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streakyglasses · 6 months ago

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to love me so (i got you, babe)

From an anon prompt I got a while back: Chris and Street working through an unplanned, positive pregnancy test.

TW: referenced child abuse, referenced sexual assault (neither overly graphic), anxiety, concerns about disapproving families.

Read on ao3, ffn, or below the cut.

Two blue lines stare Chris in the face. Two.

She’s faced gunmen and bombs and poison, and none of that was as terrifying as the air in her bathroom right now. Her blood rushes past her ears, her lungs strain against her ribs to try to expand, and her brain freezes.

“Fuck,” she chokes out. The vanity is cold where her fingers claw at it, gripping so tight her knuckles turn white as her knees threaten to buckle on her.

Fuck.

Her mind spins as every day from the past two months replays in her mind. Every birth control pill. Every night, and afternoon, and morning with Street comes screaming back to her in technicolor. Where it would normally be comforting, now it feels like she’s searching for what went wrong. Like trying to find the missing piece that caused a car crash while she’s standing in the wreckage.

Sweat breaks out on the back of her neck, a shiver running up her spine, and the familiar pull of her stomach bottoming out sends her crashing to her knees in front of the toilet before she can think. The small breakfast she had, the near-constant queasiness that she’s felt since Monday making it difficult to eat much of anything, comes back up. Her body heaves until her throat feels like razor blades. She groans once it’s all over, letting her head rest against the cool of the closed toilet lid while her heart stops racing.

Peeling herself off the floor is a monumental task. She’s dizzy, the edges of her vision blurring when she gets to her feet, and she waits for it to clear before she opens the bathroom door. Her bedroom feels unfamiliar in a way it never has before as she grabs a pair of sweats and an old t-shirt and turns back to the shower. It’s as hot as she can stand it in an effort to cut through some of the—whatever—she’s feeling.

As awful as her apartment feels, the notion of going out into the world like this feels even more dangerous. Knowing the TV won’t help and it will be hours before Street gets home, she closes her bedroom blinds and slides under the covers as her mind keeps spinning.

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She planned to get up before Street got home. To make dinner or fold laundry and create some semblance of normalcy. But it’s easy to lose track of time and it isn’t until Street’s warm hand rests on her shoulder that she even realizes the day has gone by. Turning on her back with a groan, she sees his eyebrows crease with concern.

“Hey, Babe. Are you still feeling sick? You could’ve called and I would’ve come home. It might be time to go to Urgent Care and see if they can give you something?”

Sterile white walls and blue latex gloves pop into her brain. Then ultrasounds and doctor’s appointments and a barrage of other scenes that she’s just barely able to keep at bay. She shakes her head to clear them as much as to answer him.

This isn’t how she wanted to do this.

“I’m fine. Change, I’ll make dinner,” she mumbles, desperate for some control. His wrinkles grow deeper but he doesn’t fight her on it. She sits up and slides out of bed, not looking back on her way down the hall though she can feel his eyes dead center between her shoulder blades.

Dinner is the leftovers that she made last night that she didn’t want any of, and she still doesn’t. The chicken sizzles in the pan as the veggies heat up. When Street reemerges, he sees her sipping ginger ale and tapping on the counter in an uneven rhythm. He gets down two plates and two glasses of water even though he isn’t sure she’s hungry, milling around because if he sits down the only thing he’ll do is stare at her. To curb his concern, she cuts one of the chicken breasts in half and takes a small serving of broccoli, but it mostly ends up pushed around her plate while she listens to him recount his day.

“You sure you’re okay?” He asks again, putting the dishes in the dishwasher and glancing at her in his periphery.

“We need to talk.” Chris says, her voice gravelly. She can’t look at him and keeps her eyes fixed on the stove where her reflection blurs out of focus. When he fills her vision, face more worried than before, her stomach drops again and she stands. Jerking her head, he follows without a word to her bathroom. She picks something up before he can see what it is, her face pale under the white light.

“I realized today,” she starts, almost whispering and eyes down, “that I’m late. Between that and the—”

Heart beating against her chest, Chris has to stop and remind herself to breathe. She risks a look at Street and can tell he isn’t quite with her. Her need to be on the same page trumps context, and she holds out the test to him, tucked into a plastic bag.

“I’m pregnant.”

