"

He swallows hard, trying not to freak out, but it’s too late. He’s in way too deep.

After the dance, you lead him off the floor and start mingling with the other nobles, making alliances and doing your whole “political mastermind” thing. Idia stands awkwardly to the side, trying to blend into the wallpaper, but his eyes keep following you. You don’t have to do all this for Ortho, but you are. And that’s... that’s really cool. He admires you, he can’t help it.

And then—oh no. The lower nobles. They spot him and beeline toward him like sharks smelling blood. Before he can make a break for it, they swarm around him, throwing party invitations at him like confetti.

“Prince Idia, you simply must attend our garden soirée next week,” one of them gushes, eyes sparkling.

“And our evening gala!” another pipes up. “You’ll be the guest of honor, of course!”

Idia’s face goes pale, and he shoots you a look that screams, HELP ME.

You swoop in like a knight in shining armor. “Ah, yes, well, unfortunately, Idia can’t attend. He’s... uh... allergic to sunlight.”

The nobles stare at you, blinking in confusion. Idia stares at you too, his expression a mix of disbelief and amusement.

“Allergic to... sunlight?” one noble repeats, frowning.

You facepalm. Smooth. “I mean... it’s a joke! Ha! Obviously! What I meant to say is... uh...” You scramble for an excuse. “I need a nap.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“I—uh—can’t sleep without him,” you blurt out. “It’s, uh, a couple thing.”

The nobles blink at you again, thoroughly bewildered.

You grab Idia’s arm, muttering, “We’re leaving,” and make a quick exit, practically dragging him behind you.

As soon as you’re out of earshot, you let out a groan. “Oh my god, I can’t believe I said that. ‘Allergic to sunlight’? Really?”

Idia is doubled over laughing, completely losing it. “You what?!” he howls. “You need a nap? And you can’t sleep without me?!”

“Shut up!” you say, cheeks burning. “I was trying to save you!”

“You saved me? More like doomed me!” He wheezes between laughs, clutching his stomach. “Oh man, you are terrible at this. You make me look good, and that’s saying something.”

You glare at him, but his laughter is so infectious that you can’t stay mad. And honestly? He looks free. Unbridled, even. It’s the first time you’ve seen him laugh so openly, so without reservation, that it almost makes you forget how embarrassing the situation was.

Almost.

It's finally time for Ortho's investiture, and to say you feel unprepared would be an understatement. Not for any political reason—you've long since mastered the art of navigating court intrigue. No, the issue is far more personal, far more heart-wrenching. After today, once Ortho is declared Crown Prince, Idia will no longer have any excuse to stay in the spotlight. He'll retreat, back into the shadows, probably even fake his own kidnapping to get out of any future public events. And you?

You'll finally get that peaceful beach house you’ve been dreaming about.

But the thought doesn’t feel like a reward. It feels bitter. You don’t want that beach house—not if it means losing Idia. The man who’s wormed his way into your heart with his sarcasm, awkwardness, and hidden kindness.

But you know he’s not someone you can tie down. Idia doesn’t do well with permanence. And as much as your heart begged to hold on to him, you also know he’d likely slip through your fingers if you tried.

So you do what any self-respecting person would in this situation: put on a brave face, slip into your formal attire, and prepare to smile your way through heartbreak.

When you walk out to greet Idia, he’s already dressed in his formal robes, looking every bit the reluctant royal. His eyes widen slightly when he sees you, but he says nothing, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve.

You muster up the strength to smile and reach for his hand. “Ready?”

He nods, but neither of you can meet the other’s eyes.

From Idia’s perspective, today should feel like a victory. He’s been planning for Ortho’s investiture for months, and now that the day is finally here, he should be feeling nothing but relief. But no—he’s filled with an overwhelming sense of dread. It’s not about Ortho. His little brother is brilliant, and Idia knows the kingdom is in good hands.

No, what he’s not ready for is letting you go.

If someone had told him a year ago that he would care about someone—want someone—so desperately, he would’ve locked them up in a mental facility. But here he is, standing on the precipice of his worst nightmare.

You, who shine in every public setting, who effortlessly charm everyone around you, are going to move on. He knows he can’t tie you down with his reclusive lifestyle, his constant desire to escape from the world. How could he? You’re everything he’s not—bright, resplendent, beloved. He can’t ask you to give up your life for him.

But when you come out and take his hand, his heart skips a beat. Neither of you are able to look each other in the eye, but the gesture says more than any words could.

The investiture itself goes off without a hitch. Ortho’s speech is flawless, full of the hope and wisdom of a ruler who will no doubt lead the kingdom into a golden age. You’re so proud of him—of the boy who’s become like a little brother to you.

But even as you smile and clap with the rest of the court, you feel a heaviness in your chest that has nothing to do with the political spectacle unfolding before you.

A few tears slip down your cheeks, and you don’t even know if they’re from the overwhelming pride you feel for Ortho or the quiet heartbreak you’ve been trying to suppress all day.

Before you can wipe them away, Idia silently hands you his handkerchief. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at you, and that just makes the ache in your heart a little worse.

You take it with a quiet, “Thanks,” dabbing at your eyes, and you both stand there in tense silence, watching as the formalities continue around you.

Once the investiture concludes and the guests filter out, you and Idia retreat to a balcony to catch your breath. The sky is darkening, and the cool evening breeze does little to soothe the heaviness you feel in the pit of your stomach.

Idia breaks the silence first. "I've, uh... already arranged the beach house. It’s in your name now."

You blink, looking over at him. His voice cracks slightly, and when you finally turn to face him fully, you realize that he looks like the very picture of heartbreak. He’s not meeting your eyes, staring out into the distance as if it’ll keep him from falling apart.

You swallow hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “Idia... do you want me to leave?”

He freezes, still not looking at you. "I... I want you to be happy. I mean, that's the whole point, right? The beach house, everything—you’ve been wanting that for ages."

“I didn’t ask if you wanted me to be happy,” you say quietly. “I asked if you want me to stay or go.”

The silence between you stretches, heavy and suffocating. You hold your breath, waiting for him to answer. When he finally speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper.

“I... I don’t know what I’m gonna do if you’re not here anymore.”

That’s all the confirmation you need. Before he can say anything else, you step forward, cupping his face and pulling him into a kiss. For a split second, he stiffens, shocked, but then he melts into it, his arms wrapping around you like he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go.

It’s everything you needed and more—sweet, desperate, and filled with all the words neither of you have been able to say. When you finally pull away, you rest your forehead against his, both of you breathing heavily.

“Come with me,” you whisper. “To the beach house. We can... we can figure everything out from there.”

Idia lets out a watery laugh, one that’s half-disbelief, half-relief. “You really want a shut-in like me hanging around your dream house? You’re gonna get sick of me in a week.”

You smile, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “I don’t think I could ever get sick of you. So... what do you say?”

He hesitates for a moment, then gives a small nod, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “Yeah... okay. I’ll come with you.”

