#bubblyhoneyfics
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the sun
warnings: the word shit teehee
tags: georgenotfound x gn!reader
words: 1243
A/N: very fun to write in the dark and with gentle music :]
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“What is this supposed to do again?” George asks, curling his upper lip into his mouth as you smooth your finger across his mustache. His face is smeared in a suspiciously neon purple face mask that smells like honeysuckle and very slightly baby wipes. In the name of ageless beauty, and all that.
“It’s supposed to hydrate your skin,” you mumble in response, chewing on a dry patch of your lip in concentration. It won’t apply very evenly across his facial hair and you squint, blowing air out of your mouth. “When was the last time you shaved?”
“Couple days ago,” he answers. You run your finger under the running faucet and lean back onto the kitchen counter. “Done?” His eyebrows lift his hairline back and you watch it shift.
“Yup,” you chirp, and smooth a hand across the top of his head. He ducks from your touch, smile hidden, and pads to the bathroom. Light floods the room and he’s silently examining his face when you follow.
It’s late on a Wednesday after shared pizza and milkshakes for dinner. He invited you to sleep over (quite sheepishly, may I add—red cheeks) and watch a film. It’s pretty early in your relationship to have sleepovers, especially since he hasn’t even been to your house that’s two towns over. You’ve only been to his flat a couple times, mainly after a night of drinks to wait for your night train. He entertains you with tours of different drawers and these tiny frozen cheesecakes he has in the freezer; he was willing to sacrifice the strawberry chocolate one for you. You kissed him for it.
“How long do we wait?” He asks, suddenly hushed like it’s a secret, and prods one finger at his sticky cheek.
“15 minutes, the package says. Perfect time to get part of an episode in.” You wiggle your eyebrows. You two just started rewatching The Walking Dead and are slowly making your way through the first season. He makes a face, cooing, and exhales a laugh as he flicks the light switch off on your way out.
“Here we go,” he sighs, and clicks resume as you plop down onto the sofa and scoot closer to him. Dragging the ottoman closer to him with a foot, he crosses his legs on the suede and settles back into the cushions.
You swoop in, snaking an arm around his back and swinging a leg over his. His heart beats loud in your ears when you lean closer and rest the side of your head on his shoulder, ears warming at the proximity. You risk a glance up to his lavender face and laugh, seeing his cheeks glowing through the mud.
“Shut up,” he grumbles, but you feel his arm drop onto the ridge of the sofa behind you and his hand resting on your skin through your sweater.
His fingertips slide under and press ever so slightly into the skin of your upper back when something on the TV makes him nervous. The mask stays on longer than normal as you two are too enamored with your show, but after ten minutes past the fifteen mark George jumps up, knocking your leg off, and says something about “getting this shit off” before making his way to the bathroom. He has it mostly washed off when you get in there, except a small patch by his temple that you wipe off with a wet wash rag before turning to do the same thing for yourself. He looks at you in the mirror, studying you, and leans onto the counter with one hand so he can push his now-clean face into your shoulder to watch.
Nearly half of the episode is over when you two return to the couch, popcorn in hand, and curl into each other for the rest of the night. The sky grows darker and darker until it’s a stripe of blue on the horizon, black filling the sky with a random star or two. George sits with you woven into him, head resting against yours, and nods off to sleep. Who knew he snores? (You. You knew. He fell asleep one time on the tube after an all-nighter and woke himself up choking on a snore.) He smells like honey, so it’s no wonder you drift off with your mouth hung open, fingers in a jumbled mess on your lap.
You’re rudely awoken by an alarm. Jolting awake, you gasp and press a hand to your chest. George’s head falls sharply onto your chest and he smarts awake, eyes wide. You grasp jerkily for your phone somewhere in the cushions and produce it, pressing a button to silence the ringing. 4:45. You just blink for a second and let your eyes adjust to the darkness. Netflix’s “are you still watching?” screen stares back at you two and you can barely see your face in the dim reflection.
“Why the hell would you have an alarm set for 4:45?” He asks, voice hoarse, and rubs the heel of his palm at his eye socket.
“I have no idea,” you croak.
You two sit in silence for the time it takes for him to throw the blanket off his lap, tug his shirt down, and slowly make his way towards the bedroom. His ankles pop as he walks and he briefly reminds you of a wooden statue you used for an art class in college; he walks like his joints are articulated with metal. Hovering in the doorway, he looks back at you with half-closed lids.
“I’m coming.” Tossing your phone back into the mess of the sofa, you pull yourself to your feet and groan immediately. The sleeping position you two were in just ruined the state of your spine. You’ll have to send him your chiropractor bill.
He’s sat on the edge of his bed when you enter the dark room, groggily tugging his socks off and throwing them onto the floor. You round the bed, fumbling for the covers, and manage to tug them back far enough to slide yourself in and pull them up past your shoulders. They smell like soap and vanilla. George yanks the sheets back and falls violently onto the bed, not moving. You let out a quiet snort, not wanting to break the calm night, and shift onto your side. He’s laying like a corpse flat on its back.
“You look dead,” you say with a hushed voice. He just nods slowly.
The bed creaks as he shuffles closer to the middle, pushing himself up into his elbows and bringing his legs under the blankets. The air warms when he gets closer, and it makes you close your eyes. It’s when you feel his breath on your cheek that you open your eyes again, and his pale face is only centimeters away. You just look at him. His eyelashes flutter and his mouth breaks with a yawn, closing again as he smacks his lips.
“C’mere,” you whisper, and he opens his eyes to gaze into yours. Wordlessly, he flips onto his side and leans back into you. Your hand closes around his upper torso, and he melts into you. His hair smells like eucalyptus, you notice.
“Good night.” You feel like the sun on his face, warm and comfortable. Your soft exhales fan over the back of his neck and he has half a mind to shiver.
“Mhm.” He drifts off, safe.
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A/N: whatcha think? lemme know <3
#georgenotfound#gnf#mcyt#georgenotfound x reader#georgenotfound x gn!reader#gnf x reader#gnf x gn!reader#gnf imagine#gnf fluff#gnf one shot#gnf x you#mcyt fluff#bubblyhoneyfics
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spicy
warnings: kissing, mainly fluff, suggestive language and insinuations (steamy), 1 ass tap, mentioning of a name brand of spectacular hot sauce
tags: dreamwastaken x gn!reader
words: 1047
A/N: had a burrito with cholula for dinner tonight and suddenly had the motivation to write this drabble for dream?? a little out of left field for how long it's been since i have written for this green idiot but i like it hehe.
requests/inbox status: open
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“C’mon.”
You slide the plate half an inch closer. He just shakes his head, half of a disgusted look on his face.
“It’s going to hurt me. I don’t want the inside of my mouth to sweat,” he complains with his body tilted away from it. He acts like it’s going to sink its teeth into him and take a meaty bite.
You stare between him and the chicken and cheese burrito. It has a singular stripe of Cholula on it; it’s the sweetest hot sauce you own, not awfully painful but still spicy enough to taste good.
“One bite, and I’ll leave you alone. It’s not that bad, baby.” You scoot it closer. “I’ll make you those cookies you like after. Promise,” you offer, eyebrows wiggling.
“Extra chocolate chips?” He asks, wincing as he picks up the fork. You nod, fond smile growing on your face.
He’s not a massive fan of spice, per say. He only gets barbecue wings when you go out, and even gets his pad Thai without red pepper flakes. The one time you coaxed him into a spicy garlic boneless wing at Buffalo Wild Wings he coughed and sputtered like you spiked them with something radioactive. His lips and nose turned this cute shade of red and you kept teasing and asking about what shade of blush he uses. Sapnap got him convinced that eating the white parts of jalapeños was actually the least spiciest part of the pepper and Dream spent 45 minutes in the bathroom.
So he just glares at the bite of burrito in his fork and sniffs it suspiciously. Sucking in a big breath, he puffs his chest and takes the bite off of the fork with his teeth scraping on the metal. He chews so hard his jaw pops, like he’s afraid to actually taste it. But he swallows, smacking his tongue on the roof of his mouth. He looks around at you, one eyebrow tilted in surprise.
“That wasn’t the worst.”
You clap, wiping an imaginary tear off of your cheek. Grabbing his hand, you bring the back of his palm to your lips for a kiss.
“They grow up so fast,” you simper through a sniff, voice weak. He rips his hand from you with a short laugh, standing to bring your now-empty plate to the sink.
“Shut up.” He hides his smile.
You follow, snorting, and lean up against the fridge to watch him put away the dishes in the dishwasher.
“Who knows. Maybe one day you’ll graduate to buffalo sauce. That day I will drop dead,” you say with finality, grin wide on your lips. He just shakes his head and closes the door of the dishwasher with a snap.
And then he’s nearing you, head tilted, shoulders relaxed and confident. He presses an arm up onto the fridge above your head, leaning down to your level. Your grin melts into a smirk. His lips find your cheek, and his other hand your lower back. Eyes falling closed, you revel in his touch with a hand clenched in the material of his t-shirt. He smells like the cologne he keeps on his desk, all warm and spicy and sharp.
The hand on your back slides down to the belt loops of your jeans and he slides two fingers in them, hooking his hand to you.
“What is all this for?” You ask, too breathy for your liking, and he gives you a kiss to the corner of your mouth. Pulling away just slightly, your lips open to see that look in his eyes. Hm. You know that look. He has that expression on his face right before—
Click.
Sapnap’s entrance to the house saves you from your most definitely steamy interaction with your boyfriend.
“Kitchen!” You call, loosening your fistful of his shirt and standing up straight. He gives you another look but backs off, leaning up against the counter with his arms folded. Like a father awaiting his child to come home past their curfew. Sapnap’s bearded face comes into the light of the kitchen and he sets his keys down onto the island with a loud sound.
“Dude. Dream tried Cholula.” You sound proud.
“No way!” His mouth drops open, looking between you two.
Dream groans, smacking his head on the cupboard behind him.
“And didn’t even pitch a hissy fit! That’s growth.”
God, you’re having so much fun with this.
“Proud of you, bro,” Sapnap adds before slapping his best friend's bicep and leaving for presumably his room. Dream just shakes his head and calls out some sassy remark you're too enthralled in turning to the cupboard to get cookie ingredients to hear.
You’re halfway through pulling out a measuring cup for the flour when he sidles up behind you and presses you flush to the counter edge. You make a noise of acknowledgment but continue on to dump the powder into the plastic mixing bowl. Two long arms drape over you and press flat to the counter as his head drops onto your shoulder.
“Do you want my help?” He mumbles, muffled from the material of your shirt. His mischievous mood seems to have disappeared, you note. Good. Sapnap just got home and he’d probably not love you two christening the kitchen.
“Yes.” You turn your head and press a kiss to his temple. “Go get me the chocolate chips, big boy.”
His pressure from on your back lifts, but not before he lands a firm smack on your butt. You jolt and glare at his back as he reaches up to the shelf where he hides them from Sapnap. (Sap likes to eat them by the handful and Dream plays with him by putting them on top of the cupboards. Meanie.)
“No hot sauce in the cookies, right?” He jokes and plops the bag down right next to you.
“No,” you start, and tear off a corner of the bag. “But I will put a healthy dose of sichuan chilies in.”
He seems to not know what you’re talking about, for his eyebrows furrow and he chews at his lip.
“Are those hot?”
“Nah.”
And you don’t put them in his sacred chocolate chip cookies. But you slip in that little detail for future reference when you get Chinese food. I mean, he’s got to branch out somehow, right?
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A/N: ask or send me some stuff!! requests, rants, anything. :] let me know what you think in the comments!
#dreamwastaken#mcyt imagine#dreamwastaken x gn!reader#dreamwastaken fluff#dreamwastaken fanfic#dreamwastaken oneshot#dreamwastaken drabble#dmsp#mcyt#mcyt x reader#bubblyhoneyfics
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three times you interrupt george
warnings: none! my first fic with no language are you proud of me ;)
tags: georgenotfound x gn!reader
words: 1355
A/N: pretty much every fic i’ve posted has been written a minimum of an hour before i post it— my b. anyways george is soft and he makes me soft enjoy
requests/inbox status: open
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The first time you barge in on George’s stream is about four months into your relationship. He is starting to get comfortable being his online persona around you, and suggests rather than get on your train at 1 am, you stay over. “Like a sleepover?” you ask and watch his cheeks start glowing pink.
Yes, exactly like a sleepover.
The sound of the bedroom door opening makes him pick up his water bottle and immediately turn off his camera and microphone, indistinguishable from the unannounced bathroom breaks he usually takes. Turning towards you slightly in his chair, an amused expression grows on his face. You’re barely awake, hovering in his doorway with a crinkled t-shirt and basketball shorts pulled on haphazardly in the dark on your way out of the bedroom. (You don’t sleep in pants. That’s for heathens.)
“Water,” you croak, arms stiff at your side and blinking wildly in the fluorescent lighting of his flat. He tries to hide his smirk and pads over to you, passing you his water bottle with a huff of a laugh. His hand drops to yours, grabbing and rubbing his thumb into your blanket-creased skin. You’re cold.
“I have extra blankets in the cupboard.” He doesn’t let go of your hand. You nod robotically, draining the nearingly lukewarm water through that straw and— he can almost see life return to your face. When you hand the empty bottle back to him, you’re licking your lips and squinting like you’re having a staring contest with the sun.
“I’m gonna go back to bed.” Your voice is thick with sleep, nasally like it always is in the morning. You lift to scratch a hand at your stomach and lean your head forward, bowing to George at an awkward angle. In a second he knows what you’re doing and grants you one (1) forehead kiss before you’re trundling off to the bedroom on legs that function like stilts.
“Sorry guys,” he sighs heavily when he’s back in his chair. “Took a minute long nap and I feel so refreshed.”
The second instance of interruption comes on a day when he’s too entranced in some bizarre Minecraft challenge (with his camera off, for focus reasons) to notice you.
You walk up the stairs, hand on the railing, and expect to find your boyfriend zonked out on the couch with six pillows behind his head and an eye mask. Instead, he’s at his desk, eye bags a lovely shade of violet, with rimrod posture, clicking furiously at his mouse. He’s silent when you pass him to drop your things off in the kitchen. Silent the whole time you go to the bathroom, and silent the whole time you’re making breakfast.
The distance between his flat and your own isn’t monumental, but it is enough to make you exhausted on the train ride over. (It doesn't take much, truthfully.) That’s why you book the tickets hilariously early in the morning and have a perfectly-timed nap. Still, you wake up from it ravenous. And George has a horrible habit of ordering take-away for every meal, so you grab a couple ingredients for breakfast at the mart you pass every couple of days you’re here.
