#herb cookie x reader

[brittle-doughie]

Hi Brittle! just dropping in to ask if you ever would consider doing prompts for the specific lore attached to cookie costumes? asking cause I recently pulled herb cookie's sage of ivies costume in ovenbreak and tbh that version of him would be perfect for this blog 👀👌 Thanks!

-🐦

Ingrained (Herb Cookie)

I did Snow Sugar Cookie’s costume as a prompt, right?

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

You had been visiting Herb Cookie on this bridge for a while now, always telling him your concerns about your life amongst the Cookies. While you did love them, him included, it was nice to just have someone you can express yourself in words to.

“It sounds hard on you. Is there ever a time where you wish to leave it all behind?”

N-No, not like that. No big enough road bump will ever change how you looked at the others. You didn’t know, maybe it was just you going in way over your head to try and be there for everyone.

“But that is something I admire about you, Y/N Cookie. You always try to be the cookie there for everyone, where they’d know they’d never be alone in their struggles..”

You chuckled at Herb’s statement, he was on the money with that.

“Would you say..that you do everything in your power to fulfill every cookie’s wish?”

A vine slowly snaked its way towards your leg without your knowledge…

You agreed. Whatever that cookie would want, you’d do your best to fulfill.

“Then could you help me with something? Cookies rarely come by this bridge with you being the only visitor to come back. My vines require nutrients. Rich nutrients full of…life.”

You felt something grab your leg, making you jump!

Herb quickly comes to you, hugging you close as you freak out. It was then that you see the larger venus flytrap behind his shoulder.

“This bridge is rarely used. And my vines are hungry, Y/N Cookie. They need nutrients. YOUR nutrients. I promise tha by doing this, you’d be making me extremely happy~”

“Don’t be scared. You won’t crumble. I’ll be right here with you, embracing you…”

You tried to calm your nerves. You tried placing faith on Herb Cookie. That his plants would get their nutrients and let you go.

You hiss as you feel vines coil tightly all around you, draining you of your cookie body nutrients. Herb Cookie cooed and whispered in your (nonexistent) ear as he held you tight…

“Please understand, Y/N Cookie. This is not out of anything but love for you…”

“I love you, Y/N Cookie..”

The both of you remained closed together as vines surrounded all around you, with no signs of letting go anytime soon….

“Thank you for doing this for me…”

“I’m…so happy….”

[fanged-fanfics]

☆ Juice Bar Regulars x GN Reader Dating Headcanons ☆

Genre: Fluff || they/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

Sparkling Cookie

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Very much the type to flirt with you in small ways when you come to his bar, he isn't one to shy away from PDA if you're okay with it

ᯓᡣ𐭩 He's a guy that would flirt a decent bit but be pleasantly surprised when you actually reciprocate and hit on him back, gets him flustered every time

ᯓᡣ𐭩 He's brought up the idea of making your favorite juice combo into an official menu choice at his bar, he's got a label design in mind and everything

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Will not hesitate to drop everything if you need him to, you take his top priority spot the second you guys get more committed

Vampire Cookie

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Shameless flirt, much moreso than Sparkling. He'll always offer to pay for your drinks, compliment you a bunch, and then pull out your stool for you while he's at it

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Also the type to be pretty clingy if he's really deep in a juice binge, you're usually the responsible one between the two of you while he's leaning on your shoulder

ᯓᡣ𐭩 "You knooww, I might try to get a taste of your jam sometimes, I'm getting a little hungry... Kidding, hahah! Awh, come on, it was funny!"

ᯓᡣ𐭩 He's absolutely openly fawning over you whenever he fully realizes his crush, he gets giggly and blushy around you easily

Herb Cookie

ᯓᡣ𐭩 A very calming presence to be around due to his soft way of speaking and generally calm demeanor, likely one of the most approachable

ᯓᡣ𐭩 He'll memorize your favorite seat in the bar and make sure to save it for you so you always have a spot waiting when you drop by for a visit

ᯓᡣ𐭩 You've almost got his plants memorized by name at this point cause he's so genuinely happy talking about them that you let him ramble as much as he wants

ᯓᡣ𐭩 "Ah, there you are. I was just about to help these flowers get a little stronger.. would you like to join me, my sunshine? I'm sure your bright energy will do the trick!"

Mint Choco Cookie

ᯓᡣ𐭩 He loves writing soft and slow musical compositions inspired by his feelings for you, and sharing them with you over a nice dinner

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Very much a classic hopeless romantic, but his cool facade breaks when you're around due to him getting embarrassed

ᯓᡣ𐭩 One of his favorite ways to wind down after a long day is to hold you in his lap while you talk, nodding as his chin rests on your shoulder and giving softly mumbled advice

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Has your juice order memorized to the point where when you visit, it's already going to be waiting for you at the countertop with him sitting nearby to guard it

[vxlentinescookies]

Herb (Sage of Ivies costume) request: reader seeks him for comfort and wisdom, but eventually the encounter goes south when the Ivies creep in :o

→ ❛Venus Fly Trap❜

→ Pairing ; Sage of Ivies!Herb Cookie & Reader → Quote ; ❛❛ But for the moment you’re safe, for you’re in the embrace of the sage.❜❜ → Genre ; Headcanons → A/N ; Again, sorry it took so long but here you go!

A small tune plays as you approach the bridge, your heart beating fast as you come closer and closer, there’s someone waiting for you, expectantly, as if they knew that you were coming, and soon enough, you’re face to face with him, the Sage of Ivies.

Encountering him is not that hard, though the bridge you must find can be a bit challenging.

You’ve come in search of wisdom and comfort after a bad night, a bad day or a bad week, those matters no longer matter to you as you come to see him.

He greets you like another traveler in the mist of the bridge, the vegetation making the atmosphere one of calmness and comfort

You’re oblivious, of course you are, and he feeds into your sense of security as you speak of your problems, seeking guidance.

At one point through the chatter, as he welcomes you in his arms for a comforting hug, the ivies make their apparition, twisting, worming their way towards you… But for the moment you’re safe, for you’re in the embrace of the sage.

Usually, he would feed those stray adventurers to his ivies, feed them so they’d gain energy, like a pact he has made with them

But this time around, he chooses to keep you safe in his embrace, just being a bit selfish, for feeble moments

The Ivies just watch, then, for he is their master and they must abide by his law.

You leave the bridge safely and comfortably, your life had been forgiven and your soul healed, but dont expect a safe return next time you go visit the sage.

