#twenty questions meme | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

uncuredturkeybacon · 1 month ago

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𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍 || 𝚔𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚗

in which you stopped looking back

You graduated early.

Not because you were trying to prove anything. Just… because staying felt like suffocating.

UConn had too many ghosts. Too many empty chairs. Too many late nights walking past the gym where you knew she’d be—except you never went in. Not once. Not after.

So you finished your degree, packed your car, and drove across the country with everything you owned crammed in the backseat and a playlist long enough to drown your thoughts.

San Francisco felt far enough.

It was the job that sealed it—a communications role with a tech startup that liked your clean resume and liked your voice even more. You took the offer before you could talk yourself out of it.

You didn’t tell anyone where you went. Not even mutual friends. It was easier that way.

Clean slate. New sky. Different ocean.

You don’t expect to meet her at a dog park.

But grief’s funny like that.

You’re sitting on a bench with a notebook open on your lap, the kind you still carry even though your job’s mostly Slack messages and decks now. You’re jotting down lines that don’t go anywhere, half-poems you’ll never finish.

You don’t notice the tennis ball roll up to your foot until there’s a low woof.

You glance up.

Golden retriever. Panting. Tail wagging. Big brown eyes staring at you like you hold the answer to all of life’s questions.

And then you hear the voice.

“Sorry about that—he thinks everyone wants to play with him.”

You look up again.

She’s tall. Athletic build. Blonde hair pulled back in a braid. Black Valkyries hoodie, sleeves rolled. Her smile is wide and warm, the kind that’s easy to get used to if you’re not careful.

You hold up the tennis ball. “He’s not wrong.”

She grins. “You new around here?”

You nod. “Just moved.”

“Welcome to the best coast,” she says, extending her hand. “I’m Kate.”

You hesitate for half a second, then take it.

Her grip is solid. Steady.

“Nice to meet you,” you say. “I’m… still getting used to the time difference.”

“You’ll adjust. And if not, the coffee’s better here anyway.”

That makes you laugh—quiet, but genuine. A flicker of something you haven’t felt in a while.

Kate watches you for a beat too long.

Her dog trots over, tail still wagging.

“He’s not subtle,” you say.

“Neither am I,” Kate replies with a wink. “You live around here?”

“Couple blocks that way.”

She nods. “Me too. Small world.”

You don’t know what makes you say it, but you do, “What do you do?”

Kate shrugs like she’s used to people not recognizing her. “Basketball.”

You tilt your head. “College?”

“WNBA.”

Your eyebrows raise.

“Golden State Valkyries,” she says. “Just moved here with the expansion. Number twenty.”

“Oh.” You blink. “You’re that Kate Martin.”

She laughs. “Depends. Which Kate Martin were you thinking of?”

You smirk. “The one whose buzzer-beater made my cousin cry in March.”

Kate grins. “Guilty.”

You glance down at the notebook in your lap. The half-written sentence. The empty line that follows.

“Well,” Kate says, throwing the ball again, “if you ever want a tour of the city, I give a decent one. And I know the best burrito spot in the entire Bay Area.”

You hesitate.

She sees it.

Something flickers behind her smile—something kind. Patient. Like she’s not going to push.

“No pressure,” she says. “Maybe I’ll just see you here again.”

You nod. “Yeah. Maybe.”

You do see her again.

Three days later.

Same park. Different bench. This time, you’re sipping coffee and pretending not to wait for her.

She sees you first.

“Told you,” she says, dropping onto the bench beside you, “best coast.”

You glance sideways. “Still undecided.”

Kate bumps her knee against yours. “I’m working on it.”

You don’t tell her about Azzi at first.

It takes months.

Of dog park conversations. Shared coffees. Quiet walks where neither of you says anything because the air already feels full enough.

She texts you sometimes—mostly memes, weird food pictures, photos of her dog wearing sunglasses.

You laugh more than you used to.

Smile more freely.

Grief, for the first time, starts to feel like something soft around the edges.

The night you tell her is cold.

You’re sitting on her couch after a win, both of you still buzzing from the energy. She’s sprawled across the cushions with a hoodie half-zipped, feet in your lap. You’re nursing a ginger ale and trying to ignore the way her laugh makes your chest ache.

And then she asks, softly, “Who was she?”

You blink. “What?”

Kate’s eyes stay on yours. “The one who still lives in the way you look at sunsets. And coffee. And dog parks.”

You stare at her for a moment. “Her name’s Azzi.”

Kate nods. Doesn’t speak. Just waits.

You tell her about the mornings. The silence. The way it ended before it ended.

You don’t cry. Not this time.

When you finish, Kate doesn’t say anything profound.

She just shifts closer and takes your hand.

And you realize you’re not waiting anymore.

You’re healing.

It doesn’t happen all at once. Nothing worth keeping ever does.

It happens the way sunlight finds the edges of your window before you’re ready to wake. The way laughter creeps into your chest when you least expect it. The way Kate doesn’t ask for pieces of you—you just start giving them.

You think the shift starts the night she asks if she can stay.

“You look exhausted,” you tell her as she kicks her shoes off in your entryway.

Kate sighs dramatically. “We had film, weights, and media today. One more question about how it feels to be an underdog and I might retire.”

You chuckle. “It’s week two of the season.”

“Exactly. Premature burnout is real.”

You raise an eyebrow as she flops onto your couch like she owns it.

“You want dinner or sympathy?”

“Both,” she mumbles into a pillow.

You order Thai food.

She helps you clean up even though she didn’t lift a finger to cook, and afterward, you both end up sitting on the floor with your backs against the couch, legs stretched out in front of you, her shoulder brushing yours like it's always meant to be there.

Somewhere between the second can of La Croix and you gently wiping curry sauce off her chin, she yawns.

And you say it—quiet, instinctive, “You can stay, if you want.”

Kate’s eyes flick up to yours. “You sure?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

She sleeps in your bed that night.

Fully clothed. A soft snore. The dog curls up at her feet like he already knows.

You lie awake a little longer, staring at the ceiling, counting breaths. It’s not romantic. It’s not even new. But it feels like something coming home.

After that, it becomes a pattern.

A rhythm.

She stays sometimes. Not always. Just when the air feels heavier and neither of you wants to say goodbye at the door. There’s no sex. No confessions. Just shared toothpaste, mismatched socks, and the way she knows how to fill the silence without crowding it.

She never kisses you.

Not until you’re ready.

It’s raining when it finally happens.

You’re both sitting on the balcony of your apartment, knees pulled up, mugs in hand. The city lights blink soft in the fog. There’s music playing faintly from inside—something mellow and wordless, like a thought that hasn’t formed yet.

Kate’s eyes are on the sky.

“Did you ever think it’d be like this?” she asks.

You glance over. “What?”

“Growing up. Getting older. The parts they don’t prepare you for.”

You think about it.

“No,” you admit. “I thought it would be simpler. Happier.”

Kate hums. “Me too.”

You sip your tea. “Are you happy now?”

She looks at you for a long moment. Then sets her mug down.

“I’m trying,” she says. “But sometimes it feels like I’m waiting for something I haven’t named yet.”

Your breath catches. “Me too.”

And she kisses you.

It’s soft. Intentional. No fireworks, no dramatic movie score. Just her lips on yours—gentle, reverent, like she’s asking permission and promising not to run.

You don’t pull away.

When it breaks, her forehead rests against yours.

“You okay?” she whispers.

You nod. “Yeah.”

“Did that feel okay?”

You meet her eyes.

“It felt like the first thing in a long time that didn’t hurt.”

Afterward, nothing changes all at once.

You don’t suddenly start calling her your girlfriend. You don’t delete old photos or stop dreaming about a life you almost had with someone else. But you do start saying goodnight with a kiss. You start looking forward to grocery trips together. You start smiling at the sound of your door unlocking at the end of a long day.

And when you cry—on a Wednesday afternoon for no reason at all—Kate doesn’t ask you to explain. She just holds you, murmuring quiet things into your hair like, “You don’t have to be okay every day,” and, “I’m not going anywhere.”

One night, as you lie curled into her chest, you whisper, “Do you ever feel like we’re building something with pieces that broke off other things?”

Kate runs her fingers through your hair.

“All the time,” she murmurs. “But that doesn’t make it any less real.”

You press your face into her shoulder and breathe her in—clean laundry, mint, and something that already feels like home.

You still think about Azzi sometimes. But it’s not a wound anymore. It’s just a scar.

And tonight, you’re not living in a memory. You’re living in the moment.

With Kate.

It doesn’t happen in a moment. You don’t wake up one day and stop thinking about her. That would be too easy.

Instead, it fades.

A little more every day.

You notice it in the quiet first. The way your thoughts no longer drift toward the “what if.” The way you go a full morning without remembering how Azzi used to take her coffee. The way you catch yourself smiling at nothing in particular — just Kate’s toothbrush next to yours. Her flannel thrown over the back of your desk chair. The way she hums when she cooks eggs.

You stop dreaming about the past because you're finally living something that feels like a future.

It hits you, slowly, that Azzi doesn’t live here anymore.

Not in your apartment.

Not in your chest.

Not in your every thought.

She was your before.

But Kate… Kate is your after.

And you’re starting to realize after doesn’t mean lesser.

It means survived.

It means stayed.

The first game you go to, she doesn’t know you’re there.

Kate had brushed it off during breakfast that morning. “It’s just preseason. Nobody comes to preseason.”

You didn’t argue.

You just bought tickets anyway, because the truth is, watching her play feels like watching the sun crack open a storm.

You sit in the third row behind the bench, hoodie up, coffee in hand, sunglasses hiding your face even though you’re indoors. She doesn't spot you during warmups. Doesn’t even glance into the crowd. She’s too focused. In the zone. Fierce and fluid, her jersey clinging to her shoulders like it was stitched to her skin.

The game is fast-paced. Tight. She plays like she’s been doing this her whole life.

You find yourself yelling — not just cheering, yelling — every time she makes a three.

A guy behind you laughs. “You her sister or something?”

You grin. “Or something.”

When the Valkyries win in overtime and she’s mobbed by teammates, she finally scans the crowd.

You wave once.

She stops.

Mouth open.

Then she smiles — big and bright and real — and blows you a kiss in front of thousands.

“You came.”

That’s the first thing she says when she barrels through your door that night, still in her post-game sweats and ponytail.

“I always will.”

Kate drops her bag, walks right up to you, and wraps her arms around your neck. “I played better because of you.”

“You didn’t even know I was there until the fourth quarter.”

She leans back just enough to look at you. “Didn’t matter. I felt different. Stronger.”

“You hit five threes.”

“And I thought about you after every one.”

You shake your head, blushing. “You’re ridiculous.”

She kisses your cheek. “I’m in love.”

You blink.

She freezes.

And for the first time, she looks scared.

“I didn’t mean to say it like that,” she says quickly. “Not like some big thing. It just slipped out—”

You press your hand to her chest. “Say it again.”

Kate blinks. “What?”

“Say it again,” you whisper.

She breathes in. “I’m in love with you.”

Your heart catches.

Because for the first time in years, there’s no shadow in your chest. No ghost in your lungs.

Just Kate.

You take her face in your hands.

And say it.

“I’m in love with you too.”

The moving in part isn’t dramatic either.

It’s just… the next step.

It starts with a toothbrush. Then her record player. Then the drawer in your dresser that fills up with her team-issued hoodies and Valkyries gear.

One night, while folding laundry, you hold up her socks and say, “Do you want a key?”

Kate glances over, frozen with a spoonful of peanut butter halfway to her mouth.

“A key?”

“Yeah.” You toss her the socks. “I mean, you practically live here.”

She blinks. “Are you sure?”

You nod. “I want you here.”

She sets the spoon down slowly. Walks over. Pulls you in.

“I was scared you’d never say that,” she whispers into your hair.

You look up. “I was scared I’d never feel safe enough to.”

The first night you officially live together, she makes you dinner.

It’s awful. Undercooked pasta. Over-salted sauce.

You eat every bite.

She watches you with wide eyes. “You hate it.”

“I love it,” you lie, chewing bravely. “It’s aggressively seasoned.”

“You’re such a liar.”

“I love you.”

She grins. “Okay, that works.”

You do dishes together. She sings off-key. You splash her with water.

Your dog watches from the doorway like he’s never seen you this happy.

Maybe he hasn’t.

“Did you ever think we’d get here?” you ask her one night, curled on the couch with her legs over yours, TV on mute.

She turns her head. “Here as in…”

“As in this. Together. Safe. Full.”

Kate studies your face for a long second. “I hoped. But I never expected it. I figured you’d leave a little space in your heart for her forever.”

You go quiet. “I did.”

She nods.

“But not anymore.”

Kate turns. “Really?”

You nod, voice quiet. “I don’t think about her the way I used to. Not with ache. Just… a chapter. One that had to end to make space for this.”

Kate looks like she might cry. You kiss her before she can.

Her lips taste like home.

The smell of eggs wakes you before the light does.

You shuffle into the kitchen wearing her oversized Valkyries hoodie, hair a mess, eyes half-closed.

Kate’s already flipping something in a pan, hair wet from a shower, humming off-key.

She doesn’t turn around.

“You’re up late,” she says, grinning. “That’s two days in a row. I’m starting to think you’re becoming a night owl.”

You lean your head against her shoulder. “I was up at 6:30 yesterday.”

“Only because the dog farted directly on your pillow.”

“Betrayal from within.”

She laughs, sliding eggs onto your plate. “Breakfast of champions.”

You raise a brow. “This is toast with cheese and scrambled eggs.”

“Exactly.”

You both eat at the kitchen island, barefoot, knees touching under the counter.

No phones.

No rush.

Just soft chewing and the scrape of plates and the quiet understanding that this—this—is peace.

“You’re not getting that,” you say, grabbing the double-stuffed Oreos from the cart.

Kate gasps. “You monster.”

“We have five packs at home.”

“Yeah, but these are seasonal.”

“They’re red. That’s the only difference.”

“They taste festive.”

You laugh, setting them back on the shelf. “I’ll make you homemade cookies.”

“You just want an excuse to use your stand mixer again.”