And just like that, the weight that’s been pressing down on your chest all day lifts. It’s not the end—it’s a new beginning. One where you and Idia don’t have to part ways, where you can move forward together.

As you both stand there on the balcony, holding each other close, the world feels a little less daunting, and the future a little brighter.

The grand hall is slowly emptying out, nobles drifting away after offering their congratulations to Ortho. You and Idia maneuver through the lingering crowd, dodging overly-friendly dukes and avoiding eye contact with barons hoping to extend the festivities.

Idia clings to your arm like a cat being dragged to the vet, mumbling, “Please tell me we’re not about to be emotionally ambushed again.”

You smirk. “Relax. It’s just Ortho.”

“Yeah, that’s what you always say before things get sentimental and I have to deal with ‘feelings.’”

You spot Ortho standing near the dais, still wearing the ceremonial robes from his investiture. Despite the long night, he looks bright-eyed, waving cheerfully at some departing courtiers. When he catches sight of you two, his face breaks into the biggest grin, and he hurries over like an eager puppy.

“There you are!” Ortho beams, practically glowing with excitement. “I was worried you left without saying goodbye.”

“Us? Leave without saying goodbye?” you tease. “What kind of villains do you think we are?”

“Exactly the kind who would sneak away in the middle of a banquet,” Idia mutters under his breath. “And you know what? That plan still sounds great.”

Ortho rolls his eyes fondly. “You’re impossible, brother.”

“Only when I’m awake.”

“Anyway,” you cut in, shooting Idia a playful glare before turning back to Ortho, “we wanted to talk to you before we go.”

Ortho’s smile falters, just a bit. “You’re leaving already?”

You nod, squeezing Idia’s arm. “Yeah. We’re heading to the beach house.”

Ortho tilts his head, curious but not upset. “You’re moving there?”

“For a while, yeah,” you explain gently. “Idia and I need a break from all the court politics. But don’t worry. We’ll visit you. Often.”

Idia shifts beside you, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, uh... It’s not like I’m leaving forever or anything. Just... you know, temporarily escaping society.”

Ortho laughs, but there’s a softness in his gaze now. “I get it. I don’t blame you for wanting to leave all this behind for a bit.”

You take a step closer, voice lowering. “And hey... I know you’ve got a lot on your plate now. But we’re still family. If you need anything—anything—we’ll be here for you.”

Ortho’s grin returns, full force. “I know. I’m really glad you two have each other. Honestly, I was worried for a long time that Idia might never find someone willing to put up with him.”

“Gee, thanks,” Idia deadpans. “Glad my personal development arc has been so inspiring for you.”

“But seriously,” Ortho says, his expression softening again. “Thank you. You’ve done more for us than you had to. I know you could have just... gone back to your world or left things as they were. But you stayed. And you helped him.”

Oh no. Not this again. That suspicious prickle starts in your eyes, and you blink rapidly to fend off the tears. Not now. Not in public.

“You’re not... making me cry,” you insist, even as your voice wobbles. “This is just... allergy season.”

“Oh no, it’s happening,” Idia groans dramatically, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please don’t cry. If you cry, Ortho’s gonna cry, and if Ortho cries, the nobles will definitely blame me.”

“Shut up, you big baby,” you sniffle, swatting his arm before pulling Ortho into a hug. “Come here, you. Group hug, now.”

Ortho barely has time to react before you’ve wrapped him up in your arms. He laughs, squeezing you back. You reach out blindly and grab Idia’s sleeve, yanking him into the fray.

“Wait—wait, what—!” Idia stumbles forward, sandwiched awkwardly between you and Ortho. “This is... I don’t...”

“Shhh,” you whisper, patting his back. “Feel the love.”

“This is emotional ambush!” Idia protests, voice muffled against your shoulder. “I want it on record that I was forced into this.”

“Noted,” Ortho says with a laugh, hugging both of you tighter. “But you’re not getting out of it.”

For a moment, the three of you just stand there, huddled together in a ridiculous knot of limbs, nobles glancing your way but tactfully avoiding comment.

Idia mutters into your ear, “This... this is basically treason against introverts.”

You grin. “Consider it penance for being emotionally stunted.”

“You’re both the worst,” he grumbles, but his arms stay wrapped around you.

Eventually, you pull back, wiping your eyes with the heel of your hand. “We’ll be back soon, Ortho. I promise.”

“I know.” Ortho smiles warmly, giving you one last squeeze. “And when you do, I’ll make sure you never have to attend another dull court event again.”

Idia perks up at that. “Oh. Now that’s what I call incentive.”

With one last shared laugh, the three of you break apart. Ortho steps back, standing tall and proud in his new role, though his smile still holds all the warmth of a little brother seeing his family off.

“Take care of him,” Ortho says quietly, glancing meaningfully at you.

“I plan to,” you reply, meeting his gaze with a small, reassuring smile.

“And you,” Ortho adds, looking at Idia. “Don’t screw this up.”

Idia gapes, indignant. “I—why does everyone assume I’m the one who’s going to screw it up?!”

You and Ortho exchange amused glances before both of you answer in perfect unison:

“Because you will.”

Idia groans. “Yeah, okay. Fair.”

With that, you bid Ortho one final goodbye, tugging Idia along before anyone else can rope you into small talk. As you leave the grand hall and step out into the cool night air, the weight on your shoulders feels a little lighter.

Idia sighs in relief. “Well, that’s over. Time to hibernate for the next decade.”

You chuckle, lacing your fingers through his. “Hibernation in the beach house?”

“Hell yeah.”

And with that, the two of you set off into the night, leaving the court behind—for now.

Oh, what happened to the heroine and the male lead, you ask? Let’s rewind a few months before Ortho’s investiture—back when they were still blissfully unaware of the elaborate downfall that awaited them.

You knew that the heroine and the male lead would try to make a spectacle of themselves during Ortho’s rise to power. The way they pranced around, flaunting their superficial charm and good looks like they owned the place—it was insufferable. And, of course, they were always scheming in the background, hoping to secure power and glory for themselves. You couldn’t stand it.

So, you set up the perfect trap.

It began at a lavish gala, one of those unnecessarily extravagant events where nobles gathered to network, gossip, and throw subtle insults at each other. You arrived fashionably late, as any proper duchess would, with Idia reluctantly in tow, mumbling under his breath about how every social event felt like “one of those long quests with zero rewards.”

“The rewards are emotional, Idia,” you whisper, linking arms with him.

“Yeah, emotional damage,” he mutters.

You suppress a smile, but your mind is elsewhere. Tonight is the night. You had planted the seeds weeks ago, a few well-placed rumors, some whispered insinuations, and a letter you’d accidentally left behind in a well-trafficked corridor. It was all coming together like a beautifully chaotic symphony, and now, the climax.

