#like there’s no way this is the first time George had been tickled since getting to America

[unusannuscrap]

if in some world Dream/Sapnap didn’t know George was this ticklish before, George is so dead now

[maxlarens]

I got a lot to say so it might be long,

starting with, thank you for the Charles smau and the Lando fic <3

it took me time to choose an emoji lol but I've been doing an internship and time goes by way too quickly, but I decided to go for the strawberry one 🍓

and since you said you wanted to write for driver! reader, and that she was very intense about driving, maybe you can write something about her racing while she's sick/not feeling well but she still wins the race

woo hi again!!! literally no big deal! i hope ur internship is going well, it’s awesome that you’re doing one!! but yeah literally real life is always the priority as much as i’d also like to spend all my time on here lol. but anyway yay the strawberry is super cute 🍓🥺

and YES lol driver!reader is consuming my thoughts right now. i have other things i should be writing instead of this but i smashed this out in a few days😭 i decided not to make it a win because i have a thing brewing for driver!readers first win and i didn’t want to use up all my ideas for that. anyway!!! as usual thank u for the ask and pls enjoyyy 🤗

OP: extraordinary machine

pairing(s): oscar piastri x mercedes driver!reader

summary: you push yourself to your limits. (also sorry i simply don't know enough technical terms about racing for this to be fully accurate but i hope it works)

word count: 3.4k+

Here is a fact— you’ve got a fever of 39.4 degrees.

Here is another, indisputable fact— you’re racing in Imola today.

The fever had come on overnight after a persistent tickle in your throat all weekend. A mildly sore throat had turned rapidly to a snotty nose, full body chills and sweat pouring off you like you’d just run a marathon. You’re wearing a puffer jacket over your racing suit and it’s twenty-nine degrees out. You feel freezing, you feel delirious, and you’re eating Sour Patch Kids by the handful to keep the sugar rush going. Your race engineer, Rachel, keeps telling you that it’s okay if you can’t race. George can step in, I promise. You keep telling her I’m fine. I’m fine. I can race. But the expression on her face says she doesn’t believe you.

You’re telling practically everyone who’ll listen that you’re getting in that fucking car today. Rachel, George, your mum who keeps calling. Lewis keeps looking at you like you’re about to keel over and die and you want to scream at him you did this! Brazil 2015. You had a fever. You got on the podium. If I can’t do this and you can, what does that mean? But you don’t because that’s your 39.4-degree fever talking and this isn’t about being better than Lewis. It’s about knowing without a doubt that you can still get in that car and race your ass off.

Your phone keeps buzzing with texts from Susie that reassure you that you’d be disappointing no one at all if you had to let George take over this race. You’re not letting down women everywhere and you’re not letting down the team. I know Susie, you keep saying, but I’m still racing.

You know you’ve got to convince Toto when Rachel starts a hurried conversation with George and he starts grabbing his fireproofs like it’s a sure thing he’ll be driving in your place. Bundled up in your coat like it’s the middle of winter, you stomp over to Toto’s office and barge in.

“I’m racing,” you tell him without any preamble.

His head snaps to look at you, expression only mildly surprised— not that you would even notice if you didn’t spend so much time around him. He gives you a once over, eyes lingering pointedly on your jacket and then he raises his eyebrows, “It is twenty-nine degrees outside.”

You suck your teeth in frustration, “I know. The car will be hot. I can race.”

He frowns.

You plead, “Toto. Do not take me out of that car. I can do this.”

He shakes his head, “I can see you sweating from here. You’re not well.”

You shake your head frantically, ignoring how your vision starts spinning, “Let me race. If I fuck up you can put George in the car for Monaco. If I fuck up you can even replace me. I don’t care. Just let me drive today.”

Toto’s face pinches in the way it does when he’s considering something, you can see cogs turning in his head as he evaluates what you’ve said and decides if he should listen to it.

He sighs, “I am not putting that kind of ultimatum on you,” your heart stutters and stops in your chest, and you hold your breath, “Okay. Against my better judgement, I will let you race today.”

