Hiii how are you! Hope you’re doing well I was wondering if you could do a burning spice x reader whom is like a general (just like nutmeg cookie) or advisor whom they secretly have their relationship behind closed doors. It can be NSFW I don’t mind. Like when they spar close combat together and things get ✨spicy✨ together.
Fandom: Cookie Run Kingdom
The training hall was silent, save for the hiss of torches licking at the cool stone walls. You stood in the center of the ring, rolling your shoulders, the leather of your sparring armor creaking faintly.
Burning Spice Cookie stepped in from the shadows, bare-chested save for the crimson wrap slung low around his hips, skin glistening faintly from his earlier drills. Those lotus-ember eyes found you instantly, narrowing in that way they always did when he was both amused and assessing you.
“General,” he rumbled, voice carrying a heat that matched the molten brand of his stare. “Ready to lose again?”
You smirked, drawing your practice blade. “You’ll be the one eating your words this time.”
The clash began fast, his raw power forcing you to give ground, your own skill letting you dance out of his reach and catch him with swift, calculated strikes. He wasn’t fighting just to win; he was studying every shift in your stance, every sharp inhale when you twisted your hips for a strike.
A parry, a feint and then his massive hand caught your wrist mid-swing, yanking you forward so your chest slammed into his. The scent of spice and smoke filled your senses, his breath warm against your cheek.
“Your guard’s down,” he murmured, low enough to feel in your bones.
“Or maybe I wanted you here,” you shot back.
Something dangerous flickered in his eyes before he twisted, throwing you down onto the mat. You landed with a grunt, and in an instant, his weight was straddling your hips, caging you in. The world seemed to shrink to the heat radiating from him, the hard line of muscle against your thighs, the faint, deliberate grind of his hips as if testing your resolve.
“Careful, General,” he said, voice dark silk. “You’ll make me think you want me to break you.”
Your smirk didn’t falter. “Maybe I do.”
That was all the invitation he needed. His mouth crashed onto yours. hot, consuming, demanding. You felt the scrape of his teeth, the way his tongue claimed yours like he owned the battlefield of your mouth. His hands roamed down, gripping your thighs and pulling them around his waist with a strength that made your head spin.
Leather straps and wraps came undone quickly, tossed aside to the floor. His hands were everywhere, rough from years of wielding weapons, but slow enough to draw every shiver from you. When his palm slid beneath the waist of your trousers, fingers finding heat, you broke the kiss with a sharp gasp.
“Already so ready for me?” he teased, a wicked curl to his lips.
You tried to reply, but his fingers began their work, confident, relentless, and words turned to broken moans. He watched every reaction, his free hand gripping your jaw to keep your gaze locked on him. “Look at me when I take you, General.”
When he finally freed himself from the last of his clothing, you barely had a moment to brace before he pushed into you with one deep, claiming thrust. The sheer size of him stole your breath, he didn’t pause, hips rolling in a rhythm that was equal parts punishing and precise, forcing you to feel every inch.
Your nails dug into his back, muscles flexing under your grip. Each snap of his hips sent heat spiraling through your core, the wet sound of your bodies moving together mixing with his low growls and your increasingly desperate cries.
He pressed his forehead to yours, breath ragged. “You fight well… but you submit even better.”
The tension built until you were clinging to him, legs trembling, vision blurring. His pace grew erratic, hips slamming harder until your release ripped through you, his following seconds later, deep inside, the force of it making you cry out his name.
He stayed there for a moment, chest heaving, before pulling back just enough to smirk down at you. “I told you… you’d lose again.”
“We’ll see next time,” you whispered, still breathless, though the defiance in your tone made his smirk widen.
You both knew “next time” would come sooner than either of you admitted.
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