Her teeth cut into her bottom lip and she doesn’t breathe as she waits for his answer. He takes the plastic bag from her and looks at the lines like he doesn’t quite believe they’re there. Every nerve in his body turns over, but when he looks at her face and sees the uncertainty in her features, everything stops.

“Are you okay?”

She doesn’t know what she expects, some knee-jerk reaction of how he feels, but it isn’t that. Tears rush to her eyes once the question lands, and Street drops the plastic on the vanity to hold her instead, his hand tangling in her hair and his soft voice reaching her ear while hot tears soak into the collar of his shirt.

“I’m here,” he tries to soothe her, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. His instinct is screaming to tell her it will be okay, but he doesn’t know that, his mind starting to spin with more questions and what-ifs. All he can do is promise her his life, so he does. “I’m right here.”

Finally in his arms, Chris feels safer than she has all day. Street knowing is a huge relief despite whatever might come next. She snakes a hand from around his back up to her cheek to wipe away some of her tears, leaving her face red and puffy.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, unsure if it's for her reaction, or the whole thing, and still unable to meet his eyes. “I don’t know—”

“Hey, no,” he stops her immediately, but gently. He pulls back enough to cradle her face in his hand, heart breaking at the sight of her.

“You’re not alone. We’re gonna figure this out. I’m sure your head’s been going all day?” Chris nods small, Street repeating the action, and he catches her eyes again.

“Why don’t I make some tea and we can throw something on TV for a little bit? Try to give your mind a break. We can talk about it more later, or tomorrow.”

It’s out of her nature, all of her instincts screaming to find a solution immediately, but the exhaustion in her bones is a surefire sign that he’s right so she agrees. He takes a step back and she splashes water on her face enough to get rid of the film of tears, and then follows him down the hallway.

Street feels like he’s existing outside himself as he goes around her kitchen to make tea. Her kitchen. Because they haven’t moved in together yet. Because they’ve hardly been dating for half a year. They haven’t even talked about moving in together. Haven’t talked about the future very much at all. He hasn’t even thought to talk about children.

“Calm down,” he murmurs to himself, quiet so she can’t hear, trying to get a hold of his brain. Glancing over, he sees the tension in her shoulders and jaw as she stares at the TV, and takes a deep breath. He finishes the tea and puts extra honey in hers. When he sits next to her, he gives her a gentle smile, and she whispers her thanks.

His mind continues to turn as they settle on a remodeling show. It’s easy enough to pay attention to without actually absorbing anything, and he feels the weight of her head on his shoulder a few minutes into it. Wanting to be as close as she does, his arm wraps around her until her soft skin contrasts the cool leather against his skin. Her hands find his other to hold on his lap a few minutes later, voice not directed towards him when she speaks, but the living room as a whole.

“This is your decision, too,” she says, an edge he can’t read to her otherwise flat voice—the tone he’s only heard her use when she’s scared. “I need you to know that.” Holding in a sigh, he squeezes her hand and kisses her head.

“Thank you. Do you want to talk now?”

Exhausted, she shakes her head and settles back into him and the couch, making herself as small as she can.

“No, I just wanted you to know. Before anything.”

“Okay,” he says as lightly as he can. “We’re gonna get through this, Chris.”

“Okay,” she whispers, unable to look up from the circular stain on her coffee table. The drone of the TV eventually lulls her into enough of a sense of calm to go to bed. Street’s barely a step behind her.

She doesn’t look at herself too closely as she gets ready for bed and waits for him to get comfortable under the covers before she turns the light out and burrows next to him. He’s surprised when she lies her head on his chest. Though he usually wakes up with an arm over her stomach or their ankles locked, she’s rarely this affectionate when they’re trying to fall asleep. Still, he welcomes the weight.

“I can hear you thinking,” she murmurs against the cotton of his t-shirt. Leaning into her, he presses a kiss to her head and takes a deep breath.

“Only ever about you. I love you.”

Despite the fear that’s running through her veins and the way her hand keeps unconsciously finding her lower abdomen and making her flinch, she relaxes.

“I love you, too.”

She’s asleep not soon after. He’s glad for it, because it gives his mind plenty of room to race without extra attention. The edges of her bedroom are visible through the darkness until they morph into his childhood room and he closes his eyes against the pervasive, painful memories.

More crop up. Ones he thought he’d long forgotten about. The scent of beer and cigarette smoke and a hot hand wrapped around his lanky arm tight enough to leave a ring of bruises. Of a hushed conversation between his parents that quickly turned into a screaming match he had no choice but to listen to: wanting another baby, not wanting another baby. His father’s enraged voice screaming he never wanted the kid they do have.