You let out an audible breath, it edges out into a sob that makes your aching body curl into itself. You press the heels of your palms into your eyes for a moment to suppress the urge to give in to your fever. It would be easier to give up, it would be easier to let George take your seat for the race so you could crawl into bed and cry the fever out. But none of this has ever been easy for you. You’ve fought tooth and nail to get here, you won’t forfeit a race and let people say you took the easy way out.

You look up. Toto looks concerned.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

“You won’t.”

You practically stumble onto the asphalt before the national anthem, passing your coat off to Rachel while your trainer wipes your forehead with a towel as if you’ve just finished a full-body workout. Your shoulders feel tense, you can’t stand up straight without shuddering so you’re hunched over awkwardly hoping it doesn’t come off looking too strange.

People are still milling about, setting things up while the drivers assemble. You don’t really notice on account of the fever state you’re in, but you end up standing between the McLaren boys. You must brush against Oscar because he looks down at you, eyebrows furrowed, mouth set in a line and his eyes wide like a puppy dog. You get lost in them a little— because of the fever. Definitely.

“Dude,” Oscar says to you, “You’re really hot.”

On your other side, Lando breaks into a fit of laughter. You frown, your brain trying the puzzle through the sentence. You feel foggy, your eyes feel heavy. You need more Sour Patch Kids, or a shot of espresso, or five Red Bulls. Max could swing it for you.

Oscar leans past you and swats at Lando’s shoulder, “She’s burning up, stupid.”

Lando’s laughter pauses, and he says seriously, “Oh shit.”

Suddenly, you’re being twisted around and you’re wincing at the contact on your shoulder that makes it ache even more. Lando puts a hand on your forehead and then immediately rips it away.

“Eugh. You’re sweaty.”

The back of Oscar’s hand replaces it. You twist away, brushing it off.

“You’ve got a fever,” he tells you, his voice thick with concern for you, “Have you told anyone? Does Toto know? Lewis?”

Instead of answering you press a hand over your eyes and crack your neck, trying to work through some of the stiffness in your back. You roll your shoulders and stand up as straight as possible, pushing through that aching, sickly feeling that runs through your whole body. When you finally drag your hand from your face— a thin sheen of sweat coming with it— Oscar is staring at you with a deep-set frown on his mouth. At his shoulder, Lando looks at you with a markedly less severe, but still concerned, expression.

“I’m fine, Oscar,” you insist.

You’re not. He knows you’re not. It doesn’t matter, you don’t want to seem weak. Not barely thirty minutes before the race. You can’t have either of them thinking you’d be easy for an overtake or that you’ll back out of a fight first. Off the track, fine— you’ve been vulnerable and honest with both of them at times. On the track is a different story. This is Formula One. You’re not here to make friends. They are not here to make friends.

“Mm,” Oscar hums, “Pretty sure you’re not.”

“You’re sweating bullets,” Lando adds, “Can see it from here.”

Something white-hot and pissed off flares up your spine. Oscar is not this kind of person, even on track; but the suspicion that he’s just trying to eliminate you as competition rises anyway. You think it because if the situation were flipped, you’d be weighing the pros and cons of having a sick driver on the track. Their weaknesses, what it means if they’re distracted. It doesn’t make you a good person, but you’re already pretty sure you aren’t one.

“I am fine,” you bite.

Oscar’s expression drops. Into something not quite offended… accepting, maybe? Resigned? It closes off to you, is what you mean. That’s fine, you’re trying to close yourself off to him. You’re re-drawing a line that you’ve been crossing without a thought for at least two years now. You’re not here to make googly eyes at Oscar and let him put his hand on your fever-ridden forehead and have him reprimand out-of-line, so-called professionals for you. You’re here to get in that car every Sunday and put your life on the line for a shiny trophy and fucking glory. Even if you’ve got a fever. Even if you’ve got a weird crush on Oscar Piastri.

“I’m racing,” you add in a different tone, feeling as if you’ve been a bit harsh on a well-meaning Oscar, even if you mean what you’re thinking.

Oscar nods, and says, “Okay,” in a way that really means, ‘If you say so, then it is’.

In the car, on the tarmac, sitting in your starting grid position, you’re shitting bricks.