“I love my stand mixer.”

Kate bumps your hip with hers. “I love you more.”

A kid behind you groans dramatically. “Ugh, get a room.”

You and Kate just smirk at each other.

No room needed.

This aisle is enough.

Sometimes, the nights are chaotic.

Pizza boxes. Game replays. The dog racing back and forth with a sock you never meant to sacrifice.

Sometimes, they’re quiet.

Kate builds a pillow fort in the living room with you one Saturday just because she can.

You watch a movie under the blanket ceiling, her hand on your thigh, her thumb drawing slow circles that say everything she hasn’t said out loud yet.

“I’d marry you tomorrow,” she mumbles against your neck.

You laugh. “Bold of you to assume I’d say yes.”

Kate pulls back. “Oh, really?”

“Maybe I’m holding out for a ring.”

She grins. “So you would say yes.”

You kiss her. “Try me.”

She kisses you back. But nothing happens the next day. Or the next week. And you let it go. Because you trust her timing. Because loving her has never been about pressure.

Just presence.

You come home from work late.

There’s no big buildup.

No camera crew.

No rose petals on the floor.

Just Kate standing in the kitchen with flour on her cheek, baking something that smells like cinnamon and home.

You drop your bag.

Tilt your head. “What’s going on?”

She shrugs. “Felt like making cookies.”

You walk over and kiss her cheek. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

“I know.”

There’s music playing quietly in the background. A soft guitar instrumental. One you used to play on loop when your hands shook too much to type.

Kate takes the tray out of the oven and sets it down with a soft smile.

“Want to try one?”

You nod. Grab one.

Take a bite.

Something hard clinks against your teeth.

You blink.

“What the hell—?”

Kate is already grinning.

You pull out a small, sealed plastic capsule.

You stare at her. Then back at the cookie. Then at her again.

“No,” you whisper, heart in your throat.

She’s already kneeling.

She opens the capsule.

Pulls out a delicate gold ring.

Simple. Elegant. So Kate.

“I don’t want the big moment,” she says. “I want the small ones. Forever. The boring days. The mismatched socks. The way you hum when you make tea. I want every grocery aisle and pancake morning. I want you in all your moods. I want the quiet — if you’re in it.”

You can’t breathe. Can’t speak.

“I want home,” she says. “And that’s you. So… will you marry me?”

You laugh through a tear. “You baked my proposal.”

She shrugs. “I knew you’d be hungry.”

You grab her face and kiss her so hard the flour from her cheek dusts your lips.

“Yes,” you whisper. “Yes. A hundred times yes.”

She stands, spinning you, and you don’t remember the last time you felt this light.

The dog barks. The oven beeps again.

The world keeps spinning.

But you — you’re still in her arms, saying yes.

You’re a few months into married life when the question starts to surface — not like an explosion, but like mist curling under the door.

It’s not a moment. It’s a million of them.

It’s Kate falling asleep on your chest mid-movie with your hand resting low on her stomach. It’s watching her at a Valkyries fan event, signing a little girl’s jersey and kneeling to tie her shoelace like she’s been someone’s mom forever. It’s you looking up from your laptop one morning, seeing her reading an article titled “10 Things No One Tells You About IVF”, and quietly bookmarking it.

It’s not if anymore.

It’s when.

You’re folding laundry together on the living room rug, legs criss-crossed, piles of socks between you.

Kate holds up a tiny onesie.

You frown. “Why do we have that?”

“It’s from when your niece visited.”

“You kept it?”

She shrugs. “It’s soft.”

You stare at her.

She stares back.

The moment stretches, long and open and weightless.

You speak first. “I’ve been thinking about it.”

Kate sets the onesie down carefully. “Me too.”

You swallow. “For how long?”

“A while,” she admits. “Since before we got married.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t want to rush you.”

You look at her. “Kate… nothing about this feels rushed.”

She exhales slowly. “Okay. So what do we do next?”

You smile.

“We figure it out.”

The research phase is brutal. Endless acronyms. Clinic visits. Folders full of pamphlets.

You talk about adoption.

You talk about IVF.

You talk about sperm donors, legal rights, insurance loopholes, parental leave.

Kate makes a spreadsheet.

You make a playlist called “Baby Fever”.

Your dog seems to know something’s happening. He stays close, rests his head on your lap more often.

One night, Kate’s curled up against you on the couch, her fingers tracing your thigh under the blanket.

“What if I’m not good at it?” she asks quietly.

“At spreadsheets?”

“At being a parent.”

You tilt her chin gently so she’s looking at you.

“Kate, you’ve been taking care of me since we met.”

She smiles, but it’s fragile.

You cup her cheek. “You are steady. Patient. Kind. You lead with your heart. That’s all a kid really needs.”

Her eyes shine.

“You’ll be good too,” she whispers.

You kiss her forehead. “We’ll figure it out together.”

You both start sleeping later. Not because you’re tired. Because you're dreaming out loud more. The first time you think it’s happening, it’s a Tuesday.

Nothing dramatic. No morning sickness or glowing cheeks. Just… a pause.

A quiet shift in your body.

You’re brushing your fingers over your lower stomach while Kate folds towels on the bed. She doesn’t say anything at first, just watches you with that look — the one that’s both too careful and too full of hope.

“What are you thinking?” she asks, breaking the silence.

You shrug. “I feel different.”

Kate freezes, towel half-folded.

“Different how?”

You hesitate.

“Just… tired. And sore. And I cried at a Subaru commercial this morning.”

She puts the towel down.

You don’t say it out loud. Neither of you does.

But you feel it.

Maybe.

You lie in bed, feet tangled, sheets kicked off.

“What would we name her?”

Kate’s voice is soft, drowsy. “Her?”

You shrug. “Just feels like a girl.”

Kate hums. “I like Avery.”

You smile. “I like Eliza.”

“We sound like we’re picking out names for a dog.”

You glance at the dog asleep on the foot of the bed.

“He is named Pancake.”

“Fair.”

You roll onto your side. “Would you want to carry, or…?”

She blinks. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

“I think I want to.”

“Yeah?”

You nod. “I want to know what it’s like. To feel her kick. To know I brought her into the world.”

Kate’s hand slides to your stomach, warm and steady. “You’re gonna be so hot pregnant.”

You snort. “That’s your takeaway?”

“I will be unhinged. Emotionally. Physically. Biblically.”

You throw a pillow at her.

She catches it, laughing, then pulls you back in and kisses your forehead. “You’re going to be a great mom.”

And for the first time, it doesn’t feel like a dream anymore.

It feels real.

The first test comes three days later.

Negative.

You stare at the single line like it betrayed you.

Kate sits beside you on the edge of the tub. Doesn’t say anything for a long time.

You finally speak, voice small. “I really thought this was it.”

She nods. “Me too.”

You lean into her shoulder, forehead resting against her collarbone. She wraps her arms around you and rubs slow circles into your back.

“We’re okay,” she whispers. “This doesn’t mean anything. Just one try.”

You nod.

But the ache stays.

Not disappointment — not exactly.

Just the weight of almost.

The second time, it’s worse. Your period’s a week late. You don’t tell her right away. You can’t bear to watch the hope bloom in her eyes again if it’s only going to wilt. But she notices anyway.

“You’ve been quiet,” she says, one night, over pasta.

You poke at your food. “Just tired.”

“Work tired or something else tired?”

You hesitate too long.

Kate sets her fork down.

“Babe.”

“I didn’t want to get ahead of anything,” you say. “But it’s been a week. I didn’t want to say it out loud and jinx it.”

She’s already reaching for your hand. “Can I be excited now?”

You nod.

She squeezes your hand tight.

You take the test two mornings later.

Kate’s in the kitchen making coffee. She doesn’t hover. She knows you like to be alone.

You stare at the stick for ten straight minutes before the second line never comes.

It stays blank.

Stark.

Silent.

You walk into the kitchen with the test still in your hand.

Kate sees your face.

“Oh,” she says.

That’s all.

Just, “oh.”

You nod.

She doesn’t cry.

You do.

Just a little.

Into her hoodie, against her chest.

She holds you while the coffee pot beeps behind you.

“Maybe next month,” she says softly, but even she doesn’t sound convinced.

You whisper, “I don’t want to feel like this every month.”

And that — that makes her cry.

Just a tear or two. Quiet.

Because you both want this so badly it aches.

Because you know it’s not a promise. Not for people like you. Not even with science and love and timing on your side.

Later that night, you’re curled together on the couch. The dog is asleep. The TV’s playing some documentary neither of you are really watching.

Kate strokes your hair.

“Can I ask you something?”

You hum. “Yeah.”

“If it never happens… if we keep trying and trying and it never works…”

You look up.

“I’ll still choose you,” she says. “Every time.”

You press your face to her chest and whisper, “You’re already everything.”

Kate finds you in the kitchen at 2 a.m., wrapped in a blanket, nursing a glass of water you don’t remember pouring.

She doesn’t speak at first.

Just pads over in her fuzzy socks and wraps her arms around you from behind.

You lean into her.

“I don’t know if I can do this again,” you whisper.

Kate rests her chin on your shoulder. “Then don’t. We’ll stop.”

You turn to look at her. “You don’t mean that.”

She shrugs. “I mean… I want this. With you. But if you need to stop, we stop.”

You stare at her for a long moment.

“Tell me why we’re doing this,” you whisper.

Kate’s eyes are soft but certain. “Because I’ve seen the way you hold our friends’ babies. Because you tear up when you see toddlers in bookstores. Because I’ve seen how gently you love things. And because I want to raise someone with you who knows that kind of love.”

You look down at your hands.

“Do you still believe it’ll happen?”

“I don’t know,” she admits. “But I still believe in us. And that’s enough to try again.”

You let the silence sit between you. “Okay. One more time.”

You don’t want to take the test.

Not because you don’t want to know. But because this is the last morning you still could be pregnant. Before the world says yes or no. Before it becomes fact.

There’s something sacred about this space — this limbo between believing and knowing. Between maybe and mama.

Kate’s still asleep when you slip out of bed, pulling her hoodie on over your tank top. The apartment is dark except for the faint glow of sunrise seeping under the blinds.

You pad barefoot into the bathroom. You take the test. You set it on the edge of the sink.

And you wait. Heart pounding. Eyes closed. You don’t look at it right away. You brush your teeth. You pet the dog.

You check your email, even though there’s nothing there but a newsletter from that baby site you accidentally subscribed to months ago.

Then you go back. You pick it up.

Two lines.

Two.

Not faint. Not tentative.

Clear.

Positive.

You don’t breathe for three whole seconds.

Then you sit on the floor.

And cry.

Kate finds you like that.

Hunched in the corner of the bathroom, clutching the test like it’s breakable, tears tracking silently down your cheeks.

She doesn’t panic.

She knows you.

Instead, she kneels in front of you, eyes scanning yours.

You hold the test up.

She reads it.

And for a long, long moment, neither of you speak.

“…You’re pregnant?”

Your lip trembles. “I’m pregnant.”

Kate lets out a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh.

She cups your face in both hands, pressing kiss after kiss to your forehead, your nose, your wet cheeks, your lips.

“You’re—you—you did it. Holy shit, babe.”

You nod.

Still stunned.

“I thought I imagined it,” you whisper. “Every symptom. Every ache. I thought I was doing that thing where my body fakes it again.”

Kate shakes her head, forehead resting against yours. “Not this time. You’re really pregnant.”

You let the words sit in the air.

Later, you're on the couch in her lap, wrapped in a blanket, both still in pajamas.

You hold the test between you like it’s a photograph of the future.

“I think I’m still in shock,” you admit, voice quiet.

Kate kisses your temple. “We’ve been preparing for this so long… and now that it’s real, it doesn’t feel real.”

“What if I mess this up?”

“You won’t.”

“What if something goes wrong?”

“We’ll handle it. Together.”

You rest your head on her shoulder. “What if I fall apart?”

“I’ll hold you.”

You glance up. “What if I need pancakes at 3 a.m.?”

Kate grins. “You’ll have pancakes at 2:59.”

You laugh, finally.

The first real, full one in weeks.

Kate pulls you closer, palm resting over your belly.

“I love you,” she whispers. “And I love them. Already.”

Your hand covers hers.

And for the first time — it really sinks in.

You’re not waiting anymore.

You’re beginning.

You decide to tell your people together.

It feels right.

You’ve kept so much close to your chest for so long — the early attempts, the heartbreak, the negative tests — but this time is different.

This time, it’s not a maybe.

This time, you get to celebrate.

And you want to do it with the people who carried you both when you couldn’t carry yourselves.

You and Kate settle in on the couch with your laptop propped up on a pillow and the dog nestled between you like he’s also in on the secret.

Kelsey Plum joins first, her camera at an odd angle, her head half cut off.

“I swear I know how Zoom works,” she mutters, adjusting. “Hi, gays.”

“Hi, chaos,” Kate says.

“Where’s the party?”

Then A’ja Wilson joins, sunglasses on indoors, sipping from a water bottle roughly the size of a toddler.

“Alright, what’s this emergency meeting?” she asks. “Y’all getting matching tattoos or something?”

Sydney Colson joins last, mid-laugh. “Please say you’re starting a reality show. Or a pyramid scheme. Or both.”

Kate smirks. “Better.”

“I knew it,” Sydney says, raising both hands like she just got baptized.

You glance at Kate.

She nods.

You hold up the ultrasound photo.

There’s a beat.

Then Kelsey screams.

“NO. YOU’RE—”

“I’m pregnant,” you say, already tearing up again.

Sydney gasps. A’ja stands up and disappears off-screen entirely. You hear the thump of her running around her house.

“Y’all really—?!” Sydney is blinking hard, trying to recover. “Wait. Wait. Is this for real?”

“For real,” Kate confirms, brushing a tear off her cheek. “We just hit eight weeks. Everything looks good so far.”

“I’m gonna cry,” Kelsey says, already tearing up. “Like, real-life tears. Y’all did it. Y’all really did it.”

A’ja finally returns. “I had to grab my fan,” she says, dramatically waving herself. “I’m emotional and sweating. My girls are gonna be moms?!”