[mrs-immortal]

True light:: flytrap herb

≡;- ꒰ The true light꒱ content warnings apply Flytrap herb cookie x GN reader || fluff , murder, somehow romantic? A certain someone was out for blood after discovering his beloved was wronged by the darkness: and there would be no exceptions, for no one can disturb the true light. Characters : Pomegranate(she/her) , flytrap herb(he/him) , reader (true light)

🌿˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚⎧ᴿᴵᴾ⎫˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚📜

“There is nothing left but ruins..but this used to be my home before them.” you told your boyfriend, herb; as you showed him what your home town used to look like before the people of darkness. He said nothing, seemingly stunned. But you continued , and it broke him . “I could show you what it was better but… I don't think it’s recognizable anymore.” you sighed, feeling silent tears drip from your eyes, you had stopped crying the way you used to but your eyes would betray you every time, any day or any night. But you knew you were not done yet. You had to tell him why: “this..this is why i don’t trust them with you: They don't care for what you believe in! They.. they would get rid of you the second you disagreed.” you yelled under your breath, your heart betrayed you and your breath hitched in your lungs, but you still had to- “Do you want to make them pay?” … “..what?” You stood there horrified , your boyfriend was never violent, not blunt like this: you asked yourself why but you already knew your answers. You had given him a hundred years worth of bullets and he was about to shoot: “you know i always believe your judgement above anyone, anything my beloved: if you want them to face consequences ..then, i will make them face the consequences.” he spoke so softly, just for you. Anything for you. “What do you want of me , my light?” he wondered to you. “..i just..i want you to leave them, just.. Just leave them and stay with me.” you admitted, even if a part of you wanted vengeance you did not want him to pay this price. And with that, he had gotten your message: he reached his arms out to you, silently speaking with his body, asking if he could hold you close, and you answered holding him close too. Your silent tears stained on his soft clothes, and he caressed your back, he said “ i was always on your side, and i will continue to be yours, by your side: my light. “ he sung under his breath, after all..you were the how and why, when and what, everything and anything in his life, you were true light. And no one disobeyed true light, the truth he knew better than anyone else could. So he held you where it used to be your home.

⎧ᴿᴵᴾ⎫⎧ᴿᴵᴾ⎫⎧ᴿᴵᴾ⎫⎧ᴿᴵᴾ⎫⎧ᴿᴵᴾ⎫⎧ᴿᴵᴾ⎫⎧ᴿᴵᴾ⎫⎧ᴿᴵᴾ⎫⎧ᴿᴵᴾ⎫⎧ᴿᴵᴾ⎫⎧ᴿᴵᴾ⎫⎧ᴿᴵᴾ⎫ Stepping into the forest, Pomegranate asked “why have you called me here?” followed suit his former followers to which he replied. “I believe you have attempted to scorch my true light, and I know that is the truth.” The grounds grew silent, but Pomegranate knew what he meant by ‘attempted’, you were supposed to go out with the rest back then, and maybe letting you go had consequences: she could avoid.. Not. But she attempted anyway. Letting go of the staring eyes, she spoke in all her confidence, or rather, what was left of it now. Pomegranate’s voice was sweet and sour: “I would like to know what you mean by that.” but he said “i believe you would know, and i want you to admit this here; was this dark enchantress’s doing? Or would taking you out be enough?”. And with that the air grew cold, the silence grew deafening as she got the message across: this was not just a threat, it was a promise due today; and he was here to fulfil. Glancing at her path through the mirror, she noticed the wall of vines and thorns there now. “What is the meaning of this?!” she yelled, betrayal was expected from someone like flytrap herb, but she had not thought it would be today. He was smiling, and it was not to intimidate, he simply meant the happiness on his face as the vines separated the followers, cornering them. “What you have started I will end; what’s left I will complete.” The veins of vines and thorns grabbed onto everyone they could, sounds of struggle emerged into the night, but no one was near, grabbing Pomegranate by her neck, the blood hungry venus flytrap ate the former priestess alive, chewing, swallowing, coughing up her mirror once it was done, all that remains. The night grew horrified, it screamed for it would pay the price under the moon: they invoked the name of true light, but you were not near. But his light was relaxed under the very same moon. You were sitting on the bench in herb’s garden, huddled in clothes that matched him, robes hugging your frame elegantly: watching the fish jump in the moonlight, the blue looked graceful, but you had grown to love the green, getting on up on your legs, you walked towards the water; holding the stars in your hands, you let them go. The effect of your light in the water calmed you, and that was his truth too; one he would fight with for you. Hearing the footsteps you have grown to recognize, looking behind ; showing your happiness on your sleeve, your smile never lied to him: “welcome back, darling.” you said, walking towards him he spoke “i am glad to be back, my light..”

[damselettism]

Texting them "Imagine we were dating" even though you're dating

﹒✧

Sillies

[yanderecookierunkingdom]

Herb and sparkling deserve more love, so can I get herb and sparkling with an S/O that loves to create things? Like, we would do wood work, pottery, clay, painting, ect. And always bring them back gifts?

(This can be together or separate!)

-⚡ anon!

You and Herb Cookie probably trade gifts at least once a day, if not more. He gives you beautiful plants, and in return, you give him new pots, new shelves for more plants, anything!

He always expresses to you how grateful he is for all these things. Sometimes, he'll even go out of his way to find you a more rare plant to show his appreciation.

Once, you made him a custom plant pot with his favorite plants on it. He nearly cried.

You're a glassblower, so often times you'll make him new types of glasses for his bar. He's always very grateful, and he often gets you gifts because of this.

It warms Sparkling Cookie's heart, knowing that you're making these especially for him. Even if they're to be used for his business, you still make them for him in the end.

You made him a custom wine bottle once, and he cried receiving it. He gave you whatever you asked for for a while.

[inferencesarchives]

HEYY could i request Herb Cookie x Reader that's also a plant parent?

Like with Herb ranting about his plants, even the cookie eating ones

BTW CAN I GET LISTED... You can call me 🦎 Anon!

Plant Parents

herb x gn reader

summary: a few hcs about herb being in a relationship with a cookie who is also obsessed with plants ooo

warnings: none that i can think of

ok firstly

bro LOVES ranting about all the different types of plants he grows. he loves to tell u every little thing about each and every individual plant in his garden

he also really enjoys it when u tell him about the plants u grow. even if he already knows everything about all ur plants, he just likes to listen to u talk :]

gardening dates.

the two of u spend the entire day planting a bunch of seeds in the garden together while talking about whatever and he just enjoys it sm

and he's always so so so happy whenever the seeds u two planted finally grow after a few months aaaaajdndnznsks

bro is literally a ray of sunshine istg

a/n: sorry is short couldn't think of a lot of ideas raaaaaaagh im still fistfighting writers block rn and on top of that im returning to school ew but i hope u like this also HIIIII 🦎 ANON WELCOME ILY /P TY FOR LIKING MY DUMB STUFF LMFAO

thanks for stopping by!

wanna submit a request? see my requesting rules (pulls them out of a hat like a magician) here!

