Falling for you was Anything but a Mistake

by Identity_Theft

Summary:

Shadow Milk Cookie is not soft. He isn't kind, and he doesn’t tell the truth.

Pure Vanilla Cookie would beg to differ.

<3

A sappy story following our favorite cookie duo, from redemption and patience, to love and understanding. And then of course, let's spice it up ;)

Top Shadow Milk Cookie in this economy!? Wow, that's insane!

Notes:

Hii!! So I haven't written a fanfic in ages so lets hope and pray that this isn’t trash.

Anyways, enjoy!

Chapter 1: Jellyberries are in Season

Notes:

Okay you horny freaks (hah just kidding, me too, I get it), there's unfortunately no smut in this chapter, my apologies.

Give me some ideas and maybe next time ;)

Shadow Milk was upset. Fuming, even. It had been three weeks since Pure Vanilla Cookie had brought him away from Beast-Yeast and to the Vanilla Kingdom, and god was it boring. Shadow Milk had, regretfully, decided to keep his shenanigans to a minimum after a particularly unsavory outcome that had resulted from one of his pranks on the resident sugar gnomes.

 

Pure Vanilla was not happy with him when he had walked out into the castle gardens, only to find all of his sugar gnomes drenched in blue-dyed fertilizer. After that, Shadow Milk had basically put himself on house arrest; he wouldn’t ever admit out loud, but it had kind of hurt to see Pure Vanilla so disappointed. Not angry- Pure Vanilla was never angry. Just disappointed, and perhaps even upset.

 

Either way, Shadow Milk was bored; so bored he could probably eat a horse. Maybe he would go eat a horse, then his Silly Vanilly would have to pay attention–

 

No, that was stupid. The Beast huffed dejectedly, and glanced out to the gardens below his balcony. Maybe he’d go for a walk, and possibly run into Pure Vanilla Cookie. Shadow Milk turned away from the large glass doors, and decided to take the long way down. His walk (or rather float), down to the gardens was just as boring as he’d expected. Shadow Milk looked around, but there was no Pure Vanilla in sight.

 

“What a drag.” With a sigh, the beast cookie slumped to the ground, and rested his head on the grand marble fountain that was stationed in the middle of the Vanilla Kingdom’s courtyard. The cookie’s sharp claws scratched invisible doodles into the stone path, while his pointed ears flicked at the slightest noise. Shadow Milk was just itching to cause trouble, but what if Pure Vanilla got upset at him again? Maybe he could get away with just a small prank though, maybe-

 

“Deep in thought?”

 

Shadow Milk flinched slightly at the gentle, yet startling voice of the cookie he had spent an entire hour idly looking for. Looking up, Shadow Milk saw the blind healer standing gracefully by the fountain, a woven basket in one hand and his staff in the other. The ancient was dressed in a toned down version of his usual gown, and rather than his cone hat  – which Shadow Milk found particularly revolting – was a beautifully made flower crown.

 

“Uh, no. I don’t do ‘deep thinking.’ What’s with the new look anyway? You going on some fancy date or something stupid?” Shadow Milk quipped, crossing his arms as he slumped even further into the fountain's wall.

 

Pure Vanilla Cookie ignored the beast’s rude remark with a huff of amusement, and sat down on the edge of the fountain, “Hmm, really? You seemed pretty deep in thought to me. You don’t usually let me sneak up on you like that.” The ancient sighed, and brushed non-existent dust off of his thin robes before putting the wicker basket down right next to Shadow Milk. “Are you feeling well? You’ve seemed restless lately. Less… mischievous than you usually are.”

 

Shadow Milk tensed before averting his gaze from the blonde next to him. “Well maybe I’ve just run out of ideas. Maybe, if you did so happen to catch me deep in thought, it was because I was busy scheming up a new prank.”

 

Pure Vanilla studied the deceitful cookie for a moment before leaning down and opening his basket, the sweet scent of freshly-baked tart jampies practically assaulted the beast’s nose. “Perhaps you’d like to join me for lunch? Jellyberries are in season right now, so I have some tarts with me, among other treats, of course. I was going to sit alone in the gardens, but that seems rather boring, no? I’d do well with some company, and I think a change of scenery would do you some good as well.” The ancient had reached down to grab a carefully wrapped sandwich before Shadow Milk had even gotten to speak. Pure Vanilla sat up, and offered the sandwich with a gentle smile.

 

“You want me to have lunch with you? Hmpf, and I thought I was the weird one. Why would you want to have lunch with a beast? Scared I’ll prank your sugar gnomes again, so you planned to occupy my time?” The eyes littering Shadow Milks hair were squinted, obviously worked up over the cookie’s outburst.

 

Pure Vanilla simply picked up the basket, and stood. “Of course I want you to have lunch with me, but it was only an offer, not a request. The sun is out, and there isn’t a cloud in sight. I just wanted to invite a friend to lunch, is all. No harm in declining the offer.” Despite his words, Pure Vanilla was still holding the sandwich out to the trickster beside him.

 

Shadow Milk seemed to calculate his response, before scoffing and standing up, only to snatch the sandwich from the ancient. “Whatever, Silly Vanilly, but if I get bored you’re number one on the prank list.”

Pure Vanilla chuckled before turning to walk towards his favorite picnic spot, trusting Shadow Milk to follow him. “I think I’ll take my chances. I’m far too excited to have lunch with you, it’d be criminal to shy away because of a silly prank.” As Pure Vanilla expected, Shadow Milk was quick to fall into step beside him. Unbeknownst to each other, both were quite curious to see how their lunch would turn out.

 

Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn’t be a bad way to spend an afternoon.

Pure Vanilla Cookie pulled a classic, red and white checkered blanket from the picnic basket as the two neared his favorite place in the garden, before handing the basket off to Shadow Milk. As soon as the two entered the shade of the giant apple jelly tree, Pure Vanilla laid the blanket on the grass and sat down, looking up expectantly at Shadow Milk. The beast in question huffed before plopping down next to him, setting the basket between the two.

 

The ancient made quick work of pulling everything out of the seemingly never-ending basket, (No, seriously, how on Earthbread did he manage to fit all of that in that tiny basket), finishing by setting two tea cups down, and pulling out a pot of steaming tea. The basket was closed gently, and Shadow Milk just stared at the cookie before him. It was just so fancy.

 

Shadow Milk, however, was not impressed. He raised his eyebrow at the ancient cookie. “So, what’s with all the, uh, fancy-ness?” The beast eyed the eccentric napkins with suspicion.

 

“Hmm? What do you mean?”

 

“There are literally cloth napkins, gold-lined plates, and a floral themed tea set… I just wanna know why you’ve got all this stuff for a picnic. It’s kind of weird.”

 

Pure Vanilla smiled, and began pouring them both tea. “Would you rather have eaten inside? Or continued sulking by the fountain?”

 

Shadow Milk snorted. “Whatever Silly Vanilly, I could’ve just stolen something from the market. I’m not picky.” Despite his words, Shadow Milk grabbed a piece of bread and scarfed it down, his fangs ripping the sweetened dough to shreds.

 

“And yet, here you are.”

 

Shadow Milk rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue against the claim. The cookies ate in relative silence for a while, just enjoying their time – though Shadow Milk wouldn’t admit it.

 

The beast did admit – though not out loud – that the actual food was good, however sickeningly sweet. The ancients chef's sure knew how to bake a tart jampie.

 

The beast didn’t notice Pure Vanilla sipping his tea while watching him eat in amusement, so forgive him if he was a bit startled at the sudden disturbance in their silence. “You don’t have to eat so fast, you know. The food won’t run away.”

 

Shadow Milk raised a questioning eyebrow. “You sure? I could change that, you know-”

 

Pure Vanilla shook his head while chuckling “Ah, no thank you. I quite like my garden. Peaceful and boring as it is.” The ancient only smiled more as the cookie in front of him muttered a quip under his breath. After a few moments, Pure Vanilla reached back into the basket and pulled out a treat that was very obviously carefully wrapped in cloth. “Here,” he said, offering the treat to Shadow Milk, “I baked this one myself.”

 

Shadow Milk narrowed his eyes at the offering skeptically. “Are you playing a prank on me right now?”

 

“Of course not! Tricks aren’t my specialty anyway, so I’ll leave that to you.”

 

Shadow Milk grabbed the treat hesitantly, but carefully unwrapped it regardless of his… concerns. The pastry inside was simple, but surprisingly familiar. “...Did you make this for me?” He was honestly taken aback. Why would such a kind cookie take time out of his day to specially make something for him? He was the Beast of Deceit, dammit! It didn’t make any sense.

 

Pure Vanilla, as if sensing Shadow Milk’s inner turmoil, set his staff down to get the beast's attention before shuffling a bit closer to fully see the cookie. The ancient nodded happily, quite pleased with himself.

 

“Yes, I know you don’t have as much of a sweet tooth as most residents of the Vanilla Kingdom, and I remembered an off-hand comment of yours about liking dark chocolate brownies, so I made one for you! Go on, try it. I haven’t baked in a while though, so I’m not sure if it’ll be as good as you’re used to.” Shadow Milk eyed Pure vanilla skeptically, before taking a bite of the brownie.

 

It was perfect. It was the perfect temperature, the perfect sweetness, and delectably fudgy.

 

Shadow Milk averted his eyes as he took another bite of the brownie. “It’s fine,” he muttered, his pointed ears flicking.

 

The ancient eyes squinted as his smile widened. “I’m glad,” he stated, before taking a bite of a tart jampie. Shadow Milked grumbled, but shoved the rest of the brownie into his mouth with an annoyed huff.

 

Pure Vanilla simply refilled their tea.

Chapter 2: Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire!

Summary:

Shadow Milk Cookie is a liar. Obviously. But Pure Vanilla can see right through him.

Even though Pure Vanilla can't really see. You picking up what I'm putting down?
Stupid Blue Cookie can't hide from his other half. That's what I'm putting down. You're welcome.

Notes:

Guys you'll never believe it but I was playing crk on my other monitor while writing this :P

Shadow Milk Cookie was going to lose his mind. The Vanilla Kingdom, while admittedly beautiful, was boring , and unfortunately for Shadow Milk, seemingly completely empty today. The jester couldn’t find a single cookie to, ah- torment? To prank, he couldn’t find anyone to play a little trick on. He had looked everywhere, but alas, there wasn’t a cookie in sight.

 

It sucked. 

 

Despite his previously self-declared house arrest, the beast had started his deceitful habits again, about three days after his picnic with Pure Vanilla Cookie. He kept his tricks small, of course; turning someone’s tea cold the moment they took a sip, switching around the tapestries in the throne room just enough to throw off the symmetry. He even started rearranging furniture in the castle's main sitting room, leaving cookies bewildered when they entered and found everything in the room to be just slightly off.

 

It wasn’t really the most enjoyable way to spend his time, but it was better than sulking around all day. 

 

These tiny tricks wouldn’t keep his urges at bay forever though, and Shadow Milk knew this. He was itching for something bigger- something better . He wanted something that would actually entertain him.

 

The beast huffed an annoyed sigh before trudging down one of the castle's many hallways, claws dragging along the grand walls. The large stained-glass windows of this particular hallway painted the marble floors in a brilliant, orange-pink, but even the warm glow did nothing to ease Shadow Milk’s restlessness. His patience was dwindling rapidly, and with nothing to distract him, the beast felt a bit lost. He could plot more pranks… Or maybe swap the statue of Pure Vanilla in the courtyard to one of him? The cookie's ears twitched at the gentle chirping of a few blue birds outside, before he sighed another long, exaggerated sigh and picked up his pace through the hall. 

 

The beast reached the end of the hall and turned the corner, and spotted a familiar figure walking ahead of him.

 

Finally, thank the witches.

 

Strolling through the sunlit corridor was none other than his favorite Silly Vanilly.

 

The ancient in question was moving at his usual, unhurried pace. His poster was relaxed (but still that of a noble), and his staff was held loosely in his left hand. The ancients' long, extravagant robes were trailing behind him, the intricate embroidered vanilla cone pattern gleaming beautifully in the sunlight. He radiated the gentle presence he always had, and was humming softly to himself. But best of all- he was completely oblivious to the beast lurking behind him. 

 

The beast perked up, and a slow, mischievous grin etched itself into his face.

 

Well, well, well.

 

Shadow Milk flickered his gaze from the ancients head, to the bottom of his robes, and back up again, before locking onto the cookie's elaborate cone hat. Perfect. Shadow Milk was quick to trail behind the tanned cookie, floating just above the ground in order to make sure he wasn’t detected.

 

Oh yeah, this was gonna be good.

 

Slowly, the beast reached out, hands prepared to send the slightest breeze towards the healer, just soft enough to blow the hat right off of his buttery locks-

 

He hesitated.

 

Would the ancient even give him the reaction he craved? The healer never got mad. He didn’t get mad when Shadow Milk turned the courtyard fountain to chocolate, not when the beast pulled his chair out from under him, and not even when he had purposefully mixed all of the books in the library up. The cookie was never mad. Not even once. Other than the incident with the blue-fertilizer, the ancient always just let out a calm sigh and smiled, as if he was expecting all of the inconveniencing pranks.

 

And maybe he was expecting them. It was infuriating. 

 

Of course, Shadow Milk didn’t necessarily want the ancient to be mad at him; he wasn’t looking for an angry reaction. But the healer barely even flinched when the trickster threw something his way. Shadow Milk narrowed his eyes slightly. If the ancient wasn’t going to react to his basic tomfoolery, he’d just have to up his game.

 

The beast snapped out of his thoughts as Pure Vanilla reached a set of elegant doors. Just as the ancient started to step through the doorway, Shadow Milk sent a brush of air his way, just enough to blow the cap right off of his head. 

 

The healer just watched as his hat drifted towards the floor, blinking owlishly. “Oh dear…” He muttered, tracking the blurry hat with his eyes as it finally hit the ground.

 

What? No, that wasn’t right. Was that it? Just an “Oh dear?” This cookie was going to drive him insane. Perhaps he just needed to try a bit harder…

 

Pure Vanilla reached down to pick up his hat, but as soon as his fingertips grazed the fabric, another breeze of air gently lifted it off of the ground and farther away from him.

 

“Curious…” Was all that was muttered, Pure Vanilla slowly following his run-away hat. Rather than bending down, the healer pressed the bottom of his staff to his cap, effectively trapping it. He picked it up, and placed it perfectly onto his head with practiced ease.

 

As the tanned cookie fell back into step towards the door he had traveled a bit away from, another gust of wind blew his hat off of his head. This time, however, it was blown right back into his face.

 

There was a beat of silence, before that hat fell to the floor with a plop.

 

“...Oh.”

 

Seriously? “...Oh?”  

 

The beast huffed angrily as he stared at the ancient. Pure Vanilla stood still, staring at his fallen hat, as if contemplating whether he should reach to pick it up, or just leave it on the ground. Finally, the healer crouched down and gathered his hat. He inspected it with- what was that, amusement? Then, with an amused, but entirely unbothered expression, he placed it back onto his head and adjusted it to be perfect, as it always was.

 

Shadow Milk was going to lose his mind, if he hadn’t lost it already.

 

The ancient was killing him.

 

There was no way, right? How on Earthbread was the healer so damn calm? 

 

Pure Vanilla started humming softly again, turned on his heel, and walked through the large doors like nothing had happened. He was completely unfazed.

 

Shadow Milk glared after him, crossing his arms dejectedly, and scoffed. “Unbelievable.” The cookie's eyes narrowed as he began plotting his next prank.

 

He’d just have to try even harder next time, then.

The next time came soon enough. Two days after Shadow Milk's failed hat prank, to be exact. The beast had been plotting ways to annoy Pure Vanilla while wandering around the castle, when he stumbled across his favorite Silly Vanilly in the library. The ancient had been minding his own business, sipping his tea while reading a book on a well-loved armchair. 

 

He’d been scheming so many ways to get under Pure Vanilla’s dough, so forgive the beast if he had practically jumped at the opportunity. The healer leaned back into the plush armchair, before reaching out for his teacup.

 

His beloved teacup was not in reach. Glancing up from his book, the healer saw his cup floating. It wasn’t too high off of the table, maybe an inch or two, but it still caught Pure Vanilla by surprise. 

 

Unfortunately for Shadow Milk, the ancients' surprise wasn’t displayed on his face. The cookie simply grabbed his spoon and gently tapped the cup’s rim, urging it to lower back to the table’s surface. The teacup didn’t obey, it just continued floating gracefully. “Hmm,” he mused, “That’s new.”

 

Shadow Milk scowled. That’s new? Oh, the audacity of this cookie-

 

The cup floated a bit higher as a result of the beast's disappointment, but the healer just tilted his head. “Oh my…”

 

Again, the cup was raised slightly.

 

The ancient hummed thoughtfully, “Well, that’s a bit-”

 

The teacup dropped onto the table. The height it fell from wasn’t enough to shatter the cup, but it was enough to splash the tea. Pure Vanilla let out a startled chuckle (not that Shadow Milk was paying any attention to him, he was too busy sulking), and grabbed a napkin before chuckling to himself. He dabbed at the spill, cleaning it easily, before turning to the shadowed area behind a bookshelf, where he knew the beast was lurking.

 

“Now, now,” he chided softly, “If you wanted my attention, you only had to ask.”

 

The beast growled, slinking out of his hiding spot and facing the ancient. He crossed his arms, before scoffing at Pure Vanilla, “I wasn’t asking for your attention. I don’t even want your attention.”

 

“Ah, of course not, my apologies for assuming.” Pure Vanilla stated, a quiet smile plastered onto his face, “However, I think I would enjoy your presence. Care to join me?”

 

Before Shadow Milk could respond, the healer pulls another teacup out of seemingly nowhere , and pours the beast a cup of tea. Though he can’t really see the trickster, Pure Vanilla stares up at Shadow Milk, practically challenging him to leave.

 

The beast huffs before yanking the tea from the healer's hand, and plops down into the squishy chair next to the ancient’s. Pure Vanilla smiles happily, and continues reading out loud, so Shadow Milk can enjoy the book too.

Shadow Milk didn’t comment on his own slightly flushed ears, and if the ancient had noticed, he hadn’t said anything.

 

This was because Pure Vanilla had his own heart beat to worry about.

Pure Vanilla cookie found the beast's attempts at trickery rather amusing - and kind of flattering, if he was being honest. It warmed the ancients heart to know that the beast was spending so much time thinking about him. Not that Shadow Milk would really see it that way, but alas, it was a simple fact. Of course, most of his toned-down tricks could be seen from a mile away (or at least fixed rather easily once they happened), but Pure Vanilla was just happy that the beast wasn’t actually trying to destroy him anymore.

 

While he wasn’t quite sure why the beast had stayed in the kingdom for so long without putting up a fight, the ancient wasn’t going to start complaining. He enjoyed Shadow Milk’s company, as sarcastic and energetic as he was.

 

Ever since he had brought Shadow Milk back from Beast-Yeast, he had felt more fulfilled. He assumed it had something to do with their connected souls, but he didn’t really go looking for information. He was content with his new friend, even if said friend caused his heart to race a bit. Or, more than a bit. Perhaps he should be more concerned, he’s usually quite good at being calm and rational. And respectful of boundaries. Pure Vanilla wasn’t sure when it happened; maybe it was during his time in the Spire, or maybe it had started when the two cookies had returned to the Vanilla Kingdom. When it began was not important though.

 

Pure Vanilla Cookie had no idea why he was so touchy with Shadow Milk. He was finally made aware of his own affection after one of Shadow Milk’s unsuccessful pranks. The beast had poured blue powder onto the ancients robes in a sneak attack; the healer had just finished up a meeting, and was on his way towards his personal chambers before being ambushed. According to the trickster, he had planted a couple water jets to make sure the powder had dyed his robes. It failed, of course, but it wasn’t the actual prank that plagued the healer's mind.

 

It was the fact that he had been quite touchy afterwards. And only towards Shadow Milk. Once the powder had been poured on him, he just turned around and grabbed onto the beast in a pseudo-hug. It had gotten the powder all over Shadow Milk, which may or may not have been his plan, but then he stayed there. 

 

Pure Vanilla was still shocked that the beast had let him stay there for so long; usually a single touch is enough to send him spiraling into a bunch of random nonsense and lies, but not this time.

 

It was just… Odd.

 

Since then, the healer had been even more open to just grabbing the beast whenever he wanted, whether it be for support so he could grab his staff, or just to annoy the blue cookie. It didn’t really matter, and Pure Vanilla found he didn’t mind the new side of himself, and it seemed that Shadow Milk didn’t truly mind it either (though, that isn’t to say he just let it slide. Shadow Milk liked to complain a lot).

 

The Kingdom staff had initially had concerns, since they weren’t used to an oddly touchy Pure Vanilla Cookie, but they dropped their concerns after a couple of weeks of the behavior. 

 

The beast’s pranks had even died down slightly. Sure, he still plotted and set a bunch up, but there were noticeably less than there were during the first couple weeks of his stay. The severity had died down as well, though Pure Vanilla tried his best to secretly ramp up some of the tricks when he noticed Shadow Milk getting a bit too restless. 

 

This is why it took the ancient by surprise when he had sat down to read a book in his favorite corner of the library. It was usually quiet in that particular corner; most of the staff stayed clear of the enormous library, and the ones that did traverse through the rows of shelves wouldn't dare take the trek all the way to the back corner. The ancient simply wasn’t ready for his favorite chair to tip almost all the way back when he sat in it.

 

“Oh!”

 

Pure Vanilla was thankful that Shadow Milk had decided that he’d keep the ancient safe in the prank; he could feel the magic in place, so he didn’t let out another gasp when the chair was pulled back into its normal position.

 

“Yes! I finally got you Nilly, you’re so cute when you-”

 

The ancient stared at the beast’s blurry figure in shock, hands still gripping the arm rests tightly. Both cookies were frozen in place.

 

Time seemed to stop.

 

“...What was that?”

 

“It was nothing,” he quipped, ears twitching, before turning on his heel towards the exit. “Forget I said anything.”

 

Pure Vanilla stood from his chair, his usual composure cracking in his flustered state. He blinked slowly, fingers twitching by his side. Shadow Milk was running away? In embarrassment?

 

“...Wait.”

 

The beast stopped in his tracks (not that he had gone very far), and turned back to the ancient. Pure Vanilla stepped towards him slowly, before reaching out. He hesitated for a moment, before gripping onto the beast’s puffy sleeves. “You said something,” he murmured.

 

Pure Vanilla felt as the cookie before him tensed, his eyes glaring in an almost unnoticeable way, his pointed ears twitching. “No, I didn’t.”

 

Liar. Pure Vanilla had spent enough time with the cookie to know his tells. Of course, they were barely present, and could really only be seen if one was paying incredibly close attention. But everyone had them, including the Beast of Deceit himself.

 

Pure Vanilla hummed thoughtfully, squinting his eyes so he was able to see the beast's face. His grip on Shadow Milk’s sleeve tightened. “Hmm. I think you did.”

 

Shadow Milk was fully glaring at him now. He shifted his weight back and forth before replying. “Why do you care?”

 

The ancient blinked. Wasn’t it obvious?

 

“...Because, I think I’d like to hear it again.”

 

The beast huffed. “Well that’s too bad. I don’t think I’ll be saying anything.”

 

The healer frowned, before pulling the trickster into a hug. “Please, just be honest with me.”

 

Shadow Milk felt his face heat up as his ears pressed flat against his head. He exhaled sharply, “I think I’m perfectly honest, actually. I’m so honest that you might as well let me take your job, Nilly.”

 

“No, I don’t think so. How does the saying go? Liar, liar, pants on fire? You’re one big ball of dishonesty.” Pure Vanilla, while uncharacteristically hesitant, was quite pleased with himself.

 

The beast pulled out of Pure Vanilla’s embrace slightly, before looking towards the floor. “Fine, whatever. I think my Silly Vanilly is a cutie.” 

 

Pure Vanilla cookie’s stomach flipped. He tried his best to keep his expression even - tried to stay composed. His heart felt loud , though, and he was almost certain the beast could feel the beat through their soul bond; they were so close together.

 

“...Oh.”

 

The beast scowled. “ Oh? Is that really all you have to say?”

 

The ancient shook his head and smiled. “No, no, I was just… I guess I expected more of a fight.”

 

“Yeah? Well I wasn’t expecting you to be so sarcastic, so I get we’re both at fault, huh. Whatever, you can laugh it up now. I know you want to.” Shadow Milk growled.

