#onyx cream cookie x reader

[brittle-doughie]

Draw him like one of your french cookies, Baker.

[someweirdoreblogger]

Onyx Cream Cookie is a well-respected fellow. He is the right-hand of First Cream Cookie for a rightfully great reason.

He is a warrior, upkept. Never underestimate him, don't believe him too burdened by the mold eating away, devouring the majority of his pristine crust and fluffy cream.

He is a fine, disciplined man of a many brilliant word and proficient strategy, what Cookies usually don't realize is those little charms hanging stubborn on the hilt of his ripper are not mere design choices, they are not enchanted by any magic. They hold no special significant prayer or timely devotion to any angel or god. They don't dangle to improve his footing or balance when he unseals his sword from the wrap tightened upon his leather belt.

Gifts. From his closest chosen. Adorable charms; colorful ideas of good fortune, goodwill, and moral support. Onyx Cream Cookie sees a lively silver of you in them, sunshine in his pocket. A mirror couldn't represent this clear reflection. He can't help the sentimentality.

(They're just so...

You.)

They almost breathe. In an inanimate silence, he can almost swear it. The care, the love, the delicate life you line in those pallet shells of material, worked with a monk's patience.

All for no reason at all, then to be reassured, to know Onyx Cream Cookie will occasionally peer down like a curious child and consciously smile, a cresent dawn. Your lovely ornaments, still there looking at nothing at all, slowly waving like leaves lost in the endless gusts of wind, dancing free under the crawling pressure of chill and rain.

In the craftsmanship, twists, curls, swirls, and longful strokes. The reflections of your deepest passions, a strong chain full of fond memories, of all the times he quietly pressed a touch of lip there on the forehead of one of your dear trinkets. Your care for him in a physical form, these truly beautiful cluster of tiny promises strapped to his trusty weapon of inevitable justice, it never fails to remind him there is someone home he must diligently ensure a safe return to.

There are heavy days, tainted bags digging deep in his eyelids, irritating the sensitive infection of mold, the lonely nights-where Onyx Cream Cookie drifts off into a running stream of incoherent thoughts. Where he falls, afloat into a dream, a daze, and he can do nothing more then simply look up, peer to the sky and sees you written in the stars, staring back in a wonder he can't properly describe.

You are timeless. Eternity is you in dough, he knows. Onyx Cream Cookie believes this wholeheartedly, a love he never thought he would hold, grasp fondly in the naked palm of his hands.

Such lovely things, fragile beings we all are in the grand scheme of life and death. All just small layers of flavor in the cake of life Cookies are relentlessly baked in.

Onyx Cream Cookie often offhandedly trips into a trap of his own making, not always on purpose in his honest defense. He catches himself staring, and a man such as himself holds no pride in distractions, but the temptation can't be denied much to his obligation, impossible to resist in the vulnerable moments. Excuses are pitiful, unnecessarily needless. He will be the first to admit, although he is shameless about it at whoever notices him.

The very pieces, lovely shades, the reason he would lay down his dough and flavor for; One most dearest, whose simplicity is a thing of upmost charity and beauty, made by the apple of his eye, he tells himself everytime the sun kisses the horizon. The Heavens is the sightless halo for Earthbread, same as is the sky, the acting color of the peerless ocean.

A sight for sore eyes.

His beloved made those Onyx Cream Cookie will ease; 'I hold them here, right next to me, compared to everywhere else, nowhere rather they be.' Seeing his charms wiggle like gummy worms, mindlessly sing and jiggle like jellybean bells on his ripper's little sheath paints a permanent happy curl on his face.

[vaquitap1nk]

We need an Onyx Cream Cookie x Reader

Onyx Cream Cookie need to have a quote like that 😭

Please-

[slut4menig]

Afar || M. verstappen

Summary: Max has been so busy with f1 it seems he’s forgotten about the girl at home waiting for him

Genre: angst

Warnings: max being a dickhead, no happy ending

Max X fem! Reader

It was nights like this, the nights I’d sit in the dark on the couch watching tv, waiting for max to come home. I’d sit in pity, god I didn’t even know where he was anymore.