[ashrodisiac]

Herb Cookie x Reader

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✿ ❀ ❁ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

HERB COOKIE X READER

╰┈─➤  gifts he gives to show love

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✿ ❀ ❁ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

Herb cookie loved your sweet look, the way you reacted whenever he gifted you with a bouquet of your favorite flowers he knew you loved, tucked flowers in your hair to make you swoon, memorized all your favorite plants to grow them and show them to you, happy to see you share the same expression. Doing what he loved the most for the person he loved the most. You’d wake up to a rose resting on your pillow, or a flower crown you didn’t remember wearing the night before. He loved to gift you, and he was so glad to see how much you loved it. When you asked him about the surprise gift on your bed, he softly smiled and complimented on how fast you caught up. Kisses littered all over your face, you would giggle and tug at his clean white apron, thanking him for the little gesture he had done the night before just to make the morning after so much better.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✿ ❀ ❁ ꒱ ˎˊ˗

just tried writing for a character that isnt from kny ehe. I LOVE HIM SM IT HURTS

[sleepingdeath-light]

relationship hcs ; herb cookie

requested by ; anonymous (31/05/23)

fandom(s) ; cookie run

fandom masterlist(s) ; hub | specific

character(s) ; herb cookie

outline ; “can you please do some herb cookie relationship hcs please? i'll really appreciate it”

warning(s) ; none, just fluff!

herb is an absolute sweetheart who never fails to make you feel like the most wonderful person in the world

big on casual affection and casual compliments — like you’ll be just walking around and he’ll be holding your hand and kissing it or he’ll just randomly ask if he’d ever told you how beautiful you are

your home is filled with flowers and plants of all kinds — meaning it’s both very colourful and smells amazing

he even hand makes bouquets using flower languages to give to you on every date

he’s more of the quiet type but he could listen to you talk for hours because your voice is the most beautiful thing for him

also an excellent cook and grows his own food — will beam with pride and fluster if you compliment his cooking

calls you pet names along the lines of ‘dear’ and ‘honey’

his friends and colleagues catch him staring at you all of the time and tease him for it, but he doesn’t much mind

his work usually results in him getting caked in mud, so the two of you will bathe together at the end of the day — it’s not sexual, but it’s intimate and you’ll often take the time to joke around and talk

(he looks hilarious and adorable with a bubble beard)

responds to any and all nicknames you give him, no matter how ridiculous

doesn’t laugh so much as he chuckles at any jokes you make

excellent at first aid and if you’re clumsy he makes a habit of carrying around plasters and disinfectant spray whenever you go out

date nights are always spent in the great outdoors just admiring nature

if you use mobility aids then he does what he can to keep his greenhouse and other places he works as accessible as possible — but he can’t guarantee that your walker/cane/crutches/wheelchair will come out spotless (there is a lot of dirt there, after all)

if you give him a massage then he’ll sigh, close his eyes and melt into you

will answer to being called your boyfriend and won’t correct people because to him it’s accurate enough and he doesn’t really mind

[kalopses-sonderes]

It’s it alright if I ask for a platonic cookie run self aware au? It’s basically where the cookies come into baker’s world and they keep trying to kill them. The baker sees this as adorable and treats the cookies like pets. The cookies keep trying kill baker and baker just pulls out a spray bottle filled with water and sprays them a few times until they give up. Eventually they warm up to each other and become friends. The reason why the cookies didn’t leave sooner is because the baker put a new password on their phone and they couldn’t go back

This is so stupid

Stop this is cutest thing I have ever seen I just wanna eat this request I’ll keep it forever its amazing. This is gonna be just my ideas on this request instead of a fic because I have it’s of ideas and can’t write them all out :(

- Just imagine like five of the cookies in the kitchen counter trying to grab a knife since they’re so small like two inches. Baker walks in on this and sighs, filling up a spray bottle for water and starts spraying them. They just start scattering like little roaches.

Baker: Bad, cookies, bad! -spray spray-

Cookies: SCATTER!

- A few of the cookies who just sit through the spray till their dough gets super soggy and gross (cough cough Red Velvet cough cough) and they walk away like a limp piece of bread and you have to sit them out the dry on a cookie sheet by a window.

Baker: Red Velvet.. Just give up, you’re barely able to stand up.

Red Velvet: I will not give up! -falls over-

- The cookies live in your living room locked in with those baby cages so they don’t roam around the house. They were having a group discussion about you and wether they will accept you as you watched since they forced you to join and decided your “fates” Once they finally warmed up to you and finally got access to the entire house instead of just the living room. You wondered why they haven’t left yet if they hated you so much before, they told you about how you changed your password and they couldn’t unlock the portal got their home.

Baker: Soo, why did you guys not leave when you hated me?

Cookies: well.. your phone didn’t accept the secret code we put in so we couldn’t get to the portal home..

Baker: secret code.?… Oh! I forgot I changed my password!

[cherriibombfics]

"ᴀ ᴍɪᴅᴡɪɴᴛᴇʀ'ꜱ ᴅᴀʏᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ"

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 975

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ɴᴏɴᴇ

ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

ɴᴇxᴛ

ᴀ/ɴ: ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʀᴇꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴇᴛ ᴀ ᴄᴏᴏᴋɪᴇ. ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴀ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ꜱᴏ ʟᴇᴛ ᴍᴇ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜɪᴄʜ ᴄᴏᴏᴋɪᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ꜰᴇᴀᴛᴜʀᴇᴅ ɴᴇxᴛ!

ᴠᴀʀɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴄᴏᴏᴋɪᴇꜱ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

A chill settled through the land, and the days grew shorter and shorter. Snowflakes drifted lazily through the air, covering the once lush fields with a soft blanket of snow, stretching across the entire kingdom. Undisturbed except for the occasional animal tracks or footsteps. The change of season meant many things, but nobody could've expected the thing in the ground before you.

While you were going about your duties a purple-hearted bloom had sprouted right at your feet, cutting through the snow. It was a pansy, a garden flower unlike any you’d seen before. It had a faint glow that melted the snow surrounding it, a warmth that, frankly, a flower shouldn't be able to produce. Which is exactly why you brought Herb Cookie over to identify it.

“I’ve never seen a pansy like this before,” He said, astonished. “Not to mention one that smells this lovely.” You pushed his head a bit to prevent him from sniffing it further.

“I don't think you should get that close until we find out what’s wrong with it.” You explained, pointing at the flower. “It’s glowing and melting that snow. A flower isn’t supposed to do that!”

“Well, pansies are able to survive freezing temperatures.”

“Not this well!” You gestured to the flower again which now had multiplied into three. “We need to contain this thing before it spreads, do you think you can figure out what’s wrong with it?”

“It may take a while but I’ll do the best I can [Name], in the meantime I’ll take them back to my shop to get a better look at them.” He pulled a pot and hand trowel from his bag and dug the bundle of flowers from the ground, glowing even more when he touched them directly. “I’ll let you know when I figure out what it is.”

“Thanks, Herb Cookie, I’m glad I have one less thing to worry about now.”

Herb Cookie left to your devices, already thinking about what could be wrong with the plant. It wasn’t carnivorous, he knew better after the Cookiesnap incident, but he couldn't shake off the feeling that something was wrong. Despite your warnings, he couldn't help but take another smell of the flower. It was like a perfect blend of every flower he’d ever planted, like the bell flowers he’d gifted you for your birthday. You were always so kind to everyone, it was the least he could do for you.