Today it’s omelets and bruschetta toast. George jokes you’re related to Gordon Ramsey distantly for the amount of posh foods you cook; you say you just have taste. Half a dozen eggs, a few veggies, a bulb of garlic, and a loaf of bread is barely £15 at the mart down the road. The rest of the ingredients lie barely touched in his cabinets. You work quickly and have two plates filled with warm and delicious smelling food in the period it takes him to die one more time in Minecraft.
Wobbling two plates and a glass of orange juice on one arm, you approach the backside of his desk on careful and slow feet. When you set his plate and drink down next to him he catches you by the wrist and brings your forearm to his mouth, pressing a kiss there and looking up at you with those brown eyes.
“Thank you,” he mumbles against the sweetness of your skin and presses two more kisses to your wrist. He pulls away and takes a large sip from the orange juice before spam-clicking the shift button at a familiar green character. You leave his station with a smile, feeling warm.
“Y/N!” he calls, leaning back in his chair with a hand on his stomach. “C’mere. Please.”
“Bossy,” you mutter, but get up from your place on the couch and trot over to him with a huff.
“Tell Sapnap what you put in the omelet,” is all he says before passing you his headset and snaking an arm around your waist. You stumble towards him but manage to get the headphones on before Sapnap starts spewing about a breakfast burrito he ate last week that had jalapeños and onions in it. One thing you never thought you’d get to discuss with the man was your culinary prowess, but it seems today is the day of surprises— George helps you bake a batch of salted caramel brownies after finishing up work, too.
He doesn’t even catch anything on fire.
The third time you catch George working is right at the end of a Gang Beasts stream with Karl, Tina, and Corpse. He’s just finishing his last wave goodbye and ending the stream when you shudder through his front door with a small bag in your hand.
“Good news,” you announce through a grin. “My GNF candle came in.”
“Your what?” He laughs, closing the browser with a click and sleeping his monitor. You dig the item out and place it ceremoniously on the glass of his desk. His jaw drops.
“Isn’t that cool?” You ask excitedly, nearly bouncing on your feet.
“Oh my God.” He picks up the squat candle, lifting it to his nose to catch a sniff. Hm. Pine. “I wish I smelled like that.”
You just shrug and take it from him, darting into the kitchen to produce a lighter and light the wick quickly. You take a deep inhale when the flame sparks and stills.
“Yeah, that smells nothing like you. You smell more…” You trail off, lips pursed and eyebrows drawn in thought.
“Manly?” He quirks an eyebrow at you. You ponder that and just take another smell.
“More sweet. Much sweeter.”
“That’s cute,” he admits, getting up and disappearing into his bedroom.
“Are you gonna take a nap?” You set the candle down onto the countertop, making your way into his room like you own it. He’s at his closet, tugging off his sweatshirt.
“Yeah,” he answers, muffled by fabric, and finally gets the collar of the hoodie past his neck. “Care to join?” The hoodie goes into his laundry basket and he tugs the covers of his bed back, flashing you a look. You nod, flinging your shoes off and into the emptiness of his closet before crawling into the center of his bed and flopping down halfway onto him. He makes an unsatisfied noise and shuffles onto his stomach. Giggling, you roll into a sitting position and get yourself under the covers.
“Warm in here,” you mutter and get situated. His accompanying pillow is soft on your cheek when you twist onto your stomach and shove an arm underneath it. He just hums in agreement and stares at you. “Hold on.” You plant an elbow on the space between you two and manage to press a firm kiss on his cheek. Okay, perhaps two. If it’s three then George is colorblind.
“Thanks. I guess.”
“Anytime, darling,” is all you say before your eyes are closing and you’re breathing a sigh that deflates your chest.
A hand grapples up your arm, scrambling for your own. You just smile to yourself and offer your palm to him. He takes it wordlessly and squeezes twice before letting your tangle of fingers drop to the sheets.
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A/N: ask or send me some stuff!! requests, rants, anything. :D let me know what you think in the comments!
#georgenotfound#gnf#mcyt#georgenotfound x reader#gnf x reader#gnf x gn!reader#georgenotfound x gn!reader#gnf imagine#gnf fluff#gnf one shot#georgenotfound drabble#gnf x you#mcyt x you#mcyt x reader#mcyt fluff#bubblyhoneyfics
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spoopy couples costumes & activities
warnings: probably language
tags: dream team x gn!reader + bonus corpse husband x gn!reader
words: nunya
A/N: just realized two seconds ago halloween themed fics are literally my fav so i wanted to write something about who you two would dress up as and do the night of halloween :> also these costumes have literally nothing to do with gender, they might be gender coded and have feminine/masculine clothing but tbh wear what you want i bet it’s hot either way. also these guys are friends but not designated groups they’re just some of my fav streamers even if they aren’t all exactly mcyt
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dream:
ur bet ur bottom dollar he is a very simple man when it comes to costumes
he was definitely dressed as a highlighter one halloween in highschool and wore all his typical middle school boy neon clothes (you know the ones). thought he was a comedian for that one
maybe he’d like wearing a minecraft-themed sort of fit , like he’s a cactus and youre steve and you make prick jokes all night
kind of one brand tbh…
maybe you being two minecraft flowers could be a cuter one though, little bit more wholesome!
he’s for sure a scary adventure park enjoyer
takes you to one of those awful ones where the scary dressed people try to fight you and scare you
he’s the resident Big Man but metaphorically shits his pants when someone comes after him with a chainsaw
spends the rest of the night drinking an apple cider slushee and huddling close to you as you two watch small children jump like two feet in the air from a dude in a clown costume (come on, it’s a little funny)
george:
george likes costumes that are BARELY costumes
he’s like jim from the office on halloween. usually lazy and wearing whatever he wants
he definitely has pulled that name tag shit and wrote “ur mom’s bf” on it or something
literally begged you to dress up as two among us avatars
he doesn’t feel like doing any sort of party or function on halloween, so it’s really alright if you two have joke costumes
he does get you to venture on a walk later, hoping that strangers will think you’re kids trick or treating and maybe give you some free candy
but eventually you return home (with a mars bar from a mom dressed as grapes!) and settle in for the night
you just watch scream and shove candy down your throat the whole night. george insists you watch the conjuring but spends the last half of the movie hiding behind his fingers and jumping every time you absentmindedly play with the hairs on the back of his neck
sapnap:
he’s going as a pokémon trainer and that’s that.
you’re dressed as his favorite pokémon (i can’t remember it even though i sweated all of his pokémon streams don’t hate me) and it’s kind of a great play on words! he catches the light of his life by chance of a pokéball ;)
fixes his hat all night and fusses over if you can see his hair on the sides (“it’s too long Y/N!!! should i cut it off” which is just absurd)
he’s more of a partier on halloween; he wants to show off the brilliance that is your couples’ costume to anyone and everyone
interrogates strangers on if they know who you two are and actually ends up making friends with this IT person who could talk power ups literally all night and they truly do
goes home feeling very loved because not only does he now have a new pokémon nerd to vent to but you got him a toffee apple and held hands with him the whole way home
(BONUS) corpse:
corpsie boo likes spending as much time with you as possible
attached at the hip even when you get up from the couch to make popcorn
he’s a 90s creepy movie enjoyer
edward scissorhands, nightmare before christmas, hocus pocus, casper (christina ricci of course)
he literally treats those pumpkin tear-apart cookies in the tin like they’re the most prestigious hard to get delicacy of modern society
the night consists of movies n popcorn n cookies and caramel apple suckers , my personal fav
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A/N: this is a very low budget hc but enjoy! lemme know what you think and don’t be afraid to lurk in my inbox
#mcyt x reader#dreamwastaken x reader#georgenotfound x reader#sapnap x reader#dream team x reader#dream team fluff#dsmp x reader#bubblyhoneyfics
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dreamy mcdreamson
warnings: language & just overall cute stuff i think lolz :P
tags: dreamwastaken x gn!reader
word count: writing on mobile so idk nor do i care (it’s actually long for me but i mean it’s a headcanon)
A/N: ur mom
requests/inbox status: open
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i feel like you and dream meet somewhere kind of odd. like sky zone or party city or something
don’t hate me! it’s what i first thought of that fit!
but he was there for his baby cousin’s birthday party and you just happened to be buying halloween decorations out of season
someone asks for the others snapchat or phone #, blah blah it’s all very middle school and corny
kind of out of the ordinary for him but he’s been a little desperate recently (no offense to you of course he’s just getting bored of hugging his pillow to death)
but he seems like a regular somewhat nerdy guy so you find it easy to like him and get to know him
he just thinks you’re this fountain of endless knowledge and he is surprised at how quick he realizes he’d like to take you on a date and not just a platonic hang out
anyways.
onto the established-relationship-bits
he definitely buys you clothes online.
like it’s already bought with express shipping and on the way to your apartment before you’re even done mentioning it offhandedly
oh you want those cheap retro sunglasses and a set of knit socks? baby hes already entered his credit card info
and it’s not just clothes,, no he restocks your bathroom with Q-tips and poo pourri bc he noticed you were running kind of low one day at your apartment
he’s like an impromptu sugar daddy that you didn’t quite ask for but got anyways
(you love it and make sure to tell him that. his cheeks always get red)
there are Thai Friday’s and every two weeks you order two single pizzas and have a battleship marathon
you kick his ass, naturally
sapnap is often a little third wheel (though you feel like one at times) when on the rare occasion you leave the house and neighborhood
dream’s grandma is so entertained by your humor that she has you over almost twice a month for lunch and pinocle and perhaps a puzzle (just florida grandparent things amirite)
on to the more.. cute stuff (🤮 /j)
dream does this thing when he wants your attention where he will come up to you and head-butt your chest until you give him something
his favorite place to touch is that part on your abdomen where your rib cage kind of juts out
he just likes pulling you close and holding you like that
the first time you made him do that wheeze inhaler-inducing pacemaker tea kettle laugh you swear to all holy beings you’ll do everything in your power to hear that again
he’s just one of those people you find yourself wanting to make laugh and make happy
the days he’s feeling tired or grumpy or frustrated you keep your distance
not like he will be rude or anything to you, you just know he likes his quiet space and concentration
he appreciates it and tells you that later when he’s got you in a hug and talking to the space of your neck between your jaw and collarbones
it’s a few and far between occasion that you two sleep with one sets of covers
meaning: he’s a fucking blanket hog
full on pulls the covers his way and has an iron-like grip on them. you can’t even smack his deep-in-slumber self awake to give them back
so you’ve settled for bringing a personal set of blankets. one throw blanket you have has rat on it :]
the first time you slept over you forgot your phone charger at home, so he makes sure to keep an extra one just for you
his favorite kind of kisses are when you’re too tired to function and just kind of. press your mouth to his face
your favorite kisses he gives are the ones after he brushes his teeth and you taste his mouthwash
you two definitely are a special couple, but who isn’t?
i mean, you finish each other’s sandwiches for gods sake
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A/N: ask or send me some stuff!! requests, rants, anything. :D comment what you think !
#dreamwastaken#dreamwastaken x reader#dreamwastaken x gn!reader#dreamwastaken fluff#dreamwastaken drabble#dreamwastaken headcanon#mcyt#dreamwastaken x you#mcyt x you#bubblyhoneyfics
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sandy cheeks
warnings: language of course, nipple talk??, dream being a fanny pack dad for .2 seconds, an admission of Love
tags: sapnap x gn!reader
words: 1115
A/N: wrote this in like an hour.. not sorry!
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“Jesus Christ,” you breathe, shoulders tensing as you pull your hands up to your chest. The water is fucking cold. Like, shrink-your-balls-cold. Like, my-pinky-toe-fell-off-cold.
“Come on,” He teases, grabbing your wrist and tugging you towards him. You just stumble like a newborn deer, slamming into his chest and gasping at the splash of water rising to your hips. “It’s not that bad.”
“Tell that to my rock-hard nipples,” you sputter, crossing your arms tight on your chest and letting yourself get swayed by the current.
It’s a surprisingly windy day in Florida, sun out every once and a while to warm up the scattered groups of people on the beach. Sapnap insisted you two go down to the beach (“we don’t even have to swim!”) for dinner and to waste some of the day away. It’s summer, so you can do that. You still put on a swimsuit, deciding that relaxing would be more comfortable in less clothes anyways.
“Tell your nips to chill, then.” A large hand catches you around the waist and tugs you forward. His chest is surprisingly warm on your skin and you shiver. You press even closer, hiding your face in his neck to steal some of his warmth. “You are cold,” he murmurs, in awe, and slides his hands up and down your biceps that prickle with goosebumps.
“No shit,” you whine and shuffle closer. Gravelly sand works its way in between your toes and makes you shuffle your feet, disgusted look pulling at your face. “I hate the beach.”
Sapnap reaches to brush your windswept hair out of your face and his hand drops to thumb at your pout, brows pulled together.
“No you don’t. You just hate being cold.” His hands tug at your elbows and lift your arms to loop around his neck. “Just hug me,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. Your pout softens and you silently agree. He is warm. He also smells like sunscreen and something musky you attribute to that cologne he says makes him “smell like David Beckham’s butler”. Whatever the hell that means.
Your attitude shifts as soon as you stop trembling. The sun peeks out of the clouds and warms your shoulders. The water lapping at your abdomen seems calm and warm instead of rough and piercing. And the boy in your arms is patient instead of the devil reincarnate who wants you to become a human popsicle.
“Better,” you decide, sliding a hand to the nape of his neck and tracking your fingers through his silky hair. He just hums, content. The arms slung around your waist grip tight as you two sway together to no tune in particular.
A gruff voice shouts from the shore and you peel yourself from his chest, turning. It’s Dream. Waving like an idiot from the place where your bags and towels lay in the fine sand. He must’ve just got here after finishing up a plug-in at home, too busy to come with you guys when you left but apparently not too busy to leave ten minutes after. You just lift a hand, grinning at his excitement. Everybody likes beach day.
“You hungry?” You ask, voice quiet and sweet, and Sapnap just stares back at you with a blissful expression. You blink. He shakes his head, licking at his bottom lip.
“Uh, yeah.”
You pass him a weird look.
“Is the heat getting to your head?” You suggest with a mocking tone and lift a hand to press to his forehead. He bats you away with a smile.
“I will hold you under,” is all he says before he’s letting go and walking back up to the shore. You just gape, pausing, before wading after him.
“You wouldn’t.” You sound scandalized and he just laughs, waiting until you’re shoulder-to-shoulder with him so he can take your hand in his.
“Try me.” His lip quivers with a held-back laugh. You just roll your eyes and shove his shoulder. Brat.
