#*:･ﾟic. GREAT UNITER. ✧☽

[brisquad-unit-4402]

christmas cookies

it's christmas now in my timezone. so happy holidays from unit 4402, and a lovely winter ahead. please stay warm comfy and loved wherever you are. this was inspired by a george strait song of the same name sans vox. he is one of the few country artists i trust. please be kind to him and enjoy my guilty pleasure corny christmas music fave

(btw i've always wanted vox to do a karaoke and sing at least one george strait song i just know he'd eat it up. tbh christmas cookies is the song i associate with vox the most even more than new cydonia. you have to understand how important the imagery of vox singing this song is to me i can't describe it in words nor fanfic)

tags: gender neutral reader, established relationship, fluff, food descriptions

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A comfy night in while the air turns icy outside. Your home runs warm, especially as you pass by the oven, and when you lean over Vox's wing-and-shoulder to watch him mix some icing together.

"Pass me the powdered sugar, Reader?"

"Sure thing."

"Thank you, baby."

Before you can utter any sweet nothings back to him the oven interrupts you as the timer goes off. You slip on one of Vox's mitts (a ruby red with a paw-print pattern and a scorch mark on the side, what were you expecting) and open the oven door.

The sweet smell of freshly baked cookies pours out from the oven, and as you set them on the cooling rack the scent grows only more enticing. Vox insisted on making cookies from scratch this year rather than from a box, and you have to admit, you don't even need to sneak a bite to admit he was right. The scent and golden-brown color is already miles ahead of the batches you made alone in the past.

The heat spreads behind you, trademark Vox and his demonic blood. Your suspicions are confirmed once he peers over your shoulder just as you did, and swipes an oven-hot cookie from the rack.

"What the—Vox!" You lightly slap his hand. "Those are hot!"

"I was born in Hell," he says, mouth full of cookie. He swallows. "Mmm, tasty."

"They aren't even frosted yet!"

"It's a good goddamn cookie, Reader, what do you want me to do, say they taste like charcoal?"

"No, Vox, I want you to be patient and wait for them to cool and decorate them like a normal person before eating them! We're going to have a full bowl of icing and no cookies to ice if you keep taking them like that!"

He pops another cookie into his mouth much to your playful dismay. "What kind of normal person doesn't eat a cookie straight out of the oven?" Then he takes another, places it on a napkin, and sets it on the counter in front of you. "Would having a cookie yourself make you feel better?"

"Normal people that don't have heat resistance like you." You stare down at the cookie. It has a soft crack through the side from cooling improperly, so of course it would be perfect for a taste test. "But... thanks."

Vox brightens. "Eat up. Er, in ten to fifteen minutes when cooled."

You nod, and watch as Vox shovels cookie dough onto a new pan. You snuck a tiny Santa hat onto one of his horns earlier this evening, and even now the pompom at the end sways as he moves the next batch into the oven.

The oven settings chirp, chirp, chirp until the temperature and timer is set.

"Should be fine to eat your cookie once those are out of the oven," he says. Baking your holiday sweets was an equal effort, but his lips are curved upwards and his wings raise in quiet pride. "I can tell you what it tastes like if you're too impatient to wait."

He's right. You're impatient. So you take Vox's hand to lower him just enough for your mouth to meet his.

You return back down from your tiptoes a second later, sugar on your tongue and sweetness all the way through. "Damn, we did great."

He scoffs but his wings let out a happy little flap. "If you wanted me to kiss you, you could've just asked."

"Well, we have—"your eyes flit to the timer—"Ten minutes until the next batch is done." You squeeze his hand. "Gotta spend the time somehow."

The corners of Vox's lips curve a little higher. He sweeps you up only to seat you on the clean side of the counter, just so you can see that eager, dorky little grin at eye-level, wings around you and arms on either side. "'Tis the season for giving, mm?"

"Cheeky bastard." You close your eyes as if you were irritated, but you're the one that leans in first, and the taste of the cookies spreads through your mouth as the minutes go by.

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✧. ┊ masterpost ✧. ┊ kofi

#vox akuma #vox akuma x reader #nijisanji en #nijisanji x reader #luxiem #luxiem x reader #4402 writes #vox akuma fluff #vox akuma headcanons #vox akuma imagines #someone send me an ask i need to rant abt how fucked up it is that my V0x Akum4 brain receptors are the exact same as my George Strait ones