As he continued to reminisce, he had completely forgotten about the possibly dangerous plant he had in his hands. He didn't notice as the fumes started to spread through the kingdom, carried by the winter breeze.

-----

He couldn’t remember the last time he spent this much time reading, his sanctuary for his makeshift botanical had been invaded by dozens of books. There was literally nothing about the type of pansy you had found, nothing about them being able to melt snow around them. He looked over the pot, only to find that it had multiplied again somehow, becoming crowded in its small planter. He was concerned, it was only one before, what was causing it to grow so fast? Herb Cookie glanced back at his book, skimming through the pages.

“A complex icon of love,” He read, “with many different meanings depending on the color of the flower.” He skipped to the section about purple pansies. “Purple pansies are a symbol of admiration and love of one person for another, platonic, romantic, or otherwise.” He sighed, it didn’t mention anything about their magical properties. He nearly shut the book entirely until a section caught his eye.

“The wild pansy or Viola Tricola was famously used by a faerie in the play A Midsummer Night’s Dream. It was turned into a juice that, when placed over the eyes of someone, causes them to fall in love with the first person they see. Although the original flower and its properties have never been discovered.”

He didn't know much about theater at all, but if this flower had the ability to cause people to fall in love, it could prove to be extremely dangerous if put in the wrong hands.

“Herb Cookie!” He tensed up and looked at the source of the voice. “I thought you were going to come with me to the juice bar to try Sparkling’s new cranberry blend. He wanted to try a new winter menu.”

“Don't sneak up on me like that Vampire Cookie.” Herb rubbed his eyes as the other stepped over the books scattered across the floor.

“Uh, what are you doing?” He asked, grabbing a book from the floor. “There’s no way you need this many books on plants. And you look exhausted.”

“I know, but [Name] found this strange flower this morning and asked if I could figure it out. But the only information I could find was from a comedy play of all things!” He hit his head against a table in frustration. “I’m never going to finish this.”

“Look, maybe you’re just stretching yourself too thin.” Vampire placed his hand on his shoulder, “Why don't you swing around the juice bar with me to clear your head? Then we can get back to this later.”

“You wanna help me?” Herb raised an eyebrow.

“I’m sure my sister won’t mind, she’ll go crazy when she sees that thing.” He grabbed Herb’s arm and pulled him out of his shop. “Now come on, you need to take a break.”

“I suppose a small break couldn't hurt.”

As Herb grabbed a coat and followed his friend outside, he let the looming threat of the pansy leave his mind. But through his intense research he had forgotten one important thing. He had left the window open, allowing the harsh winter breeze to tip the pot over and let it crash to the ground.

[murder-cookie-dust393]

Hello! I'm a follower that does a lot more lurking than interacting, but I get excited by little matchup events like these, so I wanted to participate-

Things you like to do, your interests- preferably at least 3 - I like to crochet, draw, play in nature, and collect rocks. (and show the things I make/find off to people)

Some basic personality traits. - I'm on the quiet side, really quick to get spaced out. I'm usually polite and positive, as much as I can be, but I'm not super outwardly expressive.

Some basic habits + behaviours - I move constantly, if I'm not doing something, I'm fidgeting. I randomly gift people things if I like them enough, and I like to shake stuff (people, objects, anything not secured to the floor) when I'm excited.

Things you don't need, but may help:

Your dislikes. It can be anything. Personality, certain things, anything. - Noise (I have misophonia), it either makes me really anxious or really annoyed, and I don't care much for crowds or overwhelmingly loud places. I don't like to talk much for similar reasons, too.

Cookies you absolutely hate and do not want to be matched with. - Muscle Cookie, who realistically, I would never be around to begin with.

What kind of people you fit most well with. - People who aren't super noisy or demanding of attention, but are capable of keeping a conversation going. Or people who might occasionally talk to me, but for the most part acknowledge my existence and leave it at that.

You know I might be basic, but at the same time, it...just makes a lot of sense.

Oh btw, I don't know if anybody has noticed, but I italicize or bold any parts that I specifically meant as Yan.

I match you with: Herb.

Tw: isolation, some loss of indepedence

He's definitely on the quieter side, so he likes to have good and simple conversations with you. He prefers to have silent quality time with you, often watching something together. It keeps you well distracted from the outside world, he can keep you safe and cared for.

He likes to do a few things around the house for you. Whether it's cleaning up any piles of leaves on front door, or simply preparing you a drink. It makes him happy, knowing he's doing it for you. You can keep relying on him, he's all you will need to live a happy life.

He loves the rocks you collect, occasionally he asks if he can put some in his plant pots. It's a nice decoration for him. He shares his plants with you in return. Even naming some of them with you.

He always tries to lead you away from loud or crowded places. Talking in a quiet voice to not irritate you. He's not the most aggressive obviously. But he still prides himself in caring for you. He can't let you wither away by stress and being bothered. It's his personal goal to keep you happy and safe.

(Definitely longer than some people- but maybe it's because he's so easy to write about)

- Celina

[naylamon102]

More cookie friends :D

Ahhh i love it!! Here some more Cookies for the peaceful human/witchs HCs!!

Rockstar, Vampire, Werewolf, Cotton, Herb, Fire Spirit, and Wind Archer-!

Rockstar

Although a bit wary at first, he totally vibes with you once you insist you're not evil anymore.

Ofc he doesn't hang out with you very long.

He's got fans to give autographs to (lucky for you, he signs one of your spellbooks) and concerts to play!

He couldn't keep his future audiences waiting. You can understand that.

But as a subtle reference to his encounter with you, he dedicates his next song to cookies who "believe anyone can be good if they tried".

Vampire

Oh? You're a friendly witch? Cool.

He's the most chill about it tbh.

All he's really interested in is your stash of grape juice. Nothing more.

He was dying of thirst (no literally, he snuck in through the window as his bat form just to get a taste of grape).

Most of the day he's just lazing around, watching you bake with no desire to leave anytime soon. And he asks you what it's like being human, getting into a deep discussion about it.

You're amused at how other witches' mistakes result in the creation of interesting cookies.

Werewolf

He hid near your hut after accidentally hurting someone, changing back to normal once they were gone.

But as he laments over his actions, he hears the door open. You spotted him.

Out of instinct he transforms again, though your magic aura calms him enough to change back--which exhausts him and makes him pass out.

Once he awakens, he sees you reading a normal book and wonders why you helped him.

When he questions you, you reassure him you're a good witch. And while skeptical he decides to believe you.

Even a witch like you was nicer than his own kind

Cotton

Lately she's been down on her luck with writing, struggling to find inspiration.

But when she overhears about you, a friendly witch, she grows to admire you (platonically of course) a lot! So she tries writing you sweet letters.

"Most witches are ugly inside and out, but you're not Most Witches...oh no this is bad."

After much trial and error she finally makes an...okay enough letter to send you.

It definitely warms your heart when you receive it, and you know the kind of cookies who'd write these.

So Cotton is shocked when a letter of thanks is sent to her this time.