You nod, overwhelmed.

Sydney leans forward. “So when do we get to be the drunk aunties?”

“Immediate effect,” you say. “Full clearance.”

Kelsey snorts. “Don’t play, I already got tiny Nikes in my cart.”

“I want the baby to call me ‘God-tier Auntie Sydney,’” Sydney says.

Kate rolls her eyes. “We’ll see how they feel about titles once they’re verbal.”

“Can I call dibs on introducing them to basketball?” A’ja asks.

“You’ll have to fight Kelsey,” you say.

“You know I’d win,” Kelsey says, deadpan.

Sydney screams.

It takes twenty minutes for the call to calm down. You sit there, teary, hand in Kate’s, watching them love you from across the country.

It feels like your baby is already being welcomed home.

“You’re glowing,” Kate says one morning, watching you sip orange juice in her old Iowa hoodie, which now barely fits over the swell of your lower belly.

You blink at her. “I’m sweating.”

“Glowing.”

“I haven’t slept in three days. I cried because a pigeon walked into traffic.”

Kate nods, totally unfazed. “Glowing.”

You roll your eyes, but inside?

You like it.

You like that she’s seeing you in ways you’re still learning to see yourself.

You’re brushing your teeth when it happens.

A faint, fluttery pressure.

You freeze. You wait. You press your hand against your belly and whisper, “Kate?”

She’s in the other room. “Yeah?”

You’re still frozen. “I think…”

She appears in the doorway, toothbrush still in her mouth, eyes wide.

You grab her hand, place it low on your stomach, and wait.

Then another flick. Soft, like a tiny stretch.

Kate gasps so hard she chokes on her toothpaste.

“OHMYGOD!”

You both start laughing, clutching each other, your mouth still full of minty foam, her eyes wide with tears.

“She kicked,” you whisper.

“She kicked.”

Kate drops to her knees right there on the bathroom tile and kisses your belly.

“You already know how to make an entrance,” she whispers to your bump. “Just like your mom.”

You raise an eyebrow.

Kate winks. “Not you. The dramatic one.”

It becomes a nightly thing.

Kate talks to your belly.

Not cutesy stuff, either — actual conversations.

“Hey, baby. So your mom cried because we ran out of pickles. And then again when we found more pickles.”

“She lies. I did not cry.”

“She wept. She sobbed. She almost named you Vlasic.”

You kick her from the couch.

Later, in bed, she speaks in hushed tones.

“Your mom is braver than she knows. She carries both of us, you know? And I think you’re going to be like her.”

You pretend to be asleep, but your fingers curl around hers.

You’re in a bookstore, wandering the children’s section, when Kate pulls a book off the shelf and reads the title out loud.

“‘Mama, Do You Love Me?’”

You nod.

She opens it, reads a few lines silently, and then quietly says, “I’m gonna read this to her someday.”

You stare at her.

At her calm, certain face. At the way her fingers graze the pages like they’re already part of your baby’s life.

And that’s when it hits you.

Not just that you’re pregnant. Not just that you’re having a daughter. But that you get to raise her with Kate.

And suddenly the past doesn’t hurt anymore. Not in the same way. You are not a broken thing building something new.

You are whole.

And you’re about to bring someone into the world who will be loved from the very beginning.

Sydney Colson is in charge of the games.

Which is the first mistake.

She shows up in a tiara and a “Hot Aunt” sash and hands out whistles with rules like, “If anyone says the word baby, you lose a point.”

Kate immediately says, “Baby.”

Sydney blows her whistle in her face.

Kelsey Plum is in the corner judging the food table like it’s a Michelin restaurant.

A’ja makes a playlist called Womb Vibes that includes Destiny’s Child, Sade, and one rogue Wu-Tang track.

Tiffany Hayes wins “Who Knows Kate Best” with disturbing accuracy.

Kate’s mom, Jill, brings a homemade quilt and starts crying as soon as you open it.

Kate’s sister, Kennedy, hands you a framed photo from the day you found out you were pregnant — the one Kate secretly took of you crying on the bathroom floor, holding the test like it was the whole world.

You cry for most of the afternoon.

And when the guests leave and you’re surrounded by tiny socks and bottles and notes scribbled in pastel-colored cards, you whisper, “It feels too good to be real.”

Kate kneels in front of you, hands resting on your knees.

“It is real,” she says. “Because we made it.”

You wake up to pressure.

Not pain, not at first — just a dull weight in your lower back, like something heavy settling inside your body. The clock on the nightstand glows just past 3 a.m. Kate is still asleep beside you, one hand draped over your stomach, her breathing soft and even.

You lie there for a while, not moving. Not yet. Not sure if it’s real.

Another wave comes. Sharper this time. More insistent.

Your breath catches. You close your eyes.

It’s happening.

It’s finally happening.

By the time you gently shake Kate awake, the pressure has turned to pain — not unbearable, but growing. She blinks at you, confused at first, and then wide-eyed as she sees your expression.

“Is it time?” she whispers.

You nod. “I think so.”

She’s instantly out of bed, already in motion. Her calmness doesn’t mask the tremble in her voice when she says, “Okay. Okay. Hospital bag. I’ll get the car ready.”

You sit on the edge of the bed, both hands cradling your belly. “Don’t forget the playlist.”

She freezes, mid-sock. “Are you serious right now?”

You give a shaky smile. “Contractions Vibes was your idea.”

Kate exhales a breathless laugh, kisses your forehead, and disappears down the hall, mumbling, “God, I love you.”

The drive to the hospital is quiet except for the faint hum of the engine and the soft shuffle of your breath. You grip the side handle of the passenger seat and wince through another contraction. Kate reaches over and squeezes your hand. Her thumb runs circles over your knuckles the whole way.

You’ve both rehearsed this moment so many times, but now that you’re living it, everything feels strangely distant — like you’re watching it happen from outside your body.

Kate speaks gently as she pulls into the parking lot. “You’re doing so well, babe. We’re almost there.”

You nod, but your hands are shaking.

You’re not sure if it’s fear or adrenaline or both.

In the hospital room, the air is cold and sterile, the fluorescent lights too bright. Nurses move quickly around you, efficient but kind. Kate stays by your side, her hand never leaving yours. The pain builds with each contraction — sharp and tightening, like your body is folding in on itself. You grip the sheets, the bed rail, her fingers. Anything to ground yourself.

“Breathe with me,” Kate says, her forehead pressed to yours. “In and out. Just like that. I’ve got you.”

Her voice is the only thing that cuts through the pain.

Time becomes something elastic — it stretches, contracts, loses shape. Hours pass, or maybe minutes. You’re not sure. You only know that your body is opening, splitting, preparing. You’re afraid. You tell Kate that. Quietly. In the moments between.

“I’m scared,” you whisper into her shoulder.

“I know,” she says. “Me too. But we’re doing this. Together.”

She wipes sweat from your brow, kisses your knuckles, murmurs encouragement even when you curse, even when you sob, even when you scream through the pain. She doesn’t flinch. She just stays.

That’s what love does.

When it’s time to push, the room shifts again. More people. More light. The midwife’s voice is calm but firm.

“You’re doing great. You’re almost there.”

You dig your heels into the bed. You bear down. You scream. Kate’s hand anchors you, and her voice is in your ear the entire time.

“You’re so strong. I’m right here. You’ve got this. I love you. I love you.”

You don’t know how long it takes. You don’t care. You only care about what comes after.

And finally, a cry.

One sharp, perfect cry that breaks something open in your chest.

You collapse back against the pillows, breathless, exhausted, shaking.

The baby is placed on your chest, tiny and warm and slippery and real.

She cries, and so do you.

Kate’s crying too. She’s covering her mouth with both hands, staring at the little girl in your arms like she’s witnessing a miracle.

And maybe she is.

“She’s here,” you whisper.

Kate nods, brushing tears from your cheeks. “She’s so beautiful.”

You both stare at her — blinking, squirming, perfect. She grips your finger, impossibly small.

“Hi, baby,” you say, voice thick. “I’m your mama.”

Kate leans in. “And I’m your mom.”

Your daughter yawns, already content. Like she knew this was home all along.

the room quiets.

The nurses step out.

It’s just the three of you now.

Kate lies beside you, one arm cradling your shoulders, the other resting gently over the baby sleeping on your chest. You’re both quiet. Not from exhaustion — though that’s there — but from reverence.

This is the beginning of something holy.

You whisper into the stillness, “We did it.”

Kate kisses your temple. “You did it.”

You shake your head. “We did.”

She looks down at your daughter.

And then back at you.

And smiles.

You’re at Golden Gate Park with your kids on a warm Saturday afternoon, sunlight slicing through the trees in golden slivers. Your daughter is three, your son one—both wrapped in the kind of laughter that makes every sleepless night worth it. You sit on the bench nearby, coffee in hand, sneakers scuffed from the short walk over, eyes tracking their every move.

You’re still not used to how full your life is. But you love it.

“Mommy!” your daughter yells, waving wildly. “Doggie!”

You look up, smiling. “Where?”

She points.

And that’s when you see her.

Azzi.

She’s walking along the trail with a golden retriever bounding in front of her, a leash still dragging behind. Her hoodie is baggy, hair tied up, sunglasses low on her nose. She bends down, laughing softly as she grabs the leash—then straightens.

She sees you.

Everything stops.

Your breath catches. It’s not a punch to the chest. It’s a slow, deep inhale of something you buried a long time ago. Something that still smells like fall mornings in Connecticut and heartache at 3 a.m.

You meet her eyes.

And Azzi… she doesn’t look away.

You don’t move at first. Neither does she.

You just look at each other—six years of silence coiling in the air between you, humming like a wire too taut.

Azzi makes the first step.

“Hey,” she says. Her voice is soft. Hesitant.

You nod, standing slowly. “Hey.”

#kate martin #kate martin x reader #iowa women’s basketball #iowa wbb #martinis #money martin #golden state valkyries #lesbian #wlw #wuh luh wuh #wnba x reader #wnba basketball #gsv #azzi fudd #azzi fudd x reader

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luludeluluramblings · 3 months ago

Note

A meme for feral basis if I may:

*babies first kidnapping*

Criminals: "We have you're daughter now give us 12 million or she dies."

Bruce: *sweats* "WhIcH dAuGhTeR!?

Criminal 1: *describes feral mc whose actively biting through her restraints*

Bruce: Good luck! *laughs and hangs up*

Criminal 1: What the?! dang kid your dad must hate-

*notices they're gone*

Criminal 2: Where I'd she go?!

*They hear feral laughter from everywhere*

Criminal 3: She's in the walls. SHES IN THE WALLS!!

Mc: *Appears behind them like the undertaker* Boo!

Criminals: *horrified screams*

Actually this is baby's third kidnapping.

The first kidnapping Feral!Reader was on their best behavior. They had just moved to Gotham and the whole family had been pounding into their head that they needed to behave and show some decorum.

So Feral!Reader managed to keep all intrusive thoughts under control that one incident.

Bruce (and the rest of the family) freaked the fuck out. Their little abomination was kidnapped for ransom. They're monstrosity had some thugs holding a gun to their head.

Of course, Feral!Reader doesn't flinch or anything. They stay very mindful and demure.

After the whole incident, Feral!Reader does get grazed with a stray bullet. But, they were so excited that they did such a good job even if Bruce was in cardiac arrest from the possible close call.

Bruce makes the decision then and there that Feral!Reader is allowed to go ape shit ONLY when kidnapped.

Which leads us to the second kidnapping. Well, attempted. The idiots tried to kidnap Feral!Reader from a gala. High society has given Bruce so much space since.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

*Goons break into Gala to hold everyone hostage and steal shit*

*Villain of the week monologging *

*Bat Fam hidden in various locations around the Gala with com-links*

Bruce *hidding in a closet* : Who's on patrol tonight?

Barbara *in the BatCave* : Jason, but he's twenty minutes away.

Damian *Under one of the tables* : We can take them.

Stephanie *By the dessert table* : Not if we want people to ask questions.

Duke *back at the manor* : I can maybe swing it in fifteen if I use the Bat mobile.

Damian: Now who wants to drive it?

Tim *stuck with a group of investors getting their luxury watches stolen* : Shut up you two.

Jason *Driving on his motorcycle* : I'm on my way. Cass can be my backup.

Bruce: Good, we can manage until-

Dick *at a random table* : Feral!Reader vanished on me!

Stephanie: How did you lose them?!

Bruce: Does anyone have visual on them?

Damien: No, but I have a bad feeling.

Barbara: I'm pulling up security footage of the venue.

Jason: I'm booking it.

Duke: I'm heading to the Cave to suit up.

Tim: Wait, I think I saw them. Their by the buffet table.

*Feral!Reader ginning manically while they steal the fuel pots from the food warmers.*

Tim: Oh, that's not good.

Bruce: What's not good?

Tim: Babs, get the fire department on speed dial.

*Feral!Reader manged make a pipe bomb with a few things they found. Then used some random fabric they ripped from their clothing hog tie the villain and their goons.*

Villain: You little bitch!

Feral!Reader: Don't call bitch or you ain't gonna like what I do to you!

Villian: Do your worst, bitch!

Feral!Reader: Bet.

*Feral!Reader proceeds to procure a bottle of maple syrup and a fire ant farm before shoving both objects down the villains pants.*

Feral!Reader: My cousin once said that this was a good hack to make your dick bigger.

*Villain screaming.*

*Goons screaming cause the ants are getting on them too.*

*Gotham elite looking in horror.*

Bruce: ...

Bruce: Well, I'm sure this was just a one time incident.

*It was not.*

Tim: Someone needs to check on that cousin…

#luluramblings #answered asks #yandere batfam #batfam x reader #batfamily x reader #yandere batfamily #yandere dc #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfamily x reader #feral!reader

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watchmegetobsessed · 3 months ago

Text

RAW, NEXT QUESTION

A/N: saw a vid of all these dirty tiktok comments and just knew i had to write something like this hehe

WORD COUNT: 1k

WARNING: just some dirty talk i guess?

SUMMARY: You decide to get Harry hot and bothered with some of the most unhinged sayings you learned from Tiktok.