Foster homes. Foster homes and group homes filled with tiny voices and angry teenagers and not enough food or time to go around. A vow he made to himself, when he doesn’t remember, that he’d never do to a kid what was done to him. And the paralyzing fear that the part of his father that he’s sure exists in him somewhere will jump out on its own one day, and who all will be left in the fallout.

Sighing, Street carefully slides out from under Chris to cross back into the bathroom. He rubs at his face under the too-bright lighting until he only sees his current self and opens her cabinet to pull out a small orange bottle of tiny white pills.

Take twice a day as needed.

It’s now, he thinks, if there was ever a time to need them.

He turns back to the bedroom and can just see her sleeping form in the light that floods out. He doesn’t know if it’s the sight of her or a placebo effect that seems to immediately make his heart calm down. It’s a conversation that has to be had, but not in the middle of the night. Not when he can get back under the covers and pull her close and, for all intents, it’s still just the two of them. He does.

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Chris is awoken by a bout of nausea that sends her careening over Street and towards the bathroom. There’s little in her stomach to actually come up, but the more she thinks about what position she’s in, the worse her anxiety gets and she heaves more violently. It feels like she’s being ripped in half.

He follows her as quickly as can. The sight of her from the bathroom doorway, so opposite of the previous night, freezes him in his own worry. A choked sob escaping snaps him from his mind and he rushes to her side. His hands are warm but shaky where they hold her shoulders steady and rub circles on her back.

“You’re okay, I’m right here,” he tries to soothe her. When he brushes back her sweaty hair from her forehead, though, all Chris can picture is more mornings like this—for the next however many months. A hospital bed and a swollen stomach and a tiny, crying human that’s going to need things from her she’s not at all aware of or prepared to give. Things she’s not sure that she has in the first place. Street’s laugh as he chases a nameless toddler around an apartment messy with toys. Probably some spilled out next to his SWAT backpack that she’ll watch rush out the door every morning, straight towards imminent danger.

Bile burns her throat as she wiggles out of Street’s grip and away from his voice to white-knuckle the porcelain even harder instead. Taking the hint but not willing to leave her, he sits back on his heels and watches her shoulders shake for what seems like hours. When the attack ends and she’s left feeling her own hot breath on her face, she’s exhausted. She spits into the bowl and leans back against the wall.

“So much for calming down,” she hiccups, trying to cut through the tension. Opening her eyes she sees Street’s lips pressed together, his fists clenched to keep his own anxiety from spewing out.

“It’ll be okay,” he promises, standing and handing her a shot of mouthwash followed by a glass of water. She swishes it around her mouth until the feeling of what just happened is only a memory. Looking up towards his hazel eyes, he’s holding a hand out for her, and she smiles tiredly when she takes it and he pulls her into a hug. Everything settles around them again as they sway on the tile.

“Breakfast?” He murmurs a few minutes later.

For the first time in days the mention of food makes her aware of just how ravenous her body is. She nods against him and then turns towards the sink to splash her face.

“I don’t know how much I’ll be able to eat. But yes, please.”

“Eggs and fruit?” His eyes search her face for any discomfort for uncertainty, but there’s none and she agrees, following him towards the kitchen.

Breakfast is an easy affair, if quieter than normal. She turns on the TV to let something fill the space and starts cutting fruit while he cooks the eggs. They sit at the dining room table, her foot brushing up against his leg every few minutes, eyes meeting but never lingering. When all that’s left are crumbs and thin trails of yellow yolk over their plates, she speaks up.

“You go first.”

Street’s breath catches and his eyes jump to hers.

“What?”

“Go first,” she encourages him. “I—this is your decision, too. It’ll make me feel better knowing however you feel about what you want to do. Please?”

Raising his eyebrows, he can count on one hand the amount of times she’s been so vulnerable, even since they’ve been together. His mind grasps for a place to start as anxiety courses through him, The only thing he can think to do is push his plate to the side and reach across the gray wood to take her hand.

“I never thought I’d be in a position to want kids.”

It comes out before he can think it through, but at least it’s out. He can’t look at her and keeps his focus on their intertwined fingers as more pours from him that he didn’t realize he’d internalized so deeply.