 

“I wouldn’t make fun of you. Ever,” Pure Vanilla started, before chuckling a bit. “Besides, I think you’re pretty, ah, cute too?”

 

Shadow Milk raised an eyebrow at the cookies' hesitance. “Cute? You think I’m cute. You’re such a hypocrite, Nilly. I know what I look like.” The beast gestured to himself. “This? Nothing about this screams cute.”

 

Pure Vanilla frowned and looked away, muttering something about not lying, before turning back towards Shadow Milk. “Would you prefer handsome then? Good-looking, perhaps?”

 

Shadow Milk's ears burned. “You’re the absolute worst, you know that? I should’ve prepared for all this trouble when I followed you out of Beast-Yeast.”

 

The healer merely smiled, before pulling them towards their usual armchairs. “Maybe you should have, too late now though.”

 

Shadow Milk let the tanned cookie drag them into their respective chairs before watching as the ancient scooted the armchairs closer together. The healer grabbed one of the books he had been reading before allowing both cookies to slouch into their chairs. Pure Vanilla opened the book with his left hand, before reaching to grab at one of the beast’s hands.

 

Shadow Milk let himself sink into the plush cushion, both his and Pure Vanilla’s hands grasped together, fingers intertwined.

 

And if Shadow Milk allowed himself to relax into the peaceful setting while his other half read aloud? Well, don’t go spreading the truth; that was a scene for the two cookies to enjoy, and no one else. Plus, it would totally ruin his reputation.

 

(Not that he really cared anyway).

Notes:

Hope you enjoyed!! More to come soon, hopefully. I just can't get these cookies out of my brain! They're living rent-free up there :')
Oh, if any of you have suggestions for nicknames PV could call SM, I'm all ears. I'm currently thinking Milkie or Milkshake could be some off-hand ones he uses when SM is pestering him, but I'm not sure how exactly to write in nicknames while keeping PV at least semi-cannon. Are those alright, or should I just drop the nickname idea? Lmk what you think!

Questions? Comments? Concerns?
Reading your comments brightens my day <3

Chapter 3: It's Okay to Take it Slow!

Summary:

Hair is braided, tea and coffee are tasted, and Pure Vanilla is taken care of 🥺🤧

That last one didn't rhyme. Sorry :P

Notes:

Guys writers block hit me so hard-

It took FOREVER to start writing this, but once I forced myself to just do it, I got it done in three days. Still a while, but at least it's here for you all to read!

 

...Guys what if I told you I was mildly afraid of the Ao3 author curse. I don't wanna be hit by a bus 😥

Pure Vanilla Cookie yawned, eyes fluttering open slowly as he awoke from a peaceful slumber. The healer was a morning cookie, so he wasn’t surprised to see a purple-gray sky through his large windows. He slowly dragged himself out of bed, his long, unkempt hair trailing behind him.

 

The ancient began his normal routine with practiced ease, starting by slipping into his extravagant robes, before pulling his hair back into a questionably large messy bun. The healer picked his staff up before heading towards his window to stretch with the rising sun. Once finished, the cookie would stroll down to the kitchens where his aggressively floral tea was waiting for him. 

 

The ancient’s mornings were slow, quiet, and peaceful. Just as they had always been; just how he liked them. Pure Vanilla moved through the castle halls back towards his chambers, footsteps soft and careful as he carried his steaming porcelain teacup. The gentle aroma of his favorite tea – jasmine with a bit of honey, a sprinkle of sugar, and a touch of milky creamer – followed behind the cookie, before slowly filling his room once he had gotten there. He took his usual seat at the tall bookshelf placed beside another one of his windows, and nestled into the cushioned alcove that overlooked the Vanilla Kingdom gardens.

 

The sky outside was still tinted a soft orange-purple, though the sun was steadily rising higher and higher from where he’d last seen it during his stretch. The cookie sipped his tea slowly, savoring the warmth that spread throughout his chest.

 

The ancient cherished these moments – calm, peaceful… There was something just so precious about watching as listening as the world woke up. There was also the added bonus of the pure solitude he was allowed during the mornings, but… he also didn’t mind when a certain blue cookie came to interrupt his peace. 

 

The ancient sighed before setting his tea on the small end table beside him. He slowly picked up his comb – old, wooden, and deformed from years of use. The healer, having taken his hair out of the messy bun, gently worked through the strands of his unruly hair. Pure Vanilla was patient in his work, undoing the worst of his tangles with a touch of magic, and a ton of perseverance. He was about halfway through combing his hair when he was distracted by the rising sun outside. His hair shimmered in the warm morning light, glistening with a golden glow he’d never seen elsewhere. The comb was left on the side table, forgotten.

 

Despite his peaceful morning (that he really did adore), he found himself pausing often, ears straining to hear any out-or-place sound, as he twisted his staff towards the door more than once. Admittedly, he was missing the bothersome – yet always enjoyable – presence of someone who could probably be considered his favorite cookie. Not that he would ever admit it to anyone, especially White Lily Cookie.

 

It was strange how easily his morning routine changed to make space for another. Strange, though not all that unwanted.

 

Not unwanted at all, actually.

 

Pure Vanilla glanced at the second, tea cup he had set out, the gold rimmed cup blurring harshly with its surroundings.

 

“Just in case…”

 

The healer wasn’t entirely sure when it had started. When he had decided to start bringing two cups of tea back to his room. Maybe it was when Shadow Milk had crept into his room, bright and early (the cookie had admitted he was planning on putting non-permanent dye into the ancient’s hair while he was sleeping), only to catch Pure Vanilla in the middle of his routine. The healer had been in the middle of dealing with a particularly dreadful knot, and the soft scowl on his face had apparently shocked the beast.

 

Perhaps it was when the beast barged into his room while clanging pans together to wake him, but was met with the healer stretching in front of a large window. The ancient had twisted around quickly, but was only met with a blurry blue figure, frozen in his doorway. Shadow Milk assures him that he was simply a bit surprised that the ancient wasn’t always adorned in his large robes.

 

He is the beast of deceit, though, so the healer will never know how flushed the prankster had gotten at merely seeing Pure Vanilla in his casual bodysuit that was usually hidden beneath layers of fabric.

 

Or maybe, it had started sooner than that. When the beast's one-sided teasing had melted into something softer. When the healer’s uneasy offers turned into fond requests.

 

He let out a small breath and reached for the second cup, adding just a sprinkle of sugar, and a teaspoon of milk to the bitter, black coffee that had just cooled enough to drink. The cookie had found out Shadow Milk liked bitter coffee more than he enjoyed tea (the healer had also noted the beast’s preferred add-ins during their discussion). He didn’t know if Shadow Milk would actually turn up, but there was no harm in making enough for two.

 

The silence continued, almost anticipating the arrival of the beast. Then, faintly, the sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway outside of the healers room. Heavy, and reluctant. But familiar.

 

A smile forced its way onto Pure Vanilla’s face – gentle, amused, but a smile only for his favorite beast to see – as the healer took another sip of his tea.

 

Just in time.

Shadow Milk was not a morning cookie.

 

Far from it, actually. Mornings were cruel, unholy hours that Shadow Milk would rather sleep through. No one was even awake to prank, so what was the point of getting up?

 

Well, not no one… The air always grew warm, the birds arose to begin their morning melodies, and the sun crept into the sky. 

 

And Pure Vanilla Cookie was always awake somehow.

 

The beast groaned into his pillow and flipped over, burying his face deeper into the plush surface. Maybe if he ignored the world long enough, ignored the ancient long enough, it would go away.

 

It didn’t.

 

The silence grew unbearably loud. Familiar footsteps had already passed the cookies door – graceful, unhurried, annoying – and he didn’t even need his status as the former cookie of knowledge to tell him there was someone already up at the ungodly morning hours. That the previously mentioned someone was brewing jasmine tea, and adding a bit of honey, a sprinkle of sugar, and just a touch of milk to it to balance-

 

What was wrong with him!?

 

“Ugh…”

 

Shadow Milk dramatically flopped onto his back while making another disgruntled noise. The cookie let his mind wander, trailing his sight out of his room. He always felt a bit odd, letting his eyes roam around the Vanilla Castle, but the healer had assured him it was fine as long as he wasn’t pushing any cookie’s boundaries. Not that he would, anyways, unless said cookie happened to have encapsulating blonde hair and smelled like vanilla bean-

 

Something was seriously wrong with him.

 

Shadow Milk groaned again, letting his vision trail down the wall, seeing through the eyes of the paintings as he traveled closer and closer to… His room. A small blue outline appeared around the eye of White Lily Cookie; Shadow Milk had seen that particular picture while invading the ancient’s room before. It was an old one of the two cookies during their time at the Blueberry Yogurt Academy. The beast sighed as he blinked, vision slowly adjusting to the – quite frankly blinding – light of Pure Vanilla’s room. 

 

He was greeted by a typical sight.

 

Pure Vanilla Cookie, in all his radiant, morning-loving horror, was seated peacefully in his favorite window nook. He was relaxed. Poised. The ancient’s long lashes fluttered as he took a delicate sip of tea, his cup held up with his usual right hand. A book rested on his lap, his left hand tracing over the braille gently. He, unlike Shadow Milk, didn’t look like he had rolled out of bed to have a fight with the sun because it decided to rise that morning.

 

Shadow Milk scowled, then blinked again, curiously eyeing what had gotten his attention.

 

There was a second cup on the table?

 

There was a second cup on the table.

 

Still steaming.

 

He stared at it for a long time. He could just feel the smugness radiating from the object.

 

“Just in case…” He imagined Pure Vanilla stating, with that stupid soft smile of his. With that damn knowing look in his eyes. And that stupid content expression like he knew Shadow Milk would turn up eventually.

 

And Shadow Milk did. He would always show up, without fail.

 

It was infuriating. 

 

Shadow Milk scurried his scrying eye away, letting his magic drop. He dragged a clawed hand down his face, utterly disgusted, and with a groan he muttered out a quiet, “I hate him.”

 

He didn’t.

 

Still, Shadow Milk stood, dressed in the night clothes Pure Vanilla had gotten him – one’s that matched him stupidly well, navy blue pajama pants covered in doodles of eyes, and a baggy tee with the print of a cake hound that was terribly accurate to his form. The beast sighed, before trudging out of the cozy guest room Pure Vanilla had lended him. (It wasn’t a guest room. It was the second-nicest room in the entire castle, and happened to be right next to Pure Vanilla’s own room. The ancient had also gone out of his way to fill it with nick-nacks he thought Shadow Milk might appreciate, even stashing some dark chocolate candy bars in one of the night-stands drawers. Not that the beast needed to know that.)

 

The beast padded towards the healer’s room, his arms crossed, expression already fixed into a practiced frown. His steps were slow – not because he was hesitant, but because he refused to give the blonde cookie any thought that he was eager to spend time with him.

 

The entire hall was filled with the faint scent of that ridiculous jasmine tea, and-

 

Coffee? But Pure Vanilla doesn’t drink coffee.

 

Shadow Milk knocked once, barely. It wasn’t a hesitant knock, though.

 

The cookie didn’t wait for an answer before he opened the door.

The door creaked open without resistance, the golden hinges barely making a sound as the beast of deceit slipped inside. Pure Vanilla didn’t look up right away. He didn’t need to.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” the healer said, voice as soft and warm as the sun-dappled cushions he sat on.

Shadow Milk didn’t answer at first. His eyes flicked to the second cup, still warm, still waiting.

“You say that,” he muttered, “but you made me coffee.”

Pure Vanilla finally turned his head with a smile – gentle, bright, knowing . “Just in case.”

The beast scoffed as he pulled the door closed. He stood there, arms crossed, “You’re insufferable.”

 

The ancient hummed, “Hmm. Yet you still grace me with your presence.”

 

Shadow Milk let out an exaggerated, theatrical sigh, before he stalked across the room towards the ancient. The beast sat in the empty spot near the other, the spot that was always ready for him. His- dare he say, usual spot? 

 

“I should’ve stayed in bed.” The beast stated, before he shimmied deeper into the plush, cream colored cushions. 

 

“The coffee would have gone to waste…” Pure Vanilla handed Shadow Milk the cup of said coffee, eyes still closed. The beast’s hands brushed briefly over the ancient’s as he took the coffee. Too brief; not enough. The beast hated how aware he was- Once the ancient knew the cookie had taken the cup, he let his hand fall back over his book. The beast took a sip of his coffee.

 

It was perfect.

 

“It’s too sweet.”

 

The ancient hummed, hands still grazing the pages of his book. The healer paid little attention to the beast, simply enjoying the presence of another. It annoyed the beast. How could the ancient just ignore him like that?

 

“You’re still drinking it, though, so it must not be too awful?”

 

The beast paused, glancing down. He was in the middle of taking another long sip, eyes crossing as he glared at the cup before pulling it away from his lips.

 

“Whatever Nilla. I need the caffeine, that’s all.”

 

The ancient shifted in his spot in the nook, inching just a smidge closer to the beast. “If you insist, Bluebird.”

 

The beast froze in shock. Bluebird? Where in the hell had that come from!? The ancient beside Shadow Milk continued his book, seemingly unaware of the state he had put the beast in. 

 

“Sorry, what?”

 

The healer glanced up, eyes tracing the blurred image of the beast that was only a short distance away. The ancient frowned slightly. “Do you not like it? Sorry, I figured you might like a nickname, considering you have a few for me. I can drop it if it doesn’t suit your tastes though…” Pure Vanilla rambled, growing a bit flushed at the perceived distaste at his sudden comment.

 

The beast had never had a nickname before. Not like that one, at least.

 

“Uhh- It’s fine, I think? Yeah, it’s alright I guess…”

 

Pure Vanilla visibly relaxed, expression falling back into his usual calm smile with ease. The ancient pressed back into his indented spot, though not before grabbing at Shadow Milk's puffy sleeve and pulling him slightly. A silent question. 

 

The flustered beast resigned, shifting to slightly lean into the healer's side. The calm, yet awkward silence slowly turned comfortable, only disturbed by the occasional sip of tea or coffee, and the soft rustle of a turning page. Pure Vanilla drifted further into Shadow Milk’s side.

 

The beast didn’t move away.

 

For a few long moments, neither cookie said anything. They sat in each other's silence, calm and content with one another. The morning sun filled the ancient’s room with a golden light, shimmering over the healer's cascading hair. From his seat, Shadow Milk could see a few clumped knots in Pure Vanilla’s gleaming locks. The hair had obviously been combed, but it looked half-finished, like the ancient had given up, or gotten distracted. The beast snorted at the ridiculous mess of hair, before absent-mindedly grasping the comb he had seen on his way in. 

 

Pure Vanilla’s eyes opened slightly as he glanced up at Shadow Milk, having felt the sudden movement. The healer noticed the beast holding onto a blurry object that wasn’t his cup. “Shadow Milk?”

 

The beast ignored him in favor of pulling at the ancient’s hair with his claws. “Nilla, your hair is a disaster. What’d you do, let some birds live up there?” Shadow Milk scoffed, willing is growing blush to fade.

 

Pure Vanilla flushed, before shrugging at the beast. “I guess I got distracted and never finished combing it… Sorry if it’s getting in your way.”

 

Shadow Milk rolled his eyes before closing the ancient’s book. He tugged at Pure Vanilla’s stupid robes, motioning for the healer to sit on the floor in front of the nook’s raised seat. “Sit down, before your hair gets so bad it really does become a bird's nest.”

 

The healer blinked, startled. He was shocked at the forceful offer (and honestly, so was Shadow Milk).

 

“You’re going to comb it for me?”

 

“No,” the beast snapped, glaring as the ancient moved to sit on the floor in front of him, facing the window. “I’m going to tame it before it becomes a home.”

 

Pure Vanilla shook his head slightly, as if shaking off his shock at the events taking place right in front of, or well, behind him. He laughed, quiet and breathy, before obediently shifting to where Shadow Milk had guided him. He sat as still as he could, his back to the cookie behind him, and his head in a slightly downward tilt. He shimmied around, folded his hands in his lap, and let himself relax further to bask in the warm sunbeam, before speaking, “You really don’t have to–”

 

The healer was cut off as the beast ran the comb through his hair, stopping at every knot to gently coerce them out without yanking at the ancient’s scalp. The beast was surprisingly gentle.

 

It made Pure Vanilla’s heart flutter.

 

The serene moment only lasted so long, though, and it seemed like no time had passed when Shadow Milk pulled the last knot from Pure Vanilla’s hair. The beast set the comb back onto the table, and turned back to the cookie still on the floor in front of him. “You know Nilla, you could always just ask the witches for a de-awakening…”

 

“Pardon?”

 

“Y’know, then you and I wouldn’t have to deal with so much hair.”

 

“Hmm. You may be on to something. Or, perhaps I could just tie it up? Seems like less of a hassle, in all honesty.”

 

Shadow Milk rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.”

 

“Mmh. Maybe you could help, since you’re so adamant about solving my issue. You could just braid it for me.” The ancient sank further back into Shadow Milk’s legs, effectively challenging the cookie to say no.

 

Shadow Milk stared at him for a second, then sighed dramatically as he reached to grab the comb again. The trickster made sure his movements were extra theatrical as he combed through the knot-free locks, sighing harshly every so often. Surprisingly, the ancient let him go on with this. In fact, the healer was practically melting into the comb. 

 

“I’ve never braided hair before…”

 

Pure Vanilla hummed. “I could show you how… Though I haven’t really done it either.”

 

Shadow Milk scoffed, set the comb back down, and started carding his claws through the impossibly silky strands. “Great, Two experts,” he muttered, although he didn’t stop. The beast, having been the fount of knowledge, knew how to braid hair. But knowing the concept of a task is not the same as actually knowing how to perform it. Still, he separated the hair into three sections, and began what he thought was a loose braid.

 

It was a clumsy attempt, and he knew it. No matter what he did, the strands seemed to slip out of place, far too smooth to really stay in place. Or maybe Shadow Milk just sucked at braiding hair…

 

No, it was definitely Pure Vanilla’s hair’s fault. Definitely. 

 

The beast’s eyebrows furrowed in his concentration, pulling strand over strand, again and again. “Ugh, Nilla, your stupidly perfect hair isn’t cooperating,” the beast grumbled, frown deepening as the ancient giggled softly, causing his horrible braid to get even worse because of the movement. “Quit moving.”

 

“Ah, heheh, sorry Bluebird. I didn’t think you’d take this so seriously.” Pure Vanilla let out another muffled snort, before calming himself so the irritated beast could continue.

 

“Shut up. I don’t have to do this for you, you know,” The beast growled.

 

“Hmm. I actually wasn’t expecting you to agree so easily. I didn’t mean to force you into anything.” Pure Vanilla tilted his head slightly, making sure he wasn’t messing the braid up. “But thank you for trying either way,” he said, his tone soft and genuine. “You really didn’t have to.”

 

There was a beat of silence.

 

“Yeah, well…” Shadow Milk muttered, just barely loud enough for the ancient to hear, “you didn’t have to make coffee for a cookie that hates the mornings, but you did. You went out of your way to do it too, I know you don’t like coffee. You’d never make it normally"

 

The healer smiled to himself, sinking back into the gentle, soothing tugs of someone who was taking time out of his day just to braid his hair. It was nice.

 

Eventually, Shadow Milk had managed a very loose, very lopsided braid, which he stared at like it had personally offended him. (It had.)

 

“It’s awful,” he declared.

 

Pure Vanilla opened his eyes to glance over his shoulder, staring at his hair, still in Shadow Milk’s hands. Although he couldn’t actually see the detailed braid, he was able to tell it wasn’t perfect when he ran his hand over it.

 

Though, perhaps ‘wasn’t perfect’ was an understatement. 

 

“It’s perfect.”

 

“Should I be laughing at the pillar of truth's attempt at a white lie?”

 

“Okay, well… maybe it isn’t perfect ,” Pure Vanilla admitted. “But I appreciate the effort.” He turned his gaze directly towards the blurred beast. “Next time will be better.”

 

“...Next time?”

 

The healer's smile widened. “Only if you’re willing.”

 

Shadow Milk looked away, clearly flustered, but still trying – and failing – to hide it. “Whatever. This isn’t going to be a habit, got it? Don’t even let the thought of that cross your mind.”

 

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

 

The beast turned back to glare at the healer who was getting up from the floor. “You’re literally dreaming of it right now.”

 

Pure Vanilla chuckled, letting a small, almost smug smile fall into place. “I suppose I’ll look forward to it, then.” The healer moved back into his spot in the nook, right beside the trickster, before leaning back into the beast’s side. A tranquil silence washed over the two, as Pure Vanilla went back to reading, and Shadow Milk took a final sip of his cold coffee.

The next day began much like the one before it. Pure Vanilla cookie woke up far earlier than Shadow Milk would ever attempt, dressed in his robes, brushed his hair, and grabbed two cups: one full of his tea, and the other filled with the beast’s preferred coffee. The ancient got some time to himself, before the beast decided to roll out of bed, and dragged himself into the healer's room.

 

The two enjoyed their respective beverages, though this morning was spent with both of them lounging on Pure Vanilla’s large bed. The air in the room was soaked in a mix of scents, most notably vanilla, coffee, and herbal tea.

 

Shadow Milk sat cross-legged on the bed behind Pure Vanilla, the unfamiliar, yet soft weight of the ancients hair pooled into his lap as his claws worked to pull the strands into a cohesive braid (with limited success). The beast paused every now and then to take a sip of his perfectly made coffee, the soft clink of him putting it back onto the nightstand cutting through the silence every time.

 

Pure Vanilla was a soft-spoken cookie, but he was unusually quiet that morning.

 

It wasn’t his normal serene silence either – it was something heavier. The ancients shoulders had been a little more slumped when he had greeted Shadow Milk at the door that morning. His smile was still plastered on his face, of course, but something in it was off. From what the beast could tell, his eyes also seemed a bit dimmer.

 

None of this was really noticeable, not by normal cookies that spent an average amount of time with Pure Vanilla, at least. But to Shadow Milk, who had spent the past two months with the cookie?

 

Something was wrong.

 

Shadow Milk paused his braiding, earning a curious look from the ancient when the pause wasn’t followed by a dramatic slurp. The beast startled the healer as he opened up one of his portals, and pulled out a box labeled ‘Tea.’

 

“I found this at the market when I was out yesterday. It’s apparently a blend of jasmine and rose. I figured I’d give it to you since I hate tea, and it’d just waste away with no one to drink it.”

 

“Thank you,” Pure Vanilla murmured, gently grabbing the thin wooden box. He smiled at the beast again – grateful, always grateful – but he just looked so tired . The healer moved towards the left edge of the bed, and placed the container of tea as well as his empty cup on the nightstand.

 

Now, seated closer towards the edge, Pure Vanilla let his hair be braided in silence. The braid itself was merely done; Shadow Milk was just a couple pulls away from finishing when he stopped.

 

The beast hesitated for a moment, as if recalling something, before his eyes narrowed at the cookie in front of him. “Nilla.”

 

“Yes?”

 

“When was the last time you ate something?”

 

“Well, I have my morning tea everyday,” Pure Vanilla replied. “And I had a few jellyberries last night…”

 

Shadow Milk released the hair he was holding. “That’s not a meal. Actually that doesn’t even count as a snack.”

 

The ancient flushed, letting out a hesitant, breathy laugh. “It’s alright, really– I must have just let it slip my mind. I can just go pick up something for lunch later.”

 

Shadow Milk ignored him, floating up and off of the bed.

 

“Sit down and stay still,” he ordered, already halfway out of the door. “I mean it, Vanilla.”

 

The healer didn’t have an argument, and merely followed instructions. 

 

It didn’t take Shadow Milk long to get to the kitchens– he knew the way there like that back of his hand, thanks to so many late-night snack trips. He opened cabinets, mindlessly grabbing at ingredients. After a few short minutes, the cookie was left with a jellyberry sandwich. It wasn’t anything special, but it would be pretty filling for a cookie that didn’t eat as much as he probably should.

 

The beast had found out about Pure Vanilla’s eating habits during their time in his spire, actually. It hadn’t taken him long to notice that the ancient never really asked for food; he only ever requested tea in the mornings, and occasionally asked for some jellyberries, or a jellyberry sandwich.

 

This wasn’t to say the cookie was intentionally starving himself– Shadow Milk knew he would usually eat normally when in the company of his other ancient friends, or when food was offered. It was more likely that the thought of eating just slipped his mind.

 

When the trickster got back to the room, he was glad to note that the ancient had actually listened to him, and had stayed put. Shadow Milk held out the sandwich once he got close to the bed.

