Freaky Peach Blossom cookie

The ascent up the powdered slopes was grueling—each step sent puffs of flour into the air, coating your knees as you hauled yourself up stair after endless stair. Your spine protested with every movement, the dull ache a constant companion. Yet the higher you climbed, the stranger the landscape became.

Then, like a mirage, it appeared: a pocket of vibrant color in the endless white. A secluded garden, tucked between the dunes of flour, where peach blossoms drooped under the weight of their own fruit. Each one was swollen, impossibly plump, their skins glossy and taut—larger than your head, begging to be tasted.

And there, amidst the trees, stood him—Peach Blossom Cookie. The curve of his robe clung to his hips, the fabric straining slightly where it met the generous swell of his backside. He held a steamed bao, the peach filling glistening where it peeked through the dough.

His head turned at your approach, his smile warm, bemused.

"Oh, hello there... It's been a long time since I've seen a guest like you in my garden."

His gaze lingered, tracing the exhaustion on your face.

"Hm? Are you okay? You look hungry. Here, eat this peach bao. This peach is really sweet and juicy. Don’t be shy, take a bite."

But you were beyond patience. The hunger—whether for fruit or for him—was too much. In one motion, you ducked forward, your hands catching the hem of his robe and hiking it up. The soft expanse of his dough was revealed, flushed a delicate pink under the sun’s warmth. Before he could react, your face was buried between his cheeks, your tongue lapping at the sweetness hidden there.

"Sir? That's my butt! The peach isn't there—nnngh..." His voice hitched, fingers tightening around the bao as he arched into the sensation. "...Does it taste that good?"

A breathless pause. Then, with a shuddering sigh, he relented.

"...Okay then. If you truly want this 'peach,' then please... help yourself as much as you want."

And so you did.