MASTERLIST | SUPPORT ME!

Harry has always joked about how chronically online you are and quite frankly, you can’t argue with him. You definitely enjoy rotting on the couch after a long and tiring day and just scrolling through Tiktok. Your For You Page is usually pretty on the spot and perfectly curated for your taste and humor. It’s like a treat after being an adult for a whole day.

Harry spends quite some time on different apps as well, but it’s just different for him, he doesn’t really engage with all the trends and micro trends that happen online, while you live for those. You absolutely love the memes, the poorly edited videos, the funny lines that just stick with you and you even catch yourself using them in real life as well.

And Harry loves teasing you for that. He often jokes about you being a teenager at the ripe age of twenty-eight, to which you just usually roll your eyes. But one instance kind of turns the tables.

One morning, after you’ve been out with your girlfriends the night before you’re stumbling out of the bedroom quite late, finding your boyfriend in the kitchen, already making you the breakfast you usually crave after drinking a bit too much. But this time he is standing by the stove in a pair of light grey sweatpants and your pink apron, nothing else. His hair is tousled, his tattoos are on display and he just looks incredibly delicious as he cooks for you.

“Good morning, Sunshine,” he smiles at you when he sees you climb onto a stool by the kitchen island.

“Mmm,” is all you can get out as you can’t take your eyes off of you. He catches you eyeing him, a pleased grin stretching across his face as he flips a piece of bacon in the pan.

“Like what you see?” he asks teasingly and before you could think of your answer, the words spill out of you.

“Raw, next question.”

Harry chokes on his breath, his ears go red instantly as he gives you a wide-eyed look.

“Uh what?” he asks with a laugh and you notice him shifting from one leg to the other a bit nervously.

“What, caught you by surprise?” you grin at him.

“Where did that come from?”

“It’s a Tiktok thing,” you shrug, but the gears are already turning in your head.

If this comment got him so hot and bothered, you’d love to try out all the other unhinged sayings that circulate on the app. So you got to work.

In your notes app, you collect a rather long list of them that you’d like to drop on him at the right moment and then you wait.

And the moments luckily come.

A few days later you have a particularly bad day at work and Harry knew, because you texted him all day. So he welcomes you home with a nice, hot bath, candles around the tub and a bottle of wine already waiting for you with two glasses. Standing at the door you look at him with adoring eyes and then you drop a bomb.

“I mean, I’m not a waitress, but I would take your tip.”

You see his pupils grow instantly.

“Y/N,” he growls as you just smirk at him. A moment later his hands are already peeling your clothes off. You don’t even make it into the tub, because you take more than just his tip on the counter.

The next time happens when he cooks dinner for you, the pasta he makes so well and is one of your favorites. Sitting at the table you watch him fill your plate with the delicious looking, creamy pasta and you just say with a sigh: “Mm, but why is he filling my plate and not me?”

The spaghetti spoon drops from his hand, back into the pot and he almost drops the plate as well. You can’t hold back your laugh as he puts it down and leans back in his seat, raking through his hair with pink cheeks and a cheeky smirk that also reflects his disbelief that you just said that.

“Everything alright, baby?” you ask with an innocent look. He shakes his head with a chuckle and goes back to the pasta, but you already know you’ll be his dessert.

The best one however happens publicly. One of your friends has a grill party when the weather is finally warm enough and you split for a bit, engaging in different circles. Harry looks incredibly good, wearing a colorful shirt with a few buttons undone, so he is flaunting quite a bit of his chest. He is nursing a beer, sunglasses hiding his pretty eyes and he recently shaved, but left his mustache, so he looks… extraordinarily good in your opinion.

But others notice it too, the girls you’re chatting with mention his new facial hair style and they share your view of it looking amazing. As if Harry could sense that you’re talking about him, he turns to you and then starts walking towards your little circle.

“Woah, get a load of this guy!” one of the girls jokingly calls out and you reply instantly.

“Oh, I’m trying to!”

Harry stops in his tracks as the girls start cheering and whistling at your comment. Slowly, a smirk tugs on his mouth as he takes the last few steps towards you, curling an arm around your shoulders and tugging you close so only you can hear when he says: “Oh you will get more than just a load when we get home.”

And you can’t hold back the smirk when you turn to look at him, catching him arching an eyebrow at you. It’s certain he thinks he got you speechless, but then you up it one more.

“Hmm, but something is off,” you pretend to think deep and he gets serious as well.

“What–” He doesn’t get to finish before you look him in the eyes and continue.

“Ah, nevermind. It’s just my clothes.”

He lets out a breathy chuckle as he shakes his head.

“You’re banned from using that app ever again,” he says, kissing into your hair and you just shrug with a triumphant smile.

Thank you for reading, please like and reblog if you enjoyed and buy me a coffee if you want to support me!

#harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles blurb

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fangirlfuel · 3 months ago

Note

What’s the most chaotic thing you can imagine Lando Norris doing in a relationship

Lando Norris & His Chaotic Boyfriend Behavior (Totally Not Spoilers 👀)

Okay, hear me out—the most chaotic thing I can imagine Lando doing in a relationship? Definitely something like:

•Live-streaming their argument by accident – He’s on Twitch, supposedly raging over a game, but the chat quickly realizes he’s actually arguing with his girlfriend off-screen. Chaos. Absolute chaos. The clip goes viral in 0.2 seconds.

•Buying a pet without asking – Surprise! There’s now a baby goat in their living room, and he’s already named it. She’s not amused, but Lando insists they’re keeping it.

•Oversharing in interviews – A journalist asks a casual question about his personal life, and before he can stop himself, he drops an extremely embarrassing fact about his girlfriend. The group chat immediately roasts him.

•Forgetting an important date but making up for it in the most extra way – Realizes at the last minute and panic-books a literal private jet for a surprise getaway. (Totally normal behavior.)

•Stealing her skincare products – Then acting like he has no idea why his skin is suddenly clearer than hers. The audacity.

•Texting absolute nonsense at 3 AM – He suddenly wakes up and needs to know: “Would you still love me if I was a worm but like a really fast one???”

•Ordering the most unhinged food combos – Genuinely thinks dipping pizza in milk is valid and tries to convince her to try it. (She refuses. Obviously.)

•Getting jealous over ridiculous things – “WHY did you like his Instagram post from four days ago?!” It was a meme, Lando.

•Leaving voice memos instead of texting – And they’re all either incoherent mumbling, weird sound effects, or him screaming into the mic. No in-between.

•Pranking her 24/7 – But the second she gets him back? “Wow. That was mean. I trusted you.”

•The 2 AM McDonald’s Run That Went Wrong-It starts as a simple craving. Lando’s half-asleep, mumbling about nuggets. Next thing she knows, they’re in the drive-thru, him in pajama pants, her in one of his hoodies. But just as they get their order, Lando accidentally starts rolling forward… and straight into the curb. The McDonald’s employees are watching. She’s crying from laughter. He’s just sitting there, holding a large fries, whispering, “I can fix this.”

•The Time Lando Got Lost in IKEA - They go to IKEA for one thing. ONE. Yet somehow, Lando disappears within minutes. She gets a text: “Babe. I’m in the fake bedroom section. Send help.” Twenty minutes later, she finds him fully lying in a display bed, hands behind his head, rating the mattress. “Honestly, I could live here.”

•When Lando Tried to Cook and Nearly Burned Down the Kitchen - He swears he can handle it. “Pasta is easy, babe. It’s just water and noodles.” Fast forward: the fire alarm is going off, there’s smoke everywhere, and he’s standing there with a melted spatula, looking guilty. “Sooo… we’re ordering takeout, yeah?”

•The Vacation That Turned Into a Survival Mission - He planned a “relaxing getaway.” The reality? A remote cabin with no Wi-Fi, questionable plumbing, and a surprise thunderstorm. At one point, he’s standing in the rain, holding a stick like it’s a weapon. “If a bear shows up, I got this.” She’s already googling hotels nearby.

•Lando’s Genius Plan to Sneak Into a Concert (That Failed Miserably) - They didn’t have tickets. But Lando had a plan. “Trust me, I saw this in a movie.” Next thing she knows, they’re wearing matching high-vis vests, holding clipboards, and trying to look official. It works… for about five minutes. Then security spots them. “RUN!”

•The Time Lando Decided to Dye His Hair… and Regretted Everything - He was so confident. “Platinum blonde will look sick.” She tries to warn him. He doesn’t listen. An hour later, he’s staring at his reflection, horrified. “Babe. I look like a wet Q-tip.”

The IKEA Couch Disaster - He insisted they didn’t need help assembling it. “We got this!” Three hours later, there are extra screws, the instructions are ripped, and the couch is lopsided. “So… maybe we just tell people it’s modern art?”

---

(Also… confession time. 👀)

These chaotic Lando moments? Yeah… they’re actually straight from my drafts. Every single one. I may have just leaked my own work, but at this point, are we even surprised? 😆

They’re still getting some final edits (fixing grammar mistakes, tweaking details, and making sure the photos and screenshots are just right—perfection takes time, people! ✨), but they’re coming very soon.

Now, I need your help—which one do you want to see first? Drop your favs in the comments before I get too tempted to post them all at once. 🤭🔥

------

#f1 #f1 x female reader #f1 x reader #one shot fanfic #f1 fanfic #f1 one shot #fluff #f1 imagine #oneshot #f1 fic #lando x you #lando x reader #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris one shot #lando norris imagine #lando norris x you #lando norris x oc #lando norris x y/n

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ubepan · 1 year ago

Text

i really love this meme for bingqiu because the correct way to illustrate it is not with a bored sqq who's readily answering all these, but a SQQ that has a tone and expression brimmed with one hundred and twenty percent warm indulgence—a promise to grant whatever request LBH might have. like genuinely that's the only way

[ID: A text conversation with Scum Villain characters edited over it. It reads:

Luo Binghe: I have a question for you.

Shen Qingqiu: Yes I'd cry if you died Yes I'd still love you if you was a worm Yes I still love you No I don't want to break up

Luo Binghe: Thank you. End ID]

#he enjoys the spoiling okay #he ENJOYS IT!!#bingqiu #shen qingqiu #luo binghe #svsss #edit: added link to the meme w/ its creator ! (memer?)#another edit: added descriptions made by princess-of-purple-prose !!

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moluvies · 1 month ago

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yearning ꔛ hange zoe x f!reader

a/n: i seriously cant say y/n anymore without thinking of the tiktok memes please save me . read part two here !!

words: 5.3k

cw: minor injury, confessions, they/them pronouns for hange, she/her pronouns for reader, hange w/ female anatomy, reader has female anatomy, reader is the #1 yearner!!, SMUT!! hange is a freak lowkey (obvi), face sitting, fingering hange, MDNI !!

˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡

You wanted to follow them into the wooded area nearby, but it seemed Commander Erwin knew you weren’t exactly prepared for whatever Hange was up to during these scouting missions. Levi was frequently tasked with following them instead, known for his abilities to keep people from dying but also his annoyance in having to do so.

You stayed back at camp, shoulders slumped where you sat at a nearby picnic table. Commander Erwin was right, obviously. You’d just be a liability if you went with them, but it didn’t stop from making you worry. Hange and Levi were fully capable soldiers. Perhaps the most capable, actually. But being apart from them always made your heart beat faster and your head begin to ache. Despite their technical skills, Hange still always managed to put themselves in danger.

"Chin up, (Y/N)!"

You looked up, finding Petra alongside Oluo with jugs of water in their arms. You simply sighed. It wasn’t a secret to your comrades how much you cared for Hange — not by a long shot. It didn’t make the constant teasing any less annoying, though.

"Your little Hange will be back in no time, dear," Oluo had added, his voice taking on a twinge of teasing that had you rolling your eyes.

"I know that. I'm just... I dont know," you shrugged, "bored."

Petra let out a lighthearted laugh, placing the jug of water onto the table beside you. "Oh, so we bore you now?" She teased.

"It's not like that," you replied with look of embarassment. "You know I enjoy your company. It's just—"

"You'd rather be with Hange," Oluo finished for you, setting his water jug down with a smug grin. "We understand, don't we, Petra?"

Petra nudged him with her elbow but couldn't hide her smile. "Leave her alone, Oluo. Not everyone can be as stoic as you pretend to be."

Oluo scoffed, crossing his arms. "I don't pretend anything. I—" His words cut off as he accidentally bit his tongue, causing both you and Petra to stifle laughter.

The sound of commotion from the edge of camp caught your attention. Rising to your feet, you squinted toward the tree line, heart immediately racing when you spotted the returning group. Levi was in the lead, his expression even more sour than usual. Behind him was Hange, but they weren't walking properly—they were leaning heavily on another scout.

Without thinking, you broke into a run.

"What happened?" you called out, reaching them before anyone else from camp.

Levi clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Four-eyes decided to get too close to a cliff edge. Turns out unstable rock is still unstable, even for scientists."

Hange looked up at you with a bright smile despite the dirty bandage wrapped around their thigh and the various scratches on their face. "It was worth it though! The view from that position let me see exactly how the terrain affects titan movement patterns when—"

"Shut up," Levi cut them off. "Get them to the medical tent," he ordered the scout supporting Hange.

"I can help," you blurted, moving to Hange's other side and slipping their arm around your shoulders. The contact made your pulse race, even under these circumstances.

As you helped Hange toward the medical tent, you couldn't stop the worried questions tumbling from your lips. "How bad is it? Did you break anything? How much blood did you lose? Why weren't you being more careful?"

Hange laughed, their voice still enthusiastic despite their obvious pain. "It's just a flesh wound! Some rocks gave way, I slid about twenty feet down a slope. The cut on my leg is the worst of it."

"That's still serious!" you protested, helping them inside the tent where medical supplies awaited.

Your hands trembled slightly as you eased them onto a cot. Being this close, touching them, supporting their weight—it was both heaven and torture knowing it came at the cost of their injury.

"Really, (Y/N), I'm fine," Hange insisted as you and the other scout helped them onto a cot. "I've had much worse. Remember that time with the experimental trap and I—"

"I remember," you cut them off, not wanting to relive that particular memory. "That doesn't make this okay."