 

“Eat.”

 

Pure Vanilla blinked his half open eyes, genuinely surprised at the blunt statement, but made no move to take the sandwich.

 

“Well? I’m not asking, Nilla. You need to eat something.”

 

There was a beat of hesitation as the ancient processed Shadow Milk being so openly kind, before he muttered a quiet “Thank you.”

 

He took the sandwich with both hands, sitting back into the cloud-like mattress, and shifting to sit cross-legged. Shadow Milk moved to sit beside him, only allowing their shoulders to brush together briefly. The beast reached for the unfinished braid, quickly weaving the strands together to form the last bit of the braid. The silence settled again, much lighter than it had been only five minutes prior, occasional being interrupted by the healer's appreciative hums. It wasn’t long before the sandwich was gone, and Pure Vanilla was leaning his way into Shadow Milk’s side.

 

The ancient already looked better.

 

“Thank you for looking after me,” he murmured, voice soft. “Even when you barely knew me, when I was an intruder in your home.”

 

The beast turned away from the healer pressing into his side, and scoffed out a hastened reply, “Yeah, whatever Nilla.”

 

The ancient let out a yawn, before allowing himself to rest on his bed, tugging at the beast’s sleeve so he’d follow. Shadow Milk obliged, groaning dramatically to save himself of the embarrassment that he was melting into Pure Vanilla’s embrace so easily. 

 

For a long moment, neither said anything. The only sounds in the room were the rustle of blankets, and the soft cadence of their breathing. It was a tranquil silence. The kind that didn’t need filling.

 

Pure Vanilla shifted. “This is nice,” he mumbled. “Quiet… safe.”

 

Shadow Milk hummed absent-mindedly in response, arms crossed behind his head as he idly stared up at the ceiling. He’d never really paid it any mind before, but the ceiling in the ancient’s room was adorned with golden detailing, painting a grand picture of the sun, moon, and stars. “Guess you aren't used to people forcing you to take care of yourself, huh?”

 

“No, I’m not,” the ancient responded, a tired smile growing. “Most cookies think I have everything under control…”

 

Shadow Milk snorted. “They couldn’t be further from the truth.”

 

“No, I suppose they couldn’t be.” Pure Vanilla’s voice was drowsy and soft as the cookie turned to press further into the beast’s side. The rustling stopped, and the relaxed silence returned.

 

Shadow Milk turned his head slightly, just enough to catch the ancient’s profile. The steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his braid draped over his shoulder like a ribbon of gold, the corners of his mouth still faintly upturned – happy, content – even as he sank into the mattress.

 

There was something about the healer like this, that caused the beast’s heart to stutter momentarily. He was tired, but warm; soft, but not fragile (Shadow Milk would never underestimate him again). Everything about Pure Vanilla made his chest feel… annoyingly unsteady.

 

It bothered him less than he cared to admit.

 

He reached out slowly, hesitantly. It was just a hand at first, brushing knuckles against Pure Vanilla’s wrist where it rested in the sheets. The contact was subtle, almost incidental.

 

But Pure Vanilla cracked his eyes open anyways, gaze pulling to him slowly, the beast certain that the ancient was able to see him only slightly blurred at this proximity. The ancient didn’t speak – he didn’t need to. That quiet understanding passed between them again, like it always did.

 

Subtle, but unmistakable.

 

And maybe it was the haze of the morning, or the tiredness that flowed between them. Maybe it was the way they were both still wrapped in that cocoon of warmth and quiet… but neither of them dropped their locked gazes.

 

Shadow Milk, despite the nagging voice in the back of his mind, leaned in a little – testing the weight of the air between them. There was no dramatic tension, no breathless anticipation. It was gentle, the two seemingly leaning into a feeling that had always been waiting for them to notice it.

 

And deep down, Shadow Milk did know the feeling was there, from even before he had been brought to the kingdom. He was all knowing. 

 

He moved closer. Not slow, exactly, but deliberate.

 

Pure Vanilla didn’t pull away. In fact, he seemed to almost lean closer to the other. The healer's breath caught, soft and barely audible, when their foreheads touched.

 

Shadow Milk’s voice was a quiet whisper. “You’re not gonna faint on me, right?”

 

Pure Vanilla smiled. “I’ll try not to.”

 

Shadow Milk pressed his lips softly onto the ancient’s.

 

It was barely a kiss at first – just the press of lips, soft and warm, careful . The two stayed still for a moment, the beast simply letting the ancient decide when the two would press further together, if they would at all.

 

Shadow Milk was a controlling cookie. He always made sure he got what he wanted, but this time, he found he didn’t mind letting Pure Vanilla guide them at his pace. And though this wasn’t his first kiss, it was the ancient’s. 

 

Pure Vanilla’s breath hitched, and he leaned in just the slightest bit more, fully locking his lips with the beast.. Shadow Milk returned the pressure slowly, steadily, before taking the lead again. He shifted fully onto his side, slinking his arm up to hold the back of the healer's scalp, claws carefully carding through his poorly braided hair. Their bodies pressed together, soul jams almost touching–

 

Not quite. The beast didn’t know what might happen if they were to clink together during such an intense moment.

 

The ancient was the one to pull away, grasping for breath. “Shadow Milk–”

 

The beast ignored him in favor of stealing his lips again, shutting the ancient up quickly. Their second kiss was more passionate than their first, Shadow Milk licking over the ancient’s warm lips questioningly. The healer quickly obliged, parting his lips enough to allow the beast’s snake-like tongue to slip through.

 

Good grief, the overwhelmingly sweet taste of vanilla was going to give the beast a toothache–

 

He’d get addicted to this. No doubt about it.

 

 Shadow Milk gripped the healer’s hair, tight enough to startle him, but not tight enough to actually hurt. The healer responded in kind, fingers curling lightly into the beast’s sleeve.

 

When they finally pulled apart for air, their foreheads stayed pressed together.

 

Pure Vanilla’s voice was barely above a whisper, still struggling somewhat to speak as he huffed for air. “That – huff – that was…”

 

Shadow Milk gave a low hum, his expression almost unreadable, with only the tiniest twitch of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

 

“You aren’t a bad catch, Nilly,” he said, like it was the most casual thing in the world.

 

Pure Vanilla let out a breathless laugh, burying his face against Shadow Milk’s shoulder. “Really? It was my first time...”

 

“Yeah,” Shadow Milk muttered. “I know.”

 

“Hmm. Maybe you’re actually awful, bluebird. I have no past experiences to compare this to.” There was no teasing in his voice. Just quiet fondness, and a hint of amusement.

 

Shadow Milk looked mildly offended, but let it be. He liked seeing the healer more open, it was nice.

 

The two laid in the bed, heads close, the beast’s hand still gripping Pure Vanilla’s hair, although loosely. And when Pure Vanilla’s hand traveled from the beast’s puffy sleeve to his hand – tentative, but confident – Shadow Milk didn’t hesitate.

 

Shadow Milk laced their fingers together without a word.

Notes:

Chat I'm so sorry. They were supposed to get freaky this chapter but I literally didn't know how to fit it in there, and I totally got lazy at the end hehe, I was not expecting to write over 10k words of cookie romance in 3 chapters- this is the most I've written in ages!

Anyways, I'd reeeaaallyy appreciate it if you guys would suggest ways to get into the smut part of this. I have no idea how to start it, but this book was originally posted to feed you hungry (read: horny) animals, soooo...

If you don't have any suggestions, please feel free to comment your reaction! I love reading your comments, they literally brighten my day. (I crave validation too, so y'know).

SMUT NEXT CHAPTER DON'T WORRY. I GOTCHU <3

Chapter 4: I need this SO BAD. I really do! ... HEH!

Summary:

“I wanted to,” he said at last. “Because it was you.”

Shadow Milk scoffed, but it was weak. Unconvincing. “What, I’m that special?”

“Yes.”

Notes:

Okay chat so remember when I said "SMUT NEXT CHAPTER GUYS I PROMISE!"
I lied. I'm a big fat freaking liar. Almost as bad as smilky poo 🙄

No but in all honesty, I was reading the comments and y'all are right. Gosh slow-burn sucks (I love torturing myself and you guys) but they really need this. Rushing past all the important feels just wouldn't make sense for this story, so I have to apologize,

There's no sex yet 😔

I pushed this chapter away lol. I started this almost immediately after posting chapter three, but got carried away with my other one-shots. Not that I'm upset by that or anything, I'm really happy with how those turned out, I just feel bad for neglecting this fic. I'm planning on there being maybe two more chapters? I'm just going to let the story write itself basically, so we'll see where it goes. Also, I know I posted this originally intending for it to be a literal smut book, but I'm really happy with where it's going (the end is near 🤯💀). I have some really good ideas for some one/two shots that I'm really excited to share with you all!

Btw, if you're looking for smut with specifically bottom PV, def check the tag literally daily, since fics can get buried fast. That's what I do lol. There's some really good fics out there (mine included 🤪). I'd highly recommend 'vanilla cardamom and blue raspberry' (THANK YOU ANON YOU'RE PERFECT)!

Sunlight lingered on the horizon, the golden rays of the setting sun bathing Pure Vanilla Cookie’s room in a delicate, warm hue. It wasn’t quite night yet, but it wasn’t really day anymore either. It was an in-between state, where everything felt suspended, as if the entirety of Earthbread had exhaled and paused to enjoy the silence. The room was quiet, save for the soft, melodic breathing of two cookies. 

 

Pure Vanilla stirred.

 

His brows knit as he awoke, and his senses returned. The bed beneath him was warm, far warmer than usual – something solid was pressed against his side, something that was breathing . No, wait, it wasn’t something. It was someone .

 

The ancient’s eyes cracked open slightly.

 

Oh.

 

Oh.

 

Shadow Milk was still asleep, breathing soft and steady, one of his arms draped lazily over the healer who was practically on top of him. The trickster was peaceful in his sleep, white and black lashes resting softly over his cheeks. 

 

And maybe, had it been the beast curled up into Pure Vanilla’s side, the ancient wouldn’t have been so flustered. However, that was not the case.

 

The healer was practically on top of the beast, curled into his side like this was a common occurrence. His arms were wrapped around Shadow Milk’s chest, and his leg was draped over the beast's hip. Shadow Milk’s arm was settled over the ancient’s waist, his chin resting atop Pure Vanilla’s head faintly. Pure Vanilla’s face slowly turned a brilliant, rose-pink hue.

 

Oh my witches.

 

He tried to shift, even if only a little, trying not to wake the other – but immediately realized he couldn’t really move at all. The flowing folds of his robes were caught beneath Shadow Milk’s arm and torso, pinning him in place. His every attempt to escape only caused him to shift awkwardly against the other’s chest, which made the heat on his cheeks burn hotter.

 

He wasn’t going anywhere.

 

Not yet, anyway.

 

So, resigned, Pure Vanilla let himself settle. His eyes flicked back to Shadow Milk, drinking in the trickster’s resting face. It was rare to see him like this – so peaceful, so still. There was no sly glint in his eyes, no teasing smirk on his lips. He was just… sleeping. And witches, was he beautiful.

 

Pure Vanilla smiled softly to himself, heart thudding a little too fast in his chest. The memory of their kiss – of the softness of it, the surprise, the warmth – flooded back to him in full force. He buried his face slightly into Shadow Milk’s shoulder, groaning internally.

 

What was he supposed to do now?

 

That was… that was his first kiss. And it hadn’t been just a kiss – it had been with Shadow Milk Cookie , who was now tangled up with him like they had done this a hundred times before. He couldn’t stop the giddy feeling rising in his chest, even as his hands fidgeted against the fabric of Shadow Milk’s sleep shirt. He had never felt anything like this before – so completely flustered, but so full.

 

Pure Vanilla was so caught up in staring at the beast that he hadn’t noticed he was being watched. That the eyes in the shadows of Shadow Milk’s hair had blinked open. He was too busy trying not to combust from secondhand embarrassment and first-time romance.

 

The beast’s gaze lingered on him for a beat longer – and then the trickster stirred. With a faint grunt, Shadow Milk cracked an eye open and stared directly at him. "You gonna stare at me all morning," he mumbled, voice thick with sleep, "or you gonna buy me dinner first?"

 

Pure Vanilla jumped slightly, face instantly blooming red. "I-I wasn’t–!" he protested, horrified.

Shadow Milk blinked once. Then smirked.

 

"Sure you weren’t."

 

The healer made a high-pitched, embarrassed noise and tried again to untangle himself, but his robes were still firmly trapped under Shadow Milk’s weight. “You’re laying on my robes–!”

 

"Maybe you shouldn’t prance around in curtains, huh?" Shadow Milk yawned, stretching slightly but still very much not moving. "You know, normal cookies wear something light and breathable.”

 

Shadow Milk paused for a second, seemingly remembering one cookie in specific. He shivered at the unpleasant thought. “...Or nothing."

 

"Wh–! That’s– Don’t say things like that!"

 

Shadow Milk snorted, a flush creeping up his own face now, though he tried his best to act unbothered. "What? I’m just saying, if you’re gonna snuggle up to me like a clingy plushie, I at least deserve to be comfortable, no?"

 

"I wasn’t snuggling," Pure Vanilla muttered, ears pink. “You’re the one who pulled me in, anyway…”

 

"Sure, let’s go with that."

 

There was a beat of silence, broken only by Shadow Milk’s amused exhale, “…You’re too cute in the mornings, you know that?”

 

Pure Vanilla’s entire body went rigid, “…I– wha–?”

 

“I mean, look at you,” Shadow Milk teased, finally sitting up enough to stretch. His hair was a bit of a mess, his shirt slightly rumpled. “Red in the face, can’t make eye contact, clinging to me like I’m gonna vanish. You’re lucky I didn’t die of a sweetness overdose.”

 

“That’s not– I don’t – I’m not–!”

 

Shadow Milk laughed, the kind of laugh that Pure Vanilla only ever heard when it was just the two of them. A low, relaxed thing. Fond? Yeah, fond. He stared at the ancient for a little while longer, before dragging himself out of the plush bed with a groan, rubbing at his face before heading toward the door.

 

"Well, as much fun as it is basking in your flustered embarrassment, I gotta keep my edge. Complacency kills."

 

Pure Vanilla blinked owlishly at him. “Edge?”

 

"Yeah. If I spend one more second here, I might start thinking I'm nice. Can't have that. Gotta go cause trouble before I forget how."

 

“Shadow Milk– ”

 

"Catch you later, Nilly," he said with a wink. And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

 

Pure Vanilla let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, the silence settling over the room once more. But it wasn’t empty. His sheets were still warm where Shadow Milk had been. His arms still remembered how it felt to hold him. He sighed, brushing his hair back from his face and sitting up properly. There was a smile on his lips, unbidden.

 

The ancient got out of his bed slowly, taking a moment to stretch after the unnatural nap. He fixed his sleep-tousled hair, leaving his room quietly. The air was soft and still, echoing faintly with distant voices and footsteps.

 

He wasn’t sure what he wanted to do with himself. Not really. But his feet carried him to the library anyway.

The towering shelves greeted him with familiarity, the scent of parchment and aged magic curling into his senses like an old friend. He wandered between the aisles for a bit, letting his fingers trail along the spines of the books.

 

Eventually, he found himself pulling a volume from the shelf – a simple, well-worn cookbook. The title was embossed in gold leaf, gentle and inviting. He flipped it open absentmindedly.

 

His eyes caught on a page: Jellyberry & Dark Chocolate Pancakes - A Gentle Start to a Sweet Morning.

 

The ancient paused, before a slow smile crept onto his face.

 

Yes. That would be perfect.

Shadow Milk Cookie, despite his new morning routine with Pure Vanilla, still absolutely despised mornings.

 

He especially didn’t like waking up without a good reason. And a “good reason,” to wake up was usually someone dragging him out of bed by sheer force – or the scent of something so delicious it yanked him out of sleep without warning.

 

But this afternoon – yes, afternoon – no such force presented itself.

 

He stirred sluggishly beneath his blanket, the weight of the fabric and the residual warmth of sleep anchoring him to the bed. His hair was a mess, falling into his eyes and tickling his nose. He groaned softly and turned onto his side, eyes still closed.

 

Five more minutes.

 

Five more centuries, preferably.

 

The room was too quiet. That was his first real thought. Usually, by now, there would be the faint shuffle of footsteps outside his door. A rustle of soft fabric. The low hum of Pure Vanilla Cookie’s voice as he did whatever it was he did in the mornings – whether it was muttering over the gardens, reading ancient texts, or simply being annoyingly kind to whatever castle staff he happened to pass.

 

But today… nothing.

 

Shadow Milk cracked one eye open and immediately winced at the soft glow bleeding through the curtains. Judging by the color of the light, it was well past noon. Probably late afternoon, if he had to guess – not that he ever kept track.

 

Still, something itched at the back of his mind. A tiny, irritable thought that wouldn’t leave him alone.

 

Where is he?

 

He groaned again and rolled onto his back, flinging an arm over his eyes. He told himself he wasn’t disappointed. That it didn’t matter whether Pure Vanilla was nearby when he woke up. They weren’t like – lovers, or anything. There was no reason for the healer to be waiting on him.

 

And yet…

 

After everything lately – after the cuddling, the kiss, the soft way Pure Vanilla always looked at him when he thought Shadow Milk wasn’t watching – he had expected something. Anything.

 

A knock. A note. A lingering warmth in the room.

 

But it was cold. And empty. And too quiet.

 

With a grumble, he finally threw off the covers and sat up, hair sticking up in wild tufts. His cloak was draped haphazardly over the back of a nearby chair, and he reached for it with a lazy motion, throwing it over his shoulders without fastening it.

 

“Fine,” he muttered, dragging himself to his feet. “Guess I’ll check his room. Maybe he’s passed out or something. Probably read himself to death…”

 

He made his way down the hall, yawning once and rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. His steps were slow, his posture slouched, but there was a faint flicker of… hope? Anticipation?

 

He wouldn’t call it that. He’d die before calling it that, actually.

 

But still, he picked up his pace slightly.

 

Reaching Pure Vanilla’s door, he knocked once – more out of habit than anything else – and pushed it open with a soft creak.

 

“Hey Nills, you alive in here, or–?”

 

The room was empty.

 

The room was empty?

 

Shadow Milk blinked, standing in the doorway, cloak hanging loosely around his shoulders. The bed was made – messily, as usual – the hero apparently had “more important things to do.” What things could be more important than making his bed properly?

 

The jester didn’t think there was anything – not in Crispia, not in Beast-Yeast – that was more important than plopping into a cozy, well-made bed at the end of the day. But to each their own, he supposed.

 

The curtains were pulled back to let in the golden afternoon light, casting soft shadows across the worn rug and neatly stacked books. The healer’s comb was placed on his bedside table, where it usually resided. Everything seemed to be in place.

 

But there was no sign of Pure Vanilla.

 

No robe hanging over the chair. No staff leaned casually against the wall so the ancient could sit and read. No faint aroma of tea or potion ingredients.

 

It wasn’t just empty – it looked like it had been empty for a while.

 

Shadow Milk stepped inside, frowning slightly. He looked around again, as if the ancient might somehow materialize from behind the furniture.

 

“…Huh?”

 

He didn’t like how quiet it was. Not when he’d grown used to the soft rhythm of Pure Vanilla’s presence – a soft background warmth that made everything feel less hollow. He stood there for a moment longer, unsure of what he was even waiting for. Then, with a small sigh and a flick of his cloak, he turned and walked back into the hallway.

 

Now he was curious.

 

The castle was too big to just wander aimlessly, but he had a hunch. There was no way the healer was in the library – they’d spent most of yesterday there. And he wasn’t outside, either.. That only left a few possibilities.

 

And the softest scent of something warm and sweet drifting faintly through the hall?

 

That was enough to make Shadow Milk narrow his eyes and follow his nose.

 

“…No way,” he muttered.

 

The scent grew stronger as he neared the kitchens. It was faint but unmistakable: flour, butter, something vaguely fruity… Jellyberries?

 

He moved lightly, more curious than stealthy now, floating just above the ground, keen on not touching the cool stone floor. The warmth in the air increased, and so did the gentle sound of stirring – something being mixed in a bowl with careful, consistent rhythm.

 

Then he turned the corner.

 

And froze.

 

There, bathed in soft gold from the kitchen windows, was Pure Vanilla Cookie. His back was to the door, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a large bowl cradled in his arms. He stirred slowly, methodically, utterly focused. His golden hair shimmered in the light, cascading like liquid sunlight down his back.

 

The beast blinked. Once. Twice.

 

“…What?”

 

+Shadow Milk drifted to the floor in shock, feet plopping onto the tiles without a sound. He stood there for a long second, eyebrows raised, brain lagging behind the image in front of him. The castle kitchen looked soft and hazy in the late afternoon light, golden and warm. A small enchanted flame burned beneath a pan on the stovetop, waiting. Anticipating. There were measuring cups, flour, sugar, eggs – ingredients he barely recognized – spread across the counter in neatly arranged rows.

 

And there he was, in the middle of it all. Wearing a focused frown and a soft smile, clad in a waffle-patterned apron – because of course it was waffle themed.

 

Shadow Milk stared.

 

And stared.

 

He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe, really. The sight was just so… surreal. Pure Vanilla, who half the time had to be reminded to eat at all, was cooking? Alone? Voluntarily!?

 

He took a single step into the kitchen.

 

The floor creaked.

 

Pure Vanilla startled so hard he nearly dropped the bowl. He whipped around, cheeks dusted faint pink from the heat, a bit of flour smudged on the side of his face. “O-oh! Shadow Milk!” he gasped. “I didn’t hear you–!”

 

“You’re cooking,” Shadow Milk said flatly.

 

Pure Vanilla blinked at the blurry figure, visibly flustered. “I – well ah, yes. I am. Sort of. ”

 

“…Why?”

 

There was genuine confusion in his voice, no teasing undertones. Just a complete lack of comprehension. His eyes flicked over the table again – batter, jellyberries, dark chocolate chunks, a recipe propped open beside a jar of syrup. He looked back at Pure Vanilla. “You forget to eat most days a week.”

 

“That’s… not true.” The hero’s voice was soft, defensive.

 

Shadow Milk crossed his arms, frowning.

 

“…Okay, maybe sometimes .”

 

“Try all the time.”

 

“I don’t forget that often.”

 

“You brew enough tea that I’m honestly convinced the amount rivals that of the ocean, Nilla. And yet, you forget to actually eat with it. How do you even do that?”

 

Pure Vanilla winced, covering his face with one flour-dusted hand. “Well–”

 

“I thought you were dying in the Spire. I think you ate maybe three full meals while you were there.”

 

“I was just – distracted!”

 

Shadow Milk let out a slow exhale and rubbed at his forehead. “And now you’re in here like it’s a normal Tuesday, whisking up a full meal like you’re some kind of domestic goddess. I don’t get it.”

 

Pure Vanilla lowered his hands slowly. There was something tender in his expression now – soft in a way that didn’t quite match the fluster in his voice. “Well,” he began quietly, “I… I used to cook.”

 

The beast raised an eyebrow.

 

Pure Vanilla turned slightly back to the bowl in his arms, stirring again as he spoke. “When I was staying in Black Raisin Cookie’s village… I spent a lot of my time helping the injured. There weren’t many other healers around, so I ended up staying there for quite a while. And while I was there, well… cookies still needed to eat . Especially the sick or wounded.”

 

His voice grew quieter. A fondness colored each word.

 

“So I learned. How to make easy things. Foods that wouldn’t upset anyone’s stomach. Meals that would keep for a while. It was simple, mostly. Soups, stews… and pancakes. I used to make them in the mornings.”

 

Shadow Milk didn’t interrupt. He just listened. Watched. The way Pure Vanilla stirred the batter with slow, even movements. The small smile curling on his lips. The distant look in his eyes as he remembered.

 

“I always made extras. For the little ones. Or for any travelers passing through. It just became… habit, after a while.”

 

The jester leaned against the doorframe, his arms falling loose at his sides.

 

That image – Pure Vanilla in a little village kitchen, surrounded by injured cookies and half-sick patients, making stacks of warm pancakes in the morning sun – it seemed… so normal. Real. Too real.

 

Too right.

 

Of course the ancient had done that. Of course he’d learned how to cook for his patients rather than for himself.

 

But what stuck in his chest wasn’t due to him being surprised at the news – and surprised he was .

 

It was the ache. Deep – tugging at his heart, at his soul.

 

“You never did it before,” Shadow Milk said eventually. “In the Spire. Not once.”