The sandwiches and fruit he packed are well-needed replenishment. Well, however much fruit you get—Dream is a cantaloupe fiend. And he steals like half of the bag of jalapeño chips. This is why you can’t have nice things.
But the rest of the late-afternoon swings by quickly. The wind dies down with no protest and the beach gets less and less crowded as time drags into sunset territory.
“Go stand over there,” you order, gesturing to a lump of sand right next to what used to be a sandcastle.
“I don’t want a picture, Y/N,” Sapnap complains, not very go-with-the-flow.
“Too bad, baby.” You lift your phone and snap a few pictures of a grumpy looking Sapnap in front of the beautiful sunset.
“Smile like you love me,” Dream suggests, standing to the right of you with his hands on his hips. This feels like two parents forcing their eight year old to take pictures with the Mickey Mouse statue at Disney World. Your boyfriend pulls his face into what looks like halfway between a grimace and grin, but it’ll have to do. A smile stretches your lips subconsciously at his cute face.
“So cute,” you coo, and step forward to squeeze at his cheeks. He can’t help but chuckle and lean to press a kiss to your mouth. Okay, two. Would be three if Dream didn’t make a vomit noise and stomp back to your things like a petulant child. You just shake your head.
The ride home is perfect. Sapnap has the windows down, allowing you to lean your head out and feel the wind in your hair with closed eyes. Music different to his usual modern taste drifts lazily out of the speakers and makes you uncharacteristically sleepy for 9 pm. The second he parks in the driveway you jerk awake, blinking wildly around in the night air. A yawn splits your face and you lift a hand to cover it, turning to Sapnap with watery eyes. He just gazes at you, looking somewhat in a trance.
“I love you.”
You freeze, palm dropping from your mouth. The water in your eyes stills.
It’s the first time.
First time he’s said it.
And he doesn’t sound nervous. No shake in his inflection, no quiet tone. He says it like it’s the easiest thing, deciding to love you.
You love him too. Of course you do. Who wouldn’t?
“Really?” You ask, shy grin creeping onto your lips. He just nods, cheeks pink. You wait a beat, still processing. The wind slides gentle and easy, lifting the hair up off your neck. “I love you too, you know. You have to know.”
He just nods.
Of course he knows.
-
A/N: ask or send me some stuff!! requests, rants, anything. :D let me know what you think in the comments!
#sapnap#mcyt#sapnap x gn!reader#sapnap x you#sapnap fluff#sapnap drabble#sapnap one shot#sapnap oneshot#mcyt x reader#mcyt x you#bubblyhoneyfics#sapnap x reader
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Feel free to ignore this if it’s not specific enough or if you don’t know what to write for it but bestie I have been on a George kick for the last two or three weeks now and I think I’ve read every GNF fanfic there is to read 😭 I need awkward yet wholesome Gog content pls <3
first date
warnings: a singular kiss and some pretty awk flirting
words: 1634
tags: georgenotfound x gn!reader
A/N: anon... you read my mind. thank you sm for the request and musings.. i have also been on a bit of a gnf kick fucking Obviously bc ive posted two gnf fics this week—anyways. hope you enjoy and it's everything you've ever dreamed of ;]
requests/inbox status: open
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“That one looks like my Aunt Theresa.” Your voice rings out through the stale air of the gallery. You’re pointing at an almost grotesque depiction of a woman with half of a mangled pool noodle balanced on her head. George purses his lips, keeping in what he knows will be an explosive laugh. Better to not disturb the gallery monitors with similarly sized pool noodles shoved up their asses, evidenced by their eagle-like judgmental gaze.
“No, that’s Sloth from the Goonies,” he adds, and plops down onto the cushions of a bench parallel to the exhibit. You just shake your head, huffing out a laugh, and fall down next to him.
“I think after this we should go get tamales. I don’t want to go home yet.” You shift the small paper bag from the gift shop in your hands, tugging at the tag’s string. A glance up at him yields a fleeting yet cute view of his blushing face.
“Uh—yeah. That sounds great.” One hand reaches up to nervously tug at his curly locks as the other drops down onto the bench. You imperceptibly shift and stare down at it.
He really does have pretty hands. Long, pale fingers give way to slender and clean fingernails. They shift, lightning fast, and you glance up to his face like you hadn’t just been ogling his hands.
You’ve been caught.
Turning away, you focus your wide eyes and pink cheeks on a particularly colorful exhibit. He’s silent. You can tell he’d like to say something. You waste three more minutes staring around at the art pieces before he says something.
“Uh, tamales?” His voice is gentle, almost reassuring. Nearly apologetic.
“Yeah!” You exclaim, shooting up from your seat like a jack rabbit. He blinks but follows. “It’s just down the street—three minute walk, tops.”
“Cool.”
The whole walk to the tamale shop is blissfully full of chatter and niceties. You compliment his shoes, he returns the gesture with a nudge to your shoulder and a witty comment when he sees two birds fighting for a breadstick. You laugh your perfect laugh and his chest puffs big like a gorilla, proud that he’d coaxed not one but two of those laughs out of you. (The other was from when he made a “that’s what she said” joke in the gift shop; that was a sympathy laugh, maybe, but he didn’t dismiss it.)
“You ever been here before?” You ask, polite and courteous as you hold open the door for him. He shakes his head and steps forward in the moderately-long line, head tilted back to listen to you. “I always get the spicy beef. Never fails.”
“Mmm,” he hums in agreement, and scans the menu. Pork with green sauce sounds delicious right about now— then again, chipotle chicken.
“We can share a pineapple raisin one,” you chirp, sidling up next to him. He nods and tries to ignore how his fingers tingle when they’re so close to yours. “I can order first to give you more time if you’d like,” you add just as the line surges forward and there’s only one customer between you and the cash register. He nods again. The customer before you leaves for their table and then you’re ordering your food, hands pressed to the counter and leaning over to speak to the register attendant.
He orders quick, desperate to get the meal after his stomach rumbles crassly, and steps to the side after paying.
“George!” comes from the drink station and he turns with his eyebrows raised. It’s you, filling a cup with cherry Coke. “Can we eat outside?”
“Sure,” he shrugs, lips tilted in a smile, and thanks the person handing him his food before following you through the entrance again with the characteristic jingle of the bell. You park yourself on a bench right next to a fountain and he sits down beside you, careful to not crowd you too much.
You scoot an inch closer anyways.
You two eat wordlessly for a few minutes, hums and grunts of approval filling the silence as you drain your cherry Coke and he his regular Coke.
“That was so good,” he moans, taking a final sip from his straw before setting it down next to him. You made a noise of agreement.
“Here.” You’re holding up a forkful of the pineapple raisin tamale to him, hand underneath to catch any crumbs. He glances at your face nervously twice before taking the bite and starting to chew. It’s incredibly sweet and soft on his tongue and his face practically melts. You giggle, swiping a thumb across his scruffy chin to catch a masa grain and lick it off the pad of your finger. His stomach jumps at the touch.
“I—uh,” he trails off, staring at your moistened lips. “Thanks.”
You gaze right back, eyes flitting to every feature on his face. It’s like you can’t decide on what to look at.
“Sure,” you say simply, and the moment passes as you look down at your feet. A smile tugs at your mouth and he can barely see it climb over your lips. His eyes drift to watching the sway of the “open” flag at the neighboring book store, a couple leaning over a group of books in the window catching his gaze. They smile at each other fondly, hands locked together.
The sunset casts a glow over his bowed head. The slight evening breeze lifts his dark locks up off his forehead, jostling them playfully. The color of his sweater makes him glow warm, buttery orange against black jeans and periwinkle sneakers.
He really is a work of art.
It’s then that he turns, catching your eye with pink glowing cheeks and twinkling eyes.
“What?” He asks, sheepish grin splitting his lips.
“Nothing.” You shrug, eyes squinted, hiding a secret that’s obvious. “Just—admiring.”
Getting to his feet in a sudden bout of confidence, he tosses his trash into the bin nearby and stretches out a hand for you to take. “Can I walk you home?”
You just look for a second, but stand and take it like it’s the easiest decision in the world.
“I’d like nothing more, Georgie,” you shoot back. The pet name feels right on your tongue.
He shakes his head at it but tugs you right along. It’s west to your flat, so you walk in the light of the setting sun for a while.
His hand in yours is cool yet comfortable, skin smooth like silk. You can just barely smell his cologne; it’s something musky and sweet. But you can’t lean in and take a deep sniff— he probably wouldn’t see you again after that.
“I had a really nice time tonight,” you offer, hoping he’ll agree. Couples and friends say their goodbyes at stairways and restaurant doorways ahead of you two. You watch them, head full and hopeful.
“Me too.” He’s still overcome with that initial confidence and gives your hand a soft squeeze. “I of course only came for the tamales, but—.” He jostles your shoulder with a smile. You roll your eyes and shove right back.
“Of course,” you continue, nodding. “Wouldn’t expect that you’d want any of my lively company. Course not. Never.”
“Never,” he agrees, but the tone of his voice gives him away.
The stoop of your flat approaches quickly. You eye it warily, not wanting to part so quickly, but sigh heavily when you stop right at the familiar jagged sidewalk and scuffed gold paint of the door trim.
“So.” You turn towards him, letting go of his hand.
“So,” he replies back, lips pressed together tightly.
“Will you go on a date with me again?” You ask, all sweet and curious, and he tries not to let his heart thump too loudly out of his chest.
“I— Yeah. Yes. Of course.”
“Glad we’re on the same page,” you say through your smile. “Oh!” You lift the forgotten paper bag up and brandish it. “I actually got this for you. I saw you eyeing it at the gift shop, so.”
He takes the bag from you, eyebrows furrowed, and peers into it. A small green ceramic frog with a pale blue butterfly on the tip of its nose stares right back.
“That’s—wow. Thank you so much.”
“Yup.”
A beat of silence passes and your shoulder turns, in what he thinks is goodbye, so he grabs your forearm.
“Hey—”
“Yeah?” You know exactly what he’s thinking. Your voice is hopeful.
“Can I—Can I kiss you?” His voice breaks slightly at the end, and he swallows the nervousness.
“Yes,” you breathe and your head tilts up subconsciously. He scans your face, hand sliding down from your elbow to grasp your wrist.
God. You’re so cute.
And so he leans forward, cups your cheek with one hand, and presses a firm yet gentle kiss to your lips. You’re sweet, gentle, and you smell like lavender soap and flowers. You breathe him in, lips moving against his, and feel like you’re floating.
When you two break apart, he hovers just slightly apart from your face. His hand has slipped from its place on your cheek to your jaw, thumb pressed to the bone and rubbing slowly.
You observe the details of his face. How his nose slopes just slightly to the left, how he’s got a freckle on his eyelid, how the scruff on his jaw melts into the dark of his hair; has he always been this handsome?
He steps away, swallowing, and drops his hands to his pockets.
“Okay.”
“Alright,” you exhale, trying to not scream or cry or throw up in the same breath. “See you—…when I see you.” He nods quickly, cheekbones blushed red. “Hopefully soon.”
“Yeah. Soon.”
He calls you the next day.
Definitely more than soon.
-
A/N: ask or send me some stuff!! requests, rants, anything. :D let me know what you think in the comments!
#georgenotfound#gnf#mcyt#georgenotfound x reader#georgenotfound x gn!reader#gnf x reader#gnf x gn!reader#gnf imagine#gnf one shot#gnf x you#mcyt fluff#honey answers#my lovely anon#bubblyhoneyfics
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can i request a fic where sapnap takes the reader to his hometown? like the classic going to places he went to when he was younger. maybe playgrounds and ice cream shops idk
places i used to go
warnings: language of course, an allusion to virginap, my uneducated guess of what sapnap was like in highschool, tiny detail of long haired!sapnap, singular canon detail of underage drinking, jokish about marriage
tags: sapnap x gn!reader
words: 2191
A/N: you are a god, anon. i love comfy and nostalgic fics like these and it was so fun to write. if you hate it dont tell me but if you like it lemme know akskdjd
inbox/requests: open
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The wind whips fast on your bare fingers, cool and quick and raising goosebumps in its wake. You blink in the haze of the early sunset, head lolled to the side of the headrest. It feels good.
“That’s where I went to high school.” Sapnap interrupts your thoughts and points a finger at a collection of tall brick buildings down a side street. The silver of the lettering is dull, but you can still feel the nostalgia.
“And you’re about to see the park that me and my friends used to hang out at after work and—actually, nevermind.” His arm drops to the middle console and he looks straight ahead with slightly pinker cheeks.
“Do what?” You ask, voice all sweet, and a grin grows on your face. You turn towards him and wiggle your eyebrows.
“Nothing. Homework.” He avoids your eye contact and hikes his hand up higher on the steering wheel. “Anyways— Do you want to get some food before we head out? I know a great place.”
You two were just coming to a close on your little trip to visit his family; it was his step-mom’s birthday and you decided to make a week of it. It was your first long-term trip with Sapnap, and also your first time meeting his dad’s side of the family. You were proud to say she loved you. His little sister took a little more effort to talk to you of her own volition, but soon enough she was on your side.
You have a couple hours to kill before making your flight back home, so Sapnap has taken it upon himself to give you a quick tour of his hometown.
“Yeah,” you decide, bottom lip popped out. “Can we get ice cream after?”
“Uh, duh.” The Neighbourhood’s Stargazing starts through the speakers and he reaches to turn it down. “I’m so ready to get home and sleep.” He stretches his neck in his seat, letting out an uncharacteristically inappropriate grunt when his bones pop. You make a disgusted face, nose wrinkling, but stretch your own back, slumping down in the seat. The day had been full of packing up and this horrible hike his dad liked to do early in the mornings, so you two were pretty beat.
“Okay, we’re here,” he announces three sleepy minutes later in his best attempt at a whisper. Lifting your head off of the corner of your seat, you blink in the setting sunlight as a yawn splits your face. “You’re so cute.”
“Shut up,” you mumble, and struggle to get your seatbelt off in that post-nap haze. You’d barely been asleep for thirty seconds, damn it. The air is a swampy heat when you step out of the car onto rocky gravel and nearly twist your ankle climbing over the curb. Sapnap catches you by the lower back, trying to hide his laugh but failing miserably. You slide him a dirty look, smacking his shoulder as hard as you can manage while limping towards the front entrance.
The door jingles when you two breach the doorway, alerting a bored-looking hostess that the circus has arrived. She looks at Sapnap a second longer than she should, eyebrows screwed together in silent confusion. But she leads the two of you to a booth near a large window, handing you sticky menus and promptly fucking right off to the host station. She nearly runs.