Levi appeared at the tent entrance, arms crossed. "The bandage needs changing. It's filthy, like everything else about you," he said pointedly towards Hange.

Despite his harsh words, Levi moved efficiently around the tent, gathering clean bandages and antiseptic. You helped Hange remove their gear and boots while they continued rambling excitedly about their findings, seemingly oblivious to both their injury and your distress.

"You should have seen it, (Y/N)! The formation of the ravine suggests that titans might be using these natural passages to travel undetected! If we map them all, we could potentially predict—"

"Hold still," you murmured, gently rolling up their pant leg to reveal the bloodied bandage. Your fingers brushed against their skin, and you hoped they wouldn't notice the way your hands shook.

When you unwrapped it, you couldn't help but gasp at the jagged gash that ran along their thigh. It wasn't life-threatening, but it was deep and angry-looking.

"See? Just a scratch," Hange said dismissively, then winced when Levi approached with the antiseptic.

"Some scratch," Levi muttered. "Hold them still," he instructed you.

You placed your hands on Hange's shoulders, hyper-aware of the warmth radiating through their shirt. They smelled like earth and sweat and blood, and still, somehow, it made your heart race. Hange's face contorted in pain as Levi cleaned the wound, and you found yourself wishing you could take their pain away.

Their eyes met yours, and they tried to mask their discomfort with a smile. "This is nothing compared to what I'm going to discover with this new information," they said through gritted teeth. "The commander will be pleased once I explain my theory about—"

"The commander," Levi interrupted, "will be pleased if you return with all your limbs attached. Which almost wasn't the case today."

Your grip on Hange's shoulders tightened involuntarily. "Please be more careful next time," you whispered, your voice betraying far more emotion than you intended. "I know your research is important, but..."

Hange reached up, placing their hand over yours. The casual touch sent electricity through your veins. Their eyes softened behind their glasses, and for a moment, the manic scientist facade fell away. "I know. I'll try to be more careful."

"No, you won't," Levi said flatly as he finished bandaging the wound. "But next time, maybe we'll let (Y/N) come along. She can't possibly do a worse job of keeping you alive than I did."

Your eyes widened in surprise. Was that Levi's way of complimenting you? Even Levi may have noticed your devotion to Hange, much to your embarassment.

"That's a wonderful idea!" Hange exclaimed, suddenly reinvigorated. Their hand was still on yours, and they gave it a squeeze that made your heart flutter embarrassingly. "Next time you can come with us, (Y/N)! I could use an assistant who actually cares about my research."

The thought of being alone with Hange in the field made your stomach do somersaults. You quickly looked away, certain your face betrayed every emotion you were trying to hide.

Levi scoffed as he packed away the medical supplies. "I didn't say anything about being an assistant to your suicidal experiments, Four-eyes. Just someone to make sure you don't break your neck."

Despite his harsh words, Levi had taken obvious care with the bandaging. He might act annoyed, but you knew he cared for Hange—just not in the same breathless, aching way you did.

"There," Levi said, straightening up. "Try not to reopen it with your constant fidgeting." He turned to leave but paused at the tent entrance. "And (Y/N), make sure they actually rest. Tie them down if you have to."

After he left, Hange chuckled, then winced again at the movement. "He's such a mother hen under all that scowling."

You sat down on the edge of the cot, closer than was strictly necessary. With the immediate crisis past, your body finally remembered how to breathe normally. "You really scared me today," you admitted softly.

Hange's smile faded into something more serious, more genuine, the slight quirk of their lips remained. Like they were genuinely very sorry for worrying you. "I'm sorry about that. But you know how important this research is. Every bit of information could save lives."

"I know," you sighed, finding the courage to meet their gaze. "Just... try to remember that your life is important too. To the regiment." You bit your lower lip, heart pounding in your ears before adding, "To me."

The words hung between you, more revealing than you'd intended. You looked down quickly, studying the threadbare blanket, terrified of what you might see in their eyes.

Hange was technically your superior, but still someone you had trained with. Their passion for knowledge about the titans was always intriguing to you, their approach to leading being much different from other section commanders in the regiment. Hange's intelligence was always really attractive to you, causing you to admire them since you met them. Your admiration was always from afar, though, at least until graduation from the cadet corps and when you began serving in a squad under their command.

However, despite everyone in your proximity being able to see how attached and borderline obsessed with Hange you were, Hange never said a word about it. You were unsure if they saw what everyone else saw.

Hange was quiet for a moment—an unusual state for them. "I'll keep that in mind," they said, voice uncharacteristically soft.

When you dared to look up, their expression had changed to something you couldn't quite read—something warm and focused entirely on you instead of titans or experiments. "And next time, you'll be right there with me. I promise it'll be exciting!"

You couldn't help but smile, despite knowing that "exciting" in Hange's vocabulary usually meant "dangerous." But as you looked at their eager expression, bright eyes shining with passion despite their injury, you knew you'd follow them anywhere—cliff edges and all.

"I'll hold you to that," you said. "Now get some rest before Levi comes back and really does tie you down."

"Stay," Hange said suddenly, making your body freeze momentarily. "I'm not going to be able to sleep anyway."

It didn't take much convincing, obviously. With the most brief hint of hesitation, you nod, heart racing rapidly in your chest. "Okay, I'll stay as long as you need."

It was pathetic, you thought. Sometimes you hated how much it showed when it came to your interactions with Hange, how much your devotion and attachment was present in your every word towards them.

"It's just nice to have someone who listens to my rambling without telling me to shut up every 2 seconds," Hange says with a fond smile, adjusting their glasses momentarily as they stared off at the medical supplies in the room.

"Oh, come on," you laugh, feeling your heart flutter at even the smallest amount of praise. "I tell you to shut up plenty."

"Only when you're worried," Hange countered, turning to look at you. "Which is all the time with you."

Their words made your breath catch and a flush creep up your neck. "I'm... I just... It's not really like that," you stuttered out, the implication that you worried all the time seemed vague and wasn't necessarily accurate to your character. The worrying was specifically reserved for Hange. Everyone knew that. You just weren't sure if Hange did.

"I only really worry about you, if I'm honest," you finally said quietly.

"Am I that reckless?" Hange asked sarcastically with a grin, obviously teasing you. After a beat of silence, they sigh. "I know. Moblit and Levi have been telling me for months about a soldier who's seemed attached to me at the hip, but I guess I was too preoccupied to realize who he was even talking about. Until now, at least."

You hum, not trusting yourself to speak. The confirmation that not only Levi and Moblit knew, but now Hange was beginning to understand made your heart race to the point you might've felt a bit dizzy. "I'm sorry," you say finally. "I don't mean to smother you or anything."

"Oh, not at all!" Hange assured you, waving their hands around, dismissing any insecurities you may have had a moment ago. "I actually find it rather endearing."

You genuinely were at a loss for words, still not trusting yourself to formulate a proper response that didn't involve stuttering.

Hange shifted on the cot, wincing slightly as they adjusted their injured leg, but their eyes never left your side profile. There was something different in their gaze now—a focused intensity that was usually reserved for their research.

"You know," Hange continued, their voice dropping to a softer tone, "for someone who notices everything about titans, I've been remarkably oblivious about what's been right in front of me."

You still weren't sure how to respond. You knew you probably looked or seemed ridiculous now. Just sitting there with your mouth closed, heart racing and your foot nervously tapping on the ground.

"Hange," you started. "I'm really sorry."

"For what?" They asked, confidence in their tone (as there usually was) and a pleased smile on their face. "I may be a bit slow on these matters," they admitted with a slight chuckle, "but I'm not completely hopeless The way you look at me sometimes... it's the same way I look at a breakthrough in my research."

The statement was so distinctively Hange that you had to smile, a bit of the tension leaving your shoulders. Hange said your name, making you look towards them. Their smile was warm on their face, eyebrows twisted up in something that may have been pity. Or that's just what you told yourself.

Hange's hand came up and gently cupped your cheek, their thumb swiping along your cheekbone tenderly. The touch made your breath hitch, but the kind smile on their face eased a lot of the nervousness you held moments ago.

"I'm sorry, for not realizing," Hange stated. "It must have been hard."

You shook your head, the gesture causing Hange's hand to drop from your face. "It wasn't, just..." you hesitated, unsure where the conversation was even going. Hange wasn't normally difficult to read, but with matters of the heart maybe you were also a bit ignorant. "Just being near you made me happy," you finally said, your voice shaky and soft.

Hange said nothing for a second before turning their body more towards you, their fingers coming up to brush some hair out of your face. The gesture was intimate, but most of all gentle. Gentle with your feelings but also of you in general.

"For what it's worth, every time I'm with you I'm happy, too," Hange said. "What that says about me, I never knew," their fingers pushed hair behind your ear, staying there motionless for a moment. "Until now."

You hummed, even you not oblivious to the tension accumulating here. The way Hange smiled at you, the way your gaze kept dropping to their lips, and the way Hange seemed to encourage it with their expression. None of it passed you by, but it didn't make you feel any less nervous.

"May I?" Hange whispered, gaze dropping to your lips.

Unable to find your voice, you simply nodded.

The first press of their lips against yours was gentle, questioning. Your eyes fluttered closed as you leaned into the kiss, years of longing finally finding release. Hange's hand slid from your cheek to the back of your neck, drawing you closer as the kiss deepened.

You felt pathetic when an involuntary whimper left your lips against theirs. Until you felt the grin forming on their lips, which made you feel more at ease. Hange tilted their head slightly, nose brushing against yours as their tongue found your mouth.

You felt completely under their control, completely theirs. When Hange's hand met the small of your back, you shivered, but then pulled away, breathless and dizzy with the same pounding in your chest.

"We shouldn't—your leg—"

"Don't care," Hange murmured against your lips, already leaned in again, their voice taking on that familiar stubborn tone that both frustrated and endeared them to you.

Their hands tangled in your hair as they pulled you back into the kiss, more insistent this time. You could feel their smile against your lips, feel the way their breath hitched when you tentatively placed your hands on their shoulders, fingers digging slightly into the fabric of their shirt.

You melted into their touch, years of silent longing pouring into each caress. Hange kissed with the same enthusiasm they approached everything else—thoroughly, passionately, with complete abandon. Their tongue traced the seam of your lips, requesting entry that you eagerly granted.

"I've wanted this," you confessed against their mouth, "for a really long time."

Hange hummed in response, one hand sliding down to your waist to pull you closer on the narrow cot. "How long?" they asked, breaking the kiss to trail their lips along your jawline.

"Since training," you admitted, tilting your head to grant them better access. Your breath caught when their teeth grazed the sensitive skin below your ear.

"That long?" Hange pulled back slightly, looking genuinely surprised. Their glasses had fogged slightly, and you couldn't help but smile at the sight. "I'm even more oblivious than I thought."

You reached up to remove their glasses, folding them carefully and placing them aside. Without the barrier, their eyes seemed even more intense, more vulnerable. "I didn't mind," you said, pressing your lips against theirs once more.

Soon, you found yourself kissing Hange more desperately, but not as pushy as someone else might've been. Instead, you gently eased them onto the cot, their head meeting the pillow.

"You're so pretty, Hange," you said, your expression carrying the weight of the words you spoke. And they were. Their brown hair, cut choppy and usually messy in a way that you found endearing and Levi found revolting, was now splayed across the light fabric of the pillowcase. Their eyes slightly hooded and lips parted. "So pretty," you repeated more to yourself, leaning down and kissing at their jawline.

"Can I touch you?" You ask, your body hovering above theirs and your hand carefully placed on their abdomen, making sure you put no pressure on their injured leg.

"What kind of question is that?" Hange joked, but still, they grabbed your hand, placing it where they wanted it against their breast. "Don't hold back. I know you're a shy one but don't let that stop you," they said with a smile.

Your heart raced furiously just at the contact of your hand on their breast. "But, your leg..." you started.

"Will be fine. Just touch me, I really could use this anyway," Hange said, grinning. "Especially from you," they added, their hand caressing the top of your head.

You nodded with a grunt of confirmation, your head dipping again to capture their lips. Your hands met the buttons of their shirt, popping them open as quick as you could. Once the shirt was opened, you moved your mouth to kiss at their neck and then collarbone, noting the way Hange gasped out when your hands touched their waist.

Your hands trailed upwards to dip beneath the fabric of their bra, feeling the soft flesh of their breasts and the hardening of their nipples. The moment your skin met theirs, Hange arched into your touch with a quiet moan, their fingers tangling in your hair to keep you close.

"Fuck," they sighed.

Your shyness warred with the hunger coiling in your belly, but the way they looked at you—like you were the only thing that mattered—made you bold. You dipped your head, taking one of their nipples into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the stiff peak before sucking gently.

"You're so good at that," Hange whimpered, body trembling beneath you at the contact that was so foreign to them until now.

Encouraged, you switched to the other nipple, lavishing it with the same attention while your hand slid down their stomach, fingers tracing the waistband of their pants. You hesitated only for a second before slipping beneath, finding the wet heat between their thighs through the fabric of their underwear. You were careful to not put any pressure on their hurt leg, continuing to lap at their nipple as they looked down at you.

"You're really wet," you breathed in admiration, your fingers touching and feeling outside of their underwear.

Hange bucked their hips impatiently.

"Please," they whined, their voice thick with need.

You exhaled shakily, finally pushing their panties to the side and letting your fingers touch their bare heat. The moment you touched their cunt, you felt how wet they were, how ready. Your fingers slid through their slick folds, feeling all the moisture that you caused physically evident.

"Hange," you said, your gaze looking down at them with a soft expression, one that expressed care and fondness.

Hange's hand met your forearm, obviously they were holding on by a thread in their restraint.

Getting the hint, you pressed your fingers against their clit, instantly hearing the sharp intake of breath it caused. You bit your lip, eyes locked with Hange's face, desperate to see their reactions to your touch.

You rub tight circles on their clit, relishing in the way Hange gasped, the way their thighs trembled.

Then, your fingers dipped lower. You started with one, pushing it into the core of their pussy. "God," Hange gasped, their grip on your forearm tightening enough to hurt but not enough to make you care. You then pushed another in, seeing the way Hange's lips parted as you did so.