Tonight was our Third anniversary, I feel so stupid for even trying. I looked around at the dinner I had made for us, the candles, the effort into making the house look nice.

Now I was here 2:26 am, no sign of max, no calls, no texts. I was sitting, Mascara running down my face, crying in the dress I had been saving my money to buy especially for tonight.

But it was all for nothing. Everything was for nothing. I was on my second glass of red wine when I heard the door open to see a tipsy max walk through the door.

“Y/n?” God I hated that, he stopped using pet names, he doesn’t even know me anymore.

“Max, I’ve been waiting for 6 fucking hours” I pointed a finger at the candle lit dinner

“Why? You never told me we had a date night? Don’t fucking blame this on me” he accused and I just laughed

“Really max? It’s our anniversary” I looked at his blank face, he couldn’t think of a reply

“Where were you max?” Tears were now welling up in the eyes as I gave him a stare

“I was out” he muttered, I rolled my eyes and gave a huff, I could see the guilt washing over on his face. He was about to answer but I’ve had enough.

“Max I can’t do this anymore, do you even love me anymore?” I questioned, all the rage coming up

“Of course I do! I love you I promise” he was trying to defend himself but someone who loves me wouldn’t stand me up, someone who loves me would care for me.

“No you don’t, you’re always at work max, I only ever get to see you on 2 days of the weeks and you spend those partying or something!” The tears were now streaming down

“You can’t tell me what to fucking to with my life y/n” he was angry

“You don’t Call Me ‘Baby’, or ‘Schatz’ anymore, also I’m not telling you what to do I just wish you’d acknowledge me” I whispered

“You’re so dramatic” he rolled his eyes and laughed at me

“You’re not the man I fell in love with” he looked pale, he had nothing to say

“I can’t do this, us, we aren’t meant to be together” I walked past him. He grabbed my arm.

“Y/n, baby, no, we can get through this, it’s just a small fight, I’m sorry I’m sorry”

“Just fucking leave me alone” I whispered, walking out the door to leave him drowning in his sorrows.

“Y/n please stop we can try again” he shouted as I hopped in the cab I ordered around 5 minutes before our fight.

“Goodbye max” the cab driver stayed silent, understanding what was happening.

🕊️ (time skip) 🕊️

“It’s okay y/n” I sat in the arms of my bestfriend Isabelle

“Was i the problem?” I questioned rhetorically to myself

“No y/n, he was a dickhead, you’re fine and amazing, now I have ice cream so do you wanna watch tv?” She passed me a tub of chocolate chip cookie dough and we ordered takeout.

Max POV

how could I let someone that I love so much just walk out the door. I let the love of my life go. How could I be so fucking stupid.

I was left in our shared home. Her perfume was still lurking around the place. The onyx shadows mimicking her as if she was still here but the house was silent, empty.

It’s like a piece of my heart was ripped out. The feeling inside me was hollow. Felt like I had nothing left. The one thing that helped me, cared for me, celebrated with me, got me through my downfalls.

I miss her already, i miss her laugh and her smile. I want her back. I want her back so so bad. I would give anything for just one last kiss. I regret it

I Moped down to the floor, vodka in hand. Tonight was something I didn’t want to ever remember.

🕊️ (time skip) 🕊️ (1 month later)

Y/N POV

It was race weekend, and as much as I hate to admit it, I need to see him. I want to see him, so every Friday Saturday and Sunday I spend watching him, my love.

I spend my hours watching him from afar.

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Hold the door (BC x Reader)

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: Bangchan x Reader

Warning: Spoilers for GoT S4 & S6 E5

Summary: Fantasy can be brutal yet be addicting after a long day of work. Fortunately, a dearly loved kangaroo knows how to lessen the pain of the politics of Westeros.

Author’s Note: Top o’ the morning!

This is my first piece for Stray Kids since they are slowly taking over my life and especially Chris (Bangchan). Hopefully, despite this being not BTS-related for once, it is still an enjoyable read.