 

Pure Vanilla’s hands paused briefly. The batter was nearly done now. “No,” he said softly. “I didn’t.”

 

“Why not?”

 

He didn’t expect an answer. Not a real one, anyway. But the ancient hummed quietly. And then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he replied.

 

“I wanted to have breakfast with you, but…”

 

Shadow Milk froze. The words were so gentle, so plain, but they hit him like a meteor.

 

His throat went dry.

 

The ancient continued. “Well, you were just so distant. Always pushing me away. But it’s alright – we can have breakfast together now. When it really matters.”

 

Pure Vanilla didn’t turn towards him when he said it. He just kept stirring, the rhythm soothing. Grounding. Like he hadn’t just carved a hole in Shadow Milk’s ribcage and filled it with pure light.

 

Shadow Milk didn’t respond for a long moment. His fingers curled into the fabric of his cloak.

 

And then – slowly, awkwardly – he crossed the space between them.

 

He didn’t speak. Didn’t joke. Didn’t even smirk.

 

He just wrapped his arms gently around Pure Vanilla from behind.

 

He didn’t think about it. He didn’t plan it. His body just moved, like some part of him had been waiting for this exact moment without him knowing it. He buried his face against the other cookie’s shoulder, against the fall of golden hair that smelled faintly of parchment and wildflowers and warmth and intoxicating vanilla bean .

 

Pure Vanilla stiffened in surprise – but only for a second.

 

Then he relaxed. Leaned back against him. One of his hands reached up, brushing lightly against the arm curled around his middle. The two stood there in silence for a while.

 

Neither of them said anything.

 

Shadow Milk’s thoughts were a mess. A thousand whispers pressed against the edge of his tongue, all of them too raw, too close.

 

You didn’t have to do this for me.

I don’t deserve you.

You’re too kind, and I’m too much, and I don’t know what to do with how much I care.

 

But all he could manage, in the end, was a low, barely audible murmur. “…You’re full of surprises, you know that?”

 

Pure Vanilla chuckled, soft and warm. “I know.”

 

Shadow Milk exhaled, breath catching slightly. Then he pulled back enough to look at the bowl. “...You gonna let me help or what?”

 

The ancient blinked up at him, startled. “You want to?”

 

“Oh Witches, no.” Shadow Milk said. “But if I don’t, you’ll probably trip over your hair and start a fire or something.”

 

(He absolutely would not.)

 

He reached for the whisk before Pure Vanilla could protest. Their fingers brushed, and the healer’s face turned a soft shade of pink.

 

Together, they moved around the kitchen – awkward at first, but slowly falling into a rhythm. Pure Vanilla poured batter onto the hot skillet while the beast flipped the pancakes with impressive flair for someone who claimed not to care. They bickered mildly about whether the first one was undercooked – “It’s supposed to be golden brown, not a light beige, Nills.”

 

And Shadow Milk pretended he wasn’t flattered when Pure Vanilla whispered something like, “You’re surprisingly gentle – you’re better at this than I expected.”

 

Shadow Milk rolled his eyes but hid his smile. When the last pancake was stacked high and syrup was uncorked from its bottle, Pure Vanilla stepped back and admired their work.

 

It was by no means perfect. A few of them were lopsided. One had a little burnt edge. The berries and chocolate chunks weren’t all evenly distributed.

 

But to Shadow Milk, it might as well have been a painting.

 

He turned slightly, eyes drifting to the healer beside him. Soft cheeks dusted with flour. Golden hair glowing in the light. A smile that hadn’t faded once during the whole ordeal.

 

Something pulled at his chest – tight and overwhelming.

 

Witches, he loved him.

 

He didn’t say it. Couldn’t say it.

 

But his fingers brushed against Pure Vanilla’s hand again, and this time, he didn’t pull away.

The kitchen had quieted.

 

No more whisking. No more sizzling. Just the subtle clink of cutlery and the occasional scrape of forks against plates. The sun had dipped lower outside the kitchen windows, gilding the room in a warm, buttery haze that matched the stacks of pancakes between them.

 

They sat side by side at the little wooden table tucked into the corner of the kitchen. Shadow Milk had insisted – grumbled, really – that they eat where it was warmest. That the sunlight helped "cook the food inside you faster,” or some equally ridiculous excuse he didn’t even himself. Sunlight cooking food inside you faster? What on Earthbread was he thinking–

 

But Pure Vanilla had smiled and followed without question.

 

Now they sat together in that soft, golden light, eating pancakes that were slightly uneven, a little misshapen, and absolutely perfect.

 

Shadow Milk stabbed another piece with his fork, letting the syrup trail slowly across the plate. “Still don’t get why you made these,” he muttered, not looking up. “You didn’t have to. I’m not… y’know. Someone you need to cook for.”

 

The ancient paused, glancing up at the slightly blurry figure in front of him, tilting his head slightly. “I know.”

 

“Then why?”

 

There was no frustration in the question – just genuine curiosity. A flicker of something uncertain, too tender to admit out loud.

 

The healer was quiet for a moment, then set his fork down. His plate was only half-empty; he ate slowly, savoring each bite. Not out of etiquette – but because it was rare he let himself enjoy something like this. Something shared. Something simple.

 

“I wanted to,” he said at last. “Because it was you.”

 

Shadow Milk scoffed, but it was weak. Unconvincing. “What, I’m that special?”

 

“Yes.”

 

The beast paused.

 

He didn’t look over. Didn’t move, didn’t breathe, really. Just let that single syllable settle over him like a blanket too warm to shake off.

 

“…You’re not joking,” he said eventually.

 

“No,” Pure Vanilla murmured. “M’not.”

 

The jester stared at his plate for a long second, then shoved another piece of pancake into his mouth to avoid answering. It was stupid how sweet it tasted now. Stupid how the warmth of the food matched the ache building in his chest.

 

He didn’t know how to respond to this kind of thing. Never had. Sarcasm was easier. So was retreating. But neither felt quite right. Not now – not when Pure Vanilla was looking at him like that, like he saw through every wall and chose not to knock them down but sit beside them anyway.

 

“…You used to make these for kids, right?” he asked instead, voice quiet.

 

The hero blinked, then nodded. “Yes. Especially the ones who were too tired to eat anything else. Pancakes were… soft. Gentle. Familiar. A way to say, ‘you’re safe now.’ ”

 

“Huh.” Shadow Milk’s gaze dropped to his plate again.

 

You’re safe now.

 

He chewed slower. Swallowed hard. His voice came quieter the next time. “…And now you’re making them for me.”

 

It wasn’t a question.

 

Pure Vanilla didn’t reply immediately. Just reached for the little glass jar of cinnamon syrup and poured a bit more over the top of Shadow Milk’s stack. His hands were careful, deliberate, like he was tending to something fragile.

 

“You deserve gentle things too,” he said softly.

 

The jester didn’t respond. Couldn’t.

 

Because what in Crispia was he supposed to say to that?

 

His hands were calloused. His jokes were sharp. He was rough around the edges. It was his design – just how he was. He didn’t know how to be someone who deserved… home-cooked pancakes.

 

Warm and soft. Made with love, full of their teamwork and effort. Full of passion–

 

And yet, here he was. Sitting across from a cookie who knew exactly how sharp – how mean – he could be, and the healer still smiled at him, a beast – a monster – like he was the hero’s favorite part of the morning. The syrup on the plate shimmered in the light, pooling around the edges. He grabbed the glass bottle from where Pure Vanilla had set it down, and drenched his pancakes in more syrup. He cut a small chunk from his stack – warm, gooey, filled with melted chocolate and softened berries – and popped it into his mouth to buy time.

 

“…They’re good,” he mumbled after a moment, eyes flicking to the side. “ Really good, actually.”

 

Pure Vanilla smiled again, this time just a little brighter. “Thank you.”

 

The beast cleared his throat. “I mean, a little soggy on the edges… ”

 

“You drowned them in syrup.”

 

“Yeah, but if the pancakes were thicker – ”

 

“They’d be too heavy.”

 

“Oh my Witches – you’re impossible!”

 

Pure Vanilla laughed. Not his airy, polite chuckle – no, this was a real laugh, soft and musical and absolutely sincere. It bubbled up from his chest and melted into the warmth of the kitchen like honey in tea.

 

And for a second, Shadow Milk forgot how to breathe.

 

He couldn’t stop staring.

 

His heart beat louder in his ears than it had any right to. His chest felt full in a way he didn’t know how to name.

 

“…You’re ridiculous,” he muttered, looking away, trying to will the heat in his cheeks to calm down.

 

“Hm. Not as ridiculous as you ,” Pure Vanilla replied lightly, still smiling.

 

They finished the rest of the pancakes slowly, without rushing. Occasionally they passed the butter or reached for the syrup at the same time and their hands brushed, and Shadow Milk would mutter something flustered while the ancient just smiled like he was used to it.

 

And maybe he was.

 

Maybe that was the part that shook Shadow Milk most.

 

Because somehow, in the span of weeks, they’d carved a space between them where this felt normal. Domestic. Safe. A little golden world made of clumsy affection and half-burnt pancakes. Shadow Milk didn’t want to leave it. Ever.

 

When the last bite was gone and the plates were scraped clean, the two of them sat in a warm silence, neither quite ready to move.

 

Shadow Milk leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, cloak trailing off the edge. He stared at the remaining crumbs on his plate like they held the answers to questions he couldn’t ask.

 

Then, almost too quietly to hear–

 

“…Thanks.”

 

Pure Vanilla tilted his head. “For the pancakes?”

 

Shadow Milk shrugged. “That too.”

 

A pause.

 

“…But mostly for being there – for me.”

 

Pure Vanilla didn’t respond. He just reached across the table and gently rested his hand on top of Shadow Milk’s.

 

“I’ll always be here for you, Bluebird.”

Notes:

Phew- how'd you like those beginning notes? You read them right? If no, go do that. They're pretty important if you happen to be invested in this story haha

Anyways! I wanted to tease my next fic idea, since it's been bugging me for a week straight. I'm going to try and write a longer fic, but no smut (oh my gosh that's weird right!?) It's going to be shadowvanilla, of course, but I want to torture you all with angst. Ahahahahaha. No more fluff for you, I'm taking it away. These freaks are too soft and loving.

So, if you're interested in that, keep an eye out! I don't know how long it'll take since I haven't even drafted the start of it, but hopefully I'll get a chapter one out as soon as I finish this fic (I absolutely refuse to put this one on the back burner again lol).

With those incredibly long notes out of the way, thank you for reading! I hope you have a lovely day/night <3

Chapter 5: I Knew You Could do it

Summary:

Pure Vanilla, who always looked at him like he was the most important being on Earthbread.

Pure Vanilla, who always went out of his way to be around him – to spend time with him.

Pure Vanilla, who wasn’t speaking.

Notes:

Finals week or my final week? Hahahahahah
Guys, I'm gonna be entirely honest with you. My last week of high school is literally kicking my ass. (Yes, I'm in high school, yes I'm graduating in about a week, yes I'm stressed tf out lol, and yes I'm 18 pls don't come at me - I waited until I was a legal adult where I live to post cookie porn 😥). I'm really hoping to post more in the future once summer really starts, but I'm getting my first real job soon - cries in freeloader - and I'm genuinely so scared for college lol. I have to take math and I haven't taken math in two years 😭.

Anyways, enough about my hectic life, and more CRK FANFIC. WHOOOO!!!

Mornings had become… different.

 

Not… good. Shadow Milk Cookie would never call them good – he thinks he’d rather give up his plushies, than admit that – but they were definitely not as intolerable as they used to be. That might’ve had something to do with the fact that his mornings no longer started alone.

 

Most of the time, anyway.

 

Today, he’d found himself curled up in the too-soft corner of Pure Vanilla Cookie’s room – sprawled out sideways in a plush armchair he pretended to hate – and he had made exactly zero efforts to get up since the moment he’d plopped down. The morning light was filtered through layers of linen curtains, casting warm stripes across the thick rug beneath him. Somewhere, near one of the many large bookshelves that adorned the room, Pure Vanilla was humming faintly over a brewing pot of tea – ah, the luxuries of magic – while pouring steaming coffee into Shadow Milk’s usual cup.

 

It was… warm in here.

 

Too warm. Unreasonably cozy. Like he might actually fall back asleep if he wasn’t careful.

 

Shadow Milk shifted slightly in the chair, his arms folded loosely across his chest, one knee bouncing with idle energy. His cloak was still a tangled mess from when he’d dragged himself out of bed and slipped it on before trudging across the hall, half-asleep and scowling, only to be met with a sleepy smile and the invitation to “sit wherever you like.”

 

He had, of course, immediately chosen the most dramatic-looking chair in the room. That definitely wasn’t because it was the one closest to Pure Vanilla.

 

And definitely not because he liked it here.

 

Nope. Not at all.

 

“Black? Or would you like some cream and sugar in it this time” Pure Vanilla questioned over his shoulder, the words soft and lilting like always. 

 

Shadow Milk grunted out something vague – something even he couldn’t understand.

 

The healer, seemingly understanding his garbled response, chuckled. “On it, Bluebird.”

 

…What?

 

The beast shook his head. Shadow Milk may have been the Fount of Knowledge before, but the ancient’s wisdom and ability to read even just the tone of one's voice would forever be an enigma to him.

 

It was quiet for a while. Peaceful. The scent of herbal, warm jasmine and honey mixed with a dark and bitter coffee drifted lazily through the room, mingling with parchment and polished wood. Shadow Milk found his eyes half-lidding against the warmth of it all. His muscles weren’t as tense as usual. It was dangerous – this softness.

 

He wasn’t used to having spaces that felt safe.

 

Wasn’t used to being treated like someone who could have soft mornings.

 

After a few minutes, Pure Vanilla turned from the small table near his stupidly large personal library and crossed the room with two cups balanced neatly in his hands. His robe – long and slightly wrinkled – brushed softly against the floor. His hair was half-pulled back in a loose ribbon, the rest cascading in silken strands around his shoulders.

 

Shadow Milk watched him approach with an unreadable expression.

 

“You look like you’ve been awake for five minutes and already regret it,” the healer teased gently, passing one of the cups into his hands.

 

Shadow Milk took it without comment. He blew lightly over the rim and watched the steam curl upward. “That’s because I do,” he muttered.

 

Pure Vanilla only smiled. “At least you came here instead of burrowing back under the covers.”

 

“Mm. Jury’s still out on whether that was a mistake.”

 

Another laugh. Light, melodic. “You say that every morning.”

 

They fell into another comfortable silence as they drank. His coffee was warm, tart and bitter with a touch of added sugar. Just how he liked it.

 

It wasn’t awful, which was a compliment coming from him.

 

Shadow Milk slouched deeper into the chair and rested his cup on the nearby table. His gaze drifted over the room – books stacked in uneven towers, small dried flowers hanging upside-down over the window, the faint glow of something softly enchanted in the corner.

 

Pure Vanilla sat cross-legged on the floor not far away, sipping from his own cup, hair catching the light, gleaming like a precious polished alloy.

 

It was almost too peaceful. Shadow Milk could feel his guard lowering without permission, without warning. That familiar tension – the one that usually coiled in his chest, ready for flight or fight or snark – was… quiet. Complacent.

 

And that’s when Pure Vanilla decided to ruin it with something ridiculous.

 

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, not looking up from his tea. “Maybe… sometime soon, you could meet the others.”

 

Shadow Milk blinked. “What others?”

 

“The other Ancients.”

 

A beat of silence, before, “…Absolutely not,” Shadow Milk said flatly. “No way. One ancient is enough, I don’t wanna deal with any more of you.”

 

He expected a laugh. A reaction. A dramatic sigh at least. But all Pure Vanilla did was hum softly, setting his cup down with a gentle clink. “Mm.”

 

That was worse.

 

Shadow Milk squinted at him. “What does that mean? Don’t mm me. ”

 

Pure Vanilla didn’t reply right away. He only adjusted how he sat – his robes folding around him like clouds – and reached for a nearby book, idly thumbing through the pages like nothing had happened.

 

Shadow Milk stared. And frowned. And stared some more.

 

There was something about the way the healer hadn’t argued. Something soft. Open. Too open. His stomach twisted.

 

“I mean it,” he said, voice a little lower. A little more defensive. “I don’t need to meet your old hero club. I barely tolerate you, remember?”

 

Pure Vanilla didn’t even flinch. “You don’t have to meet them right away. I just… thought you might like to. Eventually.”

 

Another pause.

 

Another twist of that thing in his chest.

 

Shadow Milk looked away. The light from the windows felt too sharp now. Too bright. He shifted in the chair, then tugged his cloak tighter around his shoulders, pretending it was just the cold.

 

It wasn’t.

 

“...It’s not that simple,” he muttered.

 

Pure Vanilla glanced up, his expression unreadable. “What isn’t?”

 

Shadow Milk’s jaw clenched. He ran a hand through his hair, then let it fall over his eyes. He shouldn’t say it. He really shouldn’t say it.

 

But the silence was pressing in now. Waiting.

 

He huffed a breath. “It’s not just me being cranky, okay?” he muttered. “I’m not– … I just…”

 

His hands flexed slightly where they rested against the arms of the chair. “I’m not exactly excited to meet your band of ancients or whatever.”

 

The healer tilted his head. “Why not?”

 

Shadow Milk snorted under his breath. “Gee. Can’t imagine why I wouldn’t wanna meet your weird prodigy friends with a thousand years of opinions.”

 

There was a flicker of humor in his voice, but his shoulders were tense now. Drawn in. His fingers tapped restlessly against the fabric of his cloak.

 

The hero raised an eyebrow. “Bluebird… You have thousands of years of opinions. Even more than us.”

 

“... Way to call me old, Nills”

 

There was a long moment of silence between the two cookies. Pure Vanilla shifted in his spot on the floor, peering at the blurry cookie still lounging in his armchair. The ancient opened his mouth, reply on the tip of his tongue, before closing it at the beast’s sudden mumbled confession. So quiet he’d barely been able to make out the words.

 

“…I don’t want them to hate me.”

 

Pure Vanilla froze.

 

Shadow Milk didn’t look up.

 

“I know they’re your friends. Your family. You’ve known them longer than most cookies have been alive, and I’m– well…” he cut himself off, clicking his tongue against his sharp teeth like the next words tasted bad. “I’m not exactly easy to like. Or trust. And if they don’t like me, you’ll… well.”

 

He laughed, but it was hollow. Crooked at the edges.

 

“You might realize I’m not worth the effort.”

 

Pure Vanilla inhaled softly.

 

Shadow Milk barreled on, voice low and fast, like he could outrun the hurt he hadn’t meant to confess. “I mean, c’mon. Me, a beast? Hanging around ancients? That’s a joke, right? You’re all out there being heroic and glowing or whatever, and I’m just… me… If they see that, really see that, you’ll change your mind. You’ll realize I’m still dangerous. That I don’t belong here. That I shouldn’t be–”

 

He stopped.

 

He couldn’t finish the sentence.

 

The silence stretched on and on, weighing the beast down.

 

Witches, what was he thinking–

 

Pure Vanilla hadn’t interrupted his rant. Didn’t reassure him right away. Didn’t laugh or chide or call him dramatic.

 

He didn’t say anything.

 

And for a second – just one, terrifying second – Shadow Milk was sure that meant everything he’d just said was true. That this was it. That he’d ruined the peace. That the healer had finally seen what he really was and decided it wasn’t worth the risk, and–

 

His chest tightened.

 

He curled his hands into fists against the arms of the chair, gaze locked somewhere just above the floor. His jaw was clenched, shoulders hunched inward like he could hide the rawness still lingering in his voice.

Stupid. That was stupid. He was so stupid for saying any of that.

 

Of course Pure Vanilla was rethinking things now. What sane cookie wouldn’t?

 

He nearly got to his feet. Almost stood. Almost bolted for the door like he always used to. But before he could–

 

Warmth.

 

A quiet shifting of robes, coupled with the soft creak of the chair as the space beside him changed.

 

Changed?

 

He blinked and looked up.

 

And there, impossibly close, was Pure Vanilla Cookie. Somehow, without a sound, he had crossed the room and folded himself into the plush chair with him, like it was the most natural thing in the world. The armchair wasn’t big enough for both of them. Not really. But Pure Vanilla had made space anyway – tucking himself sideways beside him, legs folded neatly as he curled into Shadow Milk’s side and wrapped his arms around him in one slow, careful motion.

 

Shadow Milk didn’t move.

 

Didn’t even breathe.

 

He could feel the healer’s weight against his shoulder. His cheek brushing lightly against the fabric of his cloak. One hand resting over his ribs, fingers gentle. Steady.

 

“…You’re not a danger,” Pure Vanilla whispered.

 

Shadow Milk stayed silent.

 

The quiet stretched, gentle and warm, wrapping around them like a second blanket. The silence, no longer heavy, didn’t press or prod, but instead breathed slowly, in tandem with the rhythm of their chests, where their Soul Jams were stationed, pulsing quietly. Shadow Milk didn’t say anything – couldn’t, really – not with the weight of Pure Vanilla’s body half-curled into him, his arms wrapped securely around the beast’s shoulders like he might never let go.

 

It wasn’t suffocating. It wasn’t even overwhelming. But it was… a lot.

 

Shadow Milk blinked slowly, staring out toward the soft glow of the curtained window across the room. The morning light filtered through sheer white fabric in thick, hazy streams – barely enough to count as real daylight, but still more than he was used to. His mornings had always been darker, messier. Emptier . No one ever curled into him before. No one had ever held him like this. Like he was fragile and important. Like it mattered how long he stayed. No one except Pure Vanilla.

 

Pure Vanilla, who always looked at him like he was the most important being on Earthbread.

 

Pure Vanilla, who always went out of his way to be around him – to spend time with him.

 

Pure Vanilla, who wasn’t speaking.

 

Shadow Milk almost wanted to laugh, because wasn’t that supposed to be the healer’s job? He was normally quiet, so why did it feel so different? But Pure Vanilla just sat there – practically in his lap thanks to the narrowness of the armchair – his face tucked close to Shadow Milk’s shoulder, his hands warm and still. He wasn’t hugging too tightly, wasn’t trembling, wasn’t coaxing words out of him. He was just there.

 

Breathing. Soft and even.

 

Holding.

 

And waiting.

 

It felt like… acceptance. In its purest, rawest form. No questions. No expectations. No rush to fix what he’d confessed.

 

Shadow Milk let out a shaky breath and tilted his head back, resting it against the edge of the chair. His heart beat a little too fast, a little too close to his ears. Still, he didn’t pull away.

 

“…You’re quiet,” the healer finally murmured, voice soft and warm, full of emotion, but with a sliver of teasing tucked just underneath. “Don’t tell me you actually ran out of things to say. That’s terrifying, Bluebird.”

 

Pure Vanilla finished with a soft breath of a laugh – barely audible but there, a puff of warm air against Shadow Milk’s neck. The beast’s reply was hastey, with not much thought behind the quip.

 

“Whatever Nilla – Not like you were saying much either.”

 

“I’m thinking,” he explained gently, and Shadow Milk felt the words more than he heard them, his breath brushing against sensitive skin.

 

Shadow Milk grunted, arms still half-curled around the other’s waist. “And you thought I was terrifying? You thinking sounds incredibly dangerous.”

 

“Mm.” A pause. “I was trying to remember when I first started hoping you’d let me hold you like this.”

 

The beast paused. His throat tightened.

 

Pure Vanilla shifted slightly, not moving away but adjusting so he could see Shadow Milk’s face. Or… as close to seeing as he could get. His vision was still just slightly clouded, but he could make out most of the details on the jester’s face. The way his nose was ever so slightly upturned, a tad more angular that the healer’s own, but not actually pointy. The way his cheeks darkened into a beautiful purple blush whenever he got flustered. How his vibrant eyes would light up at the thought of a new trick he could play. His plush, cold looking lips that were actually warm and chapped and perfect–

 

Shadow Milk’s presence – dark, steady, familiar – was close. Very close.

 

He reached up with one hand, fingers brushing carefully along Shadow Milk’s jaw, soft and searching. Shadow Milk tensed, not out of discomfort, but something else. He stayed still, letting him touch. Letting him see.

 

“You’re so close,” Pure Vanilla murmured, barely above a whisper. “I can just make out your features– if a little blurry….”

 

Shadow Milk breathed in. “Am I… scary-looking?”

 

Pure Vanilla shook his head, the movement small. “You’re warm.”

 

He didn’t say kind. He didn’t say gentle. He didn’t say beautiful or handsome or any of the other things Shadow Milk wasn’t sure he could believe yet. Just… warm.