“If there’s one person I would have a kid with, it would be you.”

Chris sucks in a sharp breath. In his periphery, he sees her nod to keep going, and reminds himself that they’re in this together.

“But I can’t imagine my life, our life, with a child, either. I promised myself I’d never hurt a kid, not after everything… you know.”

On a shaking exhale, he squeezes her hand tighter. Tears come to his eyes that he doesn’t try to wipe away. It’s so still, the air between them, so quiet. Fragile. He’s always been more fragile than he’s let on. Covered it up with leather and motorcycles and walking out of explosions. But sitting across from Chris with the circumstances that are in front of them, he feels stripped beyond all of those defenses. Just a fragile, scared kid himself.

“I don’t,” he sighs, slowly bringing their gazes together and seeing the emotions etched across her face. “I don’t want to live every day of my life scared that I’ll turn into my dad and do something I’ll never forgive myself for. If having a kid means running the risk of becoming like him, or hurting you, or myself, that’s not a risk I want to take.”

His words land and her jaw clenches as she tries to digest them all. With his other hand, he finally dries the tears that fell, wishing her to say something soon. Another moment passes. She memorizes the wood grain and hears his fears echo in her own mind.

“I agree,” she whispers. She gazes up at him even as terror seizes her blood in her veins, trying to lose herself in them so she won’t panic again.

“I don’t want this. Not right now, at least.”

For Street, it’s a relief. But he looks at her again and it’s clear there’s a lot more weight on her shoulders. He cocks his head in a silent question and his heart skips when her hand stars to shake in his. Her thoughts collide with reality and fly from her mouth almost too fast for him to make sense of them, only worsened by how unsteady her voice is.

“But if—when—if we’re not. We can’t tell my family.”

She covers her mouth to try to stifle her cries and screws her eyes shut like plunging herself into darkness will make it all go away somehow. With the same urgency from barely an hour ago, he lets her go to move around the table and wrap her in his arms. She pushes her chair back to give him the space and barely moves again as he tangles his hand in her hair and starts to whisper in her ear. His guts are spinning too fast, the heaviness of the realization paired with the need to comfort her all overwhelming.

“Okay. Shh, Chris. That’s okay. It’s just us right now. No one needs to know anything.”

Her tears don’t last long, a momentary whirlwind that she manages to knock herself out of before it gets anymore out of hand than it already has. Pulling back, she coughs roughly and shakes her head to clear away the last of the episode. His hand catches her face and brushes over her cheekbone. He doesn’t have to vocalize the question for her to nod and them to move to the cough.

He waits for her to get comfortable before lying next to her so they’re on their sides and facing one another, observing the ropes of tension running through and determined to help unwind them. She lies between him and the back of the couch, kept safe from the world through his body crowding hers in the way only he can, and still make her feel like she can breathe. She stares at his jaw.

“I don’t know where to start,” she whispers. He presses a gentle kiss to her forehead and feels her hot exhale on his neck. “I don’t know when.”

“Not your fault,” he counters, features soft. “Whatever or however this happened, we’re in it together.”

His words are like a balm and her lips quirk up small. Able to set her cacophony of feelings to the side over how they got here in the first place, she shifts back to where Street’s already been for hours.

“My mom sucked, too. Bad. I swore off kids the day she died and haven’t thought about it since. It’s just my family, and the team… as ridiculous as that is.”

He thinks he knows where she’s headed, but he doesn’t interrupt aside from telling her that nothing she’s feeling is ridiculous. She sets her ear over his heart to hear it beat and focuses on the feel of the couch against her bare legs.

“Aunt Helena and Uncle Sarzo,” she starts with a sigh, “they love me, but it would be a lot for them to have to process. A lot of the rest of my family wouldn’t approve, and Deac and Annie, too, I—”

Groaning, Chris squeezes her eyes shut again and wishes she could just say what’s firing around her brain and cutting off the blood flow to her heart.

“My family is so important to me, and I don’t want to hurt the people I love with this decision. But I can’t do it. We’re more important to me,” she finally gets out. Street understands all that goes unsaid.

“The one thing I’ve always admired about you is how yourself you are, Chris.” He says, hearkening back years with his words and his hand splayed over her back. “I know how much your people mean to you, but this is our business. No one else’s. That’s okay.”

“That’s not all,” she interrupts, still in her head even as it processes what he said and lets his words calm her. He looks down at her, but she’s staring into his chest. He tightens his grip, determined to hold it together when she sighs with more exhaustion than she should ever feel again.