For any Stays reading this and who are not acquainted with my works as of yet: I hope I do not disappoint.

Masterlist

A good story evokes emotions with its imagery and plot line, even more so when actors play out the scenes which are craftily adapted to a visual new format despite being written first in ink. The series ‘’Game of Thrones’’ is a splendid example of what might happen in a scenario in which the story hits harder than expected, beloved characters dying left and right while the audience can merely look on in horror.

Or cheer in delight in Joffrey’s case.

The day at work at the café in the centre of town had been hazardous, the arrival of spring break ensuring lots of tourists to come in to taste and photograph the seasonal specials while enjoying the gradually becoming warmer sunny weather. The entire shift literally consisted of creating soft sweet sakura custard buns and sweet lush green mochis decorated with a rice dough cherry blossom and petals, slicing up the slightly floral cheesecake with a pink inside that had to be remade perhaps four to five times due to the high demand. Not to speak of the effort to deliver with making the time-consuming coffees and hot or cold cocoas befitting the abundant fall of sakura around the village. However, such are the duties of being part of the already small team: each person has to be able to work all-round when this time of the year comes despite there not being too much patronage otherwise since the city is not that big nor well-known.

But every exhausting shift makes a mini-marathon in the evening of the new season of ‘’Game of Thrones’’ all the more deserved, simply sitting back on the comfortable creme-coloured love seat with a cup of freshly prepared ice coffee and either a tub of cookies and cream ice cream or a protein bar in the same flavour. Fortunately, it is not minded by the boyfriend of one and a half years since the blonde athletic boy can mostly be found at the gym in the evenings when not hanging out with friends.

Nonetheless, Chris’s absence is more of a curse since the first episode of the night has a grander impact on the psyche than expected, making a firm hug that is mostly tried to be escaped from under normal circumstances now dearly desired. Too many impactful emotional events follow each other up at the end of the sixth season’s fifth episode, triggering the rare reaction of tears in eyes that can merely watch and a palm wrapped over a speechless mouth.

The response is even powerful enough to miss the click of the front door of the shared apartment and the dull thump of the ashen buffalo bag filled with sports gear in the tiny entryway leading to the studio, much less so the giggle following the habitual greeting of “I’m home, babygirl”, which is still awkward despite the many times it has been uttered.

‘Hey, Y/N, are you, wait, are you crying?’ As soon as the credits roll over the screen and the DVD is paused, fingers unclasp from paralyzed lips to wipe away the watery traces of the damage done by mere yet gripping fantasy which stirs the youth to rush over to the couch and rapidly take place on the empty spot formerly occupied by bare feet, making a sorrowful being bounce slightly with the impact of the sudden additional weight. Firm veiny arms are immediately clung onto when they initiate an unbreakable embrace, one slender hand placed protectively on the top of the head, cradling it against the shoulder. ‘What happened?’

No answer comes per direct, first throwing out every bit of frustration thanks to fantastical explicit cruelty while holding on to an oversized sweat-soaked onyx shirt but not minding the hint of sourness to the characteristic scent of minty soap. The golden-haired lad resembling a kangaroo when fired up with energy has taken on the tranquil appearance of a koala, its counterpart, and simply waits patiently until the incoherent blabbering attempts at voicing a reason for the silly behaviour gain a sense of logic. Simultaneously, the left upper arm is being rubbed in uncomprehending close solace, chin resting on the crown of the head when not giving soft caring forehead kisses and whispering soothing nothings.

At last, after a good while of crying, it is dared to look Chris in the eye to tell what forms the reason for the curious distress. Nevertheless, it is an obvious fact the thumb caressing the cheek while explaining forms one of the support pillars which keeps speech steadier than it would be without. ‘Geo- George R.R. Martin is a bastard. He- He let Bran’s wolf be killed by Whitewalkers and- and... Hodor...’ A heavy sob. ‘M- mea- means “ho- hold the door”...’