Herb

When he's cornered by you, he's like "do whatever you want with me but PLEASE don't hurt my plants!!!!!!!"

And he's polite about it...even though he's sweating.

Man just wants to water his flowers in peace, but oddly enough you aren't threatening to eat him or anything.

Instead you ask about his plants and he awkwardly tells you about each one.

When he asks why you're so nice, you just calmly explain you'd like to make peace with the cookies, and talking to a gentleman like him seemed to be a good place to start!

Fire Spirit

He was definitely the most remarkable Cookie to come out of the oven (despite his claims of hailing from Dragon's Valley), being able to use the flames to his advantage.

When he confronts you in hopes of taking your kind down, he's caught off guard when you're just like "okay good luck on your quest, Great Fire Spirit!"

"...that means you, too!! I'm all fired up-!"

"I'm not your enemy. My neighbor, on the other hand..."

He's confused as hell when you speak ill of your fellow witches, but realizes you're serious.

He appreciates your compliment, so he decides not to burn your hut down. And instead burns your neighbor's.

Wind Archer

Witches are the main harbingers of darkness, so it makes sense that he seeks to eliminate your kind.

But to his surprise you have a change of heart, being humane and generous to cookies that you bake.

Even the Cookiemals seem to trust you a lot (they were naïve sometimes but would never be stupid enough to blindly trust their enemy), convincing him to visit you so he could see for himself.

He speaks to you with an abundance of caution, warning you to stay away from the Millennial Tree.

Of course, you promise and wish him luck on his mission.

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Neighborly

mdni

Masterlist

Soap x reader x Ghost

Summary: You didn't know hate until Johnny MacTavish. (Or a really big build-up to cuddles and smut).

Warnings: Implied anxiety disorder/depressive disorder, self-isolation, language, incredibly shitty communication and social competence.

It was supposed to be a one-shot.

You didn’t know hate until Johnny MacTavish.

He bought the only house within half a mile, the one you expected to stay silent and empty ‘til death did you part. So, you had reason to dislike him from the start. But you were raised right, and you pushed down the snarling hermit in your soul to be a good, friendly neighbor.

The first meeting was fine, even if he was a boombox of a human being.

“Neighbor? Oh, aye! The hermit? Sorry. Heard about you when I toured the place last month.” His eye lands on the plate of cookies you’ve brought to welcome him. “Those all for me?”

You made small talk at the door, swapped names, and set the groundwork for a reliable, limited relationship as polite people who just happened to live in close proximity.

Then the first snow fell.

You spied him outside, shoveling the shared drive that led up the hill. He cleared it all, which was kind, if a little stupid. The weather system promised another two inches by midafternoon, so everything would be solid white again before sunset. Still, not your problem.

But. He was shirtless. Ripped as fuck and shirtless.

As the wind flung each shovelful of snow back in his face, the powdery flakes stuck and melted on steaming skin. Muscles flexed as he made a spectacle of himself, and your thoughts turned to strategy and available resources.

You wrapped your palms around your ugly, handmade mug and sighed, sipping hot chocolate and wishing you’d gotten a neighbor with at least two scoops of common sense.

When he didn’t appear with his shovel the next morning, you knew your foreboding prophecy had come to pass.

You brought out the stock pot, fished out packs of frozen produce harvested from your garden, and sacrificed your last bag of chicken breasts. The skeleton saved from an old rotisserie bird joined the ingredient army. Might as well go all-in. A man with that many muscles needed bone broth to recover.

Since you didn’t know if he was a picky eater, you minced the garlic and onions small, even when your eyes burned to the point you had to stop for a break. You let the aromatics brown, added celery, carrots, potatoes, and fistfuls of fresh herbs. The precious seasonings survived the winter under grow lights and protective sheeting on your dining room table.

You doubted your neighbor would appreciate this gift for everything it was, but whatever he did as an idiot neighbor would be leagues better than the presence of a rowdy ghost.

When the chicken was tender and the broth tasted like home, you poured it into individual portions and packed them in a canvas bag with a loaf of bread, a box of tea, a jar of local honey, and a thermometer. It wasn’t terribly heavy, but the cold froze your fingers through your gloves. Your hand was cramping by the time MacTavish answered the door, red-nosed, pale, and bleary-eyed.

He let you in, mumbling a scratchy-voiced welcome, and if you’d known what that conversation would incite, you would’ve let him waste away like the families you failed playing Oregon Trail.

“Eat one now and keep the rest in the fridge.” You stack the single-serve containers in the fridge as you speak, sure he won’t remember the minutiae of your instructions. The last you pop in his microwave. He���s staring at you with feverish eyes, confused and helpless like a sick dog left on the side of the road.

Everything comes out of the bag, lining his counter so he can see them – and hopefully remember he has them. The thermometer comes out last.

“If your fever is over 104 in the morning, call the doctor. I’ll drive you if you need me to.”

That glassy stare isn’t shifting. The man doesn’t even blink.

“Did you get all that?”

He clears his throat. The action and sound are both strangely slow in his exhausted state, and you’re determined not to feel bad for him.

“Aye.” Finally, he blinks. “Eat the soup. Watch for 104.”

Good enough.

“Okay.”

The microwave beeps, you pull out the soup, leaving him to fetch a spoon from wherever the hell he keeps them. You don’t wait for him to show you out. “Take care of yourself.”

He didn’t call for help, and you took your turn shoveling the drive with proper protection after the last wave of flurries passed.

The next time he saw you in passing – you were returning home and he was just leaving – he let you know your soup was delicious, that the bread was amazing, and the honey did wonders for his throat. He never returned your containers.

Ah, well. They were replaceable.

Then the next snow came, and the dumb bitch went shoveling shirtless again.

It wasn’t as much snow, and it didn’t take him half as long, but you steamed, glaring from the safety of your kitchen window. You refused to replace your meal prep supplies again. And local honey was expensive. The brat could freeze and die. Something about taking a horse to water and all that shit.

You drank your coffee black that morning, just to make a point to no one in particular.

The man didn’t know how to take care of himself, and he had no idea how to winter-proof his home.

His pipes froze. You brought buckets, old towels, bottled water, and the number of an excellent plumber. Then you explained why he should pay attention to the forecast and let faucets drip to keep the water moving. You told him to open the cabinets under sinks so heat could combat the chill along exterior walls.

His truck’s battery succumbed to the cold. You gave him a jump and escorted him to town to make sure he didn’t get himself stranded.

When he didn’t keep things stocked and tried to panic-shop before a big storm, discovering that small town shelves couldn’t meet demand, you shared staples from your pantry.

He didn’t have more than two cheap blankets in his living space, so when the holidays rolled around you gave him your latest assemblage of granny-squares. And a scarf.

He gave you burnt cookies – “Biscuits” – in return.

(And a half-empty bottle of whiskey.)

He never remembered to drag his trash down to the main road.

And gods help you if the power went out, because the man had no generator, very little in his pantry, and rarely more than a quarter tank of gas in his ride.

He was careless. Clueless. Nearly helpless.