 

It disarmed him more than anything else ever could.

 

For a long moment, the only sound was the subtle creak of the chair beneath their combined weight and the soft tick of a nearby clock. Shadow Milk was so acutely aware of Pure Vanilla’s nearness – his breath, his fingers, the steady calm of his soul – that he barely noticed the tremble in his own.

 

“…I wasn’t lying,” he said quietly, voice barely above a breath. “I really… don’t want them to hate me.”

 

Pure Vanilla’s hand stilled against his cheek. “I know.”

 

“I know I talk big,” Shadow Milk went on, more quickly now, the words rushing out before they could choke him, “like I don’t care. Like nothing gets to me. But you–” His voice hitched. “You’ve got this whole world, this whole life, and they’re a part of it. The other Ancients. If they don’t like me, if they think I’m a monster, then maybe you’ll…”

 

He couldn’t finish – Pure Vanilla didn’t push him to.

 

Instead, the ancient leaned in, his forehead brushing against Shadow Milk’s. His hands were warm where they settled against Shadow’s sides, steady and grounding.

 

“I wouldn’t let them make that choice for me,” Pure Vanilla said softly. “Not about you.”

 

Shadow Milk’s heart thumped.

 

“They’ve all made mistakes,” Pure Vanilla added, voice threaded with memory and sadness and love. “We’ve all done things we regret. Things that bond us together – bonds that are thicker than blood could ever hope to be. But no one else gets to decide how I feel. Not even them.”

 

Shadow Milk closed his eyes, letting the meaning of that statement sink in, slow and deep. And still, the doubt lingered, stubborn as ever.

 

“You say that now,” he mumbled, “but what if I do something wrong? What if I lash out? What if I hurt someone – hurt you – and then they look at you like you’re the idiot who brought me home?”

 

“That won’t happen.”

 

His eyes flicked open. Pure Vanilla was still so close – the healer was practically glowing, soft and gold in the morning light.

 

“It won’t ,” Pure Vanilla said again, a little firmer. “And you haven’t hurt me.”

 

Shadow Milk stared at him, torn between the urge to scoff and the terrifying possibility of believing him.

“…I almost did,” he muttered. “When you first showed up at the Spire. Don’t act like I didn’t come in swinging.”

 

“You were scared,” Pure Vanilla answered, calm and easy. “So was I.”

 

Shadow Milk blinked. “You were?”

 

Pure Vanilla smiled faintly. “Mhm. We both were, and that’s okay.”

 

That shut him up fast.

 

The words slipped between them like silk, leaving ripples behind. Shadow Milk swallowed, guilt prickling under his skin. “I’m still scared – but not of you.”

 

“I know,” Pure Vanilla whispered.

 

And then he shifted – slowly, gently, his hands moving as he leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together more firmly. Their Soul Jams pulsed faintly in their chests, and Shadow Milk’s breath caught as he realized what Pure Vanilla was doing.

 

They’d never purposely done this before–

 

Not after the first accidental time, right when they’d arrived in The Vanilla Kingdom.

 

The healer moved carefully, deliberately. One hand slid upward, fingers hovering right over Shadow Milk’s Soul Jam. The ancient’s own Soul Jam responded – pulsing faintly, a warm thrum of magic that hummed in the air between them.

 

“May I?” he asked quietly, reverently.

 

Shadow Milk hesitated.

 

His pulse thundered. His stomach twisted. He didn’t know what would happen if he said yes – didn’t know if it would hurt or help or just leave him completely unraveled.

 

But he trusted Pure Vanilla. Despite himself. Despite everything.

 

“…Yeah,” he whispered, voice cracking.

 

And Pure Vanilla leaned forward, pressing his own Soul Jam to Shadow Milk’s, wrapping the beast fully in his embrace.

 

The contact was feather-light, but the effect was instant.

 

Warmth spread outward in slow, rippling waves. It wasn’t fire, wasn’t lightning, wasn’t anything sharp. It was soft, deep, and whole. Like sinking into a warm bath after a storm. Like sunlight cascading down onto a cozy beach with toasty sand. Like being held not by arms, but by acceptance.

 

Shadow Milk gasped softly, hands clenching into Pure Vanilla’s robes.

 

For a moment, the memories weren’t so jagged. The fear didn’t press in quite so tightly. He could feel his own Soul Jam resonating, slowly but surely, in tandem with Pure Vanilla’s. Not overridden. Not overwhelmed. Just… gently heard. Connected, as they’d always been.

 

Pure Vanilla exhaled against him, the sound quiet and steady.

 

“I can’t go back to being alone, Nilla. It was torture ,” Shadow Milk whispered.

 

He barely recognized his own voice. It was raw and open and real.

 

“I know, Bluebird. You won't ever need to face that feeling again, I promise. ” The healer mumbled.

 

And he held him there – close and warm and still – not trying to fix him, not trying to rush him. Just being.

 

Together.

The sun had long since dipped past the treetops, casting a mellow golden hue over the canopy outside the delicate sugar-glass windows. The shadows in the corners of the kitchen lengthened gently, brushing against parchment pages and trailing along the velvet edges of old tomes. But the healer wasn’t reading. Not tonight.

 

His hands were trembling. Just a little.

 

He stood at the kitchen counter, biting the inside of his cheek while attempting to focus on the task at hand: plating . Two carefully arranged portions of herb-roasted vegetables and a modestly portioned baked tart – apple and spiced sugar. Everything was still warm, and the air smelled faintly of rosemary and sweet butter.

 

Why was he this nervous?

 

This wasn’t new territory. He’d cooked for others before – a whole village, even. And it was just dinner. Just Shadow Milk Cookie.

 

But that was the problem, wasn’t it?

 

It was Shadow Milk.

 

His other half , who always met the world with a dry smirk and wary eyes, who curled into his blankets like he’d never been safe before, who had clung to Pure Vanilla on the armchair two nights ago, scared that he’d truly be left behind, forgotten and alone again .

 

The image hadn’t left Pure Vanilla’s mind since. That warmth. The quiet breath on his shoulder. The faint trembling he’d felt when their soul jams touched.

 

Tonight, they were calling it a date.

 

Or, at least… he was.

 

But Shadow Milk hadn’t called it anything other than a date – hadn’t protested –  so date it must be, right? He’d even sounded excited when they discussed it yesterday – though “excited” was more of a raised eyebrow and a casual, “I guess I can tolerate a date if it means getting fed.”

 

Still, that had been enough to send Pure Vanilla’s heart fluttering with something dangerously close to hope. A real chance at them being something more. More than just a soulbond and a one-off kiss. He glanced toward the doorway, then quickly adjusted the garnish on one of the plates – two basil leaves placed just off-center, now shifted to frame the tart more symmetrically. He didn't need it to be perfect, but… he did. Just a little.

 

“You know, for the cookie who’s supposed to be the calm and collected one, you sure look like you’re about to explode.”

 

Pure Vanilla startled.

 

He turned toward the voice, blinking rapidly, his vision blurry without his staff. All he saw was a tall silhouette leaning lazily against the doorframe – a dark blur punctuated by glowing heterochromatic eyes and a glimmer of silver and blue at his throat. Shadow Milk.

 

“Ah–! You’re early,” Pure Vanilla said, brushing nonexistent flour from his apron as he tried to mask his sudden jolt.

 

The prankster quirked an eyebrow, floating into the kitchen with an easy, amused expression. “Am I? Guess I didn’t realize I had to be fashionably late to dinner in my own home.”

 

His own home–?

 

Pure Vanilla flushed. “I didn’t mean it that way. I just… wanted everything to be ready before you came in.”

 

Shadow Milk’s gaze flicked toward the counter. “...You made dinner?” There was a pause. Not disapproving – just surprised. The beast shifted closer, eyes narrowing slightly in thought. “I thought we were going to buy food. Y’know, hit up a market stall, bicker over what counts as edible. The whole date experience.”

 

“Well,” Pure Vanilla said, trying – and failing – to keep his voice even, “I figured if I could make breakfast, I could make dinner, too. So… I tried my best. I hope it tastes alright.”

 

There was a lengthier pause now, long enough to make Pure Vanilla’s ears grow warm.

 

And then – Shadow Milk snorted. A single puff of laughter, light and incredulous.

 

“What?” Pure Vanilla asked, cautiously smiling.

 

“You’re ridiculous,” The jester muttered. “Of course it’ll taste fine. Everything you do is perfect.”

 

The words were tossed out casually, a throwaway joke – one of his usual jabs with a hidden soft, gentle core. But the hero still blinked, caught a little too off-guard by the sentiment. He didn’t know how to respond. Before he could think of something, Shadow Milk casually reached for the plates. “Well, Chef Nilla, guess you’re not getting out of letting me do something magical tonight.”

 

“Hm?” Pure Vanilla tilted his head, confused.

 

Shadow Milk grinned. “You made dinner. So I’m setting the mood.”

 

And then – with an exaggerated flash and a gleam in his eyes – he snapped his fingers. The kitchen flickered, then faded. In the next heartbeat, they were no longer standing by the counter. Pure Vanilla blinked against the evening breeze, the scent of twilight and lilacs replacing the warmth of the kitchen hearth. They were outside?

 

Or, more specifically, on a wide, open balcony that jutted from one of the castle’s higher towers. Pale stone beneath their feet, the safety of a railing wrapped in ivy to their left, stars beginning to emerge in a soft dusk sky overhead–

 

It was stunning.

 

And before them – spread across a small, round table – was their dinner, untouched and perfectly arranged.

 

There were candles too. Not many. Just a few small orbs of soft, floating light, hovering above their table and gently illuminating their faces with golden glow.

 

And then – Shadow Milk raised his hand again. One more flick of his fingers.

 

Tiny fireflies burst into existence around them, shimmering like warm stardust.

 

Pure Vanilla froze.

 

“Oh…”

 

He hadn’t meant to say anything, but the breath escaped anyway, soft and full of wonder.

Shadow Milk slouched into one of the chairs with a smirk. “Figured I’d contribute. Y’know, flowers are too cliché, and I’m not sappy enough for music. But you seem like a ‘firefly evening’ kind of Cookie, so…”

 

“I… I–” Pure Vanilla started, his heart twisting in a way that made it hard to breathe. “Thank you.”

 

He took his seat slowly, trying not to let his knees shake.

 

They began to eat, quietly at first. Shadow Milk seemed surprisingly at ease – cutting his food with casual dexterity, sipping his drink like this sort of date happened every evening. But Pure Vanilla’s mind was a rush of questions: Was he eating too slowly? Was he chewing too fast? Did the tart taste too sweet? Was the portion too small? Too big?

 

He tried not to stare too obviously, which wasn’t difficult – he could barely make out Shadow Milk’s features in the low light unless he leaned in close, and even then his vision wasn’t exactly good . But the fireflies helped, casting brief flashes of clarity across his companion’s face. When he caught glimpses of the soft curve of a smile or the thoughtful squint of those vibrant eyes, his stomach twisted with nerves and something warmer.

 

Then – Shadow Milk suddenly winced. Subtle, but there nonetheless.

 

Pure Vanilla froze. “Is something wrong?”

 

Shadow Milk set his glass down with a soft clink, then shifted in his chair. “Nah. Just…”

 

He flicked his fingers, chair spinning on its legs, gliding across the floor toward Pure Vanilla’s side of the table.

 

Before the ancient could so much as make a confused noise, Shadow Milk had pulled up next to him and leaned in, lifting his fork with a bit of tart perched delicately on the edge.

 

“Come on, Nilly,” he said, voice low but teasing. “You’ve gotta eat more than that.”

 

Pure Vanilla’s breath hitched. He hadn’t even realized he’d stopped…

 

The fork hovered in front of him – no more of an offering than it was a challenge. Wordlessly, cheeks warming, he leaned forward and accepted the bite. The flavor burst on his tongue, and he swallowed reflexively, too embarrassed to even taste it properly. Shadow Milk was watching him with a look that teetered between smugness and something fonder.

 

“See Nills? Not so hard, hm?” The beast dropped the fork down, stabbing into Pure Vanilla’s own tart, before bringing the piece back in front of the ancient, coaxing him to take another bite.

 

He did, hesitantly, before he smiled, small – grateful, “...Thank you.”

 

They didn’t speak for a little while after that. Shadow Milk stayed by his side, chair tilted just slightly toward him, idly spinning his fork between each bite he silently urged the hero to take. Pure Vanilla rested his hands in his lap after a while, still fiddling with his own cutlery,, his appetite tapering off. Shadow Milk noticed, of course – he was so good at noticing – how he had gotten away with that uncaring act before? He seemed so readable now….

 

“Done?” the beast asked quietly, snapping the healer from his thoughts.

 

Pure Vanilla nodded. “I think so. I – sorry, I didn’t mean to waste–”

 

“S’alright Nilly.” The response was immediate – gentle and full of what seemed to be… adoration? “You made it for us to enjoy, and enjoy we did. That’s what matters.”

 

They lingered a moment longer in the soft flickering candlelight, fireflies buzzing, weaving patterns above their heads.

 

Then – a flutter of wings, distinctly not a firefly.

 

A bluebird landed gently on the railing, a rolled note held in its beak. The healer blinked, rising with a soft rustle of robes. The bird hopped forward and offered the scroll, allowing Pure Vanilla to grasp it with careful fingers.

 

Shadow Milk peered over his shoulder.

 

“A message?”.

 

Pure Vanilla’s eyes scanned the note. His brows lifted in surprise. “It’s from White Lily Cookie. She wants to visit for a few days…”

 

He trailed off, turning slowly to look at the cookie beside him. A silent question in his eyes. Shadow Milk’s expression twisted – faintly amused, faintly annoyed. But not… unwilling.

 

“If you want her to come, I don’t mind,” he said after a beat. “I’ll meet her. For you.”

 

Pure Vanilla blinked, before a small smile crept onto his face, slowly growing, until–

 

He was beaming, a smile was bright enough to rival the fireflies.

Notes:

Do you wanna know a secret? I started drafting my new fic! AND I PICKED A NAME 🫣

I'm going to share it because I'm so excited to post the fic (that isn't even written)!!! But also don't worry guys, the last chapter of this fic will come out first :)

Okay okay, are you ready??
My new shadowvanilla fic is going to be called:
Edelweiss

Feel free to guess about it in the comments. Maybe I'll give you little hints :P Who knows! Depends on how excited I am hehe~
But don't let the name fool you...

Chapter 6: What'd you do? Hm, I'm Kinda Into it

Summary:

“You never complain when I make you stay.”

There was a beat of stillness between them. No words. Just the faint shift of the book being set aside, the soft shuffle of silk robes sliding against linen.

“There’s never a reason to,” Pure Vanilla murmured, finally.

Notes:

Oh my gosh Iden! 14k words in one chapter? You shouldn't have!

Over 12k of it is sex?? No really... You shouldn't have...

 

Anyways think of it as an apology for making you guys wait so long for it eheheh
I really hope you guys enjoy!!

The afternoon bled into evening before either of them noticed.

 

Shadow Milk had declared war on the concept of mornings sometime around the first sip of coffee, sprawled dramatically across Pure Vanilla’s bed like he’d just escaped death itself. He’d launched into a sleepy tirade – half-lidded eyes, arms flung wide – about how mornings were a government conspiracy created by sunlight and suffering. That the sun had a personal vendetta against him. That waking up early was a moral failing.

 

Pure Vanilla, still half-awake and cradling his steaming jasmine tea with both hands, had merely hummed his amusement.

 

He never tried to argue when Shadow Milk got like that. Just let him complain, let him nest in the warm, tangled sheets of his bed. Let him win.

 

By the time the rant had lost steam and the beast had successfully guilted the ancient into abandoning his entire morning schedule, it was already creeping toward noon. But neither of them moved. Not really.

 

Pure Vanilla’s hair, freshly brushed and still a little damp from his morning wash, had ended up in the trickster’s lap again – golden strands sprawled out like silk. It started with absent-minded combing. Shadow Milk’s claws, surprisingly delicate, working through the tangles with lazy intent. The braid had come next. Slow. Precise. A fishtail braid this time, because, “your regular braid is boring, need to spice it up Nilla,” and because Shadow Milk liked the way it looked when Pure Vanilla turned his head and the loops caught the light.

 

Somewhere along the line, the beast had decided it wasn’t enough.

 

So he added flowers. Vanilla orchids first – a buttery pastel yellow, soft and curling – and then primroses, gorgeous blue and delicate, tucked into the folds like secrets.

 

Pure Vanilla hadn’t said much. Just smiled a little to himself, shoulders soft, voice even softer when he asked what flowers Shadow Milk had picked. Not because he didn’t know, but because he liked hearing the cookie say it.

 

Now, hours later, they were still there. Still in that warm cocoon of golden light and laziness.

 

Shadow Milk was propped up against the headboard, one leg bent, the other stretched out beneath the covers. Pure Vanilla was tucked neatly between his legs, his back pressed against the beast’s chest. His head rested just under Shadow Milk’s chin, tilted back slightly into his shoulder, and his arms lay relaxed atop the book in his lap.

 

Not that he was reading anymore. His fingers trailed slowly over the pages – across the embossed text, across the raised dots of braille – with the sort of absent rhythm that came from being deep in thought. Or not thinking at all.

 

His eyes were closed, his breathing even. The beast couldn’t tell if he was dozing or just pretending to be. He didn’t ask.

 

His arms were wrapped around the ancient’s waist, not too tight, but firm enough to remind them both that he was there. That he wasn’t going anywhere.

 

The room was quiet, aside from the slow tick of the old clock on the far wall and the occasional creak of the bed frame when one of them shifted. Outside the tall windows, dusk had begun to stretch across the sky – faint lavender bleeding into gold, softening the edges of everything in sight.

 

Shadow Milk exhaled slowly, chin nudging lightly against the crown of Pure Vanilla’s head. His fingers moved idly along the fabric of the healer’s robes, trailing little shapes into the folds. The material was light and warm from where it clung to Pure Vanilla’s form. Loose, but not shapeless. Always too many layers. Still smelled faintly of vanilla and honey and something floral he couldn’t place.

 

“You fall asleep on me and I’m leaving you here,” the beast muttered quietly.

 

Pure Vanilla’s lips curled into a lazy smile. His eyes didn’t open. “You say that like you’re not the reason I’m still in bed.”

 

“Hey, I did us both a favor. It’s called self-care.”

 

“Mm,” came the slow, amused hum. “And might I ask why you call staying in bed all day self-care? Seems rather unproductive.”

 

“I’ll have you know it’s revolutionary, actually.” Shadow Milk said flatly, resting his chin more solidly against Pure Vanilla’s shoulder. “Not my fault the world’s too boring to get out of bed for.”

 

He felt the other’s quiet laugh through his back. It wasn’t much – just the faintest vibration – but the beast felt it all the same. His arms tightened slightly.

 

“You’re warm,” the hero mumbled, before feeling the beast’s jaw quirk into a smile on his shoulder.

 

“I imagine that’s because you’ve been using me as a pillow all afternoon.”

 

Shadow Milk smirked at the ancient’s hum in response, pressing his lips into the spot just below Pure Vanilla’s ear, not quite a kiss.

 

His voice had dropped. Quieter. A little more serious.

 

“You never complain when I make you stay.”

 

There was a beat of stillness between them. No words. Just the faint shift of the book being set aside, the soft shuffle of silk robes sliding against linen.

 

“There’s never a reason to,” Pure Vanilla murmured, finally.

 

Shadow Milk didn’t respond right away. He just let that sit there, echoing through the warm hush of the room. His fingers trailed lower, resting just above Pure Vanilla’s stomach. One clawed thumb brushed a slow, lazy circle into the robe’s fabric. A small, spiraling motion. No pressure, just… contact. “You say stuff like that,” the beast said, his voice a low hum, “and I start thinking you actually like me.”

 

“Worse,” Pure Vanilla replied, his tone feather-light but sincere. “I might even mean it.”

 

Another silence.

 

It wasn’t awkward. It was… heavy. Not in a bad way. Just thick. Full of all the things that had gone unsaid up until now. Shadow Milk shifted behind him, slow and deliberate. His chest pressed more fully into Pure Vanilla’s back, and his legs slid just enough to lock around the ancient’s sides, caging him in – not possessively, but rather… protectively.

 

“You’re dangerous when you talk like that,” the beast murmured, voice nearly a whisper now, low and rough with something neither had explored yet.

 

Pure Vanilla’s fingers curled slightly, resting over Shadow Milk’s hands on his waist. “Are you scared?”

 

“Terrified,” Shadow Milk said softly.

 

His mouth brushed the side of Pure Vanilla’s neck again. Still not quite a kiss. But not exactly anything else.

 

And then – finally – he moved. Just enough to press his lips fully against the pulse point at the base of the ancient’s neck. A slow, lingering press. Then another, higher. Then one more, near the angle of his jaw.

Pure Vanilla tilted his head back instinctively, breath catching. Still no protest. Still no distance between them.

 

The beast’s voice was barely audible now. “Tell me to stop.”

 

Pure Vanilla didn’t.

 

He stayed right where he was, soft and still between Shadow Milk’s arms, head tilted just enough to give the beast more room. His pulse beat steady beneath his dough, though Shadow Milk could feel it now – just a little quicker than before. Not scared. Not nervous.

 

Just present.

 

Just there. Every breath, every brush of lips, every whisper mattered. Shadow Milk exhaled slowly through his nose, letting his next kiss land right beneath Pure Vanilla’s ear. A slow, dragging thing. His lips parted slightly, just enough to breathe against the ancient’s dough. “You always smell like sugar,” he muttered, almost annoyed by it. “Like you’re trying to give me cavities.”

 

“Unintentional,” Pure Vanilla replied, breath catching just enough to be noticeable. His voice was quieter now, lower. “Though I suppose it’s better than soggy beast, hm?”

 

Shadow Milk huffed out a soft laugh against his neck. “That was one time – admit it, it was a good prank! Falling in the lake was just an unexpected downside…”

 

The ancient hummed, his head tipping further back into the beast’s shoulder, eyelids fluttering closed again. “Still the absolute worst thing I’ve ever smelled.”

 

“You’re such a jerk,” Shadow Milk murmured, but he didn’t sound mad about it.

 

His hands, which had been still around the ancient’s waist, moved slowly – one trailing up to splay across Pure Vanilla’s chest, the other curling loosely at his hip. Not rushing. Just holding.

 

Feeling.

 

“I’m serious,” Shadow Milk said, quieter this time. His nose nudged gently against Pure Vanilla’s cheek. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

 

“I know,” Pure Vanilla whispered. “I would.”

 

Shadow Milk nodded against him, silent.

 

Then he kissed him.

 

Not his neck. Not his jaw.

 

It was slower than their first time. Softer. Pure Vanilla had to twist in his lap to meet it, one arm curling around Shadow Milk’s shoulder to steady himself. Their lips brushed once – testing – then again, firmer. Nothing was asked of the other. Just offered.

 

The beast’s claws ghosted up the ancient’s ribs, then back down, smoothing along the folds of his robe. He could feel the warmth of Pure Vanilla’s dough beneath the fabric, and it was that – more than the kiss – that made his breath hitch.

 

When they finally broke apart, they didn’t move far. Just rested there – foreheads pressed together, noses brushing, the space between them humming like a live wire. Pure Vanilla was breathing harder now. Not panting. Just… catching up.

 

“I thought you hated sugar,” he murmured, voice a little rough, a little breathless.

 

Shadow Milk let out a low sound that wasn’t quite a laugh. “I think I’ll make an exception.”

 

His hands slid down again, this time curling around the ancient’s thighs, just above the knee. He didn’t pull – just held him there, like he needed something solid to hold onto.

 

And maybe…

 

Maybe he did.

 

The next kiss was different. Still slow. Still soft. But there was more behind it. More pressure. More heat.

 

Pure Vanilla responded immediately. His hands, which had been tentative before, tangled gently in Shadow Milk’s shirt – the same one the ancient had gifted him all that time ago – gripping, grounding. One hand slid up to the beast’s jaw, guiding him just slightly, thumb grazing along his cheekbone. The kiss deepened – not messy or rushed. Just more.

 

More heat. More weight. More of the quiet, aching want that had been simmering between them for chapters now. When Shadow Milk finally pulled back again, his eyes were half-lidded, pupils blown. “You’re going to be the death of me, Nilla.”

 

“You started it,” the healer replied, and for once, he didn’t sound flustered at all.