“Do you know her?” You ask, inconspicuously hiding your face in the search for their 24/7 breakfast menu. You feel his eyes on you.
“Don’t think so.” He leans on one elbow and slides his phone out of his jeans’ pocket. In the 25 seconds it takes for you to find their french toast and sides menu, he has browsed and closed his phone with an animatedly shocked look on his face.
“What?” You give him a weird look and put down the menu.
“I totally went to homecoming with that girl.” He eyes the hostess. You glance over at her again, meeting her gaze, and offer a polite smile. She turns away quickly, eyes wide.
“She’s cute,” you say, voice high and fake, and he drums his fingers on the tabletop as an amused look makes its way onto his face.
“Are you—?”
“What?” You reply right back.
“Nothing.”
Thank God the server comes up to your table then and starts asking for drink orders, or else you’d have to admit (sheepishly) you were a tiny eensy-weensy bit annoyed. Only a tad. But after requesting a Dr. Pepper and a water the conversation surrounding the nervous-looking hostess dies.
“I’m so hungry I think I feel my stomach shrinking.” You flop your head onto your arm on the table top and make a whiny noise into the stack of napkins your server left at the table. Sapnap rubs his thumb into the side of your forearm, touch warm and nearly dissolving the pangs of hunger and jealousy.
“You weren’t hungry an hour ago.” He lifts your hand to his face and plants a kiss on the back of it. Oh, pulling out the big guns, huh? “I would have made you something.”
You tilt onto your chin, pouting, and stare up at his cute face. His cute, scruffy, perfectly-kissable face.
“I think I got hungry staring at you for half an hour.” A mischievous grin grows on your previously-petulant face and he just shakes his head.
“I do have that effect,” he admits with cockiness in his tone, lifting his eyebrows and leaning back into the booth with his lips pursed.
The server returns with two glasses and takes your food orders onto their little yellow notepad. You chug the water down when they leave for the kitchen, getting your lap and chin thoroughly wet in the process. Sapnap just snorts at you and shoves the napkins your way.
“So,” you start, patting dry your jeans. “tell me what you were like in high school.” You cross your arms and settle into the booth, smirk on your lips.
“What I was like?” He parrots, sipping at his soda, looking thoughtful. “Firstly, a virgin.” You make a noise. Duh. Dude had a buzz cut his junior year. (You’ve seen the pictures. His step-mom particularly likes them.) “Secondly, I was actually— well, I wasn’t popular, but I had a lot of friends. We were all semi-athletic lonely band kids but we had fun. Had one girlfriend senior year but she went to Cal Tech in the fall and I didn’t. I, um, worked at a Dairy Queen in the summers and gained so much weight I had to lose all over again for Unified Track.”
“Relatable,” you comment, drinking noisily at your water. He fiddles with the paper straw wrapper and crunches it up into a ball. It goes soaring into your drink with a quiet “Kobe” and you just give him a look. He smiles toothily right back at you. “Stop being cute, I’m trying to listen to your story.”
“Oh, my bad,” he mocks. “Anyways. That’s what I was like in highschool.” You fish the paper ball out of your water and flick it wetly at his arm. It sticks and you choke on a laugh, cheeks puffed.
Two plates of warm food are set down loudly onto the table and you thank the server with a surprised smile, Sapnap mirroring you.
Two minutes of wordless chewing passes, minds occupied just by “food, me eat” instead of anything related to your previous conversation. You realize that Sapnap is one of the loudest chewers ever, and he realizes that you fail to notice the streak of maple syrup in your hair.
“C’mere,” he mumbles through a mouthful of omelet and hash browns and beckons you with his hand. You lean closer, chewing slowly, as he pats a napkin at the strands of hair trapped in syrup.
“Thanks, baby.” You take the napkin from him and pause your assault of the warm french toast before you to clean the sticky sugar out of your hair. He just watches you, half of a smile on his lips.
You two finish your food in record time. It’s borderline vacuum-like. There’s a short grace period where you just sit like two lazy cats, slumped down in the booth and holding your full stomachs. But the check comes soon after, and you both pay your way and are out of the restaurant without any mad dashes for the bathroom. A miracle, really, because of the American-like amount of butter you both consume.
“I’m a much more functional person now,” you mutter into the cotton of his shoulder, swinging your hand in his. He just hums in agreement.
“I guess we’re not getting ice cream, then,” he teases, and you just groan in response.
“I don’t feel like having diarrhea on a plane, unfortunately.” You sigh heavily when you have to split and get into your respective sides of the rental car.
The entire trip (somewhat roundabout because of the amount of side quests to show you things from his childhood) to the airport Sapnap is a chatterbox. He’s like this when he has sugar: either bouncing off the walls with energy or talking your ear off.
“That’s where my dad proposed to my step-mom. I was kinda young but I remember being surprised at how big the ring was— dude broke the bank for her.” It’s a little gazebo you catch a glimpse of through the trees in a park. It probably was an incredibly picturesque moment, and you can sense how much she must have loved it. With just meeting them this weekend, you can already see how much love those two have for each other.
You hope people can see how much you love Sapnap.
“Oh my God, it’s still there.” He points out the side of your window to what looks like a Dairy Queen that has been through World War 3. “My buddy Eric and I once spilled a gallon of that liquid ice-cream-shit all over the men’s bathroom.”
You shoot him a horrified look. “Why was it in the bathroom?”
He just smirks.
“—And that’s my Uncle Ron’s house. Had my first beer there.”
“And last, hopefully,” you add, pulling a disgusted face. The two story bungalow is cute, and one of your favorite colors: olive green. “That shit is nasty.”
He just shrugs and continues down the side street.
“Is this the park you were talking about?”
He pulls into the gravelly parking lot of a small clearing of tall trees, a picnic table and campfire sat squat in the middle. But he doesn’t respond, just turning the car off and climbing out. He reaches the passenger door without speaking, and opens it for you. You climb carefully out, confused.
“Come on.” He takes your hand and starts for a small path to the left of the picnic table. The mid-sunset shade envelopes the both of you.
“I hope this isn’t where you kill me.”
“No,” he snorts. “I just wanted to show you something.”
It’s just a few moments of stumbling through the damp underbrush before you’re coming face to face with a small, mossy pond that sits right underneath an incredibly old willow tree. He stops right on the edge of the rocky path and turns toward you.
“This your make out spot?” You ask between a grin as he snakes an arm around your waist and tugs you flush to him. Your innocent smile fades when you feel the press of his lips to the side of your neck, light and ticklish. Oh.
“No,” he murmurs, and just breathes you in. “I came here once—the night before I graduated highschool. And I told myself when I really really loved someone I’d take them here with me.” He sways with you in his grasp, a gentle and song-less dance.
You grip his shoulder tighter in your hand and lean into him.
“That’s— awfully romantic, huh?” Your voice is quiet. Almost nervous. He just makes a noise of agreement.
“So here we are.” His voice is the opposite of yours, all strong and confident.
You two just move together for a moment. The sun breaks through the tree canopy, shining bright orange down onto the glassy surface of the pond. Crickets and frogs chirp back and forth as the willow vines swing in a cool evening breeze. You watch nature come alive around you, suddenly grateful for the man in your arms.
“Don’t propose,” you whisper, breaking the gentle tension. A laugh breaks the silence and he’s pulling away to look at you. Maybe in disbelief. A strand of hair falls into his eyes and you brush it away, fingers stilling on his temple and sliding down onto his cheek. Stubble scrapes against the skin of your palm and he stares at you through those meadow eyes.
You realize in that moment that he is exactly himself. Of course he is. He’s Sapnap, and everything that encompasses that. Dark and light and fiery and cool. He always has been, and always will be.
You realize you wouldn’t mind if he proposed.
-
A/N: ask or send me some stuff!! requests, rants, anything. let me know what you think
#sapnap#mcyt#sapnap x gn!reader#sapnap x reader#sapnap x you#sapnap fluff#sapnap drabble#sapnap one shot#sapnap oneshot#mcyt x reader#mcyt x you#honey answers#my lovely anon#sapnap fanfic#bubblyhoneyfics
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boyfriend vibes
warnings: cursing, sapnap being cute, unjustified hate for americanized greek food bc he’s a brat and silly (edit: he said he’s not picky but idc it’s lol)
tags: sapnap x gn!reader
words: don’t care idk it’s pretty short heh
A/N: you guys are getting fucking fed with two post in two days... slurp it up
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let’s talk about boyfriend!sapnap
a topic that frequents my mind before i go to sleep
definitely the type to get bored and try on all your clothes no matter the size
“let’s be honest, these pants make my ass look fat”
and def uses your shampoo
maybe it reminds him of you, maybe it smells nice, maybe it suds so good he has to snap a soapy titty pic and send it to you
true to his name, he’s pretty sappy
has to have a part of his body on yours at all times when you’re together
watching TV? hand on your calf
out to dinner? arm around the back of your chair and just brushing your shoulder
baking cookies at 3 am? head on your shoulder, just resting comfortably
don’t even get me started on when you’re sleeping
he definitely likes being the little spoon
and honestly who doesn’t?!
he just likes being in your arms :.)
this dude bitches constantly about greek food in florida bc while he’s not generally pretty picky about it sometimes a gross food ruins his day
“this sucks, gyros aren’t supposed to have fucking lettuce” “king....chill” “i won’t fucking chill this sucks and i want to go home”
“it’s spahn-a-kopita not spOOnakopita you fucking carrot”
he enjoys nothing more on the weekends than laying outside on a picnic blanket and listening to music with you
florida is hot as fuck in the summer but he’ll suffer just to listen to you hum to his music and nod your head
makes him feel proud, honestly
you constantly are running your hand through his hair
tugging and smoothing it down back and forth
makes his cheeks red 0.0
one of his favorite things is getting ready with you
he watches you get ready in the mirror sitting on the (closed, dw) toilet and suggesting little details like jewelry or a shirt color
he’s also a fucking nerd about TV and movies
“did you know she was like 16 when he kissed her in the parking lot there?? pretty weird but it’s judd nelson so nobody cared i guess”
“omg that’s a reference to [blah blah blah nerd stuff]”
“DONT GO INTO THE HAUNTED HOUSE YOU INSOLENT FU—”
one time you tried to pick up one of his expensive mangas and he nearly flipped his shit
“i just dusted that babe!!” “i just wanted to look—” “okay look from afar and get your grubby little fingers off of it”
(idk why i’m writing him so fussy but he is a 20 year old male so)
he remembers all your birthdays, all your anniversaries, all your favorite foods, all your favorite colors and songs
he likes to show you how he cares
i get the vibe that his love language is acts of service
so he’ll buy a couple prints from your favorite movie and hang them up above your desk like “i thought it’d be a cute graphic wall :]”
maybe cook you your favorite comfort meal and make a cute little set up with candles and nice napkins
even if you two aren’t doing anything productive or necessarily important he always listens to what you have to say
definitely brings up interests you’ve told him about earlier bc he wants you to know he is listening and understanding
makes fun of your old instagram accounts and can’t even fathom why you decided that haircut was appropriate for eighth grade
his wallpaper is a picture of a selfie from your emo phase
“come on..... i love the bangs.”
both your lock screen and home screen are over-edited pictures of his minecraft skin crouching bc you know it he thinks it’s funny
one time he brought home flowers from publix and said “flowers for my flower ;)”
sappy piece of shit
fitting
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A/N: ask or send me stuff!! requests, rants, anything. :D leave me some stuff in the comments too!
#sapnap#mcyt#sapnap x reader#sapnap x gn!reader#sapnp x you#sapnap fluff#sapnap fic#sapnap fanfic#sapnap headcanon#sapnap one shot#mcyt x reader#mcyt x you#bubblyhoneyfics
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win for me
warnings: lAnGuAgE, alcohol consumption (both reader and all other characters are of age to drink), marijuana use, Making Out™️, a miniscule Flowers from 1970 reference. PSA: WHEN UR INTOXICATED AND/OR AT A PARTY, TELL UR FRIENDS WHO YOU WILL BE WITH AND WHERE YOU WILL BE AT ALL TIMES. DRINK AND PARTY SAFELY!
tags: sapnap x fem!reader
summary: a collection of moments throughout the beginning of your relationship
words: 5000
A/N: even though this isn’t my most organized or perfect fic this was so incredibly fun to write. and it’s a college!au!! one of my favs. hope you guys like!! let's pretend the pandemic doesn't exist for this one too (please wear ur masks btw)
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Sophomore Year:
Smells like shit in here is your first thought upon entering the laundromat.
It does, in all honesty. What would you expect a place where college students wash three months of dirty clothes and comforters with vomit to smell like? Urine and just a hint of marijuana, incidentally. The door closes noisily behind you and a guy in a black baseball hat turns his head at the noise. Half of his face is hidden underneath the shadow of his scruff and he says nothing, but you still offer an obligatory polite-stranger smile. The place is pretty deserted, what for it being nearly 4 in the morning. And you’re a rare kind of customer; only a few things to wash and you brought your own detergent.
There’s an empty washer next to an old woman in an acid-trip of a parka, and you sweep past the few other patrons with your mesh bag close. The man in the hat nods at you as you pass, looking up from his phone.
Okay. Dark load in one and delicates in the other, you remind yourself. The quarters get pushed through the slot (not without dropping three and having to scramble to pick them up before they disappear between the machines) and you fill the dispensers with a flowery laundry detergent your roommates hates. Oh, and the clothes go in. Done. You relax into a cracked plastic booth around the corner of the machine, pulling a book of crosswords from your bag.
Somebody yelps halfway through filling out a five letter word (“a series of thoughts, images, and sensations occurring in a person's mind during sleep”) and you jump. Baseball Cap rips open the dryer, fumbling around and supplying a pair of gray sweatpants. You can’t help but watch. He digs through both front pockets, pulling out a wad of dollar bills. He sighs, shoves the pants back into the dryer, and starts it with a hard push.
“Gut feeling?” You ask. He looks around for a second and settles his gaze upon you. Nice eyebrows, you think.
“Yeah,” he laughs, slightly nervous. “Yeah. I wore them yesterday and just remembered I put some tip money in my pocket.” Leaning back onto the shelf behind him, he shoves his phone into his pocket and folds his arms tight to his chest.
“I feel you,” you empathize, and set down your pencil. “I washed a parking ticket with my underwear last week.”
He stutters out a laugh, nodding.
“That must’ve sucked,” he adds.
“Yeah.” You shrug. “I wasn’t going to pay it anyways, but would’ve been nice to keep it for memory’s sake.” Rubbing at your knee offhandedly, you just watch him. He’s cute. And easy to make conversation with.