“That’s it,” Hange panted, their thighs trembling around your wrist. “Just like that—fuck—don’t stop—”

You didn’t. You kept your pace relentless, watching their face twist in pleasure, their lips parted in silent moans. Their cunt was dripping now, your fingers sliding in and out with ease, each thrust drawing another breathy whimper from their lips.

Your thumb circled their clit, rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves in time with the push and pull of your fingers. The wet sounds of your fingers pumping in and out of their needy pussy filled the tent, along with Hange's increasingly desperate moans and whimpers.

Your fingers delved deeper, sinking knuckle-deep into their tight heat. Hange moaned long and low, their hips undulating. "Oh fuck," their hand fisted in your hair as they pulled you into a messy kiss, all tongue and teeth and desperation.

You fingered them with clumsy fervor, pouring all your pent-up longing into each thrust. Hange met each pump of your wrist with a roll of their hips, fucking themselves on your hand.

"That's it, baby..." Hange panted against your lips, "fuck me with your fingers...wanna cum all over your hand..."

The filthy words falling from their lips only heightened your own need, but didn't stop the way your heart pounded and your face warmed in embarassment. It was a given that Hange of all people would talk like that during, well, this, but it still made your head short-circuit momentarily. You could feel your panties growing damp, your clit throbbing in time with the frantic hammer of your heart. But right now, your focus was on Hange, on bringing them pleasure.

You curved your fingers just so, rubbing insistently over that special spot inside. Hange cried out, their pussy clamping down like a vice. "I'm coming, shit!" Their body went rigid, then shook with the force of their orgasm.

Watching Hange come undone by your touch was the most erotic thing you'd ever seen. Their face was flushed, mouth open in a silent scream of ecstasy. You felt a rush of feminine pride and desire seeing the effect you had on them.

Finally, Hange collapsed back onto the cot, chest heaving. You slowly withdrew your fingers from their fluttering heat, bringing them to your mouth. Tasting Hange's essence for the first time. The flavor was salty and sweet, and you knew you wanted to spend a lifetime learning the taste of their skin.

Hange watched you through hooded eyes as you licked your fingers clean, their kiss-swollen lips curling into a satisfied grin. "I knew you'd be good at that," they murmured, reaching up to caress your cheek.

"What makes you say that?" You ask with a nervous laugh.

"If I say it, I'll be outed as a creep," Hange said ominously, making you laugh sincerely this time. You leaned down and kissed them tenderly, wanting to show them that your affection didn't come from just attraction and lust but because you've spent years admiring them.

"Now," Hange smiled, their hands wandering down your sides until they met your ass through your pants, "I want to taste you," they murmured, their voice rough with desire but the smile on their face remained. "I want to bury my face in your pussy and eat you out until you scream."

Your cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of red, arousal and nerves warring within you. "Oh god, Hange..." you laughed nervously, but it didn't stop the way your thighs trembled slightly. The idea of having their mouth on you, their tongue delving into your most intimate places...it was almost too much to comprehend.

"Please..." Hange pleaded with your name, fingers finding the button of your pants. "Let me taste you. Sit on my face," they said.

"What?" You nearly stuttered, eyes widened. "Hange, I can't-"

"Please," they repeated. "I can't really do it any other way," they added with a grin that showed you just how serious they were, "what with my hurt leg and all."

"Hange, what if—what if I hurt you more?"

They chuckled. "The only thing that’ll hurt is if you don’t let me eat you out right fucking now."

You bit your lip, the position that they suggested seeming dirty and not traditional to what you viewed as "normal" sex. But you nodded, understanding Hange's perspective and also the way your cunt ached beaneath your clothes.

Finally, you nodded, sitting up as Hange helped you slide your pants off. Now clad in just your underwear, Hange smiled at you. "Don't be nervous," they said, fingers already hooked at the hem of your underwear. "You're beautiful."

Soon, your underwear was removed, revealing the aching wetness of your pussy all in full view of Hange's eager gaze. Hange's hands gripped your ass, encouraging you to shift until you hovered over their face. You could feel their breath, hot and heavy, fanning over your dripping sex. Your heart pounded, but the ache between your legs was impossible to ignore.

Biting your lip, you slowly lowered yourself, straddling Hange's face. You let out a shocked gasp as you felt their mouth press against your wet pussy, their nose nestling into your mound. Hange groaned, their hands kneading the globes of your ass.

Hange didn't waste a second before diving in, their tongue delving between your swollen lips to lap at your dripping folds.

"Oh god, Hange!" you cried out, your hips jerking in surprise at the sudden, intense sensation. Their tongue explored your most intimate places, stroking and probing, tracing the shape of your slit. You could feel your arousal flooding out, coating Hange's chin and cheeks.

Hange groaned in approval, the vibrations of their voice adding a new layer of sensation. Their hands tightened on your ass, pulling you harder against their face. You knew they were injured, but right now all they cared about was the pleasure they were giving you.

You could feel their tongue circling your clit, flicking over the sensitive nub. Your head fell back and you moaned softly, too lost in sensation to feel shy anymore. You rolled your hips faster, fucking yourself on their face with abandon.

You moaned, fingers tangling in their hair as they devoured you, their nose pressing against your clit while their tongue fucked into you. The sounds were obscene—wet, sloppy, filthy—and your face burned at the realization that anyone outside the tent could probably hear.

You whimpered, rocking your hips against their mouth as they lapped at your dripping pussy. Their tongue plunged inside you, fucking you deep before withdrawing to tease your swollen clit again.

“H-Hange—” you gasped, hips jerking forward as their tongue curled inside you. “You—you feel so good—”

They groaned against your cunt, the vibration making you cry out. Their hands gripped your ass harder, pulling you down onto their mouth as they sucked your clit between their lips, tongue flicking rapidly.

You couldn’t stop yourself—your hips rolled shamelessly, grinding against their mouth as pleasure coiled tight in your belly. Hange moaned like they were the one being pleasured, their tongue working faster, their lips sucking harder—

And then you broke.

A strangled cry tore from your throat as you came, your pussy clenching around nothing, your thighs shaking as Hange lapped up every drop of your release. They didn’t stop until you were squirming from oversensitivity, your legs too weak to hold yourself up.

Slowly, you pushed yourself up, your body still thrumming with lingering pleasure. "We should… probably get dressed," you murmured, cheeks heating as you glanced at Hange’s disheveled state. Their hair was a wild mess, their shirt unbuttoned, and their pants still pushed down just enough to expose the bandage on their thigh.

Hange grinned, lazy and satisfied. "Mmm, shame. I was enjoying the view."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress your smile as you reached for your discarded clothes. Hange watched you with a lazy, satisfied smile as you pulled your pants back up, your fingers fumbling slightly with the fastenings.

"You’re adorable," they stated, their voice still rough. You shook your head with a big smile on your face.

As you pulled your shirt back on, you glanced over at Hange, who was struggling to sit up without aggravating their injury.

"Here, let me," you said softly, moving to help them.

You carefully adjusted their pants, smoothing the fabric over their hips before gently tugging them back into place. Then, you reached for their hair, combing your fingers through the tangled brown strands, trying to tame some of the chaos. Hange sighed contentedly, leaning into your touch like a cat.

"You’re good at this," they murmured.

You huffed a quiet laugh. "At fixing your hair?"

"At taking care of me," they corrected, their voice softer than usual.

Your hands stilled for a moment, heart swelling in your chest. "I… like taking care of you," you admitted, barely above a whisper.

Your hands lingered in their hair, your heart suddenly pounding for an entirely different reason. Now that the heat of the moment had passed, the weight of what just happened settled over you.

"...I really like you, Hange," you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "Like, really like you."

Hange’s expression softened, their usual manic energy replaced by something quieter, warmer. They reached up, cupping your cheek.

"I know," they teased with a smile, laughing when you rolled your eyes. "I like you ,too. More than I thought I did, I think."

Your heart raced. You didn't even know where to go from here, but when Hange's hand met yours it put your mind at ease.

Then, from outside the tent, Levi’s voice cut through the moment like a knife. "(Y/N)!" Your head whipped around to where he was calling, seeing his short silhouette. "If you two are done defiling medical supplies, Erwin wants a debrief."

"Okay!" You called back, then turned to Hange.

"I'll, uh, check on you later, okay?" You said, turning to leave.

Hange nodded, stretching their arms with a sigh as their fingers ran through your hair once. "Levi definitely heard, by the way."

#hange smut #hange x reader #hange x reader smut #attack on titan #aot smut #aot x reader #aot x reader smut #smut #hange zoe

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primaviva · 5 days ago

Text

“SICKENINGLY SWEET” ⸻ SWEETGIRL HEADCANONS

PAIR. sweet!abby anderson x sweet!masc!reader

SYNOPSIS. you and your girlfriend abby love each other a lot; so much so that everybody around you seems to be sick of it your antics.

WARNINGS. mdni, suggestive content, smut, mentions of strap on use, dirty talk, sub!abby, masc pet names, majority is fluff.

you and abby are like two brick houses with bows on top; sturdy, solid, reliable… and constantly pressed forehead to forehead whispering, “i missed you,” like you weren’t just apart for twenty minutes.

the rest of the patrol unit? fed up. fully.

manny once walked in on you two giggling under a tarp during watch duty. “you guys are gonna get sniped because you can’t stop cuddling.”

abby just blinked up like, “then i die warm.”

you two are just a ridiculous pair of sweethearts. she loves doing things for you to show her affection, even if it’s… questionable. abby could make you a shitty sandwich and you’d eat it like it’s fine dining.

“wow baby, this is two pieces of bread and cheese still in the plastic,” you comment. in your mind you know it’s diabolical. how did she not see the plastic? it’s not wrapped THAT thin.

but the minute she shrugs and bats her pretty lashes telling you it’s “it’s made with love.”

the switch up is evident.

“then i love it,” you grin, taking a big bite and choking slightly. just imagine that one spongebob meme where squidwards two front teeth are tacking the most microscopic bite out of the krabby patty? literally you. she kisses your forehead as her atonement for whatever food poisoning you’ll probably wake up with. should’ve taken the cheese out the plastic man…

she’s obsessed with your hands. especially when they’re on her.

rough palms sliding up her sides under her tank top. the quiet way you press your lips to the back of her shoulder in the morning before she’s fully awake.

you’re both tough as hell but the softest with each other, and it’s undeniably cute (or so you like to think).

she’ll walk into the gym and immediately find you across the room, eyes lighting up like the sun just came back after a week of torrential rain.

“there’s my baby,” she’ll grin, jogging over to press a sweaty kiss to your temple.

and you? you melt like the tip of a lit candle from the hot wick.

“hi, beautiful,” you murmur like you’ve just seen her for the first time.

gross! manny’s groaning from across the room.

abby smells like sweat, gun oil, and eucalyptus, and you’re addicted.

you nuzzle her neck constantly, half the time forgetting where you are.

“babe,” she whispers during a briefing. “you’re gonna get us kicked out.”

“you smell good,” you mumble. “gonna live here.”

she shakes her head but lets you. always lets you.

you’re the type to kneel down just to tie her bootlaces without her asking.

she’s mid-conversation and suddenly you’re crouched, focused, tongue between your teeth.

“they were coming undone,” you say simply, double-knotting them with care.

abby stares like she’s gonna propose again, even though you already live in her bed.

“i’m gonna kiss you so hard you can’t walk,” she whispers.

“good. carry me.”

she doesn’t even care if you’re joking. she 100% would, can, and will carry you.

you hold her hand like it’s a god crafted bracelet created for you.

anywhere, anytime.

at dinner. in meetings. even when it makes it awkward to reload your gun.

she’ll try to shake you off like “you need both hands to function y’know.”

you just smile. “nah, i only need one. the other’s for holding you.”

she groans but doesn’t let go.

abby can get a bit jealous. she wants your sweetness all to herself like a greedy bee among a pasture of flowers in the spring.

one time she got jealous you carried someone else’s bag.

it’s just for five seconds. someone was limping and you were helping like the sweet girl you are. she says nothing, but the angelic eyes giving you a not-so-angel stare of death and daggers behind your back tells you all you need to know. you could practically feel her staring you down. in fact—the tension is loud.

later, she pins you to the wall in the shower. “next time i limp, you better carry me.”

you grin, “of course baby.”

she’s not even mad. she just wants to be babied by you. exclusively.

she’s secretly the clingier one, even if no one else sees it.

you leave for five minutes and come back to her pretending she didn’t look for you three times already because at this point it’s a animalistic instinct engraved in her brain (and heart).

“where were you?”

“washing my hands.”

“for that long?”

she always sits in your lap when she’s tired; strong arms slung around your neck, her whole weight just relaxing onto you like you’re her favorite chair.

she doesn’t ask. she just does.

you instinctively pull her close, nose pressed to the side of her head. “long day?”

she hums, “better now.”

and everyone in the room rolls their eyes so hard it echoes.

she gets extra clingy when you’re injured—a quiet, fretted clingy as if you’re slipping through her fingers like sand.

sits next to your cot, arms crossed, pretending not to hover like the helicopter lover she is.

“i’m fine, abby.”

“but you almost weren’t.”

you reach out, touch her hand. “you’d never let that happen.”

she doesn’t answer but instead just leans down and kisses your wrist.

she gets defensive when people tease you about being soft.

“aww, look at her, such a gentleman,” someone sneers.

abby turns immediately. “say that again and i’ll knock your teeth in for every time she opened a door for me.”

you’re behind her like she’s your knight in shining armor (a t-shirt with an unknown stain paired with faded jeans and boots being the armor in question). but hey, her sticking up for you is deeply appreciated and not to mention… kinda hot.

you’re both givers. which means every time ends up being a silent competition of who can make the other cum first.

abby pulls your shirt off with a reverence that makes your skin burn.

“you’re so good,” she murmurs against your throat, voice thick and honey-slow. “always so fucking good to me.”

you slide your fingers along her ribs and smile, breath shaky. “only for you.”

and it’s true. she could ask anything and you’d do it.

abby’s into how gentle you are, even when you’re fucking her.