You spot the heroine first, her radiant smile masking the venom beneath. She’s making a grand entrance, arm-in-arm with the male lead, who, as always, looks like he’s stepped straight out of a romance novel. His hair is perfect, his jawline sharp enough to cut through glass. But you know better. They’re both so predictable.

“They’ve arrived,” you murmur to Idia.

He gives you a blank stare. “Yeah, cool, I’m just here to not die of social exhaustion. Whatever you’re planning... don’t tell me. I don’t wanna be involved.”

“Suit yourself,” you reply with a grin.

You watch them mingle, waiting for the right moment. And there it is—the heroine, attempting to cozy up to the king, laughing a little too loudly at one of his mediocre jokes. You slip through the crowd, making your way to where a certain nosy noblewoman is holding court. A noblewoman known for her love of gossip and her even greater love of ruining people’s lives with it.

Perfect.

You lean in, feigning concern. “Oh, My Lady... I probably shouldn’t say this, but I heard the strangest thing about the heroine. You won’t believe it.”

Her eyes gleam with curiosity. “Do tell, my dear.”

“Well,” you drop your voice to a whisper, “there’s talk that the heroine and the male lead are involved in some... unsavory business dealings. Something about embezzling funds from the royal coffers for their own gain? I don’t know how true it is, of course... but it would explain some things, wouldn’t it?”

You leave the rest unsaid, letting her imagination do the rest. The best part? It’s all technically true. You had orchestrated it so well, the heroine and the male lead had no idea that their “private” meetings and “innocent” financial maneuvers were anything but secret.

She gasps, her fan snapping shut. “I knew there was something off about them! Oh, the gall! I must inform the king immediately!”

And just like that, the gossip spreads like wildfire. Within minutes, the entire room is buzzing with scandalous whispers. The heroine and the male lead notice the shift, the way people start looking at them, and for the first time, they’re on the back foot. They try to smile, but their unease is palpable.

You sit back, watching the chaos unfold, sipping your wine as nobles begin to distance themselves from the pair, shooting them suspicious glances.

Idia sidles up next to you, looking around at the suddenly tense atmosphere. “What... what did you do?”

“Who, me?” You bat your eyelashes innocently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He gives you a side-eye. “You’re terrifying.”

“You knew that when you asked me to be your fake fiancée.”

The next day, official inquiries are launched into the heroine and the male lead’s finances, and though they try to clear their names, it’s no use. The damage is done. Their reputations are ruined beyond repair, and they’re forced to withdraw from court life entirely. A fitting end for their ambitions.

Which brings you to the present...

It’s a peaceful morning in your beach house, and you’re sitting on the veranda, enjoying your coffee while the sun rises over the horizon. The sound of waves crashing against the shore is your only company, and for once, there’s no looming political intrigue or royal drama to worry about.

That is, until Idia stumbles out of the bedroom, his hair a messy blue cloud, his eyes half-closed with sleep. He groans as he sees you, one hand on the wall to steady himself. “Why are you up so early? It’s like... the middle of the night.”

“It’s 10 AM,” you reply with a laugh.

“Exactly,” he grumbles, shuffling over to you. Without another word, he flops down beside you, his head immediately finding its way to your neck. He nuzzles into you, muttering something unintelligible, and you chuckle softly, patting him on the cheek.

“You’re such a big baby in the morning,” you tease, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.

Despite being married for the past two years, Idia’s face turns tomato-red every time you do something affectionate. He blushes furiously now, burying his face in the crook of your neck to hide it.

“Y-You’re unfair,” he mumbles, voice muffled. “Saying stuff like that... it’s embarrassing.”

You grin. “But you’re so cute.”

“I’m not cute. I’m a grown man. And you’re a villain for making me get up before noon.”

You laugh, running your fingers through his messy hair. “Maybe, but I’m your villain. So deal with it.”

Idia groans dramatically but makes no effort to move away, too comfortable where he is. You continue sipping your coffee, enjoying the moment of peace, when he finally speaks again, a little softer this time.

“Y’know... you really did a number on the heroine and the male lead. They’re still laying low, huh?”

“Maybe the rumor I spread was truly a masterpiece,” you say with a smirk, remembering how perfectly everything had gone according to plan.

Idia snorts. “A masterpiece of destruction, maybe.”

You chuckle, pressing another kiss to his forehead. He sighs contentedly, the two of you basking in the quiet comfort of your shared life. It’s moments like this that remind you just how far you’ve come together, from court intrigue and scandal to peaceful mornings at your beach house.

And honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist

For the next part,

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #idia x reader #idia shroud x reader #idia shroud x you #idia shroud #idia #idia x you #trash novel chronicles

1K notes · View notes

salynaa · 2 months ago

Text

“Look of love”

Warnings : None, fluff, bad writing.

Characters ; Burning Spice, Pure Vanilla, Shadow Milk, Wind Archer.

Synopsis : They lived beneath the weight of every gaze, flashes of awe, shadows of disdain, the hush of judgment.. But never had they met the eyes of love. Until yours. What would they do, when faced with such gentle gaze?

Author note : My bad if I didn’t really catch the character right in the personality or lore!! I don’t read it at all tbh. The Shadow Milk and Wind archer part are the best one, more accurate!!🫶

Burning Spice

He knows what it is to be admired. Revered, even. His name was spoken with awe, with fear, with reverence. A name carved into legend by fire and fury. Crowds didn’t love him, they worshipped his strength, his power to reduce anything to ashes. But love? No. That was something else entirely.

And nothing he’s known before feels anything like what you give him.

Your love doesn’t come with fireworks or fanfare. It arrives quietly, like embers on a cold night. It lingers in your gaze when you look at him, not with fear, not pity, not with worship, but with something much gentler. Something warmer. Something he doesn’t know what to do with.

He doesn’t understand it. Doesn’t want to. Because understanding means thinking, and thinking means remembering. And memory is dangerous for someone like him. It means facing what he’s done, the lives turned to cinders in his wake, the silence after the storm. It means standing in the ruins of the past and admitting that somewhere, a part of him is still burning.

He has lived a life forged in heat and destruction. He’s been a weapon, a wildfire. It’s easier not to think. Easier to keep moving, to keep burning.

But you, you're a different kind of flame.

You're the softness he was never meant for someone like him to touch. You speak gently, as if your voice might soothe the parts of him that scream. You look at him like he's someone worth loving. You see him, not the destroyer, not the legend, but the Cookie underneath. And that shakes him.

Why? Why do you look at him like that? Why do you stay, when you know what he’s capable of? He’s scorched entire landscapes, left nothing but ruin behind. You know this. You’ve heard the stories, maybe even stood in the smoke of what he left behind. And still… you stay.

At first, he resented you. Hated you, even. Because you made him feel. Made him remember. You forced open doors he had slammed shut long ago. You planted something in him he didn't ask for, hope. Longing. And worse, need.

But that bitterness has melted into something else, something deeper, something terrifying.