“Hey, um,” he mutters and clears his throat. “Do you by chance know some guy named Karl? Tall, messy brown hair and a horrible laugh?”
You open your mouth, then close it.
“Actually—,” you start but huff out a laugh. “Yeah, he’s uh, he’s dating my roommate. Why’d you ask?”
Reaching a hand to rub at his neck, his face twists into something sheepish.
“I’ve seen you at some parties this semester. I didn’t mean to sound creepy like that— I just—yeah.” His cheeks flush pink and he looks down to the ground.
“No worries,” you say, barely even thinking. “I think I’ve seen you too. You’re in Delta Tau Delta, right?”
“Nah, nah,” he laughs. “Just got some friends in there.”
“Ah.” You nod.
The conversation falls into silence, but not uncomfortable silence. He pulls out his phone again, and you look back to the crossword in front of you. The old woman between you leaves with a humongous load of blankets and a small family leaves with a cart full of bags; now it’s just you two.
When the washer with your delicates ding you nearly jump two feet in the air. Exhaling, you set your work down and open the door.
“Shit,” you curse as two bras fall onto the tile. You reach down to get a hand on a black lace bra and hide it quickly under your elbow. A sneaker squeaks loud in the almost-empty room and you see Baseball Cap’s shoulders.
“Here.” He’s kneeling as he hands you your pink bra and you accept it, biting your lower lip.
“Thanks,” you mumbles, slightly embarrassed, and step back to shove those bras and a couple pairs of your underwear into your bag. He offers you a small smile and backs off to his own machines, humming an off-key version of Unchained Melody to himself. Your other load of laundry gets shoved right on top of your delicates.
It’s when you’re nearly out the door, bell jingling, that you think to look back.
“Hey,” you start, almost stuttering for no reason. “What’s your name?”
He turns, dark eyebrows raised.
“My—uh… My friends call me Sapnap. You can call me that too.” Rosy cheeks once again; you seem to be making him awfully nervous.
“Sapnap.” You try it in your mouth, pursing your lips. “Okay. I’ll see you around Sapnap.”
He nods, affirming your statement.
“See you around Y/N.”
It doesn’t hit you until you’re buckling your seatbelt and starting your car that you realize you didn’t tell him your name.
Perhaps he knew more about you than you thought.
Yeah, you laugh to yourself. Karl’s got a big mouth.
Junior Year:
It takes you a collective twelve minutes to go talk to him.
It’s quiet in the library, students that happen to come here to study or procrastinate few and far between the scattered tables. Your poison today is a 4 page history paper on Normandy that you’d been staring at the instructions for for days. You’d already written a bunch of, frankly, horseshit for the body, but the introduction and conclusion were throwing you for a loop.
The vibes in Ridgeback Hall were also certainly off, today more than any other day; the main help-desk was empty and everybody had to do the tedious task of locating niche textbooks themselves.
Lifting your head from the wood of the table, you squint and focus your vision on the guy in the white tee and denim jacket that had been the focus of your thoughts for minutes. He chews at the end of his pencil, mouth screwed up into a ball, and shoots daggers at the empty notebook in front of him. You’re surprised it hasn’t caught on fire yet just from his gaze.
“Sapnap!” You whisper-shout, stretching your arms across the table as if it would make him any closer. A person with purple hair jumps at your voice but turns back to their laptop. “Sapnap!” you try again, tapping two fingers on the table. His head jerks up, eyebrows furrowed and an angry expression on his face, but softens at the sight of you.
“Y/N,” he counters, equally as loud but with a smile on his face.
“What’re you doing?”
“Calculus.” He sticks his tongue out, making an awfully tortured face. You laugh and wave your fingers at him, gesturing for him to come closer. He just huffs out a sigh, stacks all his papers in one pile, and gets up. The trek over to your table is short but he takes it so slowly you wonder if he always walks like that. Like a varsity basketball player who just got off a horse.
“You’re so slow.”
“Shut up,” he grumbles and settles into a chair across from you. “It’s 2 pm, give me a break. I need a Redbull.”
“Those are bad for you, you know,” you say matter-of-factly and drop your chin onto your hand. He’s even cuter from this angle, you think briefly. He just rolls his eyes.
“Whatever, Miss I’d-like-some-coffee-with-my-sugar-and-cream,” he teases, pointing to your venti iced coffee. It’s about as pale as the color of a band-aid. You just sigh and close your eyes. “You tired?” He flips his pencil in his hand and leans back into the seat, sighing.
“Yeah,” you mumble. “I haven’t slept yet today.”
“Wow, you’re dumb.” He looks scandalized. You just shrug.
“Perhaps. I don’t really know why I did it actually— just for funzies!” You raise an arm but let it drop back down. “I stayed up playing Sims.”
“Feel that. I play Minecraft with my buddies until like 2 am every night too. It’s nice,” he decides and folds his arms across his chest. Your eyes flit over to his strong arms, admiring the way his denim shirt looks around them. Thick.
“Do you have a girlfriend?”
“What?” He says too loudly and it warrants a ‘shush’ from another student. He reddens, but looks back down to you. “I—why do you ask?” You shrug, eyebrows raised.
“Just wondering. You’re too cute to not have one.”
“Right,” he huffs, but his cheeks stay pink. You two fall into easy silence, his eyes trained on the notebook in front of him and yours closed peacefully. “Are you dating anyone?”
They snap open not-so-peacefully.
“Nope. You wanna submit a boyfriend application?” A smile cracks your lips and he grins back.
“Maybe,” he replies and stares at your mouth. “I have to say—,” He stretches into a yawn. “I think I’m qualified.”
“Oh, yeah?” Your eyebrow quirks. “And why are you so qualified?”
“Well, first of all, I work at Ace Hardware. That’s where cool people work.” He presses one finger into his palm. Then two. “And I have a bunch of free time because said job at Ace Hardware only likes scheduling me in the mornings. Plus, I’m hot.” He shrugs.
You nod faux-seriously, considering his list.
“Those are very good qualities, sir. I’ll have to get back to you on that.” You pause. “Okay, I’ll schedule an interview. How’s 7 pm at the Chili’s on Main? Chili’s is the designated interview place.” You wiggle your eyebrows. He just smiles at you, shaking his head in disbelief.
“That was smooth.”
“Yeah, I know.” You carefully study your nails. “I’m pretty impressive.”
“Clearly,” he mutters and chuckles. “But I do like their salsa. And margaritas. We got a deal?” He holds out a large hand. You take it, squeezing tightly.
“Hell yes.”
When you see the man called Sapnap a week later, you are very obviously in a different state of mind.
Same state, same college town, but very different blood alcohol contents.
“Sappy!” You shout, raising your arms above your head with a stupid grin on your face. He turns, that familiar look of surprise evident in his expression.
“Y/N,” he laughs and approaches your group of friends in the kitchen. It’s Greek Wedding night at Delta Tau Delta, and you assume Sapnap came to support Delta’s “groom” Alex. You’d gotten uncharacteristically drunk, trading air for sangria, and you were now in the incredible stage where everyone was both your friend and your favorite person.
Throwing an arm around his shoulders, you mash your face into his bicep and giggle.
“Missed you so much,” you try to manage out of your mouth, but it comes out slurred and stuttered. “So much.” You’d gone to Chili’s two days before and promised another ‘interview’ in the next few days, but it felt like two months away from your beloved. Beloved friend, that is. Only one date.
“Yeah?” He places a hesitant hand on your back and nudges you into a standing position. “How much have you had to drink?”
“Oh, shhhh,” you mumble and close your eyes. “Only— a lot.” Blinking them back open, you zero your gaze in on a bottle of Ciroc half-empty and looking very tempting on the kitchen island across from where you’re leaned up against the kitchen sink. He catches your gaze and steps in front of you, pleasant face filling your vision. You gasp.
“You are so cute.” Sliding your palms up onto his face, you hold his scruffy cheeks in your hands and smile all dopey at him.
“Is that your brain or the alcohol telling you that?”
“Uh,” you swallow. “Both. And my heart.”
He just shakes his head and his chest moves with a heavy laugh.
“Glad to hear it.”
“Are you having fun?” You ask, all concerned and furrowed eyebrows. You look like you’re genuinely interested and worried about if he’s having a good time or not, and it makes his expression melt.
“I’m having lots of fun,” he passes over his shoulder as he flips on the tap and fills a red solo cup with water. “In fact, I’m gonna have a nice, cold glass of water right now.” He shakes it like an owner offering their dog a treat.
You eye the cup in his hand, having half a thought that this might be some sort of backwards psychology move. The other half wins.
“That sounds so good right now— can I drink some?” Your eyebrows pull together and your bottom lip drops into a pout. It makes him blink for a second. He remembers the little game you’re playing and just hands it over, smug. You gulp it down quickly and crush the empty plastic into your palm with an exaggerated exhale. “Hit the spot,” you sigh, and pat your stomach fondly.
“You hungry?” Sapnap asks you as he steadies you with two hands on your shoulders. Something pops into your head at his words: a set of two McChickens and an Oreo milkshake.
“Oh my God,” you gasp, and mirror him by placing your hands on his shoulders. “Can we go to McDonald’s?”
He just shakes his head, grin wide on his lips, and shrugs. Perfect teeth, you think.
“I haven’t drank anything, so I’m good to drive.” He pulls his keys from his pocket. “I know you’re smashed right now so—do you feel safe with me?” The question falls from his mouth and you truly consider it, pulling your lip between your teeth.
“Yeah. I’ll take this just in case,” you say, and take a large dinner fork from the counter next to you. It has some red liquid on it that you brush off onto the fabric of your jeans.
“That’s actually gross.”
“Yeah.” You grip it tighter in your head. “But it’ll do the job if you try any shit. I’ll put this in your eyeball.” Brandishing it, a smile stretches onto your mouth. He just shakes his head and heads for the back door, jerking a hand in your direction to get you to follow him.
The cool night air explodes on your face when you step onto the porch and it makes you blink rapidly. Sapnap is right at your side, offering a forearm as you slowly make your way down the two back porch steps. A tall blonde smoking half of a blunt makes a grunt noise as you two pass and your knight-in-shining armor looks up.
“Gonna go get some food. Want anything?” Sapnap stops on the rocky path to the sidewalk, tilted up to hear the blonde’s response. The other guy shakes his head but nods to you in passing.
“I’ll tell her friends where she went,” says the blonde, and disappears through the sliding glass doors.
Your hand falls from his forearm to his hand and grasps it tightly, swinging back and forth as you stumble to his car. You flash him a grin that he just chuckles at.
“Watch your step,” he warns as you yank on the handle of the passenger door and nearly fall off of the curb.
“I’m fine,” you huff, and scramble to get yourself upright into the seat and buckled. He closes your door and jogs to the driver’s seat, climbing in and starting the engine quicker than your head comprehends.
The small space fills with the sound of Letters to Cleo as he’s maneuvering out of his parking spot and he slaps a hand at the stereo button almost immediately. His cheeks redden as he glances at you once.
“I love Letters to Cleo,” you admit, and switch it back on. Ah, Co-Pilot. A classic. “Be my co-pilot!” You sing, loud and sharp. He shakes his head but huffs out a reluctant laugh.
“My older sister loved them. Bit old for my taste, but—you know. Can’t deny that I love a little bit of 90’s angst.”
“Absolutely,” you nod vigorously and pick at your nail. “Oh!” The fork magically reappears at your side and you grab at it. “For my McChickens.”
“And for me,” he adds.
“Yup. You too.” But you drop it onto the seat and lean forward, fumbling with the volume dial until you feel the lead singer’s voice thumping into your heart. “I love this lady!” You shout and rock your head to the beat.
Shaking his head, his shoulders move in an easy laugh. The drive-thru line is kind of busy for 2 am, he notes, pulling in right behind a navy BMW sedan. But it moves quickly, especially when you’re moving in your seat, scream-singing the lyrics to I Want You To Want Me.
“Yeah,” he says, loud into the mic. “Two.”
“Alright.” The voice reports from the speaker, a background clicking joining their bored tone. “Two McChickens, a double cheeseburger—ketchup and pickle only— , a medium fry, and an Oreo McFlurry. Anything else, sir?”
Sapnap chews on his lip, and glances at you. You just give an encouraging thumbs up.
“That’ll be all,” he reports.
“Second window, and your total is $9.67.”
He barely has time to call a “thank you so much!” before the line ends with a click. Rude.
“Jesus Christ,” you moan the second you sink your teeth into your first sandwich.
“Agreed,” he mumbles and pushes as much cheeseburger he can fit into his mouth.
“This,” you start, swallowing. “is the sexiest thing I’ve encountered in all of my years. I thank all higher powers when I consume McChickens…” Trailing off for dramatic effect, you stare down the sandwich before mimicking a dinosaur war cry and practically shoving it down your throat. He just nods in agreement.
“It’s so nice out tonight,” Sapnap comments, swinging a look out his rolled-down window. He parked right in front of the Campus Quad, large bubbling fountain the show to your dinner. And some geese fighting each other for half a rotting hot dog.
“Mhm.” You crumple up your wrapper trash and toss it into the empty paper bag. “Could totally go for a swim.”
He turns and gives you a look. You look right back.
“Should we?” It’s barely a question.
“Um, hell yes,” is all it takes for you to say before you’re clambering out of the car and starting for the fountain. He follows closely after, jogging to catch up with your borderline track-star sprints.
“Wait up!” He calls as you reach the border of the fountain.
“Ugh,” you sigh, impatient. “Hurry up.”
“Mouthy,” he grumbles before kicking off his shoes and bending to fold his pants up over his knees. You just climb straight in and brave the cold.
Squealing, you hop from one foot to the other, shoulders tight as you get used to the freezing water. He laughs and climbs in right beside you.
“Shit,” he curses, and shivers. “This sucks.”
“You suck,” you quip right back and splash around. He stares, disgusted, at the water soaking up your jeans all the way up to your knees.
“You’re gross for wearing jeans in a fountain. That’s worse than wet socks.” He starts to move around as feeling comes back into his toes.
“What, would you prefer me taking my pants off?” A sassy look paints your face and he rolls his eyes.
“No, but you could’ve folded them up like a normal person.”
“I think you forget,” you start, and splash a palmful of water his way. “I’m quirky.”
He gasps, face twisting as the water hits his thighs.
“You’re dead.”
If campus police were patrolling the Quad right now, they’d see two college juniors wading around in a fountain, water up to their knees, having a competition to see who can inflict the most damage. He won, it seems, because your shirt is drenched all the way up to your ribs.
“Okay!” You shout, hands spread to brace yourself. The water in his palm falls. “I’m cold and I want my other McChicken.”