“you don’t gotta be so sweet,” she pants, hand gripping your shoulder.

but you’re already kissing her cheek, whispering, “wanna be. wanna make it feel’so good.”

she could melt straight into the mattress. full-body shivers—her goosebumps feel like goose potholes. that’s your effect on her.

you lowkey have the filthiest mouth during sex, but it’s gentle. like, respectful filth.

abby’s whimpering underneath you, and you’re saying stuff like:

“taking me so well, sweetheart.”

“that’s it, baby. breathe through it.”

“y’re perfect like this, y’know that?”

and she’s clawing at your back unable to utter anything that remotely sounds like a letter in the alphabet.

you have to be sweet to your girl in the bedroom and just as she has her ways, you have yours. your strap game is respectful. devastating. ridiculous.

she once limped into the medbay the next day. nora asked what happened.

“squats,” she lied. her ass did not do squats.

meanwhile you were behind her in line, smug and beaming like the damn sun.

she’ll go down on you like she’s starving, but your praise? that’s what undoes her.

“that’s it, baby,” you whisper, hips trembling. “so good at this. just like that.”

she moans into you like she needs the approval to breathe.

you thread your fingers through her braid and gently tug, “my girl.”

she nearly loses it.

she calls you “handsome” in the dirtiest voice you’ve ever heard.

like when you’re pinning her against the wall and she’s pulling you in by the shirt.

“so good to me, huh? my handsome girl always knows how to ruin me…”

you’re not even sure if you blacked out or cummed from the praise alone.

abby’s obsessed with the way you take care of her after.

cool rag on her neck, soft kisses over bruises made by you and admittedly liked too much, wrapping her in your hoodie even though she’s the one who could lift you.

“why are you looking at me like that?” she asks sleepily.

“because you’re the most beautiful thing i’ve ever ruined.” oop-

she covers her face with her hands as her thighs rub together.

everyone’s sick of how in love you are.

they groan every time you call her “sweetheart” or whisper “you’re all i need” like it’s not the third time today.

but you don’t care. and neither does she.

you’d go soft and stupid for her a thousand times over, and over, and over again.

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swizzlemynizzle · 2 months ago

Text

Underneath the Noise - George Clarke

—————————————————————————

Masterlist

Chapter 7: Too Loud

—————————————————————————

A week later, the video drops.

Chris titles it with his usual flair: “WE MADE A BINGO LIST AND IT GOT OUT OF HAND | ft. chaos, shots & George nearly drowning”

Within twenty minutes it’s trending. Comments flood in—some unhinged, some suspiciously poetic. Y/N watches from her sofa, half-buried under a blanket, nursing a coffee and trying not to spiral.

The edit is kind, actually. A little crazy, yes. Unflattering in places—also yes. But somehow, Chris has made her seem funny. Game. Brave, even, as she climbs into that godforsaken fountain. Her anxiety sits like a weight in her stomach, but the group chat is already lighting up.

CHAOS GOBLINS Chris: it’s out. i regret nothing.

Bach: someone’s already made a gif of you doing tambourine karaoke with Weed Steve

ArthurTV: Y/N’s going viral for “iconic shoe swap” energy

George: ngl you were the MVP

Arthur Hill: the ferret’s got its own fan account. i’m not even mad.

Y/N: glad to know Pickle’s the breakout star here

Chris: you’re all stars. but Pickle is in talks for a Netflix docuseries

The messages keep coming, a steady stream of dumb jokes and unhinged reactions. It makes something loosen in her chest. She’s still nervous—of course she is—but it’s easier to laugh this time.

Later that week, they all pile into Chris’s for a group filming session.

She shows up with snacks and a confused look as she’s instructed to sit beside Arthur. “Okay, which one, there’s too many Arthur’s in here.”

“That’s it,” ArthurTV groans. “I’m changing my name.”

“You could give him a nickname,” George points out.

Y/N snaps her fingers. “Got it! ATV. Like a small, chaotic vehicle.”

ATV gives her a wounded look. “Is that not just you in human form?” she smiles.

“And you,” she turns to Arthur Hill, “can be Hilly. Because otherwise my brain explodes.”

Hilly shrugs. “I’ll take it. Makes me sound like a tragic romcom side character.”

“Perfect,” she grins. “Very on brand for this group.”

Chris is already setting up the cameras. “Alright, we’re filming a Cringe Compilation Reacts, but everyone’s taking a shot every time someone says the word ‘vibe.’”

Bach eyes the bottle. “I’d like to survive the evening, thanks.”

“Too late,” ATV says, handing out shot glasses.

They film for hours. It’s easy—banter flying, laughter echoing, George nearly choking on a gummy worm mid-reaction. Hilly keeps making offhand self-deprecating jokes that leave everyone wheezing. ATV zones out at one point, staring at a coaster like it holds the secrets of the universe.

Afterwards, they crash at the boy’s flat in that post-filming slump—half of them on bean bags, half on the floor. Pizza boxes litter the coffee table. Someone’s playing music softly from a phone.

Y/N’s head rests on the back of the sofa, her cheek warm from laughing too hard.

Bach nudges her foot. “You good?” She nods. “Just… this is nice.” “Group chaos goblins. You’re one of us now.” ATV chimes in, still staring at the ceiling. “That sounds like a cult.” George, from across the room: “To be fair, you do have the stare of a man possessed.” ATV flips him off without moving.

Hilly groans, “remind me to write a ballad about this moment. It’ll be titled ‘Ode to Soggy Trainers and the Girl Who Mocked Me On Sight.’” “You mocked yourself first,” Y/N points out. “Exactly,” Hilly grins. “I’m just building the lore.”

The next few days blur in a good way.

They meet at George’s to stream a chaotic game of Gartic Phone that derails almost immediately.

They film a football challenge in the park, where ATV takes a ball to the face and Hilly somehow ends up barefoot.

Chris ropes her into a video titled “Who Knows Me Best,” which devolves into Bach and George arguing over what year Chris supposedly got his nose pierced (infected, didn’t last long).

Y/N’s camera roll is now full of blurry selfies, a questionable amount of ferret memes, and one photo of George mid-sneeze that she’s saving for blackmail.

Her anxiety hasn’t disappeared. But it’s dulled, made manageable by this messy, wonderful group of goblins who’ve somehow adopted her as one of their own.

Still, there’s a shift she can’t quite ignore.

It creeps in late at night, in the quiet moments between content and chaos—when she’s editing a stream highlight and catches herself smiling a little too long at a clip of George laughing.

Or when she’s walking home from Chris’s and replays something dumb George said—some dry one-liner, some passing look—and feels it echo sharper than it should.

Or when her phone buzzes at 1:23AM with a new message from him:

 georgeclarkey: you on? i need someone to mock my aim in cod or i won’t improve as a person

She tells herself it’s nothing. That he’s like this with everyone.

 That she’s imagining it.

 That she’s just tired. Or bored. Or projecting.

But the truth is, there’s a version of her—somewhere just beneath the surface—that lights up when it’s him.

And that version is getting harder to ignore.

——-

The hate started slow. Almost imperceptible beneath the flood of chaotic memes and inside jokes after Chris’s video dropped.

At first, it was just a few offhand comments in the replies—tiny stings buried in otherwise harmless noise.

“Who invited the try-hard?”

“Another girl tagging along for clout, yawn.”

“George looked annoyed with her the whole time lol.”

She tried not to care. Really, she did. Everyone got some heat on the internet. Especially women. Especially women who dared to exist in male-dominated spaces.

But over the days that followed, the anxiety sat with her like a bruise just beneath the skin—tender, persistent, waiting for the next hit.

And tonight, it landed.

The stream had started light. George had invited her to join a game of Call of Duty, and she’d said yes instinctively.

It had felt good at first. Familiar.

But fifteen minutes in, the chat shifted.

@ogclarkeyfan: was she even invited or did she just show up again?

@whyisthisgirlhere: she made that video so cringe. literally ruined the fountain bit.

@fancam4rory: can’t believe george is wasting content with her

@clarkeybabey: she’s not even funny?? why is she always trying so hard

Each line landed harder than the last. Even as her fingers moved on autopilot, her brain fuzzed with static. Her throat tightened.

She tried to focus on the game, on George’s voice in her ears—teasing, grounded—but it didn’t cut through the rising spiral.

Then someone posted a clip.

A screen recording of her slipping in the fountain, zoomed in and slowed down, captioned: “when you force yourself into the group and still flop.”

It had over 3,000 likes already.

Y/N's stomach flipped.

“Y/N?” George’s voice cracked through the headset. “You good?”

She didn’t respond.

Her screen blurred. Her chest pulled tight, breathing shallow. Her cursor jerked as she missed a shot. Then another.

“Y/N?” George again. Softer now. Concerned.

She mumbled something, barely audible. Her mic was already muted. She didn’t remember doing that.

With shaking fingers, she ended the stream. Closed the tabs. Ripped her headset off. The silence was deafening.

She curled into the chair, fists clenched, eyes burning. It wasn’t just the trolls. It was the weight of everything. The effort of trying so hard to fit in, to keep up, to belong—to not be the weak link in a group of people who already seemed to love each other in this seamless, shorthand way.

She’d thought she was getting there.

Now it felt like maybe she was the punchline.

Ten minutes later, a knock on the door.

She wasn’t expecting anyone.

She moved on instinct, flinging it open—and George was there. Hoodie on, hair slightly flattened from a beanie he must’ve discarded en route, phone still clutched in one hand.

His brows pinched the second he saw her face.

“Hey,” he said. “Saw your stream cut. Tried calling. Just… came to check.”

Her eyes brimmed before she could stop them.

“I’m fine,” she lied, voice cracking on the second word.

“Sure you are,” he murmured, stepping in. “Totally fine people usually answer calls while hyperventilating.”

She let out a broken laugh and wiped her cheek with the back of her sleeve. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.”

She hesitated. “I just—” The words caught. “It got in my head. The trolls. The video. The comments. I know they’re just idiots but it felt—like they were all thinking what I’m scared everyone secretly thinks.”

George didn’t say anything at first.

He just stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her.

No theatrics. No platitudes. Just warmth. Steady and grounding.

Her face pressed into his hoodie. His arms held firm, not too tight. She could smell his deodorant and the faint trace of rain on his sleeves. She didn’t realise how fast she was breathing until it started to slow.

“They’re wrong,” he said quietly. “They don’t know you.”

She didn’t answer. Just listened to his voice. The same one that had made her laugh on stream, the one that had made her feel safe that night in the pub.

“They’re loud,” he went on, “but they don’t matter. You do. You’re not just ‘someone we stream with’ or a side character. You’re one of us.”

Her chest ached, but in a different way now.

She tilted her head back slightly. “Even if I call you a hobbit again?”

George huffed a laugh, resting his chin lightly against her hair. “Especially then.”

She closed her eyes.

And maybe, just maybe, she let herself believe him.

————-

@madforgeorge

@wherethezoes-at

@sundarksposts

@clarkey4life

—————-

This was a long one!! But we’re getting somewhere 🤭

#arthur hill #chrismd #george clarkey #italian bach #george clarke fics #w2s #italianbach #ukyt #arthur tv

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vbecker10 · 5 months ago

Text

Stop Saying it Like That

Pairing: Loki x female reader (Y/N)

Summary: Just a little blurb based off the meme below (from Loki:intotheowenverse), hope you like it 💚

"Loki, you need to stop saying it like that," you laugh, shaking your head as he opens the door to the small bakery for you.

He follows you out onto the street carrying a small box full of treats, "Saying what?"

You stop, clearing your throat so you can do your best impression of your boyfriend's accent, "Enjoy the next twenty-four hours."

The God of Mischief chuckles at your poor attempt, "Was that supposed to sound like me?"

"I sounded exactly like you," you answer with a wide smile despite knowing it wasn't even close.

"Look, that's not my point," laughing as you try to get the conversation back on track. "Its really creepy when you say it like that," you inform him.

He wraps his free arm around your waist and starts walking again, leading you back towards the Tower. "It was truly awful darling," Loki shakes his head with a smile.

"Creepy?" he raises an eyebrow as he looks down at you.

"Don't act like you have no idea what I'm talking about," you roll your eyes. "It literally sounds like a threat, like they only have twenty-four hours left to live or something."

He chuckles, "Trust me darling, when I threaten people they know." You sigh, trying to look annoyed but he bends to kiss your cheek and your smile slips free. "What would you prefer I say?" he asks genuinely curious.

"Just say 'have a good day'," you tell him.

"Y/N, that's the same thing," Loki states and you shake your head. Before you can argue back he presses his lips to yours to silence you. "Fine, I will try that next time," he agrees and you smile.

Loki walks with you in comfortable silence for two more blocks, his arm still around your waist, slowing his pace when he notices your attention is caught by the bouquets outside a flower shop. "See something you like?" he asks as you both stop in front of the colorful display of mixed flowers.

You smile, pointing to a bundle of your favorite flowers. Loki picks them up and you follow him into the shop where he pays the employee.

She hands Loki his change, he looks down at you briefly then back at the woman behind the counter. "Have a good day, mortal," he tells her with a wide smirk that causes the florist to let out a nervous laugh before thanking him quietly.

You walk back outside, your flowers in one hand and swat Loki's chest lightly in a joking manner. He chuckles, "What did I do wrong now? I told her to have a good day like you insisted."

"Mortal?" you tilt your head and look up at him.

"Would 'human' have been better?" he smiles.

You ignore his question, knowing he is only asking to see your reaction. "And the evil smirk, really?"

"Evil?" Loki let's go of your waist, putting his hand over his heart dramatically. "You wound me Y/N."

You laugh, reaching up to kiss his cheek when he tries to act as if he's offended. "You're cute when you're being annoying on purpose," you tell him and he chuckles, holding on to you again.

"I'm glad someone thinks so," he smiles.

"But stop talking to people when we go out," you add with a laugh.