Because now, he would do anything to protect this fragile peace you’ve given him. He would scorch the skies, split the earth, ignite every battlefield again, if it meant keeping you safe. Keep that sweet peace that lies in the rest of the crumbles.

Pure Vanilla

There are many who love Pure Vanilla.

They love the idea of him, the monarch, the healer, the forgiving heart. A symbol of hope wrapped in warmth, glowing with the soft brilliance of truth. They gather around him like moths to a lantern, asking for guidance, comfort, absolution. And he gives it, always. Without hesitation. Without resentment.

That’s what it means to be him.

He listens. He forgives. He heals.

He shines, even when the light sometimes loses its brilliance.

And yet, with every wound he mends, he forgets a little more what it feels like to be tended to. With every soul he lifts, his own sinks a little deeper into quiet sorrow. No one sees it, not really. Not behind the ever present smile, the soft voice, the unwavering calm.

No one sees, until you.

You don’t come to him with prayers or praise. You don’t speak to him like a saint or a symbol. You don’t ask him for miracles. Instead, you ask how he’s doing.

And when he tries to answer with the same gentle, polished words he offers to everyone, “I’m well. Thank you for asking.”, you simply blink, tilt your head, and say :

“...Are you sure?”

He doesn’t know how to respond.

Because you mean it. He can tell. Your eyes hold no awe, no worship. Only honesty. Concern. That quiet softness he gives to everyone else, you’re giving it to him. And it feels… foreign. Strange.

And yet, he can’t look away.

He finds in your gaze a kind of light that is not his own. A light that doesn’t ask him to be anything, not perfect, not powerful, not even good. Just present. Just himself.

He doesn’t know what to do with that.

He tries to keep his distance at first. Not because he dislikes you, but because he’s afraid. Afraid that if he lets himself be seen too closely, the cracks in him will show. That the perfect image everyone believes in will begin to fall apart under your gaze.

And then what would be left?

But you never asked him to be perfect.

You sit beside him during quiet evenings outside, never pressing. You speak of simple things, flowers, dreams, stories from your day. And little by little, he begins to speak back about himself. Just softly. Just enough. Until one day, he says something he never thought he would.

“I… don’t always know how to carry it.”

You don’t ask what “it” means.

You just reach out, gently, and take his hand in yours. When his hands tremble just slightly. You never mention it. You never ask why his smile sometimes falters when you reach for him. But you notice. And that's what makes it real. You see his grief, his weariness, his regrets, and still, you choose to stay.

And he thinks, this is what it must feel like.

To be held. Not because he is needed. Not because he is useful. But just because he exists.

You never try to fix him. Never try to tell him to stop carrying the burdens he’s chosen. You simply remind him that he doesn’t have to carry them alone. That even light needs rest. That even kindness needs to be met, not just given.

And over time, the weight in his chest begins to shift.

He still shines. He still heals. But now, when he looks at you, there is something new in his eyes. Not just gratitude, but longing. Safety. Love. A quiet promise he’s never made before, not to the kingdom, not to his friends, not even to himself.

Only to you.

That if he must carry hope for the world, maybe he could allow himself to be carried for once?

Shadow Milk

“Seriously… what is wrong with you?”

That’s what he always says, sharp, mocking, laced with that smirk he wears like armor. His voice cuts like the shadow of a blade, playful but biting, every word dripping with disbelief. He leans in close, just enough to unsettle you, eyes narrowed in suspicion and something far more dangerous, curiosity.

“What’s going on in that silly little head of yours, hmm?” he murmurs. “What are you really trying to do?”

Because surely, surely, you’re trying to trick him.

You must be. Everyone lies. Everyone wants something. And you, you, with your soft eyes and steady voice, with the way you look at him like he’s something more than just a clever mask and a whisper in the dark, you must be playing a game. Right?

You must be lying.

Trying to trap him with affection, lure him with kindness. Pretending to care, just to see if the beast will bare his teeth or show you something broken beneath them. That’s what this is. It has to be.

Because no one, no one, looks at Shadow Milk Cookie like that and tells the truth.

But then your gaze meets his.

And something in him falters.

Just for a second.

There’s no deceit in your eyes. No hidden agenda, no gleam of manipulation or shadowed intent. There’s just… sincerity. So soft it hurts. So warm it disorients. You look at him like you see past every trick, every cruel smile, every little lie he’s ever told, and still choose him.

And that?

That’s the most terrifying thing of all.

Because he knows lies. He lives in lies. He is the lie. He’s twisted truths into knots so tight they choke. He’s laughed while pulling strings, smiled while watching others fall for illusions he crafted just for fun. Deceit is his nature. His playground. His weapon.

But you…

You don’t play.

You don’t twist.

You don’t pretend.

You look at him like he’s real.

And now? He’s the one who doesn’t know what’s real anymore.

He tries to shake it off. Scoffs. Rolls his eyes. Throws his usual venom into the air like smoke. “Tch. You really think I’m going to fall for that?” he hisses, always with the same sharp. “You think you can fool me? The beast of deceit himself?”

But the truth is, it’s already too late.

Because you’re not fooling him.

You’re undoing him.

You’re dragging light into corners of him that haven’t seen it in ages. You’re whispering kindness into a soul that only knows how to echo back lies. You’re seeing him, and for the first time in forever, he doesn’t want to run. Doesn’t want to hide behind smoke and shadow.

He wants to believe.

But belief is dangerous. It’s soft. Fragile. Exposed.

And Shadow Milk is not fragile.

At least, he thought. Until now.

So he stares at you longer than he should. Quiet. Still. His grin doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His usual retorts hang silent in his throat.

Because deep down, where the lies go quiet and the mask begins to slip, he knows.

You’re not trying to trick him.

You love him. Honestly. Genuinely. Without condition.

And he doesn't know how to survive that.

So he’ll laugh. He’ll taunt. He’ll spin another web, play another game. But something in his voice will shake. Something in his gaze will soften. Because now, your truth lives in him like a splinter of light.

And no matter how many shadows he casts, it won’t stop glowing.

Wind Archer

He has known many silences.

The hush of a forest at dawn. The sacred stillness before rainfall. The sigh of leaves in the wake of a passing breeze. These were once his companions, soft, wordless things. He did not need voices when the world spoke to him through petals and branches, through the rustle of trees and the kiss of the wind.

Once, he was the wind. Light and unburdened. Wild and aimless. He danced through the forest, carrying fragrance and joy wherever he passed. That was before.

Before the darkness came.

Before the stillness he loved turned brittle and heavy with dread.

Before he was given form.

Now, he walks not as a whisper, but as a warrior.

Wind Archer Cookie, the protector of the forest. A title. A duty. A weight he bears not with bitterness, but with quiet solemnity. He knows what he was given. He knows what he must do. He carries hope like a flame in his chest, shielding it from every gust that threatens to snuff it out.

But hope, even in the purest heart, can falter when it has no place to rest.

Then came you.