What were you supposed to do? You couldn’t leave him to his fate. It was unneighborly and inhumane.

He made you angry. But you didn’t hate him until his friend moved in.

A few months into his residence, you went to Johnny’s door to ask if he needed anything from town before the next storm shadowed the forecast, and a stranger came to the door.

A hulking monster with a skull painted over his balaclava.

The doorway shrank around his broad shoulders, and he ducked when he stepped out. You weren’t sure if he entirely needed to, but you understood the urge – like an adult stepping out of a child’s playhouse. Scarred knuckles wrapped around the doorknob, and you knew his grip would swallow you whole by the way it engulfed the brass handle.

Animal instinct jarred you. Every hair from the base of your skull to the end of your spine stood on end as you tried to smell the air, listen to the wind, spot the predator’s intent before it was too late.

You didn’t have a problem with people balaclavas. You’d worn one the other day when you were shoveling the drive, but this looked less like protection and more like a threat.

Was he robbing your neighbor? Had a serial killer come to town? Oh, fuck.

You took a step back, reaching for your phone because you didn’t carry a weapon, especially not on a grocery run, and it was the closest thing you had to help.

“You the neighbor?”

He asked so casually, vaguely irritated, but relaxed. It wasn’t the voice of a man who’d just been caught committing a felony, and you took a second to look beyond the stranger’s mask (and size). There was a mug in his hand, and he wore a t-shirt with sweats. His socked feet lingered on the front step, just shy of the blue road salt and crisped ice. Not robbery gear. More like a… houseguest?

Your neighbor never had guests before.

It caught you so off guard your brain short circuited. He had always been a lone, helpless figure. Made sense he’d have friends, though. You couldn’t imagine he’d survive anywhere long without someone looking out for him.

You were still a little irritated that your neighbor had invited his own friend to his own house on his own property without informing you, but that was just the recluse inside snarling at a new face. Or half of one.

And – well – manners.

Holding out a mittened hand, you introduced yourself, adding, “I stopped to see if Johnny needed anyth-”

“No.” He shut you down so fast you reeled another step back. “Don’t need anything.”

He closed the door and that was that.

Sun glittered on the season’s collection of snow, a frozen fairyland that wouldn’t entirely melt until spring. Then there would be roads washed out, and mud, and you’d need to teach Johnny flash flood safety and…

It didn’t compute. Johnny was still home, so surely he’d pop out with an explanation.

You waited.

But he didn’t.

The absolute fuck?

Your spinning thoughts kept you trapped in your head for a solid minute, processing what had happened, what was implied, and what that meant for your neighborly relationship. Even when you managed to move, drive to town, and run your errands, the interaction prickled in your mind like a splinter.

You must’ve done something wrong.

Aged fluorescent lights strobed out of time with your cart’s shrieking wheels. You discovered your list wasn’t in your pocket. It waited at home, next to a pen to add Johnny’s requests. You’d already added things you doubted he’d think to ask for, and it would take time to pick apart your needs. The list wouldn’t have saved you, even if you’d remembered it.

Three bags of flour went into your cart. That was fine. They’d keep, and baking was a good way to combat cabin fever (it warmed the house as a bonus).

Two gallons of milk.

Wait.

No.

You put one back, self-conscious. A young mother with her baby stood just behind you, and an old woman was reviewing her coupons across the aisle. You refused to make eye contact, convinced you’d catch them watching. Did they see? Were they worried about your germs on the product you put back? Did they think you were too broke to buy what you needed? Maybe they thought you’d just broken up with your boyfriend or something.

You counted the squares in the linoleum as you marched away from the refrigerators’ humming. One less source of white noise. It didn’t help as much as you’d hoped. The real buzzing roared inside your skull.

Johnny was a pain in the ass, but at least he was friendly. He wasn’t considerate, but he always thanked you. His friend was a whole different beast. Unfriendly. With a spare set of teeth snarling at the world.

The stranger hadn’t even introduced himself. Was he staying long? Moving in? What was he to Johnny? That question alone would answer so many others.

Because you’d never seen him interact beyond basic business with the mechanic, you realized you had no idea of his sexual orientation. Was he gay? Bi? Pan?

His shirtless shoveling shenanigans annoyed you, yes, but you’d unconsciously granted him a little leeway, assuming it had to do with misguided masculine showmanship. The rooster strutting where the hen could see. The dumbass alpha male proving he was a good, strong provider who was also quite nice to look at.

Clearly you were wrong, and in retrospect, you couldn’t see him as anything but a narcistic dipshit in need of training wheels.

You’d thought, maybe, he even liked you. As a friend? A comrade against the cold? As something.

But you were just a stop-gap. Useful.

Convenient.

Until his real friend joined him.

You found your attention unraveling like a cheap sweater. No matter how hard to you dried to darn the holes, you couldn’t keep up with the loose thread undoing all your conscious measures. It was quickly becoming one of those days when you convinced yourself your therapist had lied about everything.

When you messed up, even in your head, everyone knew.

If they didn’t say otherwise, you were annoying everyone in the room. If they did say otherwise, they were just being polite.

You weren’t likeable, not loveable, and the minute you weren’t useful you should make yourself scarce. Otherwise, things would get awkward, and no one wanted that. You could be the adult. You could hack off a limb and smile about it.

It didn’t hurt, and even if it did, it shouldn’t, because you didn’t have a right to that feeling.

Alright. Fine.

You realized, just as you joined the line for the cashier, that you’d forgotten matches and sugar. They’d been on your list. But someone joined the line behind you, and unspoken social rules that probably didn’t exist shackled you in place. Too late. You’d look stupid. You’d bother someone. Oh well. You’d just have to make another trip. Soon. But not too soon. Now there were two sets of eyes watching you from the connecting drive, and you didn’t want to give them reason to gossip and laugh and assume…

Your pile of groceries looked too small on the conveyor belt. Roughly half what they’d been lately. Would the cashier notice? You were sure she did. The way she recited your total sounded disappointed. Was she counting on you buying more? Were you hurting the employees’ holiday bonus? Shit. Fuck.

The bags felt too heavy. Too light. You forgot your reusable sacks at home, and the plastic dug guilt and accusations into the crease of your palms. On top of everything else, you were killing the planet.

You drove home.

Along the river. Through the trees. Up the hills to your corrupted sanctuary.

At least you didn’t need to make a second trip to bring in all the shopping. Your haul landed on the counter, you threw the damned milk in the fridge, and you realized, as you opened the pantry, that you already had four bags of flour. Two all-purpose, two for bread. Because you’d planned to bake for two.

The flour hadn’t been on your list.

And there was no room for it.

Your lip wobbled, and you bit it ferociously, chewing it until the texture changed and bits of skin started peeling.

It wasn’t a problem. You liked being prepared. You’d dump it in one of the emergency storage totes you kept in the hall closet and be ready when something went wrong.

You did just that, popping open the plastic lid and layering the flour over dry lentils, black beans, and shelf-stable cartons of broth. You decided to add more baking supplies to the list. Even if the power went out you could use the wood-burning stove in the living room to make griddle cakes. Maybe even soda bread.

