Pairings: cc!Dream, cc!Sapnap, cc!GeorgeNotFound, cc!KarlJacobs
Tags: fluff, grocery shopping, stargazing, skateboarding, baking, spontaneous dates, 2nd pov
Enjoy a late-night date with your favorite boy.
Word Count: 405
Warnings: using dream's real name, one curse word
while freaking out over the possible dt meetup, i wrote this to calm myself down LMFAO
anyways, this is what i'd think each boy would be like if you went on a spontaneous "date" in the middle of the night. as always, enjoy reading<3
It was nearing 1 am when you sat down on the kitchen counter with Clay, quietly staring at the oven.
Previously, you two were sprawled on the couch watching a baking show, and you decided that it couldn't possibly be that hard to make chocolate chip cookies.
Which was true, it wasn't too hard, however you still managed to make a big mess.
Clay decided to throw flour at you, which caused a mini food fight in your small kitchen.
As you tried running away, he caught you by the waist, earning a small shriek from you. "I got you!"
We know Sapnap skates pretty late at night (check this tweet 😍), but what if he brought his s/o with him?
You'd be wearing one of his hoodies (probably his merch!) and you'd hold his hand through your sweater paws, walking with him to the skatepark.
Both of you would be learning some new tricks on your skateboards, teasing the other if they took longer to get the hang of it.
Unironically taking Pinterest-worthy pictures of each other. He'd post a few on Twitter, captioning it late-night skating with them <3
"This one is for you!" He half-shouts as he pushes himself down the half-pipe, attempting a trick he'd been practicing. Too bad he fell on his ass, though.
Going to the grocery
Together, you and George have zero impulse control.
Driving to Tesco at 2:14 am to buy Oreos seemed reasonable to both of you.
Both still in your pajamas, you browsed the aisles full of energy, laughing with each other. The shop employees were too tired to care about the ruckus, anyways.
You stepped inside the milk fridge and asked him to take a photo of you.
"You are such an idiot." He rolls his eyes but he's smiling at you anyways.
The two of you laid on a fluffy blanket in your backyard, looking at the dark sky. The moon would give you just enough light to see each other's faces.
You were beside Karl, holding onto his hand as you pointed out some constellations.
Expect a bunch of giggling from Karl.
He leans towards you and kisses your cheek a lot!
It gets very cozy when he eventually begins cuddling you (he couldn't help it, he needed cuddles).
"God, I love you so much :]" He pulls you closer to him, arms secured around your body.
i took some inspo from some tweets i saw haha but i hope you enjoyed reading this! feel free to make a request and remember to drink water!!
reblogs are appreciated!
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Summary: They/Them. cc!Dream. The reader receives merch from a friend, and because they are a good friend the reader decides to model it on their IG story. Without pants. Which their boyfriend may or may not be jealous of. At least the way he acts on that jealousy is fun for you both.
A/N: 1336 words. it's not my fault i look cute in corpse merch and cat ears and have dream brainrot and find inspiration in the dumbest places. the line between sfw and nsfw is but a gossamer thread. deeply self indulgent. there's no actual descriptions of the reader's body or body type. Not what I intended to write, not what I should be writing, kinda rushed. Eh.
Warnings: no smut but the whole thing is essentially heavily implied NSFW content while still being mostly sfw. it's a heavy lime to light lemon, i guess, if we're going by the citrus scale. mentions of biting and hickeys (not on reader)
It starts under red lights, in a warm, dark room as the Autumn chill is kept at bay outside your window thanks to your little heater. It starts with you, elbow deep in a draw trying to find where you'd put those damn cat ears, while you'd asked Google to play some of Corpse's music. It was a vibe, an aesthetic you were going for, inspired on this fine even with no-where to go, looking for an excuse to dress up. Or down, as the case may be.
And you're wearing a collar with a bell, ears firmly on your head, in thigh-high socks and little else besides an oversized Corpse hoodie, when you find yourself in the kitchen, frowning into the silverware draw, contemplating where all the knives were. Dirty, on the side of the sink, probably, so now your dilemma has changed to which one would fit the aesthetic best. Which also happens to be how Dream finds you.
"Did I miss something? Is there a special occasion?" He sounds a little winded when he speaks, finally alerting you to his presence. When you turn, soapy knife in one hand and dish cloth in the other, wearing a bright smile, you see the wide-eyed, almost awed look he's giving you. A good reaction, the sort of reaction you were looking for.
"Just wanted to feel cute and take some photos of myself," you sway a little, giving a little movement to the hoodie, perhaps to draw attention to where it shifted against the tops of your thighs, and your smile grows a little wider, grows at little sharper, as his gaze drops to follow the movement, if only for a moment.