“Fine,” he sighs, and with some difficulty manages to get out of the fountain and back into his shoes. You just make your way back over to his car barefoot, braving the mulch and poorly-sanded concrete.
You both finish your food quickly, discussing menial things like how fast food restaurants always skimp on the pickles and how it’s truly a disservice to the world that so many people don’t know it’s Biggie singing the song Kat dances on the table to in the 1999 classic 10 Things I Hate About You.
When Sapnap pulls up to your house, he shifts the car into park and lets loose a heavy sigh. You whip around, hand on your buckle, and sport a very confused look on your face.
“I’m tired,” is all he says. Head falling onto the seat, he rolls over to give you a half-lidded look. You nod empathetically and climb very carefully out of his passenger seat. Your drunk muscles haven't caught up to your mainly sober brain, which is impairing your ability to look like a functioning human being.
“Thank you for tonight,” you chirp, smiling in at him with your arms folded on the open window sill. The half-drank Oreo McFlurry is lukewarm in your hand. He stares at your flushed lips.
“Anytime you want a drunk McChicken let me know.” He winks. “I have a gift card.”
“You spoil me,” you coo, and step up onto the sidewalk. “I’ll see you sometime soon, yeah?”
He nods, pursed lips fighting a grin.
Cute, you both think at the same time.
Sometime soon, somehow, means the very next day.
It’s breezy yet uncharacteristically hot out, and certainly way too bright for a hungover Y/N.
You’re sat on the porch swing, nursing a hot decaf coffee with lots of sugar and cream. Sunglasses sit comfortably on your nose, but you still have to squint. The pills you took have yet to kick in, so all you have to do is wait and try not to vomit into your mug. Suddenly, your phone lights up and buzzes to life. You press the green button and lift to your ear.
“What do you want?” Your voice is awfully froggy, you realize, and clear your throat.
“Good morning to you too.” Sapnap’s voice rings clear yet husky into your ear. The corners of your lips twitch up into a smile. God, you’re whipped just for the sound of his voice.
“It is definitely not a good morning,” you grumble and switch him into speaker phone. You drop the phone into your lap and stretch out further on the swing.
“Good morning for me,” he chirps cheerfully. “Take anything for the headache?”
“Yes,” you report, sounding like a pouting child and rubbing two fingers into your temple. “Some idiot fed me ice cream last night so this morning I woke up having to both shit and throw up.”
“Aww,” he sympathizes, sounding way too entertained. “That sounds like a you problem.” You stuck out your tongue, but upon realizing he can’t see it, make a ‘hmph’ noise into the mic. “Anyways. I called to see if you wanted to go get breakfast with me. Waffle House, specifically.” You make a face but lift yourself up off the swing, wincing.
“I saw a rat eat an entire piece of french toast there once. But—sure. I’ll pay.” He starts to whine, but you scoff. “Let me love you, bitch. You pay for my McDonald’s and I pay for your pancakes. Easy trade.”
“Whatever. See you in five.” He hangs up right as you twist the front door open and drop your phone onto the couch.
“Who’re you talking to?” comes from the kitchen and you jump, pressing a hand to your chest. A shirtless Karl enters the living room with a bowl of fruit loops in his hand.
“Jesus Christ,” you breathe, and duck into the hall closet for your pair of dirty tennis shoes. “I was talking to Sapnap.”
“Oh,” he says around his mouthful of cereal with a grin. “You guys dating yet?”
You pass him a weird look, bending to tie your shoes.
“Gimme like two weeks. I’ll have him at my beck and call,” you laugh and collapse back into the couch.
“I’ll believe it when I see it.” He quirks an eyebrow and exits stage left into your roommate’s room.
The few minutes it takes for Sapnap to come to your house are short but filled with contemplation. Do you really want to date him? He’s certainly cute enough. Nice enough. And smart enough. He seems to like you too—
A honk interrupts your thoughts. Always having to be obnoxious, huh?
“You’re annoying,” you mumble as you buckle your seatbelt. He just shrugs, tiny smile tugging his lips, and shifts into drive. The short trip to Waffle House proves more quiet than lively. He seems awake, actually, so you attribute the silence to your tumultuous thoughts. The music is nice, though. Bikini Kill is perfect for 10 am.
After you two order (three chocolate chip pancakes for him and two regular waffles with a side of hashbrowns for you), he finally breaks the silence.
“Hey, are we dating?”
You pause with your lip on the rim of your orange juice. Your gaze falls from his lips to his fingers wrapped around the coffee mug. Two silver rings adorn both his middle fingers and they glint underneath the fluorescent lights.
“Do you wanna?” You squint back up at him. The tips of his ears flush pink.
“I-uh… Yeah. Yes,” he says simply. You try to hide a smile, but realize there’s no point.
“Okay.” You take a long drink of your orange juice. “I really like you. A lot. A surprising amount, actually; I haven’t really dated seriously since highschool.”
He nods, shuffling his feet on the tile. What else does he have to be nervous about? you wonder.
“I’ve… kindasortamaybelikedyousincesophmoreyear,” he mumbles and you swallow.
“Huh?” Leaning forward, you set your glass down.
“Um,” he starts but doesn’t finish.
“Did you say you’ve liked me since sophomore year?”
“...Maybe.” His coffee becomes the most interesting thing in the world, apparently. “Do you remember that one time during the Summer Carnival where Karl lost his phone?”
“Uh—yes! Yeah, actually. I do remember that. He found it in the porta-potty. What about it?” The waitress sets down both your plates in front of you and you offer her a smile in thanks before she trundles off to the drink station. You pick up your fork and wait for him to continue.
“I left two hours early because you invited Michael from your computer science class.” You pause around your mouthful of potato and he just stares back, trying not to grin. “Yeah. I thought you were hot and left early because you brought another guy.”
“Michael is gay,” you say slowly.
“Yup.” He nods and shoves a forkful of pancake into his mouth. “Isn’t that so stupid?”
“So stupid,” you tease but your cheeks blush pink.
“Anyways. Now I’m dating you, so. Win for me.”
“Ditto,” you murmur, and manage to fit half of your first waffle into your mouth. “This is the easiest it’s ever been to start dating someone.”
“It’s ‘cause we’re cool, I’m pretty sure,” comes from a mouthful of pancake.
“That’s facts.”
The rest of Pancake House is bustling, a few families with young kids and some other hungover college students scarfing down similar breakfast foods and confections. You two barely give any other customers the time of day, too wrapped up in conversation and each other. The waitress gets a heavy tip after an hour and a half of struggling to swallow dough soaked in syrup and chocolate.
Sapnap walks you to your door after breakfast, hand on your waist and pressed to your side. It feels good. Right.
“I’ll see you Wednesday right?” You ask, turning to him with hopeful eyes. How could he resist?
“Definitely. Wouldn’t miss Game Night for the world— I can’t wait to beat your ass at Uno.”
“You’re insufferable, you know that?” You murmur but you’re already slinging an arm around his shoulder and bringing his mouth down to yours.
You taste like sugar, he thinks. His hands find the small of your back easily, pressing you further forward into him. You hum at that, tracking a hand up the back of his neck and into his hair to grip it between your fingers.
He smells both musky and sweet and cool at the same time: heaven. One of his hands slides up to grip at your neck, thumb rubbing at your jaw, and you make a pleased noise into his mouth. There it is.
“Y/N!” Shrieks from inside your house and you jump, pulling away from Sapnap with a smack.
“What?” You yell back, irritated, and he just laughs as he dips to press a kiss to your cheek.
“Stop tonguing your boyfriend and come help me with my photography project.”
“God damn it,” you sigh and drop your hands. His slide down to just rest on your hips, comfortable. “I have to go.” You're annoyed, that’s for sure, and he prays you aren’t too mean to your roommate.
“Alright.” He dips for a quick kiss one last time. Okay, two more times. Maybe three. But he pulls away, grinning. “I’ll see you Wednesday.”
And then he’s stepping off your porch, walking to his car with his hands in his pockets. You watch his back fondly.
God, boyfriend. He’s your boyfriend. Boynap. Sapfriend. You can’t decide on a name, but all sounds perfect.
Perfectly him.
-
A/N: ask or send me some stuff!! requests, rants, anything. :D comments = welcome!
#sapnap#mcyt#sapnap x reader#sapnap x fem!reader#sapnap x you#sapnap fluff#sapnap fic#sapnap oneshot#mcyt imagine#bubblyhoneyfics#mcyt x you
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cheeky
warnings: lAnGuAgE, suggestive reference, a buffy quote
tags: sapnap x reader
words: 1248
A/N: first fic about our beloved snappy in the books! hope you guys like. :)
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“God, I love corporate America,” you sigh, stopping in your tracks. Sapnap nearly runs into you with the cart and makes a squeak noise, prompting you to turn.
“What does that even mean?” He grumbles, maneuvering past you and towards the produce section. You trail after him, swiping a carton of oatmeal raisin cookies on the way and dropping it into the front basket of the cart.
“It means if Publix was a person I’d suck their—,” is all you get out before he’s slapping a hand over your mouth.
“There are children.” He looks genuinely concerned and you laugh, mouthing at his hand behind your mask. It drops to the handle.
“Don’t be such a grumpy pants, baby.” You sling an arm around his wide shoulders, slumping into his side as he shuffles forward.
“I don’t want to be awake right now, much less grocery shopping.” His voice is slightly more nasally right now, attributed to his inability to remember to take his allergy medicine. “I’m only doing this for you.”
For someone who just said something cute, he looks awfully displeased.
“Such a good sport,” you coo, rubbing your head at his shoulder.
“Where’s the list?” He straightens and pats at his pockets.
“I have it!” You pull it from your back pocket and pass it to him, supplying a slightly... chewed pencil as well. He gives you a weird look but moves to cross off number 6: cookies. An essential.
“You wanna tag team this?” He suggests and you raise your eyebrows, wiggling them. “Jesus, Y/N,” he sighs, like being your boyfriend is the hardest job in the world. “Just go get the milk and eggs while I get the produce. Can you do that?”
You pout under your mask. “I guess,” you say, and trundle off towards the dairy aisle, Sapnap's borrowed slippers slapping on the tile.
When you return, a loaf of whole grain bread tucked under your arm and a carton of 12 grade A’s in one hand, Sapnap is decidedly happier. In fact, he’s humming the Elmo song. Weird choice, but you don’t question it as you drop the items down carefully into the cart.
“What’re you eating?” You ask, leaning in to sniff him. He tugs down his mask and pops a green grape into his mouth, pulling it back up as he chews obnoxiously loud. “Pass me one, daddy.”
He chokes, coughing once and swallowing, before tugging a grape from the package in the cart and passing it to you.
“You have to stop doing that,” he mutters, but grabs your hand in his and places it around his shoulders. You hum, chewing, and lean into his neck.
“What else is on the list?” Your voice is soft, much calmer and casual after his change in attitude. The paper emerges from his pocket and he uncrumples it, eyes scanning over once.
“Saran wrap, pink lemonade, sliced turkey, tortillas, mozzarella, lettuce—oops.” He scribbles lettuce out with the pencil. “Um, jalapeño chips, sparkling water, and frozen burritos. Of the Hot Pocket variety, specifically.” He passes the list over to you and pulls another grape to toss it into his mouth. “I think we should invest in a cheesecake too.”
“Your brain is so big.”
“Yeah? You like that?” He glances at you and pushes the cart forward with a jerk, mounting it swiftly and gliding past a bubble of teenagers who look on, equally confused and amazed at an adult riding a Publix cart. You shake your head, following slowly after.
“Okay, I’m actually having fun now.” You can see the grin in his eyes as you catch up near the chip aisle. He ducks into the aisle, snagging a bag of jalapeño Ms. Vicky’s and dropping it into the cart.
“Good,” you muse, poking his side. “And how does it feel being the hottest person at Publix at ten at night?”
He shoots you a questioning look but considers your question as he drops another bag of chips onto the lettuce.
“Feels good, actually,” he decides and swings out into the flow of traffic, nearly rolling over the foot of an elderly person. He apologizes quickly and you can just barely see his cheeks flush pink over the hem of his mask.
You two make your way through the list efficiently, sometimes not-so-efficiently taking five minutes to decide if coconut or mango sparkling water is better. Coconut tastes like the smell of the all-purpose spray cleaner at home, but you accede. A thing or two is added to the list: cheesecake, upon his request, and two bottles of aloe vera lube. (“There’s a sale, babe! Would be a crime to not stock up.”) The cashier doesn’t give a second thought to the last items as they scan it, but you two giggle like teenagers.
“Ah,” Sapnap sighs, tugging off his mask and leaning forward to push the airflow of the AC directly at his face. Cool air blasts the interior of your car and you thank every holy being in existence for modern air conditioning.
“Florida sucks ass.” You move your head slowly next to the vent, tilting like a rotisserie chicken. “I can’t believe Dream got you to stay.” Passing him a stick of gum, you shove your own piece into your mouth and slide the middle console closed.
“Me either,” he hums in agreement.
“Good your way, baby?” You ask, shifting the car into reverse and easing back. He mhm’s and you slide out of the parking spot easily. The parking lot is getting busier, however late, and you maneuver between the groups of adults shopping and teenagers loitering near the cart bays.
“Dibs on the AUX,” he announces and reaches for the cord.
“Okay,” you say as Kids by MGMT starts with a flutter of sound. “Price is a kiss on my lips.” Your car lurches to a stop at a red light and you tilt your face towards him expectantly. Sighing, he leans forward and presses a single kiss to your lips. Mm.
“That’s it?” You pout, lip jutting out. He grips your jaw in his hand, only centimeters away, and rubs at it with a thumb.
“You’re a brat, you know that?” he breathes, but kisses you once more (with feeling). You close your eyes and lean into it, tongue slipping between your lips and barely touching his.
A loud honk interrupts you and you jerk away, eyes wide and looking up at the light. It’s green, you realize, raising a hand in apology to the person behind you, and kick the car into gear.
“You haven’t done that since high school,” Sapnap grins and sits back in his seat. You move a hand to his leg, glancing at his face with a similar smile.
“Done what? Kiss you?”
“No.” He rolls his eyes. “Missed a green light while kissing me.”
“Mm,” you agree. “I remember red lights being a popular destination.” Squeezing at his thigh, you slide him a look and watch his cheeks flush. He just shakes his head, leaning on his elbow against the door with his hand on his jaw.
The car idles into a stop and the glow of the red light reflects on the hood of your car. You shift slightly in your seat, raising your eyebrows and giving him a pointed look.
“Don’t even think about it.” He turns towards the window but you catch a glimpse of a smile from underneath his fingers.