 

Shadow Milk’s eyes narrowed, lips twitching into a sharp grin. “Did I?”

 

The ancient didn’t answer. Just leaned in again, fingers curling tighter around Shadow Milk’s shirt, lips brushing against the beast’s jaw now – softer, almost reverent.

 

Shadow Milk swallowed hard. And then, quietly, a tentative whisper and a pull at his robes, “Take it off.”

 

Pure Vanilla stilled.

 

His eyes fluttered open, meeting the beast’s with something unreadable in his gaze. “What?”

 

“Your robes,” Shadow Milk said, a little hoarse. He wasn’t grinning anymore. “If you want to.” There was no pressure in his tone. No command. Just something low and honest and wanting.

 

The hero hesitated.

 

Not because he was unsure. But because the moment had changed. Because now they were standing at the edge of something new. Something real.

 

Then, slowly, the ancient nodded. He leaned forward just enough to press another kiss to Shadow Milk’s lips – short, gentle, deliberate – before pulling back and shifting in his lap. The room was silent except for the soft rustle of fabric as Pure Vanilla undid the folds of his robe. One layer. Then another. His movements were graceful, practiced, even as his hands shook slightly at the edges. The garment slipped off his shoulders, pooling at his waist.

 

Beneath, he wore the simple sleeveless bodysuit he always kept hidden – milky, chocolate brown, silky, clinging faintly to his form. The braid draped over one bare shoulder now, flowers catching the golden afternoon sun pouring through the windows.

 

Shadow Milk didn’t move.

 

Didn’t reach out.

 

Just stared.

 

His gaze traveled from the ancient’s collarbone down to his ribs, drinking in the sight with the kind of reverence he rarely let slip. Like he couldn’t believe he was being allowed to look. Like he might ruin it just by breathing.

 

Pure Vanilla exhaled slowly, then settled back into Shadow Milk’s lap, arms circling his neck, letting the robe fall away entirely behind him.

 

The beast didn’t kiss him again right away.

 

He just stayed still, letting his hands glide along the ancient’s sides – slow, deliberate, circling back up every time they dipped low. His palms were warm through the fabric, his claws grazing but never snagging, always gentle. His thumbs swept small arcs along Pure Vanilla’s ribs, over the faintest rise and fall of breath.

 

“You’re too good at sitting still,” he murmured, voice low.

 

Pure Vanilla’s eyes remained half-closed. “Would you rather I squirm?”

 

Shadow Milk’s hands paused for a fraction of a second.

 

“…Maybe.”

 

The ancient huffed a soft breath of amusement, but didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he leaned in again, his head tilting just enough to rest their foreheads together once more. His hands were still curled lightly at the back of Shadow Milk’s neck, thumbs brushing idle circles into the soft hair there.

 

They stayed like that for a while – just breathing. Pressed together. Anchored.

 

And then the beast moved.

 

He dipped his head, kissing the corner of Pure Vanilla’s mouth once – then again, softer. His lips brushed the edge of a smile, not quite teasing anymore, but testing. Gentle. Patient. The healer tilted his face toward him, catching the next kiss fully. He opened his mouth without hesitation, and Shadow Milk accepted the invitation – slow and sweet and deep, not hurried or messy, just steady. Their tongues brushed, tentative at first, and the taste was the same as before – warm, familiar, and unbearably sweet. But this time, Shadow Milk didn’t pull away. He leaned into it.

 

He tasted everything the ancient gave him and returned it with just a little more – fingers pressing slightly firmer into the fabric of his bodysuit, mouth moving in time with the rhythm they found together.

 

It was soft. It was slow.

 

It was everything.

 

When they broke apart for air, they didn’t go far. Shadow Milk pressed a line of kisses along Pure Vanilla’s cheekbone, across the side of his face, and down to his throat, letting his mouth map the curve of warm, waiting dough.

 

“You’re so quiet when you’re worked up Nills – even more than normal,” he murmured, lips grazing the edge of the ancient’s jaw.

 

“And you talk too much,” Pure Vanilla replied, though his voice had gone breathy, nearly shy.

 

Shadow Milk smiled against his dough, then ghosted another kiss lower, right at the hollow of his throat.

 

The ancient inhaled sharply.

 

That was new.

 

Shadow Milk didn’t say anything about it. Just repeated the kiss, slower this time, lips parting slightly, breath spilling warm over sensitive tanned dough. His hand slid up from the ancient’s hip to rest just under his chest, not pushing – just waiting. The ancient’s hands drifted from his neck to his shoulders, smoothing over the broad curve there, tracing along the tops of his arms. There was a kind of reverence to it – like he was learning Shadow Milk the way one learns music by ear: slow, careful, and entirely by feel.

 

When the beast tilted his head to kiss along his collarbone, Pure Vanilla sighed out a breath that sounded suspiciously like his name.

 

Not his name, but…

 

Shadow Milk froze.

 

Then looked up. “Say that again.”

 

“I didn’t say anything.”

 

“You did. Say it again.” The beast leaned down again, hasiter than before, gripping tightly at the ancient’s hips pressing a weighted kiss against his collarbone. So close to his Soul Jam…

 

Pure Vanilla glanced down, cheeks flushed now, lips parted. “Bluebird…”

 

He said it softly – barely more than a whisper – but it hit harder than anything else had that night. Shadow Milk’s hands tightened even more. Not necessarily hard, just there. Grounding.

 

“Again.”

 

“Blue–”

 

The kiss swallowed the rest of his name.

 

It was deeper. Less cautious. Shadow Milk’s mouth slanted over his, more intent now. One hand moved up to cradle the back of the ancient’s neck, the other still holding him firmly at the waist. Pure Vanilla responded with the same soft hunger, his hands curling into Shadow Milk’s sleeves as if bracing for the weight of it. When they finally parted again, Pure Vanilla was flushed down to his throat, his breathing unsteady, the braid over his shoulder falling slightly loose from the heat between them.

 

“I thought you wanted to take it slow,” he murmured, barely audible.

 

“I do,” Shadow Milk said, and there was something raw in his voice now. “I am.”

 

His hand moved – slowly, pointedly – over the curve of the hero’s thigh. Just once, a long pass, more about contact than pressure.

 

“But if we’re gonna take our time…” he murmured, voice deepening, “I’m gonna learn everything about you. Every sound. Every little twitch. Every part of you that wants more.”

 

Pure Vanilla’s lashes fluttered. He swallowed hard, hands sliding down to grip the beast’s wrists lightly, but not to stop him. Just to feel him.

 

Shadow Milk brushed his nose against the side of his neck again. “You okay?”

 

“Yes,” the ancient whispered.

 

The beast hummed low in his throat and dragged his hands up again – up Pure Vanilla’s sides, along the slope of his ribs, stopping just beneath the arms. His thumbs stroked soft arcs over the fabric there, just below where the seams clung to the ancient’s chest.

 

Pure Vanilla arched faintly into the touch, breath stuttering.

 

Shadow Milk leaned closer, lips brushing his ear. “That’s a yes?”

 

A pause.

 

“...Yes.”

 

The beast moved slower after that, more deliberate. His hands wandered across fabric and dough, over the curves of muscle hidden beneath silk. He let his fingers press, explore, learn. Not groping. Not pushing. He kissed Pure Vanilla again – just below the jaw, then lower, across the base of his neck. Over the slope of his shoulder. Each kiss lingered longer than the last. The healer’s hands had stopped wandering by now. They were locked in place – one at the back of Shadow Milk’s head, buried in silver-streaked hair, the other clutching the edge of his sleeve like he was anchoring himself.

 

Neither of them said much after that.

 

Everything they needed was in the way Pure Vanilla tipped his head to give more access, the way Shadow Milk’s hands never strayed too far, the way every kiss was soft enough to ask and confident enough to say I want you.

 

The way neither of them pulled away.

 

Not even once.

 

The silence stretched long between them, thick as honey.

 

Pure Vanilla was still straddling Shadow Milk’s lap, the folds of his robe draped loosely around his hips, the light bodysuit beneath kissed with warmth where the beast’s hands had been. They hadn’t moved much since their last kiss – just holding, breathing, existing in a shared space that had grown so impossibly charged it barely felt real anymore.

 

Shadow Milk’s hand hovered over Pure Vanilla’s chest, fingers trembling just slightly. Not from nerves, but from restraint.

 

His thumb brushed over the ancient’s Soul Jam again, slowly, reverently.

 

The familiar radiant blue glow pulsed beneath his touch – steady, radiant, calm. Pure Vanilla’s breath caught, just faintly, as Shadow Milk leaned in and pressed his lips directly to the crystal. It was a soft kiss. Closed mouth. No pressure.

 

But the moment it happened, their connection snapped into something deeper.

 

Heat spilled between them like sunlight through a cracked window. Not sudden. Not overwhelming. Just a quiet bloom that started at their Soul Jams and spread outward, curling through their chests, down their arms, across the places where they touched.

 

Pure Vanilla let out a soft noise – half sigh, half gasp – and his fingers clutched at the beast’s biceps, grounding himself.

 

“…Bluebird,” he whispered, dazed.

 

Shadow Milk swallowed. His own Soul Jam flickered at his sternum, the dark gem glinting sharply in the low light. “I know.”

 

He moved again – slowly. Always slowly.

 

He took the ancient’s wrist, guiding Pure Vanilla’s hand upward until it hovered over his chest. The spot where his Soul Jam lived just below the surface.

 

“You can touch it,” he said, voice husky now. “It’s not gonna hurt you.”

 

Pure Vanilla hesitated, just for a moment. Then his fingertips brushed the beast’s Soul Jam, and Shadow Milk’s whole body shuddered. The sensation wasn’t like anything else – wasn’t like a kiss or a touch or a spell. It was something older. Deeper. Like their souls were dragging against one another. Like a memory being pulled forward and made real again.

 

Their Soul Jams glowed in sync – vibrant blue and deep indigo light mingling in slow pulses of energy. Shadow Milk let out a low breath, resting his forehead against the ancient’s. “It’s… not usually like that.”

 

“Neither is mine,” Pure Vanilla murmured, his voice quieter than ever. “I didn’t know they could respond like this…”

 

“I–” Shadow Milk started, voice low. “I didn’t either…”

 

Their bodies were still fully clothed, still pressed together at every angle. But it didn’t matter. The closeness – the intensity of their bond – felt like it burned through every barrier anyway. Pure Vanilla’s hands drifted again. This time he cupped Shadow Milk’s Soul Jam fully, pressing his palm against it with quiet curiosity.

 

Shadow Milk gasped.

 

It wasn’t pain – it was the opposite. A pressure behind his ribs, like the edge of pleasure sharpened by emotion. It went straight through him. Like Pure Vanilla wasn’t just touching his body – he was touching his truth.

 

Shadow Milk’s hands moved without thinking.

 

He slipped his fingers under the loose shoulder straps of the ancient’s bodysuit, brushing them aside one at a time. The healer didn’t stop him – didn’t flinch. He just let him. Trusted him.

 

“Tell me if anything’s too much,” the beast muttered, lips brushing the soft curve of the healer’s shoulder.

 

“You’ll feel it before I say anything,” Pure Vanilla replied.

 

Shadow Milk paused.

 

That was probably true.

 

Their Soul Jams were so attuned now, he could feel the echo of every emotion that passed through Pure Vanilla – every flicker of hesitation, every spark of want, every pulse of heat. It was dizzying.

 

But Witches, was it good.

 

He moved slower than before – reaching behind the ancient to unfasten the back of his suit, careful not to yank or tug. The fabric slipped from Pure Vanilla’s chest and down his arms, catching at the waistline where the robe still pooled. The ancient made no move to help – just kept his eyes half-closed, letting the moment unfold.

 

Shadow Milk pulled back to look at him.

 

And his breath caught.

 

The glow of the ancient’s Soul Jam lit his dough from within. It wasn’t bright – not harsh. Just warm. Gentle. Almost ethereal. He looked like something pulled from a forgotten myth, a being made of silk and light, breathing steady under the weight of so much affection it nearly crushed the beast to look at him.

 

“You’re unreal,” Shadow Milk said hoarsely.

 

Pure Vanilla hummed softly, hands finding the hem of the beast’s shirt. “May I?”

 

Shadow Milk nodded once.

 

The ancient peeled his shirt up and over his head, revealing the sharp lines of his chest, his own Soul Jam glinting like obsidian. His dough was marked faintly with scars – some shallow, some not – but the ancient didn’t stare.

 

He just touched.

 

His hands trailed up from the beast’s waist, over his ribs, palms warm, deliberate. His thumbs ghosted over Shadow Milk’s Soul Jam, then pressed softly – almost as if in prayer.

 

Their foreheads touched again.

 

The breath between them grew shallower.

 

And then Pure Vanilla leaned forward, lips brushing the edge of Shadow Milk’s Soul Jam.

The beast groaned. The connection between their Soul Jams flared. Hot, wild, magnetic. Like energy pulsing between magnets too close to pull apart. Shadow Milk buried his face in the crook of Pure Vanilla’s neck, breathing ragged. His hands cupped the ancient’s back, not pulling, just holding.

 

“This is gonna wreck me,” he whispered.

 

“Then let it,” Pure Vanilla breathed.

 

He tilted his head up and captured Shadow Milk’s mouth again, this time with a tenderness so fierce it felt like surrender. And from there, everything deepened.

 

They didn’t rush

.

Even now, when heat rolled between them in waves – thick and golden, soft as a cloud – the pace remained slow. Intentional. Like every second was its own universe. Pure Vanilla’s lips lingered on Shadow Milk’s Soul Jam just a beat longer. His breath skimmed over the polished surface, and the beast’s entire body tensed beneath him – not in discomfort, but reverence. The kind of shiver that came from being known completely and still wanted anyway. Shadow Milk’s voice was a low rasp against the ancient’s ear. “You keep that up, I’m not gonna survive this.”

 

Pure Vanilla only smiled, a beautiful, gentle thing that touched his whole face. “You will.”

 

He sat back slightly on the beast’s thighs, gaze traveling down his body, but not with hunger. With awe. His hand hovered near Shadow Milk’s, their fingers brushing lightly.

 

“Come here,” Shadow Milk murmured, pulling the ancient forward again.

 

Their mouths met again – slow, deep, familiar now. Their kisses weren’t tentative anymore. They were warm and sure, lips parting without hesitation. Shadow Milk tilted his head just enough to deepen the angle, one hand sliding along Pure Vanilla’s side, memorizing every inch of dough.

 

He could feel the soft heat of the healer’s Soul Jam, still aglow, pressing faintly against his own chest now that they were close enough.

 

It wasn’t just heat anymore. It was pull.

 

Every breath they shared fed it. Every press of dough against dough.

 

It was as if the Soul Jams weren’t just glowing – they were they wer in sync. Fully, wholey in tune.

 

Shadow Milk could feel Pure Vanilla – really feel him. The emotions behind each sigh, the thoughts flickering just under the surface. No need to speak them. The connection was loud enough on its own. He ran his hands lower, skimming past the healer’s hips to his thighs, before bringing his hands back up to the zipper on his back. The fabric was soft, cool under his palms, while the zipper sent an aggressive chill to his fingertips. He paused.

 

Waited.

 

Pure Vanilla looked down at him, lips flushed and parted. He didn’t speak, just nodded once. That was enough.

 

Shadow Milk moved with care – unzipping, sliding the last piece of cloth down over soft, pale thighs, letting it fall gently aside. He didn’t gawk. Didn’t stare. He just took him in the same way he always had – like something precious.

 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered.

 

Pure Vanilla flushed, but didn’t look away. Shadow Milk leaned forward again, lips brushing just below the ancient’s ear. “Lie down.”

 

There was no command in the words. Only a quiet ask.

 

Pure Vanilla shifted off his lap, letting himself sink back into the bed. His braid spilled out around him, flowers still tucked neatly in place, some petals crushed between their bodies but still fragrant. His Soul Jam rested in plain sight. Its pulse was steady, rising and falling with each breath. Shadow Milk followed him down, leaning over him, one hand braced beside the healer’s head, the other gently touching the side of his face. He dipped down to kiss the hero’s Soul Jam again, this time longer, firmer.

 

The response was immediate. The glow flared. Pure Vanilla gasped, his body arching faintly into the beast’s.

 

Their Soul Jams sang.

 

There was no other way to describe it. That deep, internal resonance. It started in their chests and spread through every limb. A low, full hum that pulled them closer than anything ever could. Shadow Milk kissed his way down the ancient’s chest, slow and careful. Every new inch of dough was treated like scripture – each kiss deliberate, reverent.

 

When he reached the base of Pure Vanilla’s ribs, he paused, looked up.

 

“Tell me what you’re feeling,” he said.

 

The healer’s chest rose and fell, unsteady now. “Warm. Open. Like I could… dissolve into you.”

 

“You kind of already are,” Shadow Milk whispered.

 

He reached for the folds at his own waist – finally slipping out of the last bit of clothing between them. He was bare now too, their dough touching from knee to chest, the warmth between them building with nowhere to go.

 

Their Soul Jams pulsed, a synchronized thrum of light.

 

They breathed in tandem.

 

Shadow Milk lowered himself down again, and this time when their chests touched, it wasn’t just warmth – it was heat.

 

White-hot, spreading outward from where their Soul Jams aligned, flooding every nerve. It wasn’t just arousal. It was connection. A fusion. Like their very essences had been waiting for this final, unguarded moment.

 

Pure Vanilla arched up, lips parting on a quiet, desperate sound.

 

Shadow Milk caught it with a kiss, groaning softly as he cradled the healer’s face, thumbs stroking his cheeks.

 

“You feel that?” he whispered.

 

Pure Vanilla could only nod.

 

His hands ran up the beast’s back, nails lightly raking the dough, not to mark – but to hold. To ground himself against a rising tide of sensation he couldn’t describe. His lips brushed against Shadow Milk’s neck, searching for contact, for more.

 

The beast gasped at the touch, pressing closer, their hips barely grazing. It was enough to make both of them shiver.

 

Still, Shadow Milk didn’t rush. His lips returned to the ancient’s Soul Jam, kissing it again, longer this time. His hands moved with soft precision, touching along the inside of Pure Vanilla’s thighs, his stomach, his sides. Every movement was permission. Every stroke a question.

 

And every sound that fell from Pure Vanilla’s lips was an answer.

 

“Yes.”

“More.”

“Don’t stop.”

 

They kissed again, slow, breathless. Shadow Milk’s body hovered just above Pure Vanilla’s, chest heaving, arms shaking slightly now under the weight of restraint.

 

He whispered into the ancient’s mouth, “I love you.”

 

Pure Vanilla didn’t flinch.

 

He pulled Shadow Milk down, kissed him deeply, and whispered right back: “I love you too.”

 

Their bodies moved like tide and moon – pulled into each other by something older than either of them could name.

 

Shadow Milk hovered just above Pure Vanilla now, fully unclothed, breath warm against his neck. Their Soul Jams pressed together, the heat between them like a pulse, thick and insistent. Every time they touched, that heat spiked – another wave curling through their bodies, leaving nerves ringing like struck bells.

 

And Pure Vanilla… was radiant.

 

His long braid lay fanned out beneath him, flowers scattered and crushed beneath his back. His robe had fallen completely aside, and his bodysuit was long gone. The tanned stretch of his chest rose and fell beneath Shadow Milk’s weight, flushed a soft, trembling red. His Soul Jam pulsed with every breath, sparkling, glowing, nestled above the slope of his soft chest – and just below, between his legs, the wet heat of his cunt glistened where it kissed the beast’s thigh.

 

Shadow Milk’s eyes trailed over him slowly. Drinking him in. Devouring him.

 

And when he finally touched him – really touched him – it was with both hands.

 

He started at Pure Vanilla’s waist, spreading his fingers across the ancient’s hips, thumbs sweeping over his soft, tanned dough. He dragged them slowly inward, toward the dip of his stomach, brushing just shy of his slick folds. The healer gasped softly, arching into the touch.

 

But Shadow Milk didn’t go lower. Not yet.

 

Instead, his hands moved up – over his sides, up his ribs, until they cupped the warm weight of his chest. He ran his thumbs over his nipples, slow and firm, watching the way they stiffened under his palms. Pure Vanilla moaned, high and soft, head tilting back into the pillows.

 

“You’re perfect,” Shadow Milk murmured, leaning down to mouth at the healer’s chest. “Like you were made for me.”

 

He licked a slow stripe across one nipple, then circled it with his tongue, lips brushing the dough around it. He sucked, gently at first, then deeper, enough to pull a small, breathless cry from Pure Vanilla’s mouth.

 

His hands didn’t stop moving.

 

One hand kept teasing his chest, the other slipped lower – past his navel, over his belly, until his fingertips brushed the slick heat between his thighs. Pure Vanilla twitched.

 

“Oh,” he gasped, one leg falling open instinctively.

 

Shadow Milk groaned against his dough. “Fuck– you’re wet already.”

 

Pure Vanilla flushed. “Have been–”

 

The beast smiled – dark and hungry – but still took his time. He brushed his fingers along the outer lips of his cunt, dragging through the wetness there, circling the soft, flushed folds but not pushing in. Not yet.

 

“Say it again,” he murmured, fingers stroking slowly.

 

Pure Vanilla blinked, dazed. “Say what?”

 

“That you’ve been wet. For me.”

 

He hesitated – but only for a second. Then, breathless,

 

“I’ve been wet for you. Since you kissed me.”

 

Shadow Milk growled low in his throat, fingers finally parting him. He slid between the folds, stroking the slick heat of him with reverence – slow, steady, shallow motions that made the healer buck against his hand.

 

“Witches, Nilla,” he breathed, pressing their foreheads together again. “You’re so soft. So warm.”

 

His fingers never stopped moving. He stroked over his clit gently with the pad of his thumb, rubbing slow, lazy circles while his other hand gripped the back of the healer’s thigh, guiding it open wider. Pure Vanilla’s legs trembled. His hands curled into the sheets. His Soul Jam glowed brighter with each pulse of pleasure.

 

“You’re– ah– you’re teasing,” he whispered.

 

“I’m worshiping,” Shadow Milk corrected, dipping down to kiss the inside of his thigh.

 

And then, without warning, he shifted down fully, settling between Pure Vanilla’s legs like he belonged there.

 

His hands gripped the ancient’s thighs, spreading them gently. He looked up once, making sure.

 

“You okay?”

 

Pure Vanilla was flushed to the tips of his ears. “Don’t stop.”

 

Shadow Milk didn’t. Down the length of Pure Vanilla’s body, trailing kisses as he went – thighs parting for him like they’d been waiting. He settled between them – he belonged there. It was like there was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be.

 

And in that moment, there wasn’t.

 

He stared, breath shallow, lips slightly parted.

 

Pure Vanilla’s cunt was wet – slick and soft and flushed a delicate pink, glistening in the low glow of their Soul Jams. The folds shifted slightly with each breath the healer took, practically begging to be touched. Tasted. Devoured.

 

Shadow Milk let out a ragged exhale. “You’re so fucking pretty like this.”

 

His hands gripped the ancient’s thighs, thumbs brushing the soft inner dough, coaxing them open wider. The heat radiating from between Pure Vanilla’s legs was heady – intoxicating. He dipped in, kissed one thigh. Then the other.

 

Then he kissed him right where he was slickest.

 

Pure Vanilla gasped, his fingers fisting the sheets immediately, hips jolting.

 

Shadow Milk smiled, lips shiny, then pressed another kiss. And another. Open-mouthed this time. He licked a slow, deliberate stripe from hole to clit – groaning as he tasted him.

 

And then he froze.

 

“Oh my Witches,” he whispered, pulling back just an inch.

 

Pure Vanilla blinked down at him, flushed and dazed. “What?”

 

“You taste…” Shadow Milk’s eyes glazed slightly. He licked his lips. “Sweet. So fucking sweet.”

 

He went back in like he was starved. Licked again – deeper. Slower. Let it coat his tongue.

 

There it was.

 

The vanilla. Overwhelmingly sweet, syrupy almost – like a mouthful of frosting, but better. But real. He moaned against him, licking again, messier now. Each stroke of his tongue dragged slowly over slick folds, parting them, teasing them. But beneath the sweetness, he caught something else.

 

A bite.

 

Not bitterness exactly, but spice. Astringent. Sharp, like raw vanilla bean – a flavor that pricked the back of his throat and made his mouth water harder. Unexpected. Wild. It shouldn’t have worked with the sweetness, but it did.

 

Shadow Milk groaned like he was drunk.

 

“You’re gonna fucking crumble me, Nilla,” he muttered, already diving back in.