There. Yeah. That wasn’t so bad. A silver lining.

As you returned to the kitchen, brainstorming ways to atone for the plastic bags you’d used, the scent of coffee wafted down the hall. Which was strange. Because you hadn’t put the moka pot on. You rushed in, frowning.

The old drip machine you only used for company burbled in the corner, and the groceries sat precariously on the corner, shoved aside by the beast who’d wandered through your unlocked door.

A tall, mohawked figure groped, shoulder-deep, in your cabinets.

MacTavish.

The Scottish mumbling would’ve tipped you off even if you weren’t so familiar with his figure (and hair, and limited wardrobe).

Your angst tasted bitter as you swallowed it down. You needed space for the feelings popping like firecrackers in your chest.

Relief. Hope. Dread.

He was in your space without invitation, and with the morning you’d just had, you felt anything but comfortable. Either you’d jumped the gun, or he was bringing a delayed apology for his friend.

“Johnny? What are you doing here?”

He smiled over his shoulder as he pulled two cups down from the shelf. One with your college logo and your prized ugly mug.

“Hello, neighbor!” He cackled, laughing at his own joke. “Wanted to give you a heads up and have a chat. My friend’s come to stay with me.”

Friend? What flavor of friend?

“I know. We met this morning.”

“Aye. Real barrel o’ sunshine, isn’ he?”

“If you say so.”

You wanted to be nice. You wanted to be his friend, too. But you weren’t, and you’d worked so hard to be a good, reliable person he could depend on in a new town – you were drained.

“His name’s Ghost.”

Most people grew out of their edgelord status by their early twenties. Ghost –with his skull balaclava and gruff voice – seemed better fit for the emo table of a suburban high school cafeteria than the adult world.

Johnny kept prattling, making an introduction for someone who wasn’t even there. “Told him all about you! He was impressed. Smacked me over the head about the pipes and said we’d go into town for a generator before the next big snow.”

“Hard to predict the next big snow.”

“Aye. He said that, too.”

If Ghost could keep your insights out of his mouth, you would appreciate it. It felt like he was stealing something from you, and you found yourself shifting from foot to foot, arms crossed, waiting for something terrible to happen.

And it did.

Gesturing as he described his old buddy and new housemate, his elbows danced around your kitchen like battering rams. First, he struck a cabinet, which hurt him more than the wood. He laughed it off. Kept talking. You didn’t need to say a word. By that point, you probably couldn’t even if he left space to speak.

For the life of you, you couldn’t riddle out what his visit was for. It was exhausting. He never chattered so much when you brought food or showed him how to keep his home in one piece. Ghost must make him very happy. His joy made you anxious.

His arm wide, indicating the views he’d fallen for and not the practical considerations of living in the goddamn woods on a goddamn mountain, and you watched in slow motion as his forearm caught your ugly mug’s handle.

It spun, wobbling to the edge of the counter, and before you could move, it plummeted.

A bad day instantly became your worst in years.

It must’ve made a sound when it hit, but you didn’t hear it. Or didn’t remember it. You didn’t remember going to the floor after it, either.

Your mug was in pieces, and when you pulled them to safety, wrapped tight in your fist, the glazed edges cut deep. It was such an ugly little thing. Your ugly little thing. You’d made it in one of those sip-and-spin pottery classes with your pals before you stopped going to see people face-to-face.

The mug wasn’t a friend. It was all of your friends. It was the fun you, the one who went out and did things, and moved through life like a real, entire person.

It practically exploded when it hit the tile. Some pieces were bigger than others, but there were dozens of them. Glittering chips and flecks that you knew you’d be finding with your feet through the rest of the winter.

There was no fixing it. It hurt. You were bleeding. Red oozed up between your knuckles and snaked down your wrist.

“Oh, shite! Shite, shite, shite. Are you alright? Here, let me –”

You didn’t want him to touch it again. Didn’t want him to touch you and act like he gave a fuck. This was a big, ugly feeling bubbling up inside, and if he didn’t dislike you yet, he would when he saw all the tears and snot.

A pretty crier you were not.

And no one wanted to see that, or deal with it, or cope with someone else’s messy emotions.

“It’s fine. I’m okay.” You grit your teeth and smiled through them. “But I need to clean this up, and I still have groceries to put away. How about you get your friend settled and we can talk another time, okay?”

“Are you sure?” His attention was fixed on the blood. Bright red was such an alarming color. You could understand.

“Yeah. Just a little scratch. Promise. But I can’t play host and clean myself up.”

His neck went stiff, and his eyes flicked from your face to the floor. Several times. Like he was having an argument with himself. But in the end, he listened, nodded, and got back on his feet from where he’d knelt in front of you.

“If you insist. But we’re right over there if you need anything, aye?”

“I know.”

Finally, he left.

You got up and locked the door behind him. If you’d taken time to do that before you put away the groceries none of this would’ve happened. You would still have your mug and you wouldn’t be on the floor, crying and cradling the remains of something that mattered to you.

-----------------------

He kept coming over when he needed things. Usually after Ghost’s truck rumbled down the drive. Sometimes he wanted advice. Sometimes he needed help. Usually he took tools and supplies he should’ve bought for himself.

You put your curtains to good work. You couldn’t remember a time you drew them so often. If he knocked, you’d answer, but the curtains were a good deterrent. Not foolproof, but something that gave you a little more power over your privacy.

Long jaunts into town have become escapes from your own home. Better the eyes of strangers – fleetingly painful – than the paranoia of sitting under glass where your neighbors might read your habits and foibles by the way the lights turn on and off through the night, might judge your messy hair through the kitchen window as you wash the dishes. Might, might, might. There were terrible possibilities in all that potential.

They were always there. One ready to freeze you out, the other hanging on your apron strings like a teenager who just got his first place. The conflict rubbed over your nerves like a match on a boot heel. Too much, too fast, and you’d combust.

So you found a lot of reasons to go into town. You remembered how much you liked the library, the joy of a cinnamon roll someone else baked, and hot coffee that didn’t come with a side of flashbacks.

The forecast predicted heavy snow overnight, and you made a day of grocery shopping, collecting novels from the library, and avoiding your neighbor’s last-minute requests.

You barely noticed the teens rushing out of the parking lot as you left your final stop, canvas bag loaded with enough media to keep you entertained through the storm of the century. No windows were broken. No key marks scuffed the paint. If they committed any mischief, it was minor.

Gas theft didn’t cross your mind until your engine quietly gave out and your car rolled to a stop between Nowhere and Nothing.

Understanding dawned with grudging revulsion. Like looking at the toilet and realizing it wouldn’t flush.  

The little shits had siphoned your tank.

You smacked the steering wheel, cursing.

So much for the benefit of the doubt. You couldn’t escape. Everyone everywhere just wanted to use you.

But it was fine. Everything would be fine. You were always prepared in case someone fucked you over. Your wellbeing was your responsibility, after all.