Your cheeks are squeezed tight into your helmet, you can feel sweat, slick and soaking through your balaclava. Your arms hurt, your legs hurt, your ass hurts where it’s pressed into the seat. You’re not crying, but your mouth— hidden away by your helmet— is open like you’re about to. Set into a grimace that you breathe raggedly out of. Toto says something over the radio before the lights go out, you don’t hear it. You’re too busy regretting how earnestly you’d begged him to let you race. It would have been better if George had taken over. It might have been better if you’d passed out during the national anthem so you really had no choice but to sit it out. No one could say you weren’t committed to this sport if that had happened. They’d have plenty to say about women and their weak constitutions though.

You’re on autopilot when the lights go out. One second you’re freaking out like it’s your first time in a car, the next second everything is fading into background noise and you’re fighting a Ferrari and a McLaren for your original grid position. Twenty of you tear down the straight to turn two and you find yourself slotting easily into what you think is P4. Ferrari— not the same one— in front of you. Your mirrors reveal the McLaren behind you. It’s Oscar, you’re sure. You can tell by the way he sticks to your ass. Every nudge of the car you make he makes with you.

You press the radio button, “That Piastri behind?”

Crackle, “Yeah.”

“Knew it. He’s up my butt, Rach.”

“Okay. Go faster then. Not sure what to tell you.”

You make a face. You weren’t looking for sarky advice, you were trying to commiserate. You press the button and make a vaguely mocking neh-neh noise that gets a laugh and then radio silence because you’re supposed to be fucking concentrating. Which, okay, fair.

You press the throttle, done with trying to manage your tyres for the moment and taking Rachel’s comment as permission. You tear away from Oscar, stopping his fight to overtake you through the chicane in its tracks. You start slowly gaining on the Ferrari in front of you, its red rear wing growing closer and closer.

“Sainz in front?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

“Yup,” Rachel confirms before rattling off some lap times when you ask for them.

By lap thirty-something, you’re on Sainz’s ass like Oscar was on yours. You’re fighting him through every chicane, threatening him on the straights and generally behaving in a way that you know for a fact is putting him on edge. But Carlos isn’t giving up P3 without a fight.

A safety car goes out around lap forty, and you pit. Everyone ahead of you does as well. Oscar doesn’t, Oscar is lucky to have gone in earlier. Rachel tells you he’d made up four places after being forced to box for some tyre issue. You feel a strange mix of pride and jealousy swirl in your chest as you all file into a discordant line behind the safety car.

Verstappen leads the pack, as per usual. Then Oscar, Sainz and you. Leclerc is behind you, then Lando. You’re in P4, right where you started and right where you’ve been fucking sitting the entire race so far. twenty-five laps to at least make it onto the podium. Then you’ll be happy. Or not quite happy, you’d need pole for that. Content. You’d be content.

Max starts weaving. The safety car goes off and Max keeps you all ready and waiting until the exact millisecond that he decides the race can properly begin again. You hate when he does this— you know that’s exactly why. Eventually, finally, he gets going.

You have to run defence like crazy for a few laps to keep Leclerc behind you until everything is warmed up. The gap widens as you drive. At some point, you stop worrying about the Monégasque so much and focus your attention on car fifty-five like your life depends on it. The laps fly by as time ticks on. Twenty-five to go, twenty, fifteen, ten. You’re back on Sainz’s rear wheel, a gap of 0.2 to 0.3 that’s been consistent throughout this last stretch of the race. You’re watching him like a hawk, waiting for the smallest slip-up to take advantage of. Somewhere you can push, somewhere he’s weak. It’s hard— he’s covering all his bases. Not giving you an inch so you can’t take a mile.

You’re closing in on sixty-four laps— with only three to go— when he gives you that fucking inch. It’s in the first chicane. His wheel locks up, and he jerks the car slightly the wrong way, something like that. You get in his space and you push and he backs out first. You press down on the throttle and rocket past him, shouting FUCK! FUCK YES! to yourself.

P3. P3. God, you hope it’s P3.

You press the talk button, “Rach?”

“Yes, P3,” she barks, “Fucking, focus. Three laps to go.”