 

He flattened his tongue and licked long, slow stripes, pausing at the top each time to swirl around the ancient’s clit. He lapped at it softly, then sucked – just enough to pull a loud gasp from Pure Vanilla’s throat. The healer writhed beneath him, one hand flying to Shadow Milk’s hair, gripping tight.

 

“Oh–! Oh my Witches,” he gasped. “That– Blue– ”

 

“Shhh,” Shadow Milk rasped, voice barely coherent. “Just let me.”

 

He slipped his arms under Pure Vanilla’s thighs, hauling him closer. Letting him rest heavy on his face. He buried himself in it – tongue working deeper now, tasting every part of him. Flicking, circling, pressing in. Slick coated his chin, smeared across his mouth, but he didn’t care. He was panting through it, moaning into it, his cock hard, straining against his pajama pants – no doubt dripping, completely untouched. He licked into the folds with long, languid strokes, taking his time, exploring every ridge, every flutter, every twitch.

 

Pure Vanilla was shaking now. His other hand had joined the first, both fists tangled in Shadow Milk’s hair. His thighs trembled around the beast’s head, hips rising, chasing every flick of that tongue.

 

“S-slower,” he gasped. “Please, it's– too much–!”

 

Shadow Milk obeyed.

 

He slowed everything down again, licking with soft, reverent drags of his tongue. He drew slow circles around Pure Vanilla’s clit, then flattened his tongue against it, letting it throb under the weight of his mouth.

And the whole time – the whole time – he kept tasting that unbearable mix of sweetness and bite.

 

“Sweetest thing I’ve ever had,” he murmured between licks. “You are vanilla. Witches, you’re perfect.”

 

He sucked again, slow, wet, dragging – and Pure Vanilla cried out, loud and raw. His Soul Jam flared bright blue, pulsing like a second heartbeat. Shadow Milk’s own Soul Jam responded in kind, dark and fever-hot at his chest.

 

The resonance was overwhelming now.

 

Every time he moaned, Pure Vanilla felt it. Every time Pure Vanilla twitched, Shadow Milk tasted it. Their magic bled into each other, thick and hot and holy.

 

And Shadow Milk couldn’t stop.

 

He loved this. Loved the way the hero tasted. Loved the way he sounded. Loved the way his thighs clenched when he sucked just right.

 

Loved how his cunt felt sacred.

 

He lapped at him with his tongue, slow and deep, then flicked and kissed and moaned into him like he was worshiping an altar. Like this wasn’t just pleasure – it was faith.

 

Pure Vanilla’s back arched fully now. “Bluebird, please– I-I’m–”

 

“Let go,” Shadow Milk whispered. “Let go for me. I want to devour you.”

 

And with a few more desperate licks – he did.

 

Pure Vanilla shattered around him with a cry so raw it scraped the ceiling. His whole body arched, thighs squeezing tight, Soul Jam shimmering into a blinding turquoise as slick gushed against Shadow Milk’s tongue. And the beast moaned like he was coming just from the taste – which he nearly did – grinding his thighs against each other with helpless, blissed-out groans.

 

He didn’t stop licking until the tremors passed.

 

Didn’t stop tasting until Pure Vanilla was melted into the mattress, boneless and glowing, chest heaving, legs limp.

 

Only then – only then – did Shadow Milk lift his head.

 

His mouth was soaked. His chin, his nose, even his jaw glistened with slick. He looked content – utterly, completely, blissfully ruined – but content.

 

Shadow Milk dragged himself up the ancient’s body, slow and shaking, every motion laced with the effort of restraint. His chest rubbed against Pure Vanilla’s, warm dough slick with sweat, Soul Jams pulsing hot and rhythmic where they brushed. He didn’t say anything at first. Just breathed, heavy and ragged, nose brushing against Pure Vanilla’s cheek.

 

Then he kissed him.

 

Not gentle. Not polite.

 

He kissed him.

 

His mouth crashed into Pure Vanilla’s, open and hungry, tongue immediately pushing past parted lips. There was no tease, no lead-in. Just claiming. Deep and wet and intentional. He kissed him like he needed him to taste it.

 

And Pure Vanilla did.

 

His own flavor flooded his mouth immediately – sweet, creamy, unmistakable vanilla, but richer than anything he’d imagined. Not artificial. Not manufactured. Real vanilla. Heavy and velvety on the tongue. But then, right at the back of his throat, there it was. That edge.

 

That bite.

 

Spice. Sharp. Bitter. Like licking a vanilla bean straight from the pod – just enough to make him feel it. His eyes fluttered open, wide with surprise, but Shadow Milk didn’t stop. He licked into him again, deep and slow, groaning into his mouth as if he was getting off on it too.

 

Pure Vanilla whimpered.

 

And then he tasted something else – underneath the vanilla. Something fruity. Synthetic. Bright.

 

Blueberry.

 

It hit him like static. Subtle, almost playful, but unmistakable: that sweet, artificial zing. It lingered just behind the vanilla, on Shadow Milk’s tongue, in the saliva they traded between kisses. Like the beast’s own brand of flavor, bleeding into his own.

 

The contrast was dizzying. The raw vanilla-spice warmth of his own slick tangled with that sweet-blue candy taste of Shadow Milk’s mouth – and it shouldn’t have worked, but it did.

 

He moaned helplessly, and the beast swallowed it greedily, his tongue fucking into his mouth like he was trying to press it into him. Like he wanted him to remember this taste forever. To crave it.

 

“Mm,” the beast groaned into his mouth. “That’s you, Nilla.”

 

His voice was hoarse, lips brushing against his as he spoke. “Sweet and hot and fuckin’ intoxicating.”

 

Then he kissed him again. Deeper this time – messier. His teeth grazed Pure Vanilla’s bottom lip before sucking it between his own, tongue plunging back in, swirling to chase the last remnants of taste he hadn’t devoured. The healer’s fingers curled around the back of Shadow Milk’s neck, holding him there, pulling him closer. He gasped between kisses, his own tongue meeting the beast’s, licking, tasting, searching.

 

And all he could taste was them.

 

Slick and spit. Vanilla and blueberry. Sugar and fire.

 

He didn’t even realize he was grinding up against the beast’s stomach until Shadow Milk growled into his mouth and pinned him down harder, hips pressing back.

 

“You like that?” Shadow Milk rasped, breath hot against his lips. “Like tasting yourself on my tongue?”

 

Pure Vanilla nodded, eyes glassy. “Yes. Witches, yes– ”

 

“Good,” the beast purred, nuzzling against his cheek, still panting. “Because I’m never letting you forget it.”

 

He licked into him again, slower now. Deep and thorough. Like he was savoring the aftertaste – and Pure Vanilla melted beneath him.

 

It wasn’t just arousal anymore.

 

It was surrender.

 

Shadow Milk was still panting when he pulled back from the kiss, his forehead resting against Pure Vanilla’s, their lips slick with spit and the faint, sweet taste of release. For a moment, they just breathed. No words. Their Soul Jams pulsed softly against each other’s chests, matching in rhythm, no longer flaring – just steady. Like they'd settled into something deeper. Calmer. No less intense, but less frantic now. Less desperate.

 

Shadow Milk let out a rough exhale and dropped his head into the crook of Pure Vanilla’s neck. His hair brushed over the ancient’s shoulder, damp with sweat, sticky in places from everything they’d just shared.

 

“I’m not gonna recover from that,” he muttered into his dough. “You broke me.”

 

Pure Vanilla let out a breathy laugh, fingers running gently down the beast’s spine. “You’re being dramatic.”

 

“And you’re evil,” Shadow Milk countered, but there was no heat in it – just a low, worn-out affection. “All soft and golden and sweet, and then you say shit like that.”

 

Pure Vanilla hummed quietly, tilting his head to rest his cheek against the beast’s temple. “You liked it.”

 

Shadow Milk shifted with a low groan, his hips pressing forward against Pure Vanilla’s thigh – still hard, still aching. The outline of his cock strained against the damp cling of his pajama pants, obvious now, impossible to ignore.

 

“Hold on,” he murmured, voice husky with restraint.

 

He rocked back onto his heels and reached for the waistband. The fabric peeled away slowly, sticking where sweat and arousal had soaked through. His breath hitched as he dragged them down over his thighs and off completely, the final barrier gone.

 

His cock sprang free – long, slender, flushed deep at the tip, glistening faintly in the low glow of their Soul Jams. It rested heavy against his stomach, already leaking.

 

He exhaled. “Better.”

 

Pure Vanilla’s eyes lifted, soft and wide, gaze trailing up the beast’s body with quiet reverence. His voice, when it came, was barely more than a whisper.

 

“You’re… beautiful.”

 

Shadow Milk stilled, thrown for just a moment by the earnestness in that word. He leaned back in, bare and warm, one hand sweeping up the healer’s waist. Their bodies fit together too easily now.

 

“So are you,” he murmured, low and sure. “And I’ve never wanted anything more.”

 

A breath passed between them, thick with heat–

 

“I’m still hard,” Shadow Milk growled, low and husky, words pressed into the side of the healer’s neck.

 

Pure Vanilla’s face darkened, breath catching–

 

And Witches, he was.

 

Pressed flush against him, Pure Vanilla could feel it – thick, hot, heavy against his thigh, untouched since the very beginning of this. Shadow Milk had gotten off on giving, on tasting and teasing and losing himself in someone else’s pleasure.

 

But Pure Vanilla… wanted more than to be taken care of.

 

He wanted to worship.

 

To give back, slowly, fully. To savor every part of the beast who’d just worshiped him like something holy.

He shifted gently, rolling Shadow Milk onto his back without a word. The beast allowed it, letting out a low grunt as he settled, arms splaying wide across the pillows.

 

“Yeah?” Shadow Milk rasped, eyes watching every move. “Taking charge now?”

 

Pure Vanilla’s fingers brushed down his chest, gentle as candle smoke. “I’d like to try.”

 

Shadow Milk’s gaze sharpened, not with suspicion, but attention. His Soul Jam flared just faintly, curious.

 

Pure Vanilla leaned down, lips brushing the edge of it. “You gave me everything. Let me give it back.”

 

He pressed a slow kiss to the crystal – dark, glinting, still warm – and the beast shivered.

 

“Fuck, Nilla…”

 

The ancient kissed his way lower, tongue dragging softly across Shadow Milk’s chest, over each scar, every sharp line of muscle. He wasn’t in a hurry. His hands followed his mouth, palms smoothing along the beast’s sides, thumbs tracing his ribs. When he reached Shadow Milk’s stomach, he paused.

 

The beast was flushed and straining beneath him, cock tinted a dusky pink and slick with precum. It lay against his lower abdomen, curved slightly, twitching with every breath.

 

And gods, he was beautiful.

 

Thick. Heavy. Veins trailing the underside. The tip beaded with more fluid that caught the light like honey.

Pure Vanilla exhaled slowly, then bent to press a kiss just beside it. Not touching – yet.

 

Shadow Milk groaned.

 

“You’re teasing,” he accused, voice ragged. The ancient’s lip quirked slightly, because hadn’t that been exactly what he’d said to the beast?

 

“I’m savoring,” Pure Vanilla murmured.

 

His lips moved again, trailing along Shadow Milk’s inner thighs now, pressing soft kisses to the sensitive dough there. His hands settled on the beast’s hips, thumbs brushing slow arcs against bone. And then, finally, he turned slightly and licked the head of Shadow Milk’s cock – just once, slow and flat, tongue catching the taste of him.

 

Shadow Milk jolted, hand flying to the sheets.

 

“F-fuck–”

 

Pure Vanilla paused, tongue resting just beneath the tip.

 

And there it was.

 

His flavor.

 

Not just dough and salt – but sweetness.

 

Artificial. Bright. Like blueberry candy, just on the edge of sour. It was a jolt – playful, biting, addictive.

 

Pure Vanilla closed his lips around just the tip – barely a touch at all – and sucked gently. In almost an instant, he pulled off with a pop.

 

“You taste like candy,” he said, voice hushed with wonder.

 

Shadow Milk let out a ragged laugh. “That’s... not the worst review I’ve gotten.”

 

Pure Vanilla smiled softly, then dipped back in, this time with more purpose.

 

He didn’t rush.

 

Didn’t even try to take him fully into his mouth again, not yet.

 

Pure Vanilla sat between Shadow Milk’s legs, one hand braced gently on the beast’s thigh, the other curled around the base of his cock. It throbbed faintly in his palm, long and flushed and already slick with anticipation. The shape of it was unlike anything he’d imagined.

 

Slender, but not small. Elegant in a way that felt almost unnatural – just slightly curved, rising at a proud angle from a neatly trimmed patch of dark hair. The shaft tapered in a subtle spiral, the ridges catching faint light from the Soul Jam’s glow. The tip was pointed – not blunt, not round – almost like it had been carved instead of grown, flushed a deeper color than the rest of him, dark pink shading into dusky purple.

 

It should’ve been intimidating.

 

Instead, it made his mouth water.

 

He leaned forward, breath feathering out across the length. Shadow Milk hissed between his teeth, hips twitching.

 

“Fuck– you’re looking at it like it’s dessert.”

 

Pure Vanilla hummed – quietly, almost distracted – and tilted his head. He dragged his thumb slowly up the underside, following one of the more prominent ridges near the tip. It twitched again under his hand, sticky with precum that caught on his dough.

 

He raised his thumb to his mouth.

 

Tasted it.

 

The reaction was immediate.

 

His eyes widened slightly. It was sweet – almost jarringly so. The artificial punch of blueberry-flavored candy, syrupy and bright, like something from a festival cart. It coated his tongue with a synthetic tang that made him blink once, caught off guard.

 

But underneath that electric sweetness was something else. A little musk, a little salt – but faint. Clean. Sharp.

 

Alive.

 

He leaned in again, slower this time.

 

And licked.

 

The tip of his tongue flicked against the head, just a soft pass across the slit. A bead of fluid clung there, and he chased it like nectar, sucking it gently off with barely a press of his lips.

 

Shadow Milk groaned.

 

“Witches Nills– you’re gonna kill me.”

 

Pure Vanilla didn’t reply. He licked again, slower, broader, tongue dragging across the entire tip this time. The taste bloomed sharper in his mouth: candied fruit, warm dough, magic. His own Soul Jam flared faintly at the heat curling in his stomach.

 

He dragged his tongue down one side, then back up the other. Repeating. Tasting. Learning. Every time he touched it differently, the flavor shifted – sweetest at the slit, brightest at the ridge just below. The underside had a smooth, slick slide to it, while the angled top carried heat like stone left out in the sun.

 

And Shadow Milk felt everything.

 

His head tilted back, eyes fluttering shut. One hand gripped the sheets, the other twined into the pillows above his head, too far to pull at Vanilla’s braid again.

 

“You– ah– fuck, Nilla–” His voice was hoarse. “You can’t just savor it–”

 

But he could.

 

And he was.

 

Pure Vanilla kissed the tip again, then began pressing open-mouthed kisses around the head in a slow, lazy ring. Like he was trying to learn it by feel. The way the dough gave slightly under pressure, how the shape filled out against his lips. His tongue kept darting out between kisses, tracing the slit, teasing the edge.

 

Every time Shadow Milk twitched or cursed or gasped, he stored it away – like a scholar cataloguing spells.

 

He flattened his tongue against the top of the head, licking up from the shaft’s curve to the point, then down again. Lapped at it like a lollipop. Sucked gently at the crown without taking it in, just letting the heat and pressure build. The tip throbbed in his grip now. He could feel it pulse against his tongue.

 

“You’re toying with me,” Shadow Milk growled, barely holding still.

 

Pure Vanilla smiled softly.

 

Then – finally – he parted his lips again and took the head into his mouth.

 

Not deep. Just enough to seal his lips around it. Let it rest on his tongue. Let the shape fill him. He moaned low and quiet as the taste hit again, brighter now, sweeter. Like the flavor had concentrated somehow, gathered for this moment. His jaw adjusted to the strange, angled slope of it – how it pointed against the roof of his mouth, how it curved back just slightly before straightening out.

 

Shadow Milk let out a long, shattered sound and shook.

 

“Fuckfuckfuck– you–”

 

But Pure Vanilla didn’t move.

 

Not yet.

 

He just sucked.

 

Gentle, slow pressure. His cheeks hollowed slightly, his tongue pressing upward to cradle the head from below. He stayed there, mouth full, eyes closed, hands resting gently on Shadow Milk’s hips like he was praying.

 

Worshiping.

 

He stayed there for a moment, letting the heat of it settle into his mouth.

 

The pointed head rested heavy on his tongue, and the shape was just foreign enough to make it feel like every second mattered. He sucked gently, hollowing his cheeks, his lips tight around the base of the tip where the ridge flared. His tongue pressed upward, holding him steady, cradling him.

 

The flavor hit harder now.

 

Sharp blueberry sweetness rushed over his palate with each breath, like hard candy dissolving at the back of his throat. It clung to his tongue, sticky and electric, chased by the faint warmth of clean dough and something else. Something thicker, something different . The kind of flavor that felt like it lived in the air between heartbeats.

 

Shadow Milk was unraveling above him.

 

The beast’s legs had shifted, one bent, the other stretched, his toes curled into the bedding. His hips kept twitching – trying to stay still, failing. His fists were balled tight in the sheets now, and his jaw was clenched like he was desperately trying not to thrust. Pure Vanilla moaned softly around the tip, savoring the weight of him – and Shadow Milk cracked.

 

“Holy fuck,” he gasped. “Don’t do that– don’t– shit– do it again–!”

 

The ancient smiled with his mouth full and sucked again. Just a little more pressure. Just a little longer. Then, slowly, carefully, he slid down further. The pointed shape made it easier to guide, but harder to gauge. The tip slipped in first – then the next inch, and the next. He relaxed his jaw, let his tongue trace the shaft’s underside as it filled him, felt it nudge deeper into his mouth.

 

He stopped halfway. Breathed.

 

Shadow Milk groaned like he’d been punched. His hand shot out and curled into the braid again, not yanking, just gripping.

 

“Nilla–” His voice cracked. “Fuck, you’re doing so good– so good–”

 

That praise made Pure Vanilla shiver.

 

He pulled back just an inch, lips dragging wetly over the shaft, then dipped again, taking him just a little deeper. He fell into rhythm without meaning to – soft movements, slow and smooth, letting the head bump the back of his tongue without forcing it. Every motion came with more flavor.

 

That blueberry candy rush sparked each time he dipped down, coated his mouth like syrup. He could feel his own pulse pounding through his fingertips where they braced on the beast’s thighs, feel the way Shadow Milk’s cock pulsed in his mouth in return.

 

The next moan that spilled from the beast was nearly a growl.

 

“You’re gonna wreck me,” Shadow Milk panted. “You don’t even fuckin’ know–”

 

Pure Vanilla swallowed around him.

 

Just once. Just a test.

 

Shadow Milk arched, hips jolting, a sharp sound torn from his chest like it had been dragged out of him.

 

“Witches– Nilly– fuck–”

 

The ancient pulled off slowly, lips shining, breath coming heavy through parted lips. His hand didn’t stop stroking at the base, slick now from his spit, thumb trailing the underside like he missed the contact already.

 

He looked up, cheeks flushed, eyes soft.

 

“I want to take all of you,” he whispered. “I don’t know if I can.”

 

Shadow Milk reached down, hand trembling, and brushed the backs of his fingers along Pure Vanilla’s jaw. “You don’t have to,” he rasped. “What you’re doing now– fuck – it’s already perfect.”

 

Pure Vanilla nodded once.

 

Then leaned down again.

 

This time he didn’t hesitate.

 

His lips sealed around the shaft once more, tongue leading the way. He worked his way down slowly, eyes fluttering shut, moaning softly as his mouth filled again. He didn’t force it – didn’t rush.

 

He just gave.

 

Shadow Milk’s legs trembled. “I’m not gonna last like this,” he growled. “You’re too– hah– too good–”

 

Pure Vanilla sucked again. Hollow cheeks. Gentle bob. Every movement matched to the way the beast breathed – one long slide down, one slower pull back. His hand followed the rhythm at the base, keeping what he couldn’t take warm, wet, cared for.

 

And that taste – that blueberry flavor – never faded.

 

If anything, it deepened. Thickened. Like his body knew what was coming. And Pure Vanilla couldn’t wait.

 

The ancient found his rhythm easily.

 

Not fast. Not even deep. Just steady.

 

The soft suction around the head. The warm, wet slide of his tongue down the underside. The way his hand matched the tempo, stroking what his mouth couldn’t hold. Each pass brought another low, ragged sound from Shadow Milk’s chest. Another shiver down his thighs. Another twitch of cock against tongue.

His hips bucked once – sharply – and Pure Vanilla instinctively squeezed at his hip with one hand. Not scolding. Just grounding.

 

“I’ve got you,” he whispered between the short breaths he took, lips dragging back down the shaft as quickly as he could.

 

Shadow Milk moaned hard.

 

“Fuck– hah– You do–”

 

The tip was beginning to swell in his mouth, heavier now. The taste was more intense. That sharp blueberry-candy bite had gone richer, like syrup warmed over a fire. Still artificial, still bright, but somehow creamier now. Like the flavor was thickening. Concentrating.

 

He moaned again around it – and that was the moment Shadow Milk broke.

 

It wasn’t loud.

 

It was sharp.

 

His whole body tensed like a string pulled taut. One hand slammed into the bed, the other tightened in Pure Vanilla’s braid, and he gasped – mouth open, soundless for a second, before his voice came back in a strangled groan.

 

“Nilla– Witches– I’m–”

 

And then he came.

 

Hot.

 

Sweet.

 

Perfect.

 

The first pulse hit the back of Pure Vanilla’s throat in a warm, thick burst. Not just sweet – creamy. Like warm milk stirred with artificial flavoring. Still blueberry, but softer now. Like melted milk candy. The texture was smooth, almost silken, coating his tongue before he had time to think.

 

Pure Vanilla didn’t pull back.

 

He swallowed – once, then again – as each wave hit. His tongue cradled the head as it throbbed, coaxing every drop. His lips sealed tighter as Shadow Milk twitched beneath him, hips stuttering with each helpless pulse.

 

“Holy shit,” the beast gasped, breath torn from him. “Witches, I– Nilla–”

 

He kept going until the twitching slowed. Until the hand in his hair loosened. Until the cock in his mouth softened slightly, still twitching in aftershocks, leaking the last of that addictive sweetness. Only then did Pure Vanilla pull off – slow, reverent, licking the head one last time like it was dessert and he wanted to remember every bite.

 

Shadow Milk collapsed back against the bed like he’d been knocked out. His chest heaved, dough flushed, Soul Jam pulsing erratically in his chest. Pure Vanilla sat back on his heels, swallowing again.

 

“Blueberry milk,” he whispered, voice dazed. “You taste like blueberry milk.”

 

Shadow Milk let out a broken laugh, half groan. “You’re welcome.”

 

The ancient crawled up beside him, slow and careful, and settled against his side. His hand slid across Shadow Milk’s chest, fingers brushing his Soul Jam.

 

“You okay?” he murmured.

 

Shadow Milk cracked one eye open. “You sucked my soul out.”

 

“You devoured mine first.”

 

Shadow Milk smiled, lazy and wrecked, and turned toward him. He cupped the back of Pure Vanilla’s neck and pulled him into a kiss – messy, warm, still open-mouthed. He tasted himself on the ancient’s tongue and groaned again.

 

“You swallowed all of it,” he whispered.

 

“I didn’t want to waste any,” Pure Vanilla replied, honest and simple.

 

Shadow Milk just stared at him. Then pulled him close – really close – tangling their legs, burying his face in the healer’s neck, pressing their Soul Jams together.

 

“I’m gonna marry you,” he muttered.

 

Pure Vanilla laughed, breathless, wrapping both arms around him. “Okay.”

 

Outside the bed, the castle was silent. But in the low glow of their Soul Jams – still pressed together, still warm – they stayed wrapped up in each other. Naked. Spent. Satisfied.

 

Whole.

 

For a time, neither moved. Pure Vanilla lay curled into Shadow Milk’s side, their breaths shallow and steady, their legs tangled beneath the sheets. The pulse of their Soul Jams kept time – soft light glancing off bare dough, casting gentle shadows across the rumpled bedding.

 

Then Shadow Milk stirred.

 

Slowly, he shifted, rising onto an elbow before rolling to hover above Pure Vanilla, the movement smooth but deliberate. His eyes searched the other’s face, lips parted like he might speak – but said nothing. The moment stretched, warm and fragile.