The very vivid thought about the death of the kind giant at the door arises, initiating a continuation of the lament created by a splendid bastard of an author’s writing. The hug tightens, a rumble in the trained chest beneath the slick flowy fabric resulting in an adorable chuckle as tears stream down a pale neck. ‘You take it way too seriously, Y/N. It’s just a story. Nobody’s actually dead, everything is fine.’

‘Shut up, Chris, you do- don’t know what power George has.’ It is incredible how ‘’Game of Thrones’’ has escaped the attention of the Australian platinum youth, but at the same time places him in a disposition of ignorance about how sensitive talk about the show can be. Certainly for long-time viewers who have likely seen their favourites be brutally murdered in favour of plot progression.

‘No, I don’t, but how about you show me and I’ll try to protect you from it?’ Hazel irises light up at the prospect at one of the most loved things aside from the steady relationship with a girl who gets carried away into fantasy too often and, judging by the broad smirk that begins to form, the continuation of the proposal is nothing surprising yet deliciously loving. ‘With food?’

‘Tha- That’s your solution to ev- everything, isn’t it?’ A careful curl of the corners of the mouth forms out of the sorrowful expression at seeing the genuine giddiness at a second dinner or, rather, late night snack together. Although, it also arises out of the vivid images quickly flashing by of the personified koala’s silly movements whenever something tastes incredible, the funny habit always a cause for affectionate laughter and a source of confidence in the at times doubtful personal cooking skill.

‘It always makes you smile,’ a stray strand is tucked behind the ear, plush roseate lips placing a sweet kiss on the forehead, ‘I’ll first take a shower and then prepare some tteokbokki. How about that?’

Unconsciously, a consenting eager nod is already given before the reaction can be even thought about, the stomach having overtaken demeanour out of anticipation of the small rice cakes. ‘Extra spicy?’

A slight nervousness slips into attitude, eyes holding a silent plead for toning down on the spice levels because the last time they were too high for most to handle, Cris’s friends who came over for the monthly movie night all frantically reaching for cucumber and milk to nullify the impact while trying to save the fellow Australian of the group at the same time. Withal, howbeit while clearly contemplating to adjust the amount of gochujang regardless of the request, the proposal is agreed to. ‘Sure, extra spicy it is. Now, don’t you dare continue in the meanwhile or I won’t cuddle you for the rest of the week.’

A sceptic roll of the eyes, finding no credibility in the statement considering the personality of the speaker. ‘Oh, come on, we both know that’s an empty threat.’

The slightly loosened embrace tightens to a literally breathtaking degree once more, but now it is tried to be escaped as is normally the case when the blonde youth tends to get cheesily clinging. ‘Or I hug you to death, your choice.’

‘Let me go!’ Any type of resistance results in the opposite, becoming more and more the prisoner of secure loving arms instead of a free woman. Notwithstanding, it cannot be said it is minded, though the rumbling in the stomach betrays the recently realized craving for food that can only be had when giving in.

‘Not before you answer.’ The heavy weight suddenly tipping the scales cannot be prevented from being the oppressor of the strength that is unable to lift it, head hitting the soft pillows of the sofa on the other end as the sporty lad with dewy skin maintains the firm hug. A delighted playful chuckle sounds at the realization of having the held figure exactly where she is apparently wanted, unable to be freed before having made a decision. ‘Well, what’s it gonna be?’

‘Either way, you’ll suffer. Option one leaves me alive but you’ll get cuddle withdrawal symptoms. Option two leaves you without your favourite squishy.’ An eyebrow rises in challenging mockery which will only worsen the circumstances though the sarcasm cannot be helped. Just as in the brutal series, if you play smart, you shall survive. And this preferred victim of affection, this most beloved fighter of clinging hugs, has plans to survive the night.

‘Aren’t you clever, turning my own words against me?’ A lopsided smirk forms on the koala boy’s face, eyes illuminated by playful lights.