“It’s my body.” She finally whispers, then buries her face in his chest and breathes in his scent as deeply as she can until it blocks out the awful memories clawing at her throat.

“It’s your body,” he affirms gently, rubbing up and down her back as she speaks even softer.

“A lot of people have had control of my body when I didn’t want them to.”

Street feels his heart crack and tells himself he needs to keep his breathing even and his hands steady where they are. He presses ever closer, like he can shelter her from the darkness of the world forever from where they are on the couch, and feels her chest as it rises and falls.

“I want control over myself—I need it. And I’m scared that if we tell people, even after it’s done, they’ll—say things. Try to exercise control over us, the decision we made, my body.”

Blowing out a slow breath, he pulls the unfolded blanket off the back of the couch so they’re covered, and buries his face in her hair. He doesn’t say anything and feels her arms come around him, too. Time slows as they hold one another. He thinks he feels their heartbeats sync, and breathes her in deeper.

“Thank you,” she murmurs against him a few moments later, comforted by everything familiar about him. He nods against her and kisses the top of her head, not yet pulling back to meet her eyes, but speaking low enough his breath just brushes against her ear.

“This is our choice, and you’re in control. We don’t have to tell anyone. And if you, or we, ever decide to, I will do everything in my power to make sure no one says anything about what we chose and we did.”

He feels her smile against him, but her tone isn’t as sure. She sounds tired when she speaks.

“You can’t make sure of that. It’s always going to be more on me than you.”

“I know,” he agrees, voice sad, but unwavering. “But I can make it clear that we did this together from start to end. That we made the best decision for us, not just you.”

She closes any of the remaining space between them. He holds her tighter, his tone softening.

“But we don’t have to worry about that right now, because we don’t need to tell anyone anything. Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She guides his head down enough for their foreheads to touch and opens her eyes into his. His irises are a deep, mesmerizing web of colors that sparkle even with barely any light around them. “I love you.” “I love you, too,” he grins small, then kisses her. His hand runs through her hair. “We can go wherever we need to later, or tomorrow. Whatever you want.”

Her eyes narrow with a minute shake of her head.

“You don’t have to come.”

“Together, Chris,” Street says. “Start to end. If you want me there, I’m there.”

Her hand brushes against her stomach again, but this time it doesn’t feel like the end of the world. It feels like things will be okay. Eventually. As long as they’re together.

“I want you there,” she says, not a trace of doubt in her words amidst her lingering concerns over what there will entail. His lips are soft and easy when they find hers, his thumb grazing over her cheekbone and their eyes locked. With the blanket cocooning them and his cologne hanging in the air she breathes, Chris is fairly certain they’re the only two people in the world. He senses her fragile calm and kisses her again. She’s certain she never wants that to change.

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*i know this isn't going to be everyone's cup of tea. i personally love stris with non-biological kids, but pregnancy/birth is very different, and i have a hard time finding my/their characterization in that situation. but not ever saying never, either! all that's to say, i appreciate the reads/tags/reblogs/asks (please let me know your thoughts! i love to talk about their characters and this show so much) esp. on a fic like this!!

#chris alonso #swat cbs #jim street #stris #swat #cbs swat #s.w.a.t cbs #my writing #s.w.a.t #chris x street #street x chris #any and all interactions appreciated!!#little fandom how i love and miss you sm #<3 #also to the anon #sorry this took me so long i do hope you enjoy it!!

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mushiewrites · 1 year ago

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Summer Afternoons

the final day of lee!George week....I can't believe this is over already omg. I just wanna thank everyone who participated or encouraged those of us who did, it honestly means so much to me ): ur all adorable and this was so much fun to do ): Anyway, today was a free day, and I chose to do a concept from the lovely @wishitweresummer (found here!) - it was originally lee!dream but Im insane and throw george in any situation so, yeah. This has been in my head every single day since the day summer posted it so.....I hope you enjoy! (also, remember to use the # "mushies lee!George week" if you participate! thank u!)

I also wanna mention - even though this is the last day of lee!George week, feel free to come back and do these prompts whenever you'd like! (and still use the hashtag so I can see as well!)

day 7 - free day! / prompts found here!

(lee!George / ler!Dream / ler!Sapnap : 2.5K words)

“George? Dream?”