 

Shadow Milk hovered above him, mouth still slick from the kiss, chest rising and falling with quiet restraint.
Pure Vanilla’s legs were already parted beneath him, body flushed and pliant, breathing just as shallow. Their Soul Jams pulsed in sync again – soft, turquoise light from the healer’s chest meeting the dark gleam of Shadow Milk’s like waves overlapping in a tide.

 

There was no more question between them.

 

Just the space between wanting and taking.

 

Still, Shadow Milk didn’t move right away. He pressed his forehead to Pure Vanilla’s and asked again, voice low and rough:

 

“You sure?”

 

“I’m sure,” Pure Vanilla whispered, eyes full of trust. “I want you.”

 

Shadow Milk exhaled slowly – like the words undid him.

 

And maybe they did.

 

Then he pulled back just enough to settle lower between the ancient’s thighs.

 

He licked his own palm once, slow and deliberate, eyes locked on Pure Vanilla’s the whole time. Then again. The slick sheen of saliva caught the candlelight as he rubbed his hands together, warming it, spreading it.

 

Pure Vanilla’s lips parted slightly at the sight.

 

“Gotta work with what we’ve got,” Shadow Milk muttered, and leaned down.

 

He pressed a kiss to the inside of one thigh. Then the other. Then he moved his hand between them. The beast started by sliding his fingers through Pure Vanilla’s folds – coating them slowly with his spit and the slick already gathered there. The ancient was warm and soft, wetter than before, the heat between his legs pulling a quiet groan from the beast.

 

“Still so wet for me,” Shadow Milk whispered, his voice wrecked.

 

Pure Vanilla flushed, but didn’t look away. “Still want you.”

 

Shadow Milk licked his palm again – sloppier this time – and reached back down.

 

He traced his fingers along the outer lips, letting the spit mix with the heat already there. Then, with deliberate slowness, he circled the entrance. Just that. One fingertip, teasing, pressing in shallow, not enough to breach. Pure Vanilla squirmed.

 

Shadow Milk watched every twitch of his body, every hitch in breath.

 

Then he slid the first finger in.

 

The ancient gasped – quiet, but immediate.

 

The stretch wasn’t painful. Just… thick. New.

 

“Okay?” Shadow Milk asked, voice low.

 

“Yes,” Pure Vanilla whispered, back arching faintly. “Just– don’t stop.”

 

The beast pulled out to lick his hand again, then worked his fingers deeper – slow, rhythmic, taking his time. He twisted gently, curling inward, then dragging back with care. The wet sounds of movement were soft but real, echoing in the warm quiet of the room like proof.

 

“You feel so fucking good,” he muttered, pressing in deeper. “Hot and wet and tight already.”

 

Pure Vanilla whimpered, hips shifting into the touch. “More?”

 

“Yeah?” Shadow Milk grinned. “You’re greedy now.”

 

The ancient smiled, breathless. “Only for you.”

 

Shadow Milk spat into his hand again – quick, messy, coating his fingers – and eased the second finger in beside the first. The stretch deepened. Pure Vanilla gasped again, hips jerking just slightly, one hand gripping the beast’s wrist.

 

“Shh,” Shadow Milk soothed, nosing at his neck. “I’ve got you.”

 

He kissed him there, right under his ear. Then lower. Then kissed his Soul Jam once, just above where his chest rose and fell. And all the while, his fingers worked.

 

Long strokes. Gentle curls. He moved in time with Pure Vanilla’s breathing, adjusting the angle, paying attention to every sigh, every twitch. His spit and the ancient’s arousal made everything slick and hot, just enough to move smoothly.

 

Pure Vanilla was melting now – hips rocking, legs open, cunt twitching around every slow pump.

 

Shadow Milk bit back a groan. “You’re taking me so well,” he whispered. “Gonna be perfect for my cock.”

 

Pure Vanilla shivered.

 

His hand found Shadow Milk’s cheek, grounding them both.

 

“M’ready,” he whispered.

 

Shadow Milk’s fingers slid out slowly, wet and glistening.

 

He looked down at his own hand. At the slick, at the heat between them. At the way Pure Vanilla’s cunt fluttered after the loss.

 

He licked his fingers clean – every last drop – eyes burning into Pure Vanilla’s as he did. Then he reached between them, lining himself up.

 

The room was quiet – too quiet for how loud they both felt inside.

 

Pure Vanilla lay beneath him, thighs parted, flushed from cheeks to chest. His hair was a mess – braid half-undone, strands clinging to his damp dough, the crushed remains of vanilla orchids scattered like confetti around them. His Soul Jam pulsed with a low light just above the soft rise of his chest. Shadow Milk’s body hovered above his, but he wasn’t pressing forward yet. He was looking.

 

Really looking.

 

Eyes dark with heat, yes – but something else too. Something weightier. Awe, maybe. Or disbelief. Like he couldn’t believe this was real.

 

Really, truly real.

 

“Last chance,” he murmured, voice thick, fingers still curved gently around the backs of Pure Vanilla’s thighs.

 

Pure Vanilla’s chest rose and fell in a soft rhythm. He reached up, cradled the beast’s face between both hands, and whispered, “Take me.”

 

Shadow Milk made a sound in his throat – raw, reverent – and guided himself to the entrance with one hand.

 

The head of his cock brushed Pure Vanilla’s folds, and they both shivered.

 

Shadow Milk paused there, rubbing the tip along the wet slit – slick and warm from everything they’d done, from how much they’d wanted this. The pointed shape slid easily through the mess of arousal and spit he’d worked into him earlier. Still, he didn’t push.

 

He looked at Pure Vanilla again. “Breathe with me.”

 

And Pure Vanilla did.

 

On the exhale, Shadow Milk eased forward.

 

The tip slipped in first – just the tip – and they both gasped.

 

Pure Vanilla clutched at his arms, fingers digging lightly into muscle. The stretch wasn’t painful, but it was full. The shape of Shadow Milk’s cock made it different – long, slender, angled. The spiral–

 

It pressed upward slightly as it entered, nudging new places, filling him with slow precision.

 

“You okay?” Shadow Milk whispered, frozen still.

 

“Yes,” Pure Vanilla breathed, already panting. “More.”

 

Shadow Milk exhaled slowly through his nose and pushed further in.

 

An inch.

 

Another.

 

Then he stopped, let them both adjust.

 

His hands gripped Pure Vanilla’s thighs, thumbs stroking the dough there. “You feel… fucking incredible,” he groaned. “Tight. Hot. Like– like you were made for this.”

 

Pure Vanilla’s breath caught, eyes fluttering. “Keep going. Please.”

 

So he did.

 

He inched deeper, hips moving with agonizing care, his breath faltering as inch by inch, his cock sank into the ancient’s heat. The stretch was slow, but not sharp. Pure Vanilla opened for him, his body yielding, welcoming. The fit was tight, just enough to keep Shadow Milk’s breath stuttering, his control locked down. Halfway in, they both paused again. Shadow Milk leaned forward slightly, bracing himself on one arm, his other hand smoothing over the healer’s stomach, the line of his ribs, his chest.

 

“You’re taking me so well,” he whispered. “I can feel you fluttering.”

 

Pure Vanilla blushed deeper, his head tipping back against the pillow. “I’ve never felt anything like this.”

 

“I’ve got you,” Shadow Milk said, and smiled softly. “You’re doing amazing, Nills.”

 

And then he pushed all the way in.

 

The last inch slid home, the pointed tip settling against the deepest part of Pure Vanilla’s cunt with a low, wet sound that left them both gasping.

 

They stilled.

 

They breathed.

 

Shadow Milk’s body trembled with the effort it took not to move. He was buried to the hilt now, and the heat, the wetness, the sheer tightness of it was nearly enough to break him. Pure Vanilla wrapped both arms around his shoulders and held him there.

 

“You’re inside me,” he whispered, voice shaking. “All of you.”

 

Shadow Milk nodded, lips pressed to his temple. “Yeah.”

 

He didn’t move yet. Didn’t thrust.

 

He just held him. Felt him.

 

The closeness was overwhelming. Their bodies pressed chest to chest. Thighs locked together. The faint tremble in Pure Vanilla’s legs. The beat of their Soul Jams – two pulses, now synchronizing as if pulled into the same current.

 

“Move,” Pure Vanilla said, barely audible.

 

Shadow Milk kissed him first – slow, sweet, melting.

 

Then he pulled back a single inch.

 

And pushed back in.

 

The first thrust was barely that – just enough to test the slide, to let them both feel the motion. His cock glided in smoothly, the angle catching just right – the ridges of the subtle spiral gliding against warm walls perfectly – and Pure Vanilla let out a soft, staggered moan.

 

Shadow Milk swallowed the sound with another kiss.

 

He did it again. And again.

 

Still slow. Still careful.

 

Every stroke felt carved from time. No rush. No pounding rhythm. Just the steady, building sensation of being inside someone who had already laid himself bare.

 

“You’re perfect,” Shadow Milk breathed against his mouth. “So good for me. So fucking good.”

 

Pure Vanilla whimpered, one leg curling around the beast’s waist, pulling him in closer. The wet sounds between them grew louder. Shadow Milk’s breath hitched with every glide, hips beginning to find a rhythm – but not hard. Not deep. Just close.

 

Their bodies stuck together with sweat, dough sliding against dough, the room filled with nothing but soft moans, gasps, and the slow, thick rhythm of two bodies trying to become one. The beast reached between them, hand finding the ancient’s chest – resting just above his Soul Jam.

 

“I can feel you glowing,” he murmured.

 

Pure Vanilla’s lips parted, but he couldn’t speak. He was too full. Too overwhelmed.

 

Instead, he kissed him.

 

Harder, this time. Deeper.

 

And Shadow Milk kissed him back like it was all he knew.

 

Their mouths broke apart, but the kiss lingered in every breath.

 

Shadow Milk was still moving inside him in slow, deep strokes – strokes that made the world blur. Pure Vanilla met him with soft gasps and trembling thighs, wrapping tightly around the beast’s waist like his body was trying to keep him in.

 

But something was building.

 

It wasn’t just arousal. It was connection.

 

The hum between them, the glow beneath their dough – Soul Jam to Soul Jam, pulse to pulse. Shadow Milk shifted his weight, adjusting the angle of his hips, pressed harder – and Pure Vanilla cried out, head tipping back, one hand flying to grip the beast’s forearm.

 

“There–!”

 

Shadow Milk froze.

 

Then did it again.

 

The head of his cock, angled just right, grazed that soft, hidden spot inside – the one that made Pure Vanilla’s vision spark white at the edges. The pressure hit deep, warm, perfect.

 

“Oh Witches– don’t stop–”

 

Shadow Milk leaned forward, chasing that sound, that sweetness – and that’s when it happened. Their Soul Jams touched. Pressed flush between their chests, glowing against each other, one as bright as the sky, the other glazed the deepest depths of the sea. Soft at first. Just heat.

 

And then full, whole contact.

 

Pure energy rippled through both of them like a snap of lightning.

 

The glow flared bright – Pure Vanilla’s Soul Jam pulsing like a heart attack, Shadow Milk’s flickering violet-black with crackling edges. Their bond surged outward, soaking the room in light and heat.

 

Pure Vanilla arched, body stiffening beneath the beast, fingers clawing into his shoulders.

 

“Bluebird–!”

 

And Shadow Milk – oh, he felt it.

 

His cock pulsed hard inside that tight heat, and he thrust without thinking – once, deep, hard. It wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t violent.

 

It was raw .

 

A sound tore from Pure Vanilla’s throat, helpless and wrecked, and his cunt clenched so tightly around the beast it was like his body was trying to hold him.

 

Shadow Milk gasped.

 

“Nilla–”

 

The second thrust came faster. And the third.

 

His hips stuttered, his rhythm unraveling. His hands gripped Pure Vanilla’s thighs harder, holding him in place as he sank in again, again, chasing that heat, that pressure, that connection . Pure Vanilla’s body welcomed it – slick and trembling and so wet now it was obscene. The thump of dough on dough echoed through the room, his cries rising with every thrust.

 

But then – his back arched, a gasp shattered in his throat, and suddenly – he squirted.

 

It wasn’t subtle – not at all unnoticed.

 

A gush of warm, clear slick sprayed out around Shadow Milk’s cock, soaking them both – his thighs, his pelvis, the sheets beneath them. Shadow Milk choked on a moan, eyes flying wide.

 

“Holy fuck–!”

 

He stopped moving. Froze.

 

Not because it wasn’t good.

 

Because it was too good.

 

He was so close – too close. His cock twitched inside that fluttering heat, and it took everything he had not to let go right there. His whole body trembled with restraint. He pressed his forehead to Pure Vanilla’s, jaw clenched, voice shaking.

 

“I-I need a second,” he rasped. “I’m gonna come– fuck, Nilla, you–”

 

Pure Vanilla was gasping beneath him, flushed and wide-eyed, his thighs still twitching.

 

“I didn’t mean to– I didn’t– I–”

 

Shadow Milk let out a ragged, wrecked laugh.

 

“You’re perfect,” he said, half-strangled. “You’re too perfect.”

 

His hands moved to the ancient’s hips – gripping, not to thrust, but to hold him still while he breathed. His cock throbbed inside him, thick and aching, twitching with every heartbeat. Pure Vanilla cupped the beast’s face in both hands, pulling him down for a kiss. Slow. Steadying. Full of heat and apology and love.

 

“You don’t have to stop,” he whispered against Shadow Milk’s lips.

 

The beast pulled back just enough to stare into his eyes.

 

“I just don’t– I don’t want this to end. Not yet,” he breathed. “I want to stay here.”

 

And Pure Vanilla smiled – soft and glowing, wrecked and content.

 

“Okay.”

 

Shadow Milk kissed him again. Slower now.

 

And when he moved next, it wasn’t fast.

 

It was deep.

 

Shadow Milk stayed still for a long moment – just breathing, just holding. His cock was still buried deep inside of the healer, twitching with restraint. Every inch of him was slick now – thighs wet, hips sticky, chest damp with sweat. Their Soul Jams pressed together, dimmer than before, but still warm. Still pulsing.

 

“Okay,” Shadow Milk finally whispered, voice ragged but soft. “I’ve got you now.”

 

Pure Vanilla nodded, his fingers still tangled in the beast’s hair. His legs were wrapped loosely around Shadow Milk’s waist, holding him close, grounding them both.

 

“You can move,” he said, voice quiet but steady.

 

So Shadow Milk did.

 

Not with force.

 

With presence.

 

He rolled his hips slowly, drawing back just enough to feel the friction, then easing forward again, deep, but smooth. The motion made his cock glide along the same place inside Pure Vanilla that had made him cry out earlier – only now it wasn’t shocking. It was comforting. Familiar. A shared language between their bodies.

 

Pure Vanilla moaned softly.

 

Shadow Milk’s forehead rested against his. “That feel okay?”

 

Pure Vanilla nodded, his lips brushing the beast’s cheek. “Feels like I was meant to have you there.”

 

Shadow Milk groaned, low and guttural, and rocked into him again.

 

The thrusts were different now. Less about momentum, more about rhythm. He wasn’t chasing a high anymore. He was staying inside the feeling. Letting it build again. Letting it take its time. Their hips rolled together like waves – fluid, steady, magnetic.

 

Dough dragged against dough. Sweat pooled in the dip of Pure Vanilla’s stomach, where their bodies met. The wet sound of it, soaked and slick and steady, filled the air with its own rhythm. Shadow Milk licked his lips, panting softly. “You’re so tight… but you let me in like you’ve always known I was the one.”

 

“I have,” Pure Vanilla whispered, breath stuttering with the next thrust. “I’ve always known.”

 

Shadow Milk buried his face in the crook of the ancient’s neck and fucked him deeper.

 

Not harder. Deeper.

 

Like he was trying to root himself there. Stay inside as long as the world would let him. Pure Vanilla clung to him, both arms wrapped around the beast’s back now, nails leaving light crescents in his dough. His body rocked with each slow roll of Shadow Milk’s hips, the friction delicious and full, nerves singing with every stroke.

 

“I can feel you everywhere,” he breathed, overwhelmed. “Even in my chest.”

 

“Our Soul Jams,” Shadow Milk murmured, breath hot against his throat. “You’re letting me all the way in.”

 

Their Soul Jams sparked, seemingly in response – just a flicker – and both of them moaned.

 

Shadow Milk’s hands slid down to cradle Pure Vanilla’s hips again, pulling him flush with each roll, grinding into him with thick, candy-coated heat. The angle pressed his cock against that perfect spot again, but slower this time – like drawing a line in molasses. Pure Vanilla trembled. “Bluebird…”

 

“I’m here,” the beast whispered. “Right here.”

 

Another thrust.

 

Another.

 

And then he stayed inside – grinding, circling his hips, keeping the head of his cock pressed firm inside Pure Vanilla, letting the motion do the work. Deep friction. Full-body contact. Soul Jam to Soul Jam, heart to heart.

 

“I love you,” Shadow Milk said – quiet, certain, unshaken.

 

Pure Vanilla gasped.

 

“I love you,” the beast said again, lips against his temple.

 

Pure Vanilla didn’t answer right away. He didn’t need to.

 

Their connection had shouted the words back for him.

 

The healer pulled him in tighter.

 

Their thighs locked together. Their mouths met in a kiss that was more breath than tongue, more feeling than technique. Slow and open. Their bodies moved perfectly in sync now – grinding, rocking, clenching, gasping. Like they’d been made to fit this rhythm.

 

And perhaps they were.

 

Their dough was glowing faintly now.

 

Not magic. Not quite.

 

Just the sheen of sweat and closeness. The way intimacy leaves fingerprints on everything it touches. Shadow Milk’s cock throbbed inside him with every grind, every moan.

 

But he didn’t rush.

 

And neither did Pure Vanilla.

 

They stayed like that, together, moving slowly, breathing in time, lips brushing every few seconds like they couldn’t help returning to each other.

 

There was no rush now.

 

Only them.

 

The rhythm had gone quiet again.

 

Shadow Milk was still inside him, hips rolling with slow, grinding thrusts that filled more than just space – they filled time. Each stroke dragged heat across that soft, velvet spot deep in Pure Vanilla’s cunt, and every glide pushed him closer to something he hadn’t realized was still waiting. He was soaked now, slick dripping down his thighs, soaking the sheets, smearing across the beast’s hips with every grind.

 

But it wasn’t just wetness that made him tremble.

 

It was tension.

 

That deep, slow, building tension that crawled up from the base of his spine and settled in the pit of his stomach. That coil of heat that curled tighter with every roll of Shadow Milk’s hips. It wasn’t urgent. It wasn’t fast. It was inevitable.

 

“Bluebird,” he breathed, fingers curling against the beast’s shoulders.

 

“Yeah, Nilly?” Shadow Milk whispered, lips brushing his cheek.

 

“I think– I’m gonna–” He gasped, cut off by a sharp moan as the beast ground down again, harsher than expected.

 

Shadow Milk kissed him—messy, open-mouthed, hot. “Come for me.”

 

Another rough grind, solely focused on filling him as much as possible.

 

The tip of Shadow Milk’s cock pressed hard against the deepest part of him, and–

 

He broke.

 

It wasn’t a scream. It wasn’t a cry.

 

It was a wave.

 

Pure Vanilla came with a long, shuddering exhale, thighs clenching around the beast, arms locking around his back. His cunt fluttered wildly around Shadow Milk’s cock, squeezing in pulses, wringing him tight.

 

And he squirted again.

 

Hot, clear fluid gushed out around the beast’s cock, slicking everything between them, soaking the base of Shadow Milk’s shaft, splattering against their thighs.

 

Shadow Milk groaned.

 

“Fuck– Nilla– baby, I-I’m–”

 

And he snapped.

 

His hips jerked once, then again, and then he slammed in deep, fully seated inside, his cock throbbing with the force of his orgasm.

 

“Coming– fuck– inside you–!”

 

He let out a low, feral sound as his cock twitched deep inside that slick, clenching heat – and spilled.

 

Thick.

 

Hot.

 

Pulse after pulse of creamy, sweet-scented come flooded into Pure Vanilla’s cunt, coating him from the inside. The heat of it made Pure Vanilla gasp, his body trembling with aftershocks. He could feel it inside him. Filling him.

 

And it tasted like blueberry milk.

 

Even without swallowing, he knew.

 

Shadow Milk collapsed forward, chest pressed tight to his, both of them slick with sweat and heat and arousal.

 

Their Soul Jams pulsing in sync.

 

Not wild now. Not glowing.

 

Just steady.

 

A matched beat. A single rhythm.

 

Shadow Milk’s voice came after a long pause, hoarse and quiet against his ear.

 

“I’ve never– never come like that. Not in my entire, thousands-of-years-long life.”

 

Pure Vanilla laughed, soft, spent.

 

They stayed like that for minutes.

 

Maybe hours.

 

Just tangled together, warm and loose and open. Shadow Milk didn’t pull out right away. He stayed inside, cock softening slowly in that slick, soaked heat. His hands smoothed over Pure Vanilla’s sides, his back, his hair. He found one last vanilla orchid still tangled near his braid and tucked it behind his ear with a kiss.

 

Their breathing slowed.

 

And finally, Shadow Milk shifted – gently, carefully – pulling out with a soft groan. His come followed in a lazy drip, smeared between Pure Vanilla’s thighs, sticky and warm.

 

Neither of them moved to clean it.

 

It was perfect like this.

 

Shadow Milk lay beside him, arm thrown over his waist, pulling him close. Pure Vanilla curled in, pressing into the beast’s neck.

 

Their Soul Jams touched again, quiet this time.

 

No surge.

 

Just a gentle, fulfilled connection.

 

“I love you,” Shadow Milk whispered, wrecked and certain.

 

“I love you more,” Pure Vanilla murmured, eyes half-closed.

 

Shadow Milk grinned.

 

“Impossible.”

The room had gone quiet again.

 

Not the tense kind of silence from before, when things hadn’t been said yet. 

 

This was after, the stillness of bodies spent and satisfied, hearts beating slow, dough cooling from where it had burned hot moments ago.

 

Shadow Milk didn’t move much. Just enough to pull the covers over both of them, careful not to tug too hard or shift too fast. He groaned quietly as he rolled to his side, arms still wrapped around Pure Vanilla like muscle memory wouldn’t let him not touch. Pure Vanilla nestled closer without a word, face tucked beneath the beast’s chin, one hand resting on his chest – right over his Soul Jam, still faintly pulsing, happy and sated.

 

They breathed together.

 

Warm.

 

Safe.

 

Sticky.

 

Perfect.

 

Somewhere beneath them, the sheets were an absolute disaster, but neither of them moved to fix it. That could be tomorrow’s problem.

 

For now, Shadow Milk closed his eyes and let his body sync to Pure Vanilla’s again. Slower this time. Sleepier. He felt like he could melt into the bed and stay there forever. They stayed like that long enough for the sweat to start drying.

 

Long enough for Pure Vanilla’s hand to twitch – once, lightly – and then for his voice to break the quiet, soft and almost teasing, “Guess I’ll have to get used to late mornings with a soulmate like you, huh?”

 

Shadow Milk didn’t open his eyes. He smiled, lazy and unbothered.

 

“...Only if you plan on surviving them.”

 

Pure Vanilla huffed a laugh, then sighed, long and happy. And Shadow Milk – half asleep, fully in love – murmured, “...You're stuck with me now, Nilla. Might as well sleep in.”

Notes:

And that's a wrap!!!! I can't believe it's over. I'm so proud of myself for finishing a story haha, I have soooo many unfinished drafts and wips in my docs it's not even funny. AND WITH A DECENT WORD COUNT TOO!!!!!

Thank you all so much for the sweet comments on all the the chapters so far. I'm so grateful to have had you on this journey :P

I hope you'll all continue to read my works, cause I'm definitely going to keep writing shadowvanilla stuff. I just love them too much to stop. I'm low key hoping to post the first chapter of Edelweiss within the next couple weeks or so, but we'll see where life goes haha, I'm currently in the final stretch of being super busy with school and stuff so I'm not certain of timings for anything. And I'll be honest, deep down I'm hoping it's even remotely as good as Jambound lol. Jambound was SO GOOD AUGHHHHH I literally look up to that fic so much lol.

Again, thank you all so so much for reading <3 <3
P.S. I'm on a roll so more smut coming soon to and ao3 near you

ALSO THIS ENTIRE FIC IS 99 FREAKING PAGES IN DOCS WHAT

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Identity_Theft's ShadowVanilla Works <3