I hope you liked this!! Please like, share and comment if you did 💚💚 Please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

@soubi001 @mochie85 @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @animnerd @cabingrlandrandomcrap @icytrickster17 @mischief2sarawr @mjsthrillernp @holdmytesseract @lulubelle814 @goblingirlsarah @alexakeyloveloki @siconetribal @lokidokieokie @kneelingformyloki @jiyascepter @eleniblue @ash-muses @muddyorbsblr @alyeskathewave @loz-3 @firedrakegirl @javagirl328 @princess-asgard @morally-grey-variant @soulpiercing @km-ffluv @glitterylokislut @biodegradable-glitter-fest @wolfsmom1 @simone818283 @hopefuldreamers-world @blackhawkfanatic @sabspoetic @anukulee @lovinglokilaufeyson @beaniemoon @hotburreaux

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nwjws · 2 years ago

Text

WHO THE HELL IS NI-KI ?! - NRK SMAU

; SYNOPSIS - school sucks. especially when everyone's avoiding you like the plague - all because you're the principal's daughter. so it comes as a surprise when a strip of paper falls out of your locker one day, with a corny pick up line written on it. now you only have one question on your mind: who the hell is nishimura riki?

; PAIRING - riki x fem!reader

; STATUS - complete!

; TAGS - smau, fluff, crack (more like attempt at humor), high school au, riki is a menace, hyper x calm dynamics?? ; WARNINGS - swearing, dirty jokes/pick up lines (maybe??)

; AUTHOR’S CORNER ! i just love starting something new before finishing my other wips 😍 i've made it so the first part of the pick up line is on the masterlist here, and the punchline is on the title of the actual chapter. this is inspired by this pjo smau on ao3 (LMAO??) + my own experiences bc i also slipped a bunch of pick up lines in random lockers

SPAM LIKE = BLOCK !

➼ PROFILES ! losers club ; riki's pr team

PROLOGUE ! all the good pick up lines are taken…

ONE ! i don't need google anymore...

TWO ! i’m so jealous of ur phone…

THREE ! are you fortnite?…

BONUS ! let's play a game of tag...

FOUR ! do you listen to newjeans?…

FIVE ! "nothing is faster than light"...

SIX ! something is wrong with my phone…

SEVEN ! do you play quidditch?...

EIGHT ! this doughnut is pretty sweet…

NINE ! you look familiar, did we share a class?…

TEN ! we should probably social distance…

ELEVEN ! are you 0x1 = lovesong?…

TWELVE ! are you an unfunny meme?…

THIRTEEN ! hey, is it morning yet?…

13.5 ! i can’t hold a conversation…

FOURTEEN ! instead of liking my message…

FIFTEEN ! your hand looks heavy… ↳ written [2.1k] + smau

SIXTEEN ! be careful bumping into others…

SEVENTEEN ! are you a trap?…

EIGHTEEN ! are you the children i keep in my basement?…

NINETEEN ! is it the fire works…

TWENTY ! i’ll give you a kiss… ↳ written [1.5k]

EPILOGUE ! i can’t think of any more pick up lines…

; TAGLIST (closed!) perm . @lovelovelovebts @miyseung @babyy-bambii @haechansbbg @gweoriz @maoyueze networks . @kflixnet @k-films @/k-labels . send an ask or comment here to be added!

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npookie0 · 8 months ago

Note

can you do kc x a silly reader?? like one that is overall very unhinged and out of pocket and filled to the brim with the silly :3

Sure :3

Silly reader x KC

Tw. Very silly and goofy reader ><

Ever since you joined the server, you proved yourself to be quite the silly goof. In voice calls you would drop some unhinged lines or ideas.

"What if someone were to mix glitter in spilled blood? Like imagine a massacred head and glitter spilling from it with blood and brain." You said suddenly after Ronin dropped his usual cocky remark towards Angel.

At first there was silence, something you experienced many times, the killers have to register your words before they can answer.

Next thing you know, Misaki is bursting out, laughing and trying to catch their breath. "Oh fuck, you're so stupid MC." They almost choked while they were laughing.

"Your ideas are certainly... Something ." V said and sighed. "Hitmeup please drink some water." He said to Misaki who was still coughing.

"Woah darlin', the more things you say the more interesting your ideas become. Maybe I should test it out for you?" Ronin chuckled darkly. "Or maybe you could do that Angel? Glitter is your thing after all."

"Oh, fuck off Ronin." Angel sighed and you could swear that she rolled her eyes even if you didn't see her. "That's a very creative idea MC, can't wait to hear more." She chuckled warmly, her voice as sweet as ever.

Sometimes the server members just wake up to a spam of memes in the media channel from you just because you felt like it.

One time you even sent a stick man drawing of Ronin as JD from Heathers the Musical. Everyone, excluding Ronin, was cracking up at the drawing.

<@Angelic>: OMG I love you @MC please this is perfect

<@goreboy>: do you Want Me to use my Crowbar on Ya @MC? you too Angel.

<@MC>: Ronin, accept it. You're him and he's you.

Another time you decided to start the "hear me out cake" with the killers... Your answers were something.

"What do you mean by 'the letter A' dude?!" Luca asked after you sent a picture of said letter under the picture of a random cake.

"What do you mean? It gives off hot vibes, like a hot popular girl, tell me you get it Misaki." You replied and moved the question to Misaki.

"I have zero fucking idea, but hey it's still better than what you sent in the previous round."

"What do you mean? The lizard guy from Star Butterfly was HOT!" You exclaimed. "You bunch have no taste."

The killers couldn't say that their time with you wasn't interesting. You were unhinged and blunt. You never thought about your words, you just said whatever you wanted even in the most inappropriate moments.

<@MC>: Guys I think that kids should be locked up like animals in zoo and experienced on, if they want to act like wild beasts.

<@_LUCA_IS_COOL_>: What the hell dude? We were talking about our plans for the holidays.

<@h1tneuppp>: Shhh, this is about to get interesting.

Ronin:

Your silly nature was interesting for him. You sometimes dropped random traumatic experiences from your life, or just said something very unhinged.

Ronin can't complain about being bored with you around. If he's not persuading you into killing, you will drag him around the town or take him for random expeditions because you can't sit in one place for longer than five seconds.

Sometimes Ronin will just stand next to you in silence while you're doing something crazy, examples:

"MC, darlin', what the fuck are you doing?" Ronin asked, his eyes showed just how confused he was. Well, who wouldn't be confused if they saw their partner chasing after leafs in a park.

"I'm trying to catch the prettiest one." You replied like it was the most normal and obvious answer. Ronin just nodded. He was in awe about how little care you showed whenever someone gave you the side eye.

Ronin left you alone in his house for twenty minutes, apparently there was a very special asshole going around town and Ronin just had to deal with him. When he returned home he knew that you would do something crazy (at least in your way), but he would never imagine walking in on you while you were trying to dress up his rat BlackJack in a mini version of his clothes.

"Baby, would you mind telling me, why the hell is my rat dressed like me?" Ronin leaned on the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Huh?" You turned around to look at him, the rat curled up in your hands. "Well, you're like a rat, and BlackJack is a smol version of Ronin." You giggled with a sinister glimmer in your eyes. Ronin shook his head and approached you, he placed a kiss to your forehead and took the animal from your hands. "You're so fuckin' adorable sometimes."

Whenever you actually killed someone, you sent a picture to the #killer_shit channel, your murders were especially peculiar. The bodies were mostly untouched, expect the corpse having either an extremely bloody wound so you could draw a hello kitty head around the body or some silly doodles curved into them.

<@goreboy>: Woah baby, your art skills are getting better.

You smiled at Ronin's response and then scoffed when he sent a picture of his new kill with a satanic symbol curved into it.

<@goreboy>: Not as good as mine tho.

Headcanons >w<

- Ronin loves listening to your ramblings, even if you're talking about the most stupid stuff ever. He usually plays with your hair and looking through his phone while you just yap his ear off.

- Sometimes when you two decide to do some romantic homicide, you're the most silly killer Ronin has ever seen, you're literally gluing sequins around the curvings that Ronin leaves on the body, once you ever did a whole glamour make up look on a guy who according to Ronin abused his trans daughter.

- You doodle Ronin as JD and yourself as Veronica Sawyer, you even told him that you two will cosplay them for the next Halloween and if he dares to disagree, he will wake up with a sea of glitter in his bed.

- "You're like a more hygienic raccoon babe." Ronin said after he caught you looking for a late night snack around his kitchen in the clothes you stole from him.

- "Ronin, let's kidnap a snake from the zoo." You said, it was the middle of the night, you and Ronin were relaxing after some intimate time. Ronin looked at you and laughed. "Wow babe, you really pick the best times for these things." His laugh deep and long, arm over his face as he brushed his hair back. "I fuckin' love it about you."

V was dumbfounded by every single unhinged idea you shared with him. He didn't know if having any expectations had a point anymore. Whenever he thought that your ideas couldn't get even more unique, you came up with an even more creative ideas.

"V." You called as you ran towards him and ran in circles around him. You almost tripped, but V managed to catch you. He sighed and helped you stand.

"My love, please be more careful. He pinched his nose bridge for which you only giggled.

"Aw, it's fine V! You'll always catch me. Anyway-" And for the next ten minutes you were rambling about a new idea, V couldn't even follow your voice. He was just too amazed by how many things your mind could think of at once.

Even if he couldn't wrap his mind around your way of thinking, V was happy knowing that your soul was pure, you wouldn't kill people ruthlessly, you didn't even think about that. But sometimes he tends to question your innocence, whenever he tells you about a new bastard he has to eliminate, you turn around with a wide smile and in the sweetest voice known to man you were giving him an idea of how he should get rid of that pest.

"My love, your ideas are positively terrifying. Maybe i should try it out for you on that rotten beast." He placed a kiss to your knuckles with a proud smile and a warm look in his eyes.

Headcanons X3

- V enjoys it when you're playing with his hair, putting it up or just twisting it around your fingers, while you're just talking about the silly ideas.

- "V, let's go and buy some cute outfits for your animals." You said while you were watching the bird V named after you. "Love, I want to remind you that most of my animals are dangerous and feed on humans." He replied with a slight hint of a smile. "But they also deserve something cute to wear." You exclaimed, it earned you a chuckle from him and a kiss on the lips. "Fine, fine. We can try finding something cute for them."

- V has to carry the first aid kit with himself whenever the two of you are outside. You have a tendency to run around carelessly, climb treat when you see something stuck on one. Most of these adventures end up with a scraped knee or a small injury that V has to clean up. "Please, be more careful." He says, knowing that you will do the same thing again.

- Sometimes when V wakes up and goes to the bathroom to get ready for the day, he sees how his hair magically happened to have a lot of colorful and cute hair-clips in them. And you just so happen to be right next to the bathroom door and trying your hardest to hold back the giggle. For V that start of a day is just perfect, with his partner in a good mood and right next to him.

Misaki:

Misaki fucks with your silly and unhinged nature. They adore it, and the way your eyes light up when you see jut how invested she is.

You take their hand and drag them around Tokio, you're totally lost and she just chooses to let you try and find your way. When you give up with a big sad pout on your face, they kiss you and take you for a piggyback.

"Don't worry pookie bear, I know my way around town." They say with a confident smirk and you just chuckle.

"Wow, you're my hero Misaki."

When Misaki spams your DMs with how panicked they are about the next assassination, you will send your selfie with you pointing on your lips.

<@MC>: Is this motivating enough?

<@h1tmeupp>: Babe omw to be done with this shit and kiss that stupidly sweet lips of yours.

<@MC>: Waiting ;p

Misaki loves it when you're stealing their clothes and return them with a small new added mark - a painted flower here, a sewed in patch of an anime character that you like there. They will wear that piece of clothing like it's something given by gods and will make sure to brag about you to the server and their parents.

Headcanons >:D

- You will call Misaki in the middle of the night because you just came up with a new theory about your favourite media and she just ha to listen to your yap session.

- Your nicknames for Misaki are just chef's kiss, some of their favourites: Cutie patootie, lil sniper mask, alpha sigma, babyperson.

- When Misaki doesn't reply because they're asleep or buy you will flood their dms with memes or sad cat pictures,

- You will join in on Misaki's weak tries to rizz up V, you know that it's a joke and you find it extremely funny.

- When you're about to return to your country from visiting Misaki, you will steal their clothes and find a perfume matching their scent, and she will take your clothes and your perfume.

Angel:

Angel is fascinated by you, and your ways of making fun of Ronin but still not sounding like a total asshole. You will always make sure to keep your remarks lighthearted and keep the relationship between you and Angel's ex boyfriend and currently closest friend chill.

"Can I open my eyes now?" Angel asks, you were standing in front of her and applying some make up on her.

"Nooo, I'm not done yet." You reply and move the lipstick on her lips. "Ta! Dah!" You said and held the mirror in front of her face. Angel opened her eyes and gasped, then she laughed and looked at you with a loving warmth in her gaze.

"You wanted to make me look like Jennifer?" She asked.

"Yeah! You called her hot, and I wanted to check if my skills are as good as think they are." You say with a proud smirk. Angel stands up and kissed you.

"I love it, but we do need to work on your skills cariño."

When Angel found a new manager, you and Ronin were ready to throw hands. Well you took action in your own hands and left them a small note in their bag "Hurt Maria and I will break your spine." It would be very threatening. if you didn't use a colorful pencil with glitter in it.

Headcanons <3

- Angel enjoys laying in bed with you, snuggled up to you as you discuss her new video or some of your interests. She feels so close to you, these moments are perfect.

- Whenever Angel has a taught day at work you will go and basically kidnap her, you carry her bridal style to the nearest cafe and keep her away from watching her phone. Sometimes she may seem irritated with it, but you will kiss her or hold her close and this irritation disappears.

- One day Angel found her pink gun in the living room with some doodles and sweet messages all over it. You came into the room and snatched the gun from her.

"I'm not done yet." You exclaimed and hid the gun behind your back.

"Awh, but I want to see it." She gave you a pout and you just gave in.

- For Halloween you dressed up as Ronin and gave Angel a full of one-person-show imitation of him. Angel can't hold back her laughter and holds her aching stomach.

"Oh, I love you." She wiped a tear away from her eye. "You're so amazing love."

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