There was a soft knocking sound coming from outside of the room, followed by the twist of a doorknob and the creek of the door slowly being pushed open. George stretched his arms out, moving to bring them up to rub at his eyes but finding he only had movement in his right arm. He opened his eyes sleepily to see Dream curled up beside him, his left arm under the blonde’s head acting as a pillow as he continued to nap peacefully. He turned his attention to the sound of the door shutting, seeing Sapnap walking towards the bed, moving quietly and being careful to not wake Dream.

“Hm?” The older boy mumbled, stretching his free arm above his head with a soft groan as he arched his back towards the ceiling until his body was shaking slightly. He let himself drop back down against the bed, moving a little closer to Dream to cuddle into him tighter. George turned his attention back to the younger boy standing at the side of his bed, watching his knees hit the side of the mattress every few seconds as he swayed back and forth on his feet.

“I didn’t know where you guys went. I checked your room, and when you weren’t there I just figured I’d look here. What are you doing?” Sapnap spoke in a whisper, not wanting to disrupt the comfortable softness surrounding them. George rolled his shoulders back a few times and leaned his head to the side, wincing as it popped loudly before doing the same to the opposite side. He yawned and grabbed at Sapnap’s left hand, pulling lightly and giving him a gentle smile.

“Napping. Cuddling. Come here, please?”

Sapnap giggled at the request, rolling his eyes with a fake sigh before climbing up onto Dream’s bed with the older two. He settled himself into George’s right side, laying his head over the brunette’s arm to mirror Dream. The younger boy threw his arm over George’s torso, letting the tips of his fingers land over Dream’s forearm. He ran his fingers up and down the skin a few times, biting his lip with a smile when the blonde let out a small squeak and the corners of his mouth turned up into a smile. Sapnap withdrew his hand so he didn’t accidentally wake him with his movements, not wanting to interrupt any rest Dream was able to squeeze into his busy schedule.

“How long have you guys been napping?” Sapnap asked, closing his eyes with a smile as George knocked the hat off of his head and began carding his hand through the curls beneath it. The younger boy nuzzled himself into George’s neck, smiling against it when he felt George start to squirm slightly, feeling the elder’s cheek press against his forehead as his smile grew wider with an attempt to hold in the giggles that threatened to spill out at any second.

“Whahat time is it?” George replied with a giggle as he squirmed slightly further towards Dream, trying to subtly escape Sapnap’s beard from scraping against the curve where his shoulder and neck connected.

“Uh, it’s….not even one yet.” The younger boy fished his phone from out of his pocket, checking the time and then locking it before setting it on the bedside table to his right. George hummed in acknowledgement, furrowing his brows together as he thought about when they had first gone to Dream’s room to lay down.

“I’m not sure, I don’t even think it’s been an hour.” It was Sapnap’s turn to hum in response to George’s answer, nodding and pulling back slightly to lean part of his head on the soft pillows beneath them.

“Well, we have all the time in the world to nap now.” Sapnap felt the rougher part of a tiny feather sticking out from one of the pillows graze his ear, shaking his head and moving it back slightly to get away from the light tickly feeling.

“A Sap-nap. Get it?” George couldn’t stop himself from bursting into chirpy giggles, trying to stay as quiet as possible, turning to bury his face into Sapnap’s shoulder to help him muffle the noises he was trying to keep down. His attempt was ruined when Sapnap aimed a knuckle at his most sensitive rib, rubbing in a few times and giggling to himself when George squealed into his shoulder.

“Yeheah, I get it, you little idiot,” Sapnap whispered closer to George’s ear, grunting when he felt the feather tickle over his ear again. He sat up onto his elbow, running his hand over the pillowcase to try and find the fuzzy culprit. “Hold on. There’s a stupid little fucking feather or something poking out, it keeps tickling me.” He continued to rub against the pillow with the palm of his hand, gasping when after a few seconds he was able to locate the annoying object. He held it up for George to see, grimacing at the little white feather in between his fingers.

“That’s the thing that was bothering you? It’s like, not even two inches!” The elder rolled his eyes at Sapnap’s dramatics, chuckling at the pathetic looking thing in his hand. He watched as the younger boy twisted his lips up into a smirk, already sensing where this was going.

“You’d know two inches pretty well, wouldn’t you, Georgie.”

“Hey! What the fuck is that supposed to-”

“Nnnnh….shut up.”