Those last three laps of Imola are some of the hardest of your life. Defending against Carlos is a task, of course, but it’s not even that. The sickness starts to creep back into your awareness as the adrenaline that had hit its peak during the overtake starts to subside. Two laps to go and you’re remembering the fever again. The sweat soaking your hair and streaking down the back of your neck. Your whole body is on fire and it aches everywhere. It feels like someone has taken a sledgehammer to the inside of your skull. You want so badly to close your eyes and drift away to sleep, but the car is flying through the air demanding your attention with the way it thuds against the track. You’ve got one lap to go and Carlos is on you like white on rice. You can’t afford to make a mistake until you’re firmly over that finish line.

So you don’t. You grit your teeth and you refuse.

Carlos is downright reckless in the last chicane, he tries to bait you by moving to one side and pushing but you’re not going to fall for something like that even if you’re near delirious from the 39.4-degree fever. Though surely it’s higher now, the car temp can’t be helping. You hardly realise you’ve crossed the finish line because you’re thinking so hard about how lightheaded you feel. On instinct, you slow down to a safe speed as Oscar’s McLaren enters your vision, but you think your toes have pins and needles and there’s some feeling tingling up into your shoulders. You blink hard and take a long sip of water so you can make it to the pits before your head starts to spin.

Crackle, “Where are you going? That was P3.”

“Huh?” you realise you’re following the other drivers instead of heading into the pits where you’re supposed to go, “Shit. Sorry.”

You edge back as carefully as you can, avoiding other cars that pass by, lucky you’ve not overshot too far so you can turn into the pits and park your car in front of the P3 sign without going around the entire track. That would be embarrassing. Or that would be more embarrassing than how disgusting you’re going to look when you take your helmet and balaclava off.

Toto, Rachel and a few of your engineers are there to meet you at the barricade when you clamber out of the car, unsteady on your feet. Rachel’s eyebrows are furrowed as she tries her best to smile at you, trying to put on a brave face even though you can tell she’s concerned you’re going to keel over. You brace yourself with a hand against the gate and tear your helmet off, then your balaclava. You’ve never been so fast to put a cap on your head, trying to cover the sweaty mess that is your hair right now.

“That was phenomenal work,” Rachel says, reaching to put a hand on your burning hot bicep, “You look fucking terrible, though.”

You suck in a ragged breath and you nod in agreement, trying to keep the black tinging your vision from taking over completely. 

“Get her something to drink,” you hear Toto bark, though it comes to your ears, muffled and staticky.

You’re fine. You’re fine. Until you’re not and your sweaty hand is slipping against the guardrail and your vision is fading into darkness and you’re falling face first into a metal railing. And, and, someone’s got their arm around your middle and you’re not on the ground with your face in the asphalt. You blink, hot tears— from what you assume is exhaustion— burning your eyelids. The arm around your middle is covered in something orange and black… Oscar. It’s Oscar who’s got you propped up, held firm into his body so your legs don’t collapse underneath you. The two of you sway and stumble for a second as you gain your footing back, your vision returning to normal, the buzzing in your ears going away.

“You’re good,” he breathes, “I’ve got you.”

You ignore the shiver that runs down your spine, you attribute it to your current state.

You remember the cameras that are on all of you right now. You try not to look panicked as you step away from him. You try to do it calmly and not frantically like you so want to. Toto has some electrolyte drink held out right in your face and you take it, chugging half of it straight away while you swivel around to face Oscar. You nod, feeling slightly better, but gripping the guardrail tight so as not to repeat earlier.

“Thanks,” you try a smile, but it’s just turning into a grimace because you feel like shit.

Oscar shakes his head, “Don’t mention it.”

“Great driving out there.”

His eyebrow goes up, touching the curl of his hair that peeks out from his cap.

“You’re kidding?” he says, tone laced with amusement.

You frown, which is much easier, “No. You drove great.”

He makes a face like ‘yes, obviously’, but somehow does it in a humble and endearing way that you find you like a little too much. It leaves you confused as to his point.

“No,” he scoffs, “Okay, yes. What I mean is that you just got P3 with a raging fever.”

You purse your lips, countering, “You don’t know I have a fever.”

His tongue darts out to wet his top lip, hiding the small smile that threatens on his face.

He shrugs, “Bit obvious, unfortunately.”

