This is another thing of mine that was originally written for the community naruto_meme over on livejournal. (Which I highly recommend, by the way—go check it out!) As always, reviews of any sort will absolutely make me day—I promise I take concrit well, so don't be afraid to point out something you didn't like. Anyway, enjoy!

When he was Hokage, Orochimaru decided angrily, making cookies would be would be An Offense Punishable by Death. Or, preferably, weeks of long and painful torture and then death, because a painless end wasn't nearly good enough for whoever had come up with this utterly humiliating task.

"Sensei, you've got flour on your nose," Anko giggled, looking over at him with a smile on her face. Before he could react, she wiped her finger across his nose and let the powder waft onto the counter.

Which meant his face had just been impudently poked by a little girl…who wasn't actually that much younger than him, Orochimaru reminded himself desperately, because he was not old.He shoved down the unpleasant thoughts and turned with a glare to the object responsible for his misery.

It was all Orochimaru could do not to unleash one of his more powerful techniques onto the hideous blob of dough in front of him. (Perhaps his newest fire jutsu? Or maybe the earth one he'd picked up near Iwa a month ago?) He wouldn't have offered to spend a day with Anko if he'd known it would end up like this.

"So," he hissed, which was actually his normal tone of voice and not a sign of barely restrained anger, no matter how threatening he tried to make it sound, "What do we do next?"

She grinned at him cheerfully, all sunshine and daisies and little kittens, and ye gods,his face was going to melt off from the sheer innocence she radiated.

"Next, we need to put in the chocolate chips!" She smiled at him as she talked, holding out a yellow bag. "Then we dollop the dough on the pan, stick them in the oven, and wait."

Orochimaru sighed and did as she said, quietly seething at the fact that she was bossing himaround, and yet unwilling to walk away. (If Orochimaru's heart had been a little less shriveled and dark, he would have been able to define the mystery emotion as guilt, telling him he couldn't possibly break his student's heart like that. Unfortunately, however, he knew about as much about guilt as he did about embroidery, and so passed it off as sudden-onset masochism, a condition not at all that uncommon in shinobi.)

Even after he finally got the cookies in the oven, Anko wouldn't let him leave.

"You can't," she insisted over and over again, tugging on his arm and giving him puppy-dog eyes. "You have to eat them with me."

And so, Orochimaru spent the next fifteen minutes tuning out her out as she jabbered on about nothing at all, nodding and 'hmm'ing in all the right places. The timer, when it finally sounded, was sweeter than any Halleluiah chorus he'd ever heard. Just one bite, and then he'd be able to get out of this domestic little hellhole.

"Here, sensei," Anko said as she dropped a cookie on his plate and set two on her own.

He examined the thing critically. He'd had cookies before, hard, stale little disks the lunchladies at the Academy handed out every Tuesday—as healthy as cardboard and just about as flavorful. He never could understand why the other children made such a big fuss about them.

But Anko was staring at him with a pleading expression on her face, so he flicked out his tongue and pulled the cookie into his mouth, chewing carefully so he'd be less able to taste—oh.

Oh.

It was rich and chocolate-y and gooey, and he had never thought he would use the word gooey as a compliment, but there was no other way to describe the sheer brilliance of the flavors, and…

He didn't realize he'd been staring into space until Anko waved her hand in front of his eyes, a concerned look on her face.

"Are you, okay, sensei?" she asked worriedly.

No, I'm not okay. I'm having a religious experience.

Orochimaru cleared his throat awkwardly. "Yes, yes. I'm fine."

"Would you like another?" Anko held the platter of cookies out to him, looking shy.

They were calling to him, warm and fragrant and golden…

"…Yes," he decided. "Yes I would."

Perhaps, Orochimaru reflected as he left the house (three hours and eighty-three cookies later), he wouldn't outlaw cookies when he was in charge. He'd simply force somebody else make them for him.

And Orochimaru walked back to his home, visions of cookie-making slaves dancing through his head.