The boy’s immediately pressed their lips into thin lines, turning their attention to the very sleepy looking blonde boy who was angrily looking back at them. He rolled his eyes with a huff, moving to stretch in a similar manner that George had just minutes before.

“Oh Dream, I’m so sorry, George woke you up!” Sapnap spoke softly even as he threw the older boy under the bus, making George gasp in offense and whip his head towards the younger boy with his jaw dropped.

“I did not! You’re just as guilty! If it wasn’t for you and your stupid feather, this wouldn’t have- AHAHAHA HEY! STOHOHOP!”

It seemed Dream wasn’t interested in anything George had to say, having taken Sapnap’s side and using the hand he wasn’t lying on to squeeze along the left side of George’s rib cage. The brunette squealed and launched himself into louder cackles as Sapnap joined in, rubbing his knuckle into his worst rib once again and making Dream follow suit on the opposite side.

“WHY! S-STOHOHOP! PLEHEHEASE, G-GEHEHET OFF!” George twisted his body the best he could, pulling at his arms but whining when both boys sat up slightly, leaning an elbow over each of George’s forearms to make sure he stayed down against the blankets. “THIHIS IS- NAHAHA IT’S SOHOHO MEAN!”

“You woke me up, George. If you ask me, I’d say that’s mean!” Dream countered his complaint, giggling when George’s laughter jumped an octave as Sapnap swiped the white feather over the smaller boy’s tricep. Dream stopped his tickling, his attention now on the tiny object in Sapnap’s hand. “Where on earth did you find that?”

“From your stupid feather pillows! It kept poking me in my ear so I just….pulled it out.” Sapnap explained sheepishly, giggling when Dream broke out into bright giggles himself.

“Let me see.” Dream motioned for Sapnap to pass him the feather, his smile growing as George began to screech when Dream dangled it over his open underarm.

“What’s wrong, it’s like, ‘not even two inches!’” Sapnap mocked the elders previous comment, feigning a horrible British accent to add injury to insult. George squirmed as Dream grabbed his shirt sleeve between his pointer and middle fingers, stretching it down and inching the feather closer to the opening.

“Nonono! No, plehehease, I didn’t dohoho anything!”

“You woke him up, darlin’!” Sapnap noted happily, a hint of his southern drawl shining through and giggling when Dream reached over and poked at his cheek in response to the accent.

“Darlin’.” Dream repeated, mostly to himself, making the other two laugh. The blonde watched as George threw his head back into the pillows with his eyes shut, recognizing this as his chance to pounce. He quickly shot his hand forward, wiggling the soft point of the feather directly into the center of George’s armpit, eyes widening with amusement when George jerked his body towards Sapnap with a cackle.

“NAHAHAHA no! Nohohoho NOHO! D-Dreheheheam!” George kicked his feet against the bed as he continued his cackles, feeling Dream dragging the feather in circles under his left arm, making a huge spiral and drawing it tighter as he would reach closer to the center again.

“Wait, there’s no way it’s that bad. Let me try!” George opened his eyes just in time to see the two pass the feather between them, this time jolting towards Dream when Sapnap ran the feather quickly up the side of his neck to make him squeal.

“Dohohon’t! Stohohop!” The elder cried out as Sapnap traced the feather directly under George’s ear on the side of his neck, grinning as Dream used the hand he wasn’t leaning on to softly grip George’s jaw to hold him in place.

“Don’t stop? Well, if you insist, baby!”

Dream let out a tiny wheeze when George shrieked at his statement, trying and failing to shake his head out of his grasp. Sapnap knew how sensitive the spot under George’s ear was and took pity on him, quickly following Dream’s lead and shoving the feather up George’s sleeve and into the hollow of his right armpit. He was much less precise with his movements, wiggling it around over any spot he could to find the best reaction. Sapnap stopped and observed his movements when George screeched, noticing where the feather was tickling. Dream let go of his jaw, allowing the older boy to thrash his head from side to side as he lost himself in his own laughter.

“Oh, this is a good spot, huh, Georgie?” Dream leaned over as Sapnap spoke to watch the feather saw back and forth over the inner side of his underarm, where the muscle was pulled taunt and put on display with the way Sapnap was holding his arm down.

“Nohoho no! Plehehease not- nohOHHOT THEHERE!” The oldest boy was in near-hysterics at this point, kicking harder against the blankets and making them curl into a messy pile beneath him.