You roll your eyes. You think what he means is it’s a bit obvious because you look like absolute death. There’s probably sweat rolling off you in buckets, your cap is jammed on your head and your hair is probably sticking out at crazy angles. There were dark circles under your eyes before you left for the track this morning, they’re probably ten times worse now. He might also mean it’s obvious from the way your skin is burning hot, like touching a radiator in the middle of winter. Or, perhaps, the way you’d passed out into his arms a few minutes earlier.

You suck your teeth, “Well. I told you I was racing today.”

Oscar nods, biting the inside of his lip, “Yeah. You did.”

There’s more that neither of you are saying. A conversation that you’re trying desperately to have with prolonged eye contact, small little smiles and breaths out through the nose. You think it might be ‘I’m proud of you’ or ‘You’re very impressive and I’m going a little bit crazy about it’. That’s how you feel at least, somewhere in between the fever chills and the urge you’re suppressing to curl into a ball on the tarmac. This is okay, you think. You don’t have to be Oscar’s sworn enemy just because you’re both chasing the win. You can let him worry about you, but make sure he understands he can’t stop you from taking the things that you want. You can say things that mean other things and Oscar can smile at you like it’s something private for just the two of you.

You can be happy with that. Or not quite happy. Content.

🏎️ song inspo (fiona apple my Beloved) -> https://open.spotify.com/track/5h9Iek7Hp9wayRt7fBp7Ab?si=9PnuH5CDSC-qTurLPGiTwg

💫 fill out this form if you want to be added to my tag list: @clowngirlsstuff @leclercsluvs @c-losur3 @mael1pastry @papayamusha @mvk1ma

[luv4freddie]

Aerophobia (fear of flying)

Your fear of flying had kept you off a broom ever since first year, but dating Oliver Wood was bound to fix that. 575 words, fluffy mini story

“Please doll?”

You’d been very adamant about one thing in your time at Hogwarts, and it was that you would not be getting on a broom.

Your first year flying lessons had been a very unfortunate experience, with the amount of falling and bumping into other students you did it was a miracle they even let you finish the class.

And ever since then you’d sworn off getting on one of those cursed cleaning tools.

A relatively easy ban, until you ended up dating Oliver Wood— someone who might actually spend more time on his broom than on his feet.

One thing led to another, and now here you are, with your boyfriend giving you his pretty puppy eyes and a broom hovering next to him.

“I told you-”

“I know,” he says, familiar with your objections, “but your wonderful boyfriend is here and he’s an amazing flyer and he promises to not let you fall off.”

“He’s also talking in third person, which is weird,” you mumble.

Oliver laughs, but he recognizes that you’ve given up.

He holds the broom horizontally and lets you climb on, before climbing on behind you.

He’s reaching around you to hold his hands in front of you so that you’re trapped, his arms acting like the bumper rails you’ve seen at muggle bowling alleys.

“Relax,” he whispers, his breath tickling the shell of your ear.

“Just go before I change my mind.” You state, gritting your teeth in nervousness.

He lets out another chuckle but kicks off anyway, and you screw your eyes shut as a gust of wind hits you in the face.

The broom stabilizes in the air, and you wait to feel him take off zooming, but he never does.

You cautiously open one eye, squinting around at your surroundings.

You’re hovering about ten feet in the air— not moving.

“Ollie?” You have to speak up to be heard, as you’re too scared of shifting the broom to turn his way.

“Yes love?”

“Why aren’t we moving?”

“Do you want to?”

“I just thought you would.” You risk the small movement of shrugging your shoulders, and you can hear the smile in his voice when he speaks again.

“I’ll move, but you can’t close your eyes, deal?”

“I don’t know…”

He lifts one of his hands off the broom to offer his pinky to you, but you let out a squeal, leaning your back further into his chest.

“Oliver Wood you put your hand back on this broom right now!”

He laughs, “make the deal then.”

You let out a groan, still pushing further into him, and decide that anything is better than falling off the broom.

“Fine. Deal. I’m not moving my hand though.”

He places his hand back on the broom in front of you, at the same time placing a kiss on your cheekbone.

“Good answer.”

You brace for the broom to take off, clutching the handle tighter but keeping your part of the deal up— your eyes stay trained directly in front of you.

Oliver moves one hand further up and the broom gives a small lurch forward.