Climbing out of the warm cabin, you headed to the back and pulled out the emergency gas can.

The red plastic was shockingly light. You didn’t realize until you’d already thrown your weight into the yank. Unbalanced, you tottered, and your heel skidded over ice.

The snow cushioned your fall, and you stared blankly into the white limned branches overhead as you tried to process the last five seconds. Things like this happened to idiots. They did not happen to you. Careful, cautious you with your backup plans and reserves.

You had simply made a mistake. Somewhere. Somehow. You’d find an explanation.

When you sat up, still in a state of shock, you examined the can, expecting signs of a mouse, or a crack, or…

An I.O.U. was taped to the back.

You knew the handwriting all too well.

That shitting little…

The snow arrived. Silence swallowed the mountain, and the gloaming snuffed the last of the sun’s warmth.

You sat alone on the side of the road, well aware that no one would come up this way for hours. Days maybe.

You had made a mistake.

You made your neighbor chicken soup.

Your nose burned, and you sniffed. Hot tears rolled down your face, burning as they went, and you wiped at them furiously. The wool of your mittens chafed your cheek. Your lip wobbled, and you hurled the empty can into the woods.

Fuck Johnny MacTavish.

Fuck Ghost.

Fuck your life.

[luv-lock]

⸻ ᴅ ᴇ ʟ ɪ ᴄ ɪ ᴏ ᴜ ꜱ ⸻

Pairing: Laios Touden x Fem Reader

Headcanon: How would he be when he's obsessed?

Notes: English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

The first time Laios saw you, he swore you were something out of a myth.

“You’re amazing!” he had blurted after you single-handedly took down a particularly pesky scorpion-beast. “That throw, the precision! Have you always been this skilled?”

You’d laughed, shrugging off his admiration, but it was already too late. Laios was hooked.

It started small. The way his eyes lit up every time you spoke about your favorite foods. He’d lean in, listening intently, like your words held the secrets of the universe. You figured he was just being polite—until you caught him scribbling something in his journal.

“Laios, what are you writing?” you’d asked, trying to peek over his shoulder.

“Oh, nothing!” he said, slamming the book shut, his grin wide and suspiciously sheepish. “Just notes about the dungeon! Very important research!”

You thought nothing of it—until the next day, when Laios presented you with a dish made entirely out of dungeon monsters.

“I remembered you said you liked stews,” he explained, practically bouncing on his heels. “So I made this! It’s manticore tail with some wild dungeon herbs. Don’t worry, it’s safe! I taste-tested it three times!”

You blinked at the bowl he shoved into your hands. The stew smelled... surprisingly good. Hesitantly, you took a bite, and your eyes widened.

“This is amazing, Laios!”

And that was the moment. That was when you unknowingly sealed your fate.

He always made sure you had the best portion of whatever monster they managed to cook. "You need to try this! The texture is so unique—perfect for someone with your refined palate," he’d say, sliding a perfectly roasted slice of basilisk tail onto your plate with almost childlike eagerness.

Or how he’d insist on walking beside you, his gaze flicking to your face every few moments as though trying to memorize every shift in your expression. "Did you see that? Your eyes lit up when you looked at the cave crystals," he once noted, his tone as soft as the warm glow of the dungeon lamps.

“Are you hungry?” he’d ask, far too frequently. You weren’t sure why he’d stare at you so intently whenever you answered. He had a way of watching you eat that bordered on unnerving—eyes wide, as if every bite you took held profound meaning.

When you laughed, he smiled so widely it was almost painful to look at, his cheeks flushed with delight. “Your laugh,” he once said, utterly sincere, “reminds me of the soft whistle of steam escaping a pot of stew right before it’s done.”

That was Laios for you. Always comparing you to food.

"Are you cold?" he asked one evening, already shrugging off his cloak to drape it over your shoulders. “Here, take this. You need it more than I do.”

You tried to protest, but he shook his head. "No, no, I insist! If you got sick, I’d—" His voice faltered, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of something darker in his eyes. “I’d never forgive myself.”

At first, it was easy to dismiss it as harmless admiration. Laios loved everything—food, dungeons, and his companions. But then it started to feel... heavier.

One day you find out that he’d carved a tiny figurine of you out of monster bone. "It’s not creepy, I swear!" he exclaimed when you stared at it in shock. "I just thought your likeness would look amazing in bone. Look at the detail on the hair!"

At some point, it started becoming... stranger. You woke up one morning to find him crouched near your bedroll, carefully observing your face. When you jolted awake, he beamed at you like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “Oh, sorry! I just... you look so peaceful when you sleep. Like a dragon curled around its treasure.”

He wasn’t even trying to be creepy—he just meant it. That was the worst part.

Then there were the meals he tailored specifically to your tastes—so specific that you wondered how he knew what you craved before you did. "I noticed how you wrinkled your nose at the slime pudding last week, so I’ve been experimenting with a recipe that’s more palatable for you," he explained, his smile as bright as the dungeon’s glowing moss.

And the lengths he went to for you... they started to escalate. A particularly rare flower monster once tried to entangle you with its thorny vines, and Laios lost his usual jovial composure. His sword swung with ferocity, his face a mask of rage. When the creature was finally reduced to a pile of pulp, he turned to you, breathless. “Are you hurt? It touched you—I saw it touch you.”

You assured him you were fine, but he was already rummaging through the remains of the creature, muttering something about using its petals to brew a protective potion for you.

“I can’t stand the idea of anything harming you,” he said softly, not looking at you. “You’re... too important.”

It wasn’t just his actions; it was the way he spoke to you, the way he talked about you when he thought you weren’t listening.

“She’s incredible,” you overheard him say to Marcille one evening as they prepared camp. “She’s so strong, and clever, and kind. Did you see the way she handled that mimic today? I—I just can’t imagine this party without her.”

Marcille sighed, clearly used to his ramblings. “Yes, Laios. She’s great. But you might want to ease up a little. You’re... intense.”

“Intense?” Laios frowned, as if the idea had never occurred to him. “I just want her to feel appreciated! She deserves that. She deserves everything.”

And yet, despite the obsessive edge, Laios’s affection was oddly pure. He didn’t stalk you through the dungeon or try to isolate you from the others—though you sometimes caught him watching you with a dreamy, faraway look, as if he were already imagining the next meal he’d cook for you.

And yet, there was something unsettling in his devotion. It wasn’t malicious, but it was overwhelming. Laios had always been insatiable when it came to things he loved—monster cuisine, dungeon exploration, rare artifacts. Now, that insatiable hunger was directed at you.

His obsession was his way of showing love: an all-consuming desire to protect you, to make you smile, to ensure you were never hungry, never in danger. It wasn’t the dark, suffocating kind of obsession that trapped you. It was... Laios.

"I wonder," he mused one evening as the fire crackled between the party, "if there’s a way to preserve this moment forever. You, here, with me... It’s perfect."

For all his warmth and cheer, there was an intensity in his words that made you shiver.

And somehow, that made it all the harder to resist.