“Not there? Okay, what about….here?”

George began howling suddenly when Sapnap turned the feather in his hand and started poking into the skin at the center of his armpit softly with the rougher part of it. Dream placed his hand on George’s chest and gently pressed down, keeping him stuck to the bed rather than keep trying to fling himself forward and side to side to get away from the feather.

“Wait, I want another try!” Dream whined after a few minutes of watching George laugh himself silly. Sapnap sighed in fake annoyance, handing Dream the feather once more and smirking as he replaced Dream’s hand on George’s chest with his own.

“Oh my gosh, you’re such a little squirmy thing today, aren’t you?” Sapnap commented with a smirk, pleased with the way George’s blush seemed to deepen at the remark. He turned to bury his head into Sapnap’s shoulder again, groaning and breaking into cackles as Dream slid the feather into his sleeve and traced the rougher stem of the feather in little circles under his arm.

“Just so giggly, Georgie.” Dream commented quietly, continuing his torment.

“N-Nohoho more, plehehease! Plehehease, softer!” George pouted through his laughter, revealing himself from his hiding place in Sapnap’s shoulder and flashing Dream his teary eyes to show him just how tickled out he was. The blonde immediately complied, caving instantly and switching the feather to the soft part to continue tracing tiny circles along the sides of his armpit.

“Dream, I think our kitten is a little tired out, don’t you think?” George was surprised to hear the statement from Sapnap but was thankful he did, taking in a much needed breath of air when Dream reluctantly pulled the feather back out of his sleeve and turned to his left to place it on the bed sheets beside him.

“What happened to you, tough guy? Giving up so soon on torturing our little Gogs, hm?” Dream seemed equally as surprised as George, giggling through his accusation as Sapnap shook his head with a slight blush rising to his cheeks. George continued to laugh his little heart out, turning back towards Sapnap and burying his face into the curly haired boy’s neck to hide and muffle his lingering giggles.

“Come on, Dream, look at him! He’s being so soft and shy, how can you torture him when he’s like this?” Sapnap questioned back, moving his palm from the center of George’s chest and instead wrapping it around the smaller boy’s torso and pulling him closer.

“Okay, I guess you do have a point there.” Dream lifted up to lean on the palm of his hand, allowing George to move his arm from under him and loop it completely around Sapnap instead.

The two younger boys laughed at the way George immediately clung to Sapnap, unable to wrap their heads around the fact that George was allowing himself to be so soft with them. Dream wasn’t about to ruin it by commenting on it though and instead slotted himself behind George, wrapping his left arm around the tiny waist in front of him and allowing Sap to adjust his arm to hang over Dream’s shoulder, successfully encasing George in the tightest, most comfiest cuddle hug they could make.

Within seconds the two heard George’s breathing even out, letting them know he had finally fallen asleep. The two whispered back and forth for a minute before deciding to nap as well, both closing their eyes and cuddling in close together. There was a comfortable silence blanketing the room, only to be broken seconds later by Dream.

“Hey Sap?” He whispered, lifting his head up slightly and opening one eye. He watched the youngest boy scrunch his nose at the disturbance, a slight smile forming anyway before he answered.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t think I won’t remember that the feather tickled your ears.” He watched as Sapnap dipped his head down to bury his face in George’s hair, catching a glimpse of the reddening cheeks before he was completely hidden from Dream’s view.

“Try me and I’ll tape it inside your belly button.”

Dream whined quietly at that, feeling his own face heat up as his attempt to tease Sapnap majorly backfired on him.

“Whatever!” Dream spat back, closing his eyes and settling back down against the smaller boy in his arms. He pressed his forehead to the nape of George’s neck, smiling through his blush as he fell asleep to the sounds of Sapnap’s raspy giggles, and the thoughts of exactly what he was just threatened with playing out in his mind.

#lee!george #ler!dream #ler!sapnap #do u guys like the title?#get it??? cause...summers concept??? :D #anyway #this concept seriously has been on my brain since summer wrote it #asked her for her permission to write it forever ago but i finally did and im so happy with how it turned out #might even do this concept for the other two as well......we'll see :3 #i hope you enjoy this #and i hope you enjoyed lee!george week #it was so much fun to do and i truly appreciate all of u sm #i will cry if i dont shut up so.......yeah <3 #mushies lee!george week #mushie fics #mcyt tickle #my stuff

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