You, with eyes like spring and a presence like sunlight through the canopy. A soul not forged in battle, not wrapped in the vines of destiny, but open. Kind. Alive.

He found, in the depths of your gaze, the same quiet he once found in the forest, but warmer. Where the forest asks nothing, you invite. You offer. You welcome.

You are not a duty. You are not a purpose. You are simply there.

And somehow, that undoes him.

He has stood against storms, faced down corruption, whispered prayers to ancient trees. But he is helpless before the softness in your eyes. Before the way you smile at him not as a guardian, not as a legend, but simply... as a Cookie. As if he’s not some sacred sentinel, just someone you care about.

At first, he did not know how to be near you.

He kept his distance, watched you in silence, like one might observe a sunrise, too beautiful to touch. You reminded him of what he had once been. Free. Unburdened. He told himself that was enough.

But he lingered.

Every time your laughter echoed through the trees, he paused. Every time your hand brushed against the bark of an ancient tree with reverence, he watched. Every time you looked at him, truly looked, he felt something stir beneath the wind and leaves and purpose.

A longing.

Not to run. Not to hide.

But to rest.

You speak to him not with grand declarations, but in the way you exist. Peaceful. Steady. Real. You do not pull him from his duty, but you give him something he has never had.

A place where the wind can stop moving.

A place where it can simply be.

He doesn’t know how to ask for it. He doesn’t even know if he should. The forest still needs him. The darkness still creeps. Hope is still a fire he must carry.

But sometimes, when your hand brushes his, and you meet his gaze with that quiet warmth that says stay, he wonders.

If maybe... just maybe... he’s allowed to be more than the wind.

————————————————————————

Hope you guys liked!!🫶🍊 Give feedback y’all, and maybe I would do a part two?? Say who you would like to see!!

Coems🤑 I don’t know SHIT about the deep lore of the characters except smc, so probably not accurate at all!! And the burning spice part was terrible, I know.

#salynaa #cookie run kingdom #cookierunkingdom #crk #crk x y/n #self insert #cookie run x reader #crk x reader #crk x you #shadow milk cookie #shadow milk x reader #pure vanilla x reader #burning spice x reader #pure vanilla cookie #burning spice cookie #wind archer x reader #wind archer cookie

573 notes · View notes

brittle-doughie · 2 months ago

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/brittle-doughie/785229344640483328/whod-be-the-most-likely-to-give-yn-the-omni-man?source=share

show us the speech

I’d be retreading what I wrote for it in the Warmth fic, but why not.

[Virtue of Compassion AU]

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“Your efforts will be for nothing! Joining my Spice Swarm will make Earthbread better than before! In FLAMES!”

“And what if every Cookie in the land resists?”

“Then they will all fall. One by one. One swing of my axe at a time. To show them how pointless it is that they continue to fight a useless battle.”

“I won’t let you. Golden Cheese Cookie won’t let you-“

Burning Spice stops you with a hit to your face, sending you back against the wall of his temple, barely standing up.

“YOU WANT TO CRUMBLE FOR HER?! VERY WELL! WHAT’S A DOZEN MORE EONS TO ME?! I CAN ALWAYS FIND ANOTHER LIKE YOU!! A BETTER Y/N COOKIE!!”

He kept hitting you and hitting you, yet your dough does not waver. His burning rage starts to wear down with that look of content on your face, as bruised as it was…

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

“What are you doing out here? You’re going to miss those Cookies begin the start of a new civilization!”

“It’s just going to be how the rest of the civilizations we’ve looked at will turn out. They rise, they fall, they rise, they fall. It always changing, yet never seems to change…”

“Is that you think? Why think of the inevitable end when we can cherish the moments that we can have now? Have these thoughts been troubling you lately?”

“For years. The only reason I’ve continued to endure this cycle was because of your ceaseless pleas.”

“And is it working, you grump?”

“Tch. As ashamed as I am to admit it, but yes.”

“Hey, it’s okay. Even if everything changes and remains the same around us, when Cookies come and go, we’ll still have each other, right?”

Burning Spice Cookie scoffed at your notion….

….but he couldn’t help but let a small smile creep up on his face as you patted his shoulder.

“Come on, they’re about to celebrate with a feast. They’ll have those meat jellies you love so much.”

Burning Spice watched on for a moment as you head off, you turn back to smile at him before continuing. He takes that as his cue and follows after you down towards the budding civilization.

For him? Yeah, Compassion was worth it…

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

His angry expression slowly falters as he kept his raised fist in the air, specks of jam littering his hand….he couldn’t bring himself to do it anymore…

“Bah! Damn it all….”

He lets you go and falls to his knees, as you slouched against in the wall in front of him. All that he could hear was your steady, but shaking breathing.

He looks at your state, and then gets angry again…

“WHY DID YOU MAKE ME DO THIS?! YOU’RE STANDING AGAINST ME, SO THAT EVERYONE AROUND YOU WILL CRUMBLE! THINK, Y/N COOKIE, THINK! YOU WILL OUTLAST EVERY FRAGILE, WEAK COOKIE IN THE LAND! YOU WILL LIVE TO SEE YOUR KINGDOM CRUMBLE TO DUST AND TURN TO NOTHING!”

“EVERYONE AND EVERYTHING YOU KNOW. WILL. BE. GONE. TURNED TO NOTHING.”

You continue to just steadily breathe…

“WHAT WILL YOU HAVE AFTER 500 HUNDRED EONS?!”

….

“You, Burning Spice Cookie. We’ll still have each other….”

Burning Spice’s face turns to surprise as he jumped back…those words….he still remembers those words…one of the many of the memories he still held onto…of them….

…

He didn’t notice it yet, but the tears were coming back…

“B-Burning Spice Cookie…?”

….

“…..Compassion…?”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

#cookie run #cookie run x reader #cookie run x you #brittle answers #cr x reader #cookie run kingdom #crk x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader #burning spice x reader #burning spice cookie x reader #virtue of compassion au

478 notes · View notes

tomasitaoficial · 3 days ago

Text

Its no big Deal-! Oc Animation!

I also wanted to say that I posted this to YouTube too! And if you support me there it would be AWESOME! Just click here ty!

+Bonus

They look different since it was when they had just been corrupted

#Sour Flame Cookie #Beast oc #Shadow Milk Cookie #Burning Spice Cookie #Mystic Flour Cookie #Silent Salt Cookie #Eternal Sugar Cookie #cookie run kingdom au #cookie run kingdom #crk oc #crk #shadow milk crk #burning spice #eternal sugar #Hope and Discord: The Beauty of Imperfections au

41 notes · View notes

kdh-tally · 1 month ago

Text

Saja Boys Food Preferences

Prompt : Saja Boys Try Human Food for Real (comment from @mythosmaiden)

Author's Note : The order was randomized i promise! Stay till the end for a short Bonus ;D Also I've noticed (i copy my work from a google doc into tumblr) a lot of my formatting changes (specifically indents :( )

Romance-Saja:

A sugar fiend

A sugar demon

Sugar

I do think he would have the BIGGEST sweet tooth out of all the Boys.