You hear him laugh at the squeal you let out, but you’re moving much slower and less aggressively than Oliver usually is on his broom, and your fear starts to drain as he continues to gently move the broom forward.

“Look, you can see the courtyard over there,” his voice is calm in your ears, and you excitedly look over.

“I see it! Look! Do you think that’s Fred and George?” You question, pointing to your left at two ant sized figures with red hair.

“Might be.” He hums, trying not to point out your sudden confidence as your hand moves again, pointing at something else.

Five minutes later and you’re back on solid ground, Oliver helping you off the broom with a satisfied grin on his face.

“That wasn’t so bad now, was it?” He teases.

“I guess not,” you concede, popping up to give him a kiss on the cheek.

“What’s that for?” He asks, although he’s already got a smug smile on his face.

“For taking such good care of me.”

He grabs your hand, interlacing your fingers and placing a sweet kiss on your knuckles while leading you back to the castle, his other hand holding the broom.

“I’ll always take care of you.”

[smusherina]

yard work - chapter 9 (regina george x reader)

fandom: Mean Girls (all media)

pairing: Regina George x OFC/Reader

summary: You'd been in the same class as Regina George since kindergarten. You'd lived on the same street even longer. Once upon a time, when life was sandbox disputes and who got the swing first arguments, you'd even been friends. Now, in junior year of high school, you doubted she even remembered you. The same couldn't be said about you. You definitely remembered her.

warnings(s): use of the d-slur, the one for lesbians. use of the q-slur, the one that’s been taken back.

chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 5 / chapter 6 / chapter 7 / chapter 8 / chapter 10

You lost track of time, mind consumed by Regina's mouth on yours. The feel of her lips, her hands playing with the hairs at the back of your neck, made you tingle. You didn't know much about actual technique when it came to kissing, but taking cues from and mirroring Regina seemed to work. When she opened her mouth and bit your bottom lip, you chanced a little tongue. Met with welcome, the kiss deepened. The sensations had you shivering, hands gripping tightly at Regina's waist.

"Bed, now," Hazy and a little slow, you chased Regina when she pulled away, making a pathetic little sound at the loss of her. She stood up and pulled you with her, roughly pushing you onto your back. Sprawled on the bed, you could only watch as she climbed over you. Soon, her lips descended down on yours again and your eyes blinked shut.

Then, startling you like a bucket of cold water thrown onto you, her hands snuck under your shirt. Her nails brushed at your ribs and you, despite the nervous excitement bubbling, began to feel apprehensive.

"Reg," You mumbled, hands moving from her shoulders to her upper arms. "Reg, I- hold on."

"What?" She kissed down your cheeks to your neck.

"Hold on, I-" Your breath hitched, the tickle of her lips in such a sensitive place hindering your ability to speak. "I don't wanna have sex."

As if shaken from a trance, Regina pulled away abruptly. Her hands slid out of your shirt and rested on either side of your torso, looming above you. The dim, warm tinted lamp light from the nightstand made her hair, hanging around you, seem like a halo. Or a canopy.

"You don't want to have sex." She said, voice a little hoarse and eyes betraying something until she pulled the shutters closed. "You're lucky I'm letting you get this far."

You stared up at her, stunned. "What? Letting me? You're on top of me."

"I know you want this. You've been wanting this for a long time. I've seen the way you look at me, the way you act around me." She spoke fast as if she was trying to convince both you and herself.

Panic was beginning to constrict around your throat. It took a while to find your voice.

"Reg, I'm sorry, but-"

"You should be sorry." She crawled away from on top of you and stood up. You leaned up on your elbows to keep looking at her. "You should be so sorry."

"I- I am," You tried to reassure her, tried to hold down your own hurt. "I just thought this was a little fast."

She rolled her eyes at you, though the action seemed jilted. "You've been pining the whole time we've been friends, I'd say it's been long enough. And now, when you have all you want offered to you, you reject it."

"Is this what this is about? Rejection? Regina, I just meant not yet."

"You're so fucking full of yourself." She accused, pointing a finger at you. The whole display was made weaker by the glistening in her eyes and the redness covering her from neck to ears.

"You think you can walk into my life, cause all sorts of chaos, take my family from me, and then reject me?" She hissed, gesturing with her arms all the while. You swallowed, unsure of what you should do.