Cheeky.
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A/N: ask or send me some stuff!! requests, rants, anything. :D i don't mind comments either ;)
#sapnap#mcyt#sapnap x reader#sapnap x gn!reader#sapnap x you#sapnap fluff#sapnap drabble#sapnap one shot#mcyt x reader#mcyt x you#bubblyhoneyfics
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sarah i have thought of another fic request or like a cute idea i guess! i didn’t have anyone in mind when i thought of it so you can write it for whoever you want honestly :)
okay so the reader is a streamer but streams games like animal crossing, standew valley, etc. then (insert who you’re writing for) says they don’t like that game, but later ends up buying it and the reader is like “i thought you said you didn’t like this game” and they’re like “well i like you” and they confuses their feelings and they end up playing the game together and reader gives them a tour of their island or farm
i feel like this request isn’t good, but the scenario seemed cute and i wanted to share it. sorry if this is confusing or just too specific cuz i know it can be hard to write requests like that! but yeah i hope it gives you inspiration and you like the request <3
new horizons
warnings: language, a Marvel reference (hint: natasha said it about tony), stupid idiots who don’t realize they like each other, use of pet names, Uno rage, Hasan Piker's presence
words: 1473
tags: sapnap x gn!reader
A/N: i’ve been trying to catch up a little on my requests (i’ve only got a couple so i’m not super overwhelmed) but school and outside life has been taking up most of my time so this one took me a while to make! tbh— ive never played animal crossing so i did google some of the game mechanics and i apologize if anything is inaccurate about the game…. but i liked relaxing and writing this cute one so thank you for requesting hails :3
requests/inbox status: open
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“This game is trash.”
Your head quirks, fingers stopped on the screen. You’re in the process of giving your character a cute new nickname; it’s kind of hard to decide between “awkward dude” and “elderly skater”.
“Excuse me?” Your chat comes alive with emotes and ‘KEKW’s, obviously entertained by you and your almost-more-than-friends-friend.
There’s a story for that later.
Sapnap’s rough laugh comes through your headset and he audibly swallows, the sound of a water bottle dropping onto his desk echoing.
“I’m just saying—it’s boring. It’s like Minecraft but you don’t like… do anything.” The grainy image of his bearded face shifts and you see him pull out his phone.
“It’s— you can’t even compare it to Minecraft! It’s a completely different game system—you actually interact with other people live in the game.” You huff out a dramatic sigh, slumping in your chair with a pout. “Just because you go into this lucid state where all you know is ‘touch block, hit George’ doesn’t mean this game isn’t fun.” (He scoffs at your awful impression of his voice. Your viewers love it.)
“Jeez,” he mumbles, fumbling with the cap of his water bottle. ���Touched a nerve there, bud.”
You roll your eyes, getting back to the village in the game.
“Don't ‘bud’ me.”
The call falls comfortably quiet, the sounds of him tapping obsessively on his phone and you clicking away filling the silence. A gentle bedroom-pop YouTube playlist remains in the background, prompting you to hum along and glance at the chat to see a flood of “check twitter” and “Y/N TWITTER!!”.
“What happened on Twitter?” You mumble, confused, and pull the website up on another monitor. Sapnap just makes a curious noise, swinging back and forth in a circle. “Oh my God,” you say to yourself, fingertips brushing your parted lips.
“What?”
“Hasan Piker just followed me and retweeted one of my not even remotely political old tweets. Like from a year ago.”
“That’s— wow. Congrats?” Sapnap’s voice cracks, and his ears flush pink the tiniest bit when you glance at his face on Discord.
“I’m gonna go on record and say that he could get it.” You shake your head in disbelief.
Sapnap falls uncharacteristically non-hyper-verbal, so you look past the frenzied chat and to his screen— wait. He muted and turned his camera off.
“Um,” you start, furiously typing question marks in your private chat. “Where’d you go?” You mute and turn screen share off for your stream, concerned that he might’ve fallen off his chair and broken his neck and needs you to call the ambulance.
The characteristic ding of a twitter notification sounds through your bedroom, and you look at your phone quickly.
“That’s where I went.”
Sapnap Tweeted: “all Y/U stans can choke on my dick”.
“Jesus, Sapnap,” you say, and rapidly refresh to read the replies. This tweet was deleted. “That’s so— that barely makes sense, bro. Why— literally what?”
His snicker floods your ears and you relax in your chair. Crisis: averted. “Don’t fucking— what’s wrong with you?”
“I thought it would be funny,” he offers, shrugging, and fiddles with the straw in his water bottle, smile fading. “And also Hasan pisses me off.”
“Why, ‘cause he wants a piece of this? Jealous?” You think back to your viewers, knowing they’re probably spamming question marks and coming to ludacris conclusions about both of your absences. No offense to them. You remember your stan days very vividly.
“I mean, kinda.” He rubs once at his nose, glancing at the camera (and what feels like you) before taking a sip from his water bottle.
“Wow.” You watch one strand of his hair fall from beneath his hat and brush against his full eyebrows. “I’m uh—I’ll get back to my stream. You coming? Or is it time for a Sapnap-snack?”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” He snorts and leans his chin onto the balance of his arm.
“That means you like to take a little snack break mid-stream and come back approximately nine hours later and you didn’t even eat.”
“You know what— fuck you.” He flicks the camera as you laugh at the look on his face.
The teasing mood is easily kept as you switch games from Animal Crossing to Uno, all the while slamming Sapnap with +4’s and skipping the newly-arrived BadBoyHalo at any chance you can get. It unironically pisses him off and he has to take a Sapnap-snack break midway through (only a fifteen minute break this time, during which you and Bad take a “What Kind of Bread Are You?” quiz). The rest of the night is filled with devious cackles (you), loud and sudden bangs that sound suspiciously like someone hitting their desk in anger (Sap) and the stupid barking of Rat, AKA Lucy (Bad). She’s cute but a menace to the sound quality of Bad’s microphone. You sign off stream around 2 a.m. with various forms of thanks and kisses blown to the camera. It’s been a refreshing night, actually; you’ve been busy organizing a partnership stream all week and all your friends have been busy filming or editing or what-not. Quackity had time for a little Roblox every couple of days, though. He’s got your back.
The next time you see Sapnap is after a two hour stream of him try-harding in Valorant and you finishing responding to an email from your partnership in the VC.
“Okay, I’m back.” You hear him shift in his chair and click a couple more times on his keyboard. You perk up in your chair, closing the email browser you’d been looking at.
“Do you want to play anything else? I’m down for anything.”
“Absolutely not Uno. You can go to hell for giving me 6 cards that one time,” he jabs. You scoff, crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair.
“Okay, the +4 was on me but it’s Bad who gave you the last two. That’s not my fault, sweetie.”
“Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles, trailing off as the clicking of his keyboard stops. “Hey, um—Guess what?”
Your heart beats loud in your ears at the tone of his voice. He sounds nervous; that’s never good.
“I’m scared to guess,” you try, playing with a little Minecraft dog figurine you have on your desk with fidgety fingers. “What?”
“I bought Animal Crossing.”
Silence. You stare at his discord icon blankly, trying to reroute the wires of your brain.
“Tell me you love it.”
“Well… I haven’t actually played it— but you said you liked it, so.”
“So,” you repeat him, ears warming but continuing on. “Is that what you tell all your friends when you buy something they like? That it's because of them?”
He seems to choose his next words carefully, pausing a beat to consider your questions.
“Well, I don’t have a crush on all of my friends.”
“You—what?” You stutter, caught off guard and stumbling. What did he just say? “Don’t tell me you mean you have a crush on me.”
“I’m almost positive I just did.” His discord icon stares right back at you, taunting.
“You know, you’re very casual for someone who just admitted they like-like me.” Your cheeks flush pink and you have to press a hand to your chest to keep your breathing sounding stable.
“Yeah, I’m kind of cool like that,” he offers, a huff of a laugh punctuating his statement. The conversation moves into a lull that you can’t help but know is because of you. He must expect you to say something about it, right?
“You are very cool, Sapnap.” You tilt back in your chair, sucking in a breath to prepare yourself for your next words. “And—Isortakindofhaveacrushonyoutoo.”
He must understand you, for you can hear the grin in his voice when he asks “Really?”
“Y-yeah.” You feel like a preteen again, all shaky and giddy in front of the boy you just asked to a middle school dance.
“Um, alright. What do we do now?”
“I don’t know,” you answer genuinely and swing in a happy little circle in your chair. “We could play Animal Crossing.”
“I’m down.”
You swear you’ve never heard more beautiful words.
He keeps his camera off for most of the time you two play, too focused on creating his island and asking you questions about how to fish to turn it on. He silently flips it on when you help him decorate his lawn, needing to show you in real-time the decorations he has bought and where you think he should put them. He looks cute. I mean, of course he does. He always does.
You tell him goodbye late in the night, eyes saying a little more than just “see you tomorrow”.
You like him. He likes you.
It’s even better when you two have matching gardens.
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A/N: anybody and everybody (especially my precious hailey) let me know what you think!! :]
#sapnap#mcyt#sapnap x gn!reader#sapnap x reader#sapnap x you#sapnap fluff#sapnap drabble#sapnap oneshot#bubblyhoneyfics#honey answers#mcyt x reader#🥚except small
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buncha kisses
warnings: mature language, Good music mention, slight suggestive content, lotta name calling!, basically just fluff
tags: sapnap x fem!reader (a continuation of [renamed from “a collection of moments at the beginning of your relationship”] win for me, basically, with college!au)
words: 1447
A/N: a very sweet anon requested a continuation of college!au with sappy and had some great ideas for me! i love when you guys interact and talk with me pls continue to do so! been receiving a lot of really encouraging attention from some of my favorite people (ahem, for example @strawberrymilkgeorge [among others] <3) so i just wanted to say thanks for that :)
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It’s a sticky day in May.
It’s that kind of hot that irritates under the skin and works its way through the hair on your arms. Makes you want to either rip your skin off or sink into a pool full of ice.
May is a month that Florida doesn’t take very well; it’s either raining like it’s the Great Flood, or hot as a mosquito’s ball sack.
And to make matters worse, it’s the due date of a huge calculus project. Like— weighted heavier than the final kind of huge.
You’d gotten up three hours before your final at 9 just to cram. Your desk was littered with folders, chapter notes, and highlighters dull with use. A half-eaten bagel was off to the side, staling by the second.
That was before your AC broke. Yup. Broke. Ka-put. Just full on died—it was almost audible. Your roommate had stumbled into your room, face creased with sleep, and cursed for thirty seconds straight.
Completely understandable, actually.
But you didn’t have time to fret about the damn temperature. You just took your shirt off, kicked the box fan near your bed into the highest gear, and breathed hot anger down into your notes.
The only relief you would find would be lunch with Sapnap after your final. His apartment had air conditioning, and he was surprisingly deft with a knife and cutting board. Dude didn’t know how to figure the mechanics for emailing his film class project to you that one time last semester but could whip up a Greek salad and broiled chicken like no other. Your own little Gordon Ramsey.
He was yours now, officially. As of last month he was yours. A month full of drive-in movies, failed study dates, and an absurd amount of McFlurry’s.
And that’s what is waiting for you in Sapnap’s cup holder when you swing your way into his car with an exasperated look on your face. You just melt, eyes flicking up to his gratefully and silently taking it.
“How was the final?” He lays a hand on the gear shifter and nudges the AC up one more tick. The door closes behind you and you shuffle your legs apart, leg hair tingling in this heat.
“It was fucking brutal. I think I developed an ulcer just looking at the reference page,” you huff and he just shakes his head, laugh hot on his lips. “Absolutely not worth the studying—think I got a good grade, though.”
“Well, that’s cool. I’m proud of you.” The engine chugs to life when he shifts into drive and starts for the side street.
“Thanks.” Your cheeks blush ever so lightly but you pass it off to the heat. A moment passes. “So.” The straw makes a choking noise as it nudges at the bottom of an empty cup. Jesus, you finished that fast. “What’s on the menu for today?” Brandy’s Sunny Day lilts softly into the blasting air as you settle into a comfortable conversation, schoolwork at the back of your mind.
“Thinking of making banana chocolate chip muffins and pigging on those. Thoughts?” Flicking on his left turn signal with his left hand, the right slides onto your knee.
It’s never too hot for that.
“Sounds perfect,” you reply, voice small in a sudden bout of shyness. He double-takes with a smile, squeezing once at your leg.
Pigging is a perfect term for what you two do the second those muffins are out of the oven; it is too easy to shove three of those in a matter of seconds. Bellies full and in a sugar coma, you two lay under the whirring of his living room’s fan and stare up at the ceiling.
“This feels so good,” he mumbles, eyes half-lidded. Reaching a hand out, he pats his way to your hand and takes it, immediately squeezing it. “Wish you were kissing me right now.”
“Oh, yeah?” You taunt and hike a leg up onto his hips, swinging onto his lap and leaning to get your lips near his.
And that’s that.
The night is perfect.
Sapnap ushered you into his car at midnight and within four minutes you were on a US freeway with your head out the window. Like a dog.
A lone bird flies past in the dark air and you watch it swing into a patch of trees. You just close your eyes and breathe.
The stress literally melts. Melts into a puddle and drips out of you, falling onto the black pavement whipping past at a moment’s notice. School is a bitch already, much less an American college education. Grades and tests and professors and GPA’s and all that.
You swear Logan Lerman’s character knew what he was talking about when he said “we were infinite” in The Perks of Being A Wallflower. That’s what this feels like: infinity. Going 70 in a car driven by your hunk of a boyfriend, feeling the wind in your hair and the taste of midnight in between your teeth.
The inside of the car feels sweet when you duck your head back in, smile wide and hair crazy and a content look in your eyes. Sapnap gives you a glance before looking back at the road nonchalantly and lifting to curl and twitch two fingers at you. You instinctively move forward, eyebrows drawn together in curiosity. Three fingers grip your jaw tight, and then his mouth is on yours as the chorus of The King swells through the speakers. You only get two seconds to hum in happiness and slide a hand up his chest before he’s pulling away and has those beautiful eyes back on the road.
“You’re mean to me,” you sigh, and settle back into your seat with a ‘hmph’. He just looks smug. Bastard.
The nights Sapnap plays video games with his friends are—hm. Definitely something. You like to let him have those nights with no distractions most of the time; and you’re categorized as a distraction by the amount of times he “lags” when giving you a kiss or getting you on his lap.