‘In the Game of Thrones, you live or you die and I intend to do the former.’ Henceforth, a cute sweetness slips into speech as lips irresistibly pout, manipulating Chris even further into hurrying up in fulfilling the promise of tteokbokki and stop stalling the rest of the well-deserved marathon. ‘I’m hungry.’

Blonde locks bow in amused defeat, shaking briefly with acknowledged surrender before gazes lock again. ‘I have no idea what that reference means, but you win this time, Y/N. Can’t let my babygirl starve.’

The characteristic awkward laughter accompanying the nickname by default ends the topic of debate, the kangaroo boyfriend lifting himself off a half-crushed no longer entirely torn by fantasy figure to finally shower. In the absence filled with the lingering traces of songs sung with an angelic voice, more pillows and a thin ornately decorated blanket are gathered for properly snuggling up with delicious food and an amazing but heartbreaking brutal show.

Sweater paws clad in a soapy mint oversized sweater wrap around the platinum youth’s waist to give him a taste of his own medicine, trying to show how inconvenient it can be when a person is basically glued to you during household tasks, which lets them become increasingly more complicated due to the loving gesture. Withal, it does not have the intended effect as the young man manages to get along with making the rice cakes coated in a fierce red sauce just fine although it does pose a bit of a risk when a small hand reaches out for the gochujang tub to add more to the sauce and the chef obviously not consenting to this idea, the dispute resulting in play fighting that almost turns the fire pit open too far without further notice.

The tickling almost results in burns and burned clothing, the just as touchy retribution barely short of ending in a trail of sauce stains leading from the kitchen floor to the fake black leather loveseat thanks to fingertips poking sides. Regardless, it is managed to be reached without further ado, the cruelly incredible series resuming with one strong arm wrapped around the shoulders, a warm meal split in two put into two laps sitting side by side. Occasionally, a chewy tteok is fed with a content smile from the bigger portion of the athlete eating like a starved man, who is evidently as happy with the result of the obstructed cooking as the appreciating look in the eyes of the accepting mouth, going by the happy wiggles accompanied by tuneful hums.

And thus the imaginary intriguing political game synonymous to crimson onslaught continues, because the questioning, at times shocked, comments made out of ignorance brighten the mood due to their silent request for an explanation, delighting the nerdy fangirl within to no end.

Keeping the worst of silly emotions at bay.

Holding the door.

[brittle-doughie]

Can we have a story about Mount Saint crème?

???: “What seems to be the problem here?”

The Cream Guards gasped at the voice as a cookie stepped out to the front of the shelter, a familiar cookie to the Brave gang.

Soft Hearted Cream Guard: “I-It’s the Castle Master, Y/N Cookie!”

Cold Hearted Cream Guard: “F-forgive us, Castle Master! We were just about to tell these lot that they needed to pass the inspe-“

Y/N Cookie: “I’ll take care of it from here.”

Onyx Cream Cookie: “Y/N Cookie, it’s good to see you again, friend.”

Y/N Cookie: “Likewise. Now, what brings you to the refuge? Are you seeking to get in?”

Gingerbrave: “Wow, Y/N and Onyx Cream Cookie sure talk like they’ve been old friends!”

Onyx Cream Cookie: “Of course, but the guards here are being a little testy in letting us into the refuge.”

Y/N Cookie: “Ahem, is this accurate, guards?”

Soft Hearted Cream Guard: “Y-yes, but we would’ve let them in on your word, Castle Master!”

Cold Hearted Cream Guard: “That’s right! I trust that you’re making the right choice!”

Onyx Cream Cookie: “They would be now that the temperature controller has been fixed.”

Cold Hearted Cream Guard: “Is it really fixed?”

Soft Hearted Cream Guard: “It’s a miracle! It’s just what we’ve been waiting for!”

The Cream Guards looked at Y/N Cookie before hastily moving away from the entrance.

Soft Hearted Cream Guard: “We never doubted you for a second, Castle Master!”

Cold Hearted Cream Guard: “Your judgement really is spot on, Castle Master!”

Y/N Cookie: “Alright, enough bootlicking. Onyx Cream, Gingerbrave and friends. Follow me.”