"How's editing going?" You ask, shooting for idle as you finish washing the knife, turning back to the sink.
"It's good, it's good," he murmurs, sounding distracted as he crosses the kitchen to you, slowly, "you look so good," it's barely above a whisper, and he doesn't even seem to realise he's said it out loud, reaching out to touch at the small stretch of bare skin of your thigh between the top of your sock and the hem of the hoodie.
"Thank you," you hum appreciatively shifting your weight to nudge him with your hip. His hand moves higher, moves beneath your sweater, and you pause after you turn off the tap, bracing your free hand against the counter as you look at him. He's looking back, his momentary shock of seeing you like that having worn off simply to appreciation, "can I help you?" You grin.
"How come you've never modelled my merch like this?" Though his tone was teasing, something about it still set your heart fluttering as his hand was still resting warm and secure on your hip.
"I model your merch like this all the time," you step up to him, wrapping your arms around his neck, "you just never think to take photos."
"You know I've taken photos," he pulls your closer, both hands on your hips now, "but I don't want anyone else seeing those." The way he speaks, the appreciation, the reverence in his voice when he talks about you, you don't think you'd ever get used to it, and you'd never grow tired of it.
"You keep talking like that and I'm not gonna be able to take my photos."
"Maybe that's my plan," he smirks, right before you lean in to kiss him. There's something urgent about it, something insistent, like he's making sure that he'll still linger on your lips and in your mind when the moment's over. You hold him tighter, fitting against him while his nails dig into your sides, a pleasant sting.
Finally, when you part, he murmurs for you to go take your photos, resting your foreheads together as he reminds you that he'll be waiting, saying it like a promise. For a moment, your breath stutters in your throat, lips still tingling -
"Photos can wait until later -" the words tumble from your lips insistently.
"They can?" He sounds so smug, and if this were any other time, any other situation, you'd probably be annoyed, but he's insufferably good at getting you hot and bothered; you don't even make it out of the kitchen, as you put down the clean knife the moment he pushes you to sit on the counter. A rush to take off the hoodie, cold counter beneath your thighs, his lips on your neck, your hands in his hair- the photoshoot you'd planned is forgotten for the time being.
The next morning, freshly showered and on your second attempt of the photoshoot, you're on your knees in front of your mirror, cat ears in place, knife in one hand and phone in the other. Dream's still in bed, propping himself up on his side to grin at you as you pose.
"I'm dreaming, I must actually be dreaming right now," his tone is adoring, and you can see him smile out of the corner of your eye. You hit record on your camera, phone still pointed at yourself in the mirror as you glance over to him.
"Stay back temptress; fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice -" you're grinning from ear to ear as Dream's eyes go wide, though he's picked up on the fact that you're filming, if only judging by your tone.
"If anything you're the temptress, fucking look at you! I was happily editing before you distracted me!"
"Distracted you -!?" You crow, before realising this was probably the right time to stop recording if you ever wanted to upload it anywhere. You toss your phone to the side, standing, making your way to the bed, "you know exactly how to get me going, don't pretend like seeing me get dolled up to take photos in someone else's merch -"
"I wasn't jealous," he lied, badly. You hadn't even said it yet, so much as implied. He leaned back flopping back onto the bed and looking up at the ceiling as a blush crept up his cheeks.
"As if you didn't know how I'd react to seeing you like that," he tips his head to look at you, smiling wide as fond as his gaze trailed down your outfit appreciatively; "you know you're hot as fuck." He muses. As you sit on the edge of the bed, he reaches out, hand on your thigh.
"You ever want me to model for you properly, get all fancy, maybe put on some fishnets and eyeliner -"
"Fucking hell," he breathed, "unless you're planning to start an Only Fans -" but you cut him off with a kiss, leaning back into him, delighting in the moment, his tone, the implication. You leave bruising kiss on his neck, his shoulders, his chest, you nail marks like neon signs, a reminder of who you come home to, of who you love. And he, of course, is more than happy to repay you in kind, eliciting noise from you, past words, incomprehensible but insistent until even your voice catches and it's all you can do to is to gasp out wanton breaths, and shuddering - please, please, please.
You're pretty sure there's nothing more beautiful than the hickeys blooming bright against his skin; there's something possessive in your chest that likes the sight of them. For a moment you wonder if that's how he feels seeing you in his merch, his brand staking a claim on you for him.
"Admiring your handiwork?" He grins at you, arms behind his head all smug and content.
"Of course, I'm an artist," you respond easily, curling up against him, "you know you're my favourite," you tell him softly, carefully touching each of the love marks you've left, lingering on the bite marks by his hip. He wraps his arm around you, quietly appreciating you and the moment. He kisses the top of your head; it's answer enough in the content silence. You're his favourite too.
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