She was firing insults at you and the only thing you could think to do was sit there and take it.

"Chaos? I'm not trying to take your family from you, Reggie, where's this coming from?" You stood up, feeling too awkward to be on the bed.

"You think I haven't seen the way you act around my mom or my sister? You want to be me so bad, you're acting like they're your family. They're mine and you're never gonna have them! You're never gonna have a family!"

You reeled back, offended by the uncalled-for insult.

"You have the gall to come to my home, my family's Thanksgiving dinner, acting all holier than thou meanwhile Kylie fawns over you and mom dotes on you."

"Are you jealous? They love you, Regina." Your ability to argue was getting flimsier by the minute, the stinging in your eyes inhibiting any power you could've drawn from.

"Jealous? You think I'm fucking jealous? I have everything and you have nothing!"

"I don't think that's true, Reg. I think that you're hurt and saying things you don't mean."

"You always put words in my mouth, try to manipulate me and change me into someone you think I should be. I'm good the way I am!"

"Change can be good, Reg, I just-"

"God, you're actually so insufferable. Genuinely, I cannot stand to be around you. I hate you." She turned away from you, hands going to her hair and tugging. "I don't need to change. I hate that you try to make me. I hate that you've already done it, with your fucked up mind games."

You blinked rapidly and breathed in deeply, trying to stay calm. She was just being destructive because she was hurt. She didn't mean any of it. She was just earlier kissing you. Didn't that count for something?

"I don't play mind games. I just wish you were kinder."

"You wish I was this and that, and what about me?" She whirled around and strode up to you. "I am this way. I am not kind, I'm not soft, and I thrive."

"Are you thriving, Reg?"

"Do not call me what stupid name!" She yelled, getting right in your face. You flinched back, startled and scared. "Oh, you're gonna cry now that your other tactics don't work anymore? I see right through you, you freak."

"Don't yell at me, Reggie." You said, biting your lip to keep it from trembling. You wiped at your eyes furiously. "I'm sorry, okay, for rejecting you, for trying to change you. I didn't mean to manipulate you."

"I'll do whatever the fuck I want to you." She hissed. "I'll fucking ruin your life. I'll tell people you're a lesbian and what you tried to do to me."

"What?" You breathed. "What do you mean? What I tried to do to you- do you hear yourself?"

"I hear myself, jorts, and so will everybody else when I tell them what a disgusting, perverse little dyke you are."

You wouldn't have described it as something snapping, but you'd had enough by then. It stung, hearing that from her, of all people. It stung more than you liked to admit because you knew her.

You knew she didn't mean it, she was lashing out, and desperately trying to cling to the power she'd lost the moment she'd been vulnerable with you- kissed you.

You didn't want to feel it, so you were mean instead.

"Just like you did to Janis then. Did you kiss her too and when you got scared you decided to ruin her life. Is that how it went?" You laughed bitterly and before she could interrupt, went on. "Is that how you're gonna live your life, Regina? Anytime you feel those dirty, lesbian urges you'll use some innocent bystander to sate your lust and then, because they know too much, you ruin them? Sounds very sustainable."

"How dare you accuse me of being that," Her face was scrunched in anger, red like the devil.

"Oh, I dare, I seem to recall you were just kissing me, on top of me, hands up my shirt. You're not fooling anybody, Reg, you're a filthy queer just like me." You were aiming to hurt now, wanting her to feel like you did. "The truth is, Regina, that you fucking hate yourself. You hate yourself and you just don't know what to do with yourself so you make everybody around you feel the exact same way."

"No, that's not true, I-" Seeing her face crumble, her posture turn defensive, stoked the fire of your anger. You wanted her to hurt, wanted to punish her for leaving you back then and insulting you now.

"You're like some shitty reincarnation of Heather Chandler, all high and mighty until you're inevitably toppled by some nobody you were so sure was so below you that they couldn't even pose a threat."

"Great film analysis there, loser." Regina quipped weakly, already backing down. You weren't done, though.

"It's only a matter of time before Cady Heron pours you a glass of drain cleaner too, and I'll be looking forward to the day." You sniped, watching as Regina's lip curled in an exaggerated show of being unaffected. You knew her. You knew she'd seen Heathers and you knew the parallels weren't pleasing to the eye. You knew you were going too far, but you couldn't stop.