Tonight, he got off work early and on the drive home called and asked if you’d come over and sit with him while he Robloxes with his friends. (“It’s like you can’t go one day without your hands on me,” you’d teased, but he couldn’t say a thing in response. You were right, needless to say.) “You can bring your paints!” he’d even added, knowing you like to watercolor as a hobby. You weren’t necessarily Etsy-worthy but it was fun and a stress-reliever.
And so here you were. Legs crossed, sketch pad in your lap, watching your adult boyfriend yell so loud that his voice cracks and breaks with every change of tone. You really had to remember to apologize to his neighbors…
“Baby—,” Sapnap starts, swinging around in his chair to hit you with a look so pouty his lip was in danger of falling off. “My dear girlfriend. My lovely woman.” His question doesn’t even need to be asked— he wants you to go get him a drink.
“You’re a misogynist. I’m calling NOW on you.” But you’re already heaving yourself off of his mattress and heading into the hallway, faux-annoyed look on your face. It melts into a smile upon seeing that little canvas mounted on the wall next to the door to his bathroom. It was a haphazard portrait of his parent’s dog Bowser that you’d drawn the few days his step-mom forced him to bring you home over spring break.
When you return to his room a few minutes later with a Bang and a couple of snacks for yourself, Sapnap has his headphones off and is swinging his feet in his chair like a child waiting for their parents to pick them up from school. You approach him, apprehensive smile on your face, and hand his drink over.
“Thank you,” he drawls, mid-yawn, and sets it down on the desk. Snaking an arm around your waist, he drags you between his legs and stuffs his face into your shirt. He inhales deeply but pulls away after a pause, hands tight on your abdomen. You press a thumb into his cheek and rub fondly at his facial hair, watching the way his eyes close calmly and relax.
“You’re so cute it causes me physical pain,” is all you get out before leaning and pressing a kiss square on his pink lips. They move against yours like they were meant to, one hand sliding up the material of your shirt and onto your warm skin.
“You smell like Subway,” he murmurs, and then the moment’s over.
Typical.
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A/N: ask or send me some stuff!! requests, rants, anything. :D let me know what you think in the comments!
#sapnap#mcyt#sapnap x reader#sapnap x fem!reader#sapnap x you#sapnap fluff#sapnap fic#sapnap one shot#sapnap oneshot#mcyt imagine#mcyt x you#bubblyhoneyfics
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not a morning person
warnings: in the wise words of badboyhalo, language!
tags: dreamwastaken x gn!reader (mentions of reader with long hair)
words: 757
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When Dream awakes, albeit peacefully, the sun streaming in through the cracked blinds makes him curse under his breath. Something creaks in the room, but his eyes stay squeezed shut. His hands are tight around the blankets pulled around him, face smushed halfway into his pillow. The sheets are warm and comfortable, but your side of the bed is empty when he reaches out to touch.
“Y/N?” He rasps, dry throat cracking, and lifts his head off the pillow, squinting. The room coming into focus, he can see the ensuite door ajar and you sat cross-legged at his desk. His huge headphones are jammed onto your bed-head, and he can’t help but sigh at how funny you look in the morning. There’s a brown splotch on your neck (attributed to his bruising lips, thank you very much) and the long blue sleep shirt you always don is pulled down over your bare legs. And of course, your hair is tousled and artfully arranged on top of your head.
He struggles to sit up on one arm and succeeds for a second, but falls back down with a huff. He’s notorious amongst his friends for being cranky in the morning; that rumor is within reason, actually. He hates— no, despises alarms and will schedule any important events so late in the day he is surprised his manager hasn’t sent him an envelope full of shit yet. Morning breath, unwanted sunlight, breakfast foods; he hates everything about it. You, however, adore the early hours.
You love sunrises, for one, and the main appeal of the hours 7 am to noon is the lack of people. Nobody is awake in the apartment, so you’re free to wander (nude, that one Saturday a while ago) and have alone time to eat breakfast calmly and relax wherever you want. You’re always begging Dream to “please, just go to Denny’s with me”, but he’s stubborn and pouty before 2 pm. Ridiculous, really, but you settle for his affection after lunch.
“Y/N.” He repeats your name, waiting for any sign of recognition, but there is none. You tap away at his keyboard with your left hand while clicking furiously on the mouse with your right. He can practically see the expression on your face: eyebrows drawn together, lips pursed, and eyes narrowed. “Mornings are for Sims,” you always say. Sighing heavily and like it’s the biggest decision in the world, Dream heaves himself up and pads towards the desk on socked feet. He reaches down, tugging one side of the headphones off of your ear, and relishes in the jump (plus a layer of goosebumps on your neck) you give. Your neck turns quickly, lips in an “o”, but relax upon seeing his face.
“Stop scaring me like that, asshole.” You elbow his bare stomach, turning back to making your sim a creepy alien dungeon.
“My bad,” he faux-apologizes in a whisper and sweeps a curtain of your hair away from your shoulder. Your skin is cool against the warm press of his lips to your neck, and he slides a hand down your arm to calm the goosebumps. “How’re the Stark’s?” comes muffled from your jaw. He, of course, is referencing the almost indistinguishable replicas of Tony Stark and Pepper Potts you’ve created in the Sims 4.
“They’re great,” you announce, sliding his headphones down your head to rest on your shoulders. He straightens up, hands on your biceps. He peers over your shoulder. Your building skills (both in the Sims and Minecraft) are impeccable, and you never disappoint with any house you make.
“Come eat with me.” He pretends the pouty tone in his voice isn’t there.
“Later, baby,” you mutter, staring intently at the screen as Eliza Pancakes tries to make a move on Pepper. He furrows his brows, leans down, and takes the mouse out from underneath your palm. “Hey!” You grapple for it, but he’s lifted it above both of your heads and from the look of his face, isn’t going to give it back anytime soon.
“Come eat with me,” he repeats. (He seems to be doing a lot of that lately.) “I’ll make you pancakes.”
It’s your turn to pout now, and your bottom lip juts out petulantly. “Your pancakes suck,” you whine, but you’re already moving to untangle your legs and stand up. He smiles, triumphant, and places the mouse back down on the desk.
“Watch your mouth,” he says, heading out the door and for the kitchen. “And they don’t suck. You suck.”
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A/N: ask or send me some stuff!! requests, rants, anything. :D let me know what you think in the comments!
#dreamwastaken#dreamwastaken x reader#dreamwastaken x gn!reader#dreamwastaken fluff#dreamwastaken fanfic#dreamwastaken oneshot#mcyt#mcyt x reader#bubblyhoneyfics
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grumpy george >:(
warnings: 3/4 of a curse word
tags: georgenotfound x gn!reader
words: writing this in app so i don’t feel like checking lolz. it’s pretty short
A/N: kind of a random headcanon and not my best most realistic and Perfectly Written work but it was fun to write hehe
requests/inbox status: open
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he doesn’t get grumpy very often, but—
george is one of those people that cannot stand being woken up
it’s either go away or get a pillow lobbed at your head
the only way he’s getting woken up happily is by his alarm or by his own body
he’s not necessarily hostile when he wakes up but he’s definitely talking in a low and raspy voice and with short sentences
“why are you speaking at 8 am.”
“it’s so bright close the fuc— ugh close the blinds oh my god”
every sentence he says sounds like it ends in a period
he also develops that rasp when he’s been awake for too long
get past the 30-hours-awake mark and his eyes are halfway closed and his voice has dropped four octaves
the way he acts when he’s grumpy or annoyed is exactly the way a child reacts to getting their ipad taken away (quackity is that you?)
that lower lips gets pushed out
he’s just a petulant little british man
sometimes when his hair is wet straight out of the shower it sticks to his forehead and itches like nobody’s business and he’ll make a frustrated little huff before scratching and pulling at his hair so hard it aches afterwards
you have to be alert around him when he’s in a bad mood or else you’ll get what you’ve nicknamed the “crabby gogy treatment”
it’s all furrowed brows and slumped shoulders and pursed lips
but this guy is insanely apologetic after he’s been short or dismissive with you
he does that cute thing where he’ll come up behind you and rest his cheek on your shoulder and neck, pouty and talking about some “sorry for being stupid earlier. i didn’t mean to be like that with you :/“
apologies usually include getting whatever you want for dinner and lots of glances your way
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A/N: ask or send me some stuff!! requests, rants, anything. let me know what you think
#georgenotfound#gnf#mcyt#mcyt x reader#georgenotfound x reader#gnf x reader#gnf x gn!reader#georgenotfound x gn!reader#gnf imagine#gnf fluff#georgenotfound drabble#gnf x you#mcyt x you#georgenotfound fluff#mcyt fluff#gnf headcanon#georgenotfound headcanon#bubblyhoneyfics
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picnic bitch
warnings: crude language duh, suggestive (not explicit) content, an eminem reference
tags: sapnap x gn!reader
words: 1156
A/N: a continuation of a detail from my boyfriend!sapnap head canon :D
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The breeze wafts across your face, moving a lock of hair to tickle on your cheek. You swat a hand up at your cheek and furrow your brows.
The weather today has been fairly pleasant and not too sweltering, thank God. The park is busy this time of afternoon, but you both snagged a spot underneath a huge tree in the southwest corner of the field.
“Pass me a strawberry, please, baby,” he mumbles from above you. You glance up at him, one eye squinted, and reach for the container of strawberries. “Feed me.” He smirks and drops his mouth open, tongue out. You just roll your eyes and place a berry into his mouth, careful to not get his spit on you. You settle back into his lap, content.
Today was the designated picnic day. You try to have a couple during the summer just because it’s so lovely to sit outside, relax, and eat, but you’d already had about six since the start of summer. They mostly consist of you feeding Sapnap fruit and laying with your head on his lap, stretched out and comfortable. Today you were sporting clothes all loose and blue as the sky, wanting to be stylish but not too sweaty. He’d gone for sweat-shorts and a green flannel over a white shirt: cute. Very cute. So cute you can’t help but stare and feel your cheeks flush.
Shuffling his legs, he readjusts his arms and hums as he settles back into the bark of the tree. Sweet music plays lightly in the background, courtesy of your portable speaker sitting perfectly on top of the picnic basket.
“You look ethereal,” is what you can’t help but to whisper. You peek one eye open and stare up at his relaxed face. He rolls his eyes but smiles down at you, tips of his ears pink.
“Shut up,” he mumbles, shy. You just huff and roll up onto an elbow, reaching for your lemonade. It’s tart on your tongue and you make a pleased noise at the taste, swallowing. He just watches you.
“What time are you making dinner?” You fold up onto your knees, raising your eyebrows as you screw the cap back onto your bottle.
“Oh, am I making dinner now?” Teasing, he reaches for your arms and you accede, letting him tug you onto his lap. “It’s salad night.” Making a face, he strokes up and down your bicep, both soothing and causing goosebumps.
“I thought you liked salad night, babe.” His hair is soft and nice on your palm when you reach a hand up to pet his hair. He stills and lets you, but shrugs after a moment.
“I like salad, but never as a full meal. Can we make spaghetti?”
“Okay, yeah,” you agree, shuffling forward on his lap. “That sounds good. I’ll be expecting homemade pasta, Chef.”
“Oh, yeah?” He brushes a wind-disturbed tuft of hair out of your eyes. Full lips split into a smile as he leans back into the tree, eyes closed. “Sounds like a lot of effort, sweetheart.”
Your skin tingles brightly at the pet name. A beam of sunlight breaks through the green leaves of the tree and stripes diagonal across his calm expression. When you said ethereal, you meant it.
The serene mood, all breezy and gentle music, breaks when you open your mouth. As usual.
“Hey, are you Mom’s spaghetti?” You pause for a second and let your hand drop onto his collarbone. “Because you make my knees weak and my palms sweaty.” The pick-up line takes a second to hit before his eyes snap open. Bowing forward, he makes a retching sound into your lap.
“Oh my God,” he breathes, cheeks puffy and strained as he holds in a laugh. “That was actually awful. You should be ashamed.” Shrugging, you relax back into his thighs with a sigh.
“I thought it was pretty good, actually. You’re in love now; I just beguiled you. Get beguiled.” Your voice is teasing, poking, as you play with the bottle of lemonade in your hands.
“I don’t think an Eminem reference has as much power as you think it does,” he says simply, and tugs you closer into his lap. One hand slides up to your neck, just resting, before he’s pulling you forward, inches away from his mouth. “But I do love you.” His lips slide easily against yours, tasting your chapstick and breathing you in. You taste like lemon and sugar. His other hand rests comfortably in the curve of your waist, squeezing intermittently.
You take a few minutes to just kiss. Not making out, not grinding or teasing. It’s peaceful out here, away from families, so you take your time.
It’s the second a drop of water plops right onto your shoulder that you tense. Pulling away, you raise an empty palm up in the air. Drop. Drop.
“It’s raining,” you practically wail, and clamber out of his lap. The sky has turned an ugly grayish blue, dark clouds that came out of seemingly nowhere looming in the distance. He huffs, irritated, and starts to gather your stuff up. The strawberries go into the basket, as do the sandwiches, and you toss your lemonade in as well. You stand to fold the picnic blanket and shove it down into a tan tote bag.
The park is rapidly clearing of people. Teenagers at the skating park hop on their bikes, adults walking their dogs scatter in the parking lot to their respective vehicles, and you two scramble to collect your things and make a dash for your car. It’s full on pouring when you yank open the passenger seat and climb clumsily in.
“This sucks!” He yells over the downpour, and slams closed the driver’s door. It’s much more quiet in here, you realize, and tilt your face up to the sunroof. You’d peeled back the covering on the way here “to let the sunlight in” and now it’s getting pelted with large, warm raindrops. Sapnap moves in his seat, getting situated, and starts the car with a rumble. It’s also fucking hot in here.
“This is not how I was thinking our picnic was going to end,” he pouts. “I thought we would actually make it to the cake.” A cartoonish frown appears on his lips and you melt, aw-ing. You reach a thumb to rub at his bottom lip.
“It’s okay, we can finish the cake when we get home. Spoil our dinner.” You wiggle your eyebrows and he huffs out a laugh, pulling his seatbelt to its lock.
“I doubt we’ll make it home without pulling over and shoving our faces with it,” he scoffs. A smirk grows on your face and he glances warily at it, shifting to reverse out of the parking spot. “What’s that face for?”
“Are you familiar with the idea of whipped cream play?”
Yeah, the cake doesn’t make it home.
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A/N: ask or send me stuff!! requests, rants, anything. :D comments are extremely welcome and even encouraged
#sapnap#mcyt#sapnap x reader#sapnap x gn!reader#sapnap x you#sapnap fluff#sapnap fic#sapnap fanfic#sapnap drabble#sapnap oneshot#mcyt x reader#mcyt x you#bubblyhoneyfics
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