Would it be a stretch if I said that the “Soda Pop” song was influenced by him?

Imagine (when he’s still a demon) him being so oddly passionate about energy and brightness in human songs

Maybe it’s because it was something he never got to experience…

Anyways!

At first, it started slow.

He would definitely have tried chocolate as it fits with his whole romantic concept but then it becomes a craving he needs to fulfill everyday.

He would steal some of Mira’s food from her fan mail whenever he could and only become more obsessed.

But then someone handed him a crème brûlée (yk cause it’s french? and France is the city of love? And Love = Romance?) at a fan event, and it was over for everyone.

The type to have an organized snack drawer of his favourite sweets.

You have the candy in one drawer, the snacks in another and then a whole other section for chocolate.

At this point it isn’t even a snack drawer, it's a whole damn closet.

“This must be what heaven tastes like~” he hums, walking to the dorms with Mira and Abby

“Romance, that’s literally just sugar and fat.”

“Exactly.”

Fans now have photos of him sneaking off to cafés in full disguise.

There’s footage of a mysterious man inhaling cupcakes at a bakery in Seoul.

Fans know it’s him and they’re right but he denies it anyway.

He tries to get the others hooked so he doesn’t feel alone but they have their own addictions.

“Come on Mystery, just try the strawberry cheesecake. Just a bite.” he tries to feed him.

“I said no.”

“I always knew you hated me”

Baby-Saja :

He’s already made a name for himself.

His tastebuds are comparable to Bakugou’s from MHA.

High tolerance to spice.

As seen in the movie this guy was HAPPILY downing a bottle of hot-sauce.

He was literally kicking his feet. (TimeStamp on Netflix - 1:10:16)

As a result of this, he must add spice or hot sauce to anything.

It sounds weird to others but since he was a demon his taste buds are haywired and don’t work like they’re supposed to.

I imagine him on live eating icecream or something and he gets comments like “What flavour is that?”

Bro will deadass look into the camera and say “Jalapeno”

Who in the world made Jalapeno Icecream and why on earth is bro eating it???

In one of my past posts I mentioned that he would share his snacks with Zoey.

Zoey probably has a decently high spice tolerance (thanks to Mira) but it is NOTHING compared to Baby’s.

“You said these were flaming hot cheetos!” she whines as she hurriedly drinks a tall glass of ice cold water.

“Yea,” Baby shrugged, tossing a few more into his mouth. “They’re flaming hot” he pulls out a cheeto that is literally on fire.

Mira and Baby would have competitions

In the airplane scene, Mira’s ramen says Spice Queen so I heavily believe she loves spiciness as well.

Her tolerance isn’t as high as babies but she will go up against him solely out of spite.

“Are your taste buds even real?” Jinu would ask, watching him top raw chili peppers with habanero flakes. “They are. They’re just stronger than your whole bloodline.” “K.”

One day on tour he was forced to try some average cookies and almost turned back into a demon because of how bland it was.

He has a shelf in the company kitchen labeled. “DO NOT TOUCH. BABY’S FIREPANTRY.” The only person allowed to look through it is Mira because he respects her commitment.

Mystery-Saja :

He would act like he didn’t care about food at first.

Would side eye Romance for trying to feed him sweets and watch Baby warily as he basically burns his tongue off.

Though most of the demon powers faded, he still doesn’t need food to really survive.

Maybe they only have to eat like once a month or something before they begin starving.

Anyways

He ends up learning everything through Zoey

I wouldn’t say he cares for one specific food but more so food from a specific culture.

Said culture being american food style foods.

Burgers, Fries, Fried Chicken (gnarly), Tacos, Cheese Fries, Steak.

Big, messy and more or less very VERY unhealthy.

He’ll still act like he doesn’t care about food. He claims he only eats to survive.

Catch this man in the kitchen at midnight microwaving leftover pulled pork Zoey brought from some food place downtown.

“I thought you didn’t like barbecue.”

“I don’t.” His chewing is the only sound in the room “...It’s fine I guess.”

Zoey smirks. He blushes. She walks away before he can defend himself.

He now goes to Zoey for food now because she always seems to know the best places to eat nearby.

“Hey! I found this place that sells suuuuper good Philly cheesesteak. Taste it and tell me if it’s good.”

“For what?”

“Is it a crime to want to share this experience with my darling coworker?”

He has no response to that and stuffs the food into his mouth.

Heaven.

He can be found watching long tutorials on how to make a Mexican packed Burrito bowl from scratch.

No one questions it..

Abby-Saja :

The least picky

Somehow the most willing to try absolutely everything, no matter how strange.

The type to try Balut (developing fertilized duck) or Casu Marzu (maggot cheese)

Doesn’t necessarily care for food but wants to enjoy the human experience so he tries everything.

Fried crickets? He says they taste like chicken.

Boiled frog legs? He says they taste like Swamp style chicken.

Balut? Crunchy surprise chicken.

Notice the pattern?

Mira would dare him to try a Durian and at first he’s against it.

This honestly comes as a surprise cause he hasn’t minded all the other things

It was the odour that put him off though,

“It smells like toxic sewage” he’d complain before trying it.

He loves it.

He says its sweet and rich and creamy.

Mira is watching this in disgust btw.

He’d have a fan from Thailand deliver him a suitcase of dried insects to try out.

He thanks them profusely

Of course this confuses everyone.

He has a whole list ranging between sweet, savoury and down right horrid (but still somehow good?)

He’d spend days trying out each insect and rating them, loyally updating fans on his discovery.

“This reminds me of peanut butter” he’d say while eating out of a bag of crickets.

The group is heavily disturbed.

“Why do you do this?” Mystery eyes him while eating out of his own bag of caramelized pop-corn.

“Protein.”

“You don’t need to work out?”

“Spiritual protein.”

“You’re a demon??”

“Demonic protein”

“What does that even mean—”

He is now the food vlogger in the Saja Boys.

Seems like the type to do a mukbang but not because of the asmr. Really just because he knows his fans want to see just how far he’ll go with his food.

There are compilation reels of his chaotic reviews.

Some of them feature Zoey cause she’s the least bothered.

Jinu-Saja :

Seeing as he was human before, he seems like the type to cling onto the food from his past life.

A traditionalist in the culinary sense.

Maybe cause eating traditional food reminds him of what he could have had with his mom and sister, before everything went wrong.

Or maybe not 🤷

“Why are we eating scorpion skewers when there’s rice and kimchi in the fridge?”

“Because the scorpions were on sale, Jinu,” Abby says, chewing.

After learning how money worked in the human world the boys either became shopaholics (Romance and Baby) or very frugal (Abby and maybe Mystery).

He tries to explain and introduce the boys to korean staples

Kimchi-jjigae, Tteokbokki, Bibimbap, Bulgogi, Jjajangmyeon, etc.

The boys do not get it

The girls do.

He turns into a male wife for Huntr/x. Cooking for them everyday just so he can see SOMEONE appreciate the traditional food.

He didn’t know how to cook at first. As we know from the movie, he was served food and never seemed to have to make it himself.

However I can see him forcing himself to learn how to do it. Kinda like to take his past back in a way. Maybe make his mom proud.

To Jinu it isn’t just food. It’s control. It's the ability to create something and call it his own.

It’s the first time in 400 years that he could put something into the world that didn’t cause destruction.

Rumi would find him heating up and plating Banchan in the middle of the night. She’d jump up to sit on the counter beside him, just watching.

“Need help?” she’d offer but he’d shake his head

He enjoys the peace that comes with reviving memories. Memories he actually enjoys.

Now when he cooks he doesn’t see the castle life he greedily enjoyed, but instead a group of his closest friends fighting over food.

Mira -> “This is almost as good as my grandma’s…”

Jinu -> “Really 🥺?”

BONUS : Huntr/x

Zoey : The honorary food guide, bringing random snacks for Mystery (and the others i guess) to try. Also loves snacks

“Here. This one’s American BBQ chips. It’s mid.”

“I found you some boiled snails Abby!!!”

“We’re out of hot sauceeee :(“

Mira : The spice queen.

Not as talented as Baby but is the closest second.

Often borrows the least spiciest food she can find in Baby’s stash.

She will however, eat from Mystery’s snack closet though.

“It’s alright I guess,” she scoffs as she eats another chocolate covered strawberry.

Rumi : The picky eater. She judges everything.

Well everything except Jinu’s cooking

“The texture’s all wrong,” she grumbles while forcing a piece of kimchi down her throat.

“It’s just pickled cabbage Rumi,” Jinu would point out

“It’s gross it what it is”

“You don't like it? 🙁”

“Jinu no…..”

388 notes · View notes

umbrella-show · 5 months ago

Text

𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐞

I know I've been doing a lot of Shadow Milk stuff but I wanna give Burning spice cookie some love for a moment bc hes so cool ❤

The clang of clashing metal filled the open space. You swung your axe repeatedly in a frenzy, desperate to at least graze the dough of the Beast of destruction. Yet, he dogged every single one of your sloppy swings with ease. Trained onto the way you haphazardly swung the smaller axe over and over again, his eyes were narrow. Not in concentration, but in an expression of disappointment. Sweat dripped down your forehead as you stumbled forward in exhaustion, but continued to attempt to attack him. His axe met yours halfway, and with ease, he hit your axe out of your hands. The axe flew out of your hands and lodged into one of the nearby red stone pillars. A spice servant just so happened to be walking past and was nearly impaled by the weapon as it landed inches away from their head. They quickly scurried away, not sticking around to find out if there were any more flying axes that would pose a threat.

With no weapon and no way to defend yourself, you helplessly looked up at the Beast cookie. You heavily panted, your adrenaline immediately dissipating and the exhaustion causing your body to tremble. You began to finally recognize the overwhelming heat present in the training room from the natural environment of the dessert you were in. His sharp glare sent shivers down your spine and you found yourself freezing on the spot. His silence was greatly unnerving. He wasn’t known to be quiet in the slightest. Yet, he was staring down at you with a prominent scowl.

“That was pathetic.”

Burning Spice cooke spat out, his low and harsh tone making you flinch. You said nothing and only continued to look up at him. His towering stance caused you to shrink further, desperately wishing you could disappear and escape his disappointed gaze. You feared he would dispose of you. Reduce you into crumbs. Your gaze wandered to his own axe, practically as tall as him. One swing of that and you would be crumbs, and your dust would be left to travel into the air and join the rest of the spices who had fallen to the Great Destroyer's hands.

“Yet, I know you are capable of much more. That spark. That flame in your eyes. I have not forgotten it.”

His voice was gruff as he lectured you, making sure to look directly in your eyes. He was searching for something. Probably that so-called ‘spark’ he claimed he had once seen. You didn’t know what he meant by that. He soon continued, resting his battle axe over his shoulder.

“Fanning that flame, it will grow into an inferno that can scorch the most impenetrable civilizations and can snuff out the strongest of flames with a single blow.”

A faint smile pulled at his lips, revealing more of his sharp yellow teeth. The sight intimidated you greatly and made your feet shuffle underneath you. He didn’t seem to care about you uncomfort, his smile only growing as he seemed to be thinking deeply.

“Yes. You shall get there, in time. We will continue later. Retrieve the axe.”

Burning Spice cookie left the training room without another word. You hobbled over the axe stuck into the stone pillar. Gripping the handle, you heaved with all the strength you had left to pull it out. It remained lodged in the stone.

You only continued to stubbornly tug at the small axe. However, no matter how hard you tried, it didn’t budge. It wasn’t like you were at your full strength, you thought as you continued to pull. You had just spent a while overexerting yourself in your fierce training with the Beast cookie. You still persisted, leaning almost your whole weight back as you pulled.

Burning Spice cookie returned with a ceramic bowl in his hand. He noticed your difficulty in reattaining the axe in the pillar, and sighed in annoyance. He placed the bowl on the floor and strided over to your struggling form. At his arrival, you got the hint and stepped away from the axe and let him handle the work. With one swift tug of the handle, the axe was released from the wall. He called for a spice servant, demanding they sharpen the small weapon. Cowering, they quickly fled to fulfill his orders.

Burning Spice cookie ordered you to follow him to the bowl, sitting on the floor with crossed legs and prompting you to do the same. In the bowl, you saw some fruit. Mostly berries hanging on short, thin vines, though you could see some cantaloupe mixed in as well. You glanced at the appetizing looking fruit before looking at him. He looked at you expectantly. After a few seconds of silence, with an annoyed sigh, Burning spice cookie took one of the cantaloupes and dropped it into your hands.

“Eat,” he impatiently demanded. “In order to train harder, you need sustenance.”

You eagerly obliged, and began tearing into the cantaloupe with fervour. You didn’t realize how starving you were until you had taken that first, juicy, delicious bite and continuously ate more. You ravenously ate everything in the bowl, the juices of the cantaloupe and berries messily staining your mouth. You finished the bowl in a matter of minutes.

Wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, you took a moment to close your eyes and relax for just a few seconds. Of course, you could never fully be at ease, as you could feel Burning Spice cookie’s judgmental stare at your sudden tranquility. Yet, he gave you a full minute to decompress before grunting impatiently and getting up from the ground.You soon followed after you opened your eyes to his expectant glare.

“You may not rest. Rest can wait until you’ve reached your full potential.”

Before you could ask what he wanted you to do next, he suddenly turned his back to you, began walking, and ordered you to follow. Wordlessly, you walked behind him, your face displaying a visible expression of confusion and shock when he led you out of the temple and into the desert. Your attention averted to him as he muttered in a low voice. You were unsure it was directed at you or if he was speaking to himself.

“Now, let us do a new type of training.”

The wind kicked up spice into your face. Covering your eyes with your arms, you didn’t dare to open them in the middle of the Spice storm. Taking a step forward, you forced your body to move against the wind and further into the storm.

“How is this part of training-?!”

You coughed violently as you felt your throat burn from the specks of spice you accidentally swallowed. Burning Spice cookie stood, unbothered, in the hazardous storm. In fact, he smiled and laughed without a care as he watched you struggle. He stood in front of you at a distance, monitoring your every step. With crossed arms, he surveyed, entertained, at your scared expression and difficulty adjusting. He was waiting for you to reach him. Yet, you knew he could easily continue forward and leave you behind if he chose too, considering his calmness in such a hazardous storm.

“You need to get accustomed to the weather. That is part of your training. You must be prepared to fight in any conditions. Even in the eye of a Spice Storm.”

You took another step forward, leaning your weight forward to prevent the wind from pushing you back. You caught a glance at Burning Spice cookie through your blurred vision. He was still there, you confirmed. Watching you. You could still feel his piercing glare through the wind.

“Keep going.” He yelled, his hair widely whipping around him. “Ignite that spark. Fan the flame!”

A grunt left your throat, forcing your body forward. Step after step, your pace quickened. You continued to cough, but you ignored that and pushed forward. You came closer and closer to him. He seemed absolutely delighted by this, thoroughly entertained. He egged you on.

“Yes! YES! Keep going! FAN THE FLAME!!!”

“I-I can’t!”

“DO IT!!!”

Tears brimmed in your eyes as you compelled your body to continue. Step after step took incredible effort, but the fear of being swept away by the storm if you faltered for even a second compelled you to heed Burning Spice cookie’s orders. You shrieked as you felt the wind fiercely rush past you, your hair flying into your face. You pushed and pushed forward. You were only a few feet away from him.

He held a wide, toothy smirk as you inched closer. He could see it! That spark of determination began to grow into a powerful flame the more you continued forward. Your body trembled in exhaustion, but your eyes held that familiar look of determination.

That same look he had seen when you had gotten yourself between Golden Cheese cookie and him. The way you looked up at him, with pure anger and furry. Despite how fearful of him you obviously were, he could see it clearly through your body language. It was completely unwise to stand up to him so boldly. He knew you knew fully well he could easily crush you. Yet, you had tried to push him away, pathetically hitting your fist against his firm chest in an attempt to protect your dear friend. Pathetic and foolish, he had thought, and he returned your pointless punches with a blow of his own. Of course, you had flown back and were sent tumbling across the ground. The dough on your side and arm has slightly cracked, making it painful to move. Golden Cheese cookie had called out your name in utter horror at your condition.

Burning Spice cookie found satisfaction in her pain. Staining one of her most precious treasures with his destructive hands. His satisfaction, however, was unmatched to the pleasure he felt when he demanded her to fight him. The thrill he would experience by bringing about destruction to her precious treasures, and then her in the end, would be unmatched to anyone he had ever rivaled.

Yet, a sudden harsh poke at his back had caused him to look over and see you. You had hurled a stone at his back, your trembling form attempting to stand up straight and tall with difficulty. What really caught his attention, however, was your expression of complete and utter rage. Your jam was boiling, he could see it clear as day. Your eyes had held a mix of emotions, all burning inside you to create a powerful inferno that dared to rival his. You glared at him in pure and utter rage. He only stared back, momentarily stunned, before a wide smile came across his face. You, he had realized, could make you a worthy opponent.

After he had captured Golden Cheese cookie, he immediately began to train you as he waited for her to recover. Not only would it pass the time while he waited, but he could simultaneously still get some entertainment by pushing you to your limits and beginning to forcefully drill his teachings into your mind. He was going to mold you into the perfect soldier with brute force. He could see you were capable of being a worthy opponent. In fact, it seemed he was succeeding as he watched you persist through the storm. He could already see a part of himself in you. That passion in your eyes, he felt, could almost match his own. Almost. It would eventually get there if he continued training you. And he planned to do just that.

Once you had reached him, he wordlessly picked you up, slung you over his shoulder and calmly walked out of the Spice storm. The armor of his shoulder dug into your abdomen uncomfortably.

“With enough training, you’ll be able to FIGHT in a Spice storm with no issue.”

You could feel the wind calm over time as you walked further and further from the Spice Storm and towards the temple. You were completely exhausted, yet, you knew he wouldn’t let you rest. He repeated to you, as your eyes drifted from closing to opening, that rest could only come when you were pushed to your very limits. You silently forced your eyes to stay open. You dared not disobey him. The last thing you wanted was to die like this, by his hands. You needed to stay strong and wait until Golden Cheese cookie came back. You prayed to the witches, that she would.

You stood in the middle of the now abandoned temple you had trained in. The temple was annihilated. You did your best not to step on all of the ruble and broken pots, as well as the crumbs littering the floor. In the chaos of it all, the small metal axe you were familiar with was laying on the ground, under a large piece of the crimson rock. Slowly, you grasped the handle and lifted the axe to your face. The metal showed evident signs of use, some dents present from the training that you hand endured. Dust covered the metal weapon. Unconsciously, you wiped the metal with your hands, revealing your blurry reflection on the clearer surface. You examined your eyes through the reflection. Your dough held a few scratches, but over all, not much damage was physically done to you. You assumed even the Beast of Destructions knew to limit his power when training you, as he could easily crumble you or leave some nasty scars had he not been so mindful. You realized some of the remaining crimson dust made your eyes look redder on the metal.

You let your arm fall to your side as soon as you heard the call of the golden goddess herself, stronger and greedier than ever. She impatiently yelled for you in a loud, prideful tone that was clearly heard in her voice. You shouted out a short response, your hand tightening around the handle of the weapon. You weren’t sure why, but you decided to take it with you. Letting go just felt.. wrong. In a way. You began to briskly walk to meet Golden Cheese cookie and Smoked Cheese cookie observing the destruction of the temple. They were eager to get back to the kingdom, and you couldn’t deny you felt the same way.

With an unreadable expression, and a mix of complex emotions weighing heavily in your chest, you took one last long look at what remained of the temple. You turned away and departed with Golden Cheese cookie and Smoked Cheese cookie by your side. You had a feeling you’ll see Burning Spice cookie cookie again. When and where that meeting would take place, you were unsure. Yet, you were convinced that he would eventually hunt you down.

#umbrella stories ☂️#crk #cookie run kingdom #yandere crk x reader #crk x reader #burning spice crk #burning spice x reader #burning spice cookie #burning spice cookie x reader #yandere cookie run #cookie run x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader #yandere cookie run kingdom x reader #yandere cookie run kingdom #yandere crk

841 notes · View notes