"You think you're such a martyr, you think that-"

"I thought we were friends, Regina! All I wanted was to be your friend. Sure, I liked you, but that didn't have to mean anything until you kissed me."

"It meant something the whole time! You can't act like it was nothing, our whole friendship is tainted by it!"

"Get over yourself, Regina, you could've ignored it like you do every flaw you have!"

"I don't have flaws, I'm above that." She scoffed, but the tremor in her voice told you that even she didn't think that was true. "I'm doing everyone a favour by showing who's on top."

"Who are you? A fucking dictator? Is that how you truly see yourself? Because I see a scared little girl, confused and angry, taking it out on the easiest targets."

"Nobody gets to feel okay when I feel like this! It's not fair! It's not fair they get to be happy and I have to be like this all the time! I hate this and they deserve it!"

You fought to ignore your heart breaking for her, how her words and obvious cries for help made you want to bleed for her. You'd stood idly and let her hurt you for long enough, it was about time you stood up for yourself.

"Oh, well, I'm so sorry then. I'm starting to fucking get Janis. Maybe I could've come up with the Homecoming sprinkler prank myself. Maybe I should've let you use the lard for your face."

You regretted it the moment the words left your lips.

A beat, both of you staring at each other, faces slack and chests heaving from all the screaming, regret and betrayal swirling in the air like a toxic tornado, passed.

"You knew?" Regina whispered, suddenly so quiet the wind from your sails wooshed away. "You knew and you didn't tell me?"

"I... I did." You looked down. Fuck. You'd fucked up. You'd insinuated you wanted to see her die. You didn't want that at all. Tears sprung to your eyes again and you pressed the heels of your palms to them.

Could this even be fixed at this point? You should've just shut up and it wouldn't have escalated like this. You knew why she'd reacted the way she did, you knew, but you hadn't been able to stay level-headed when she'd started coming at you.

"Get out." She spoke normally, volume steady. She was shaking, you could see that even with your faltering vision.

"I'm sorry, Reg, I really am. I should've told you. I shouldn't have said those things to you. I'm sorry."

"I said get out."

Unable to hold it any longer, a sob burst out and you decided to leave before you humiliated yourself any further. You grabbed your overnight bag and practically ran out of the room.

You should've been quieter because Mrs George came to see who was stomping down the stairs so late. She had a wine glass in hand, a silken robe tied at her waist, and a worried look on her face.

"Oh, hi, I packed some leftovers for you to- oh, honey, what's wrong?"

"It's- it's nothing, Mrs George." You hiccuped and looked away, embarrassed by your crying. You couldn't look her in the eye. Did you want her to be your mom? Did it matter when Regina clearly saw it that way even if it wasn't true? Taking any comfort from her now felt like proving her right.

"It doesn't seem like nothing. Why don't we go sit and you can tell me what happened. Did Regina say something mean?"

"I don't wanna talk about it, please."

Mrs George sighed. "There's leftovers in the fridge for you." She lingered as you passed. "Honey?"

"What?" Usually, you didn't have the heart to be so rude to her.

"You're welcome here anytime." She smiled at you gently. Clearly, she was experienced in dealing with volatile teenagers. You turned and headed for the kitchen.

Walking home, bag on your shoulder and various containers of delicious food in your arms, you felt numb. You'd left through the garage door, grabbing your clothes from the mudroom as you went, but you still had on the sweatpants.

Tears dried on your cheeks, eyes swollen and nose stuffy, you didn't know what to do. Snow was falling and the streetlights made the scene look more beautiful than was warranted. You felt empty, hollowed out like you'd spilt your guts, heart, and most other internal organs on the floor of Regina's bedroom.

You got home, put the leftovers in the fridge, and stood in the kitchen. Swallowing on a dry mouth, throat scratchy, you figured there was little else you could do other than smoke a cigarette.

You stepped onto the porch and sank down onto the bench swing. Lighting up and inhaling, you closed your eyes as the smoke passed through you.

Regina by the poolside in her bikini, Regina eating pizza on your couch, Regina on the passenger seat of your car, Regina smoking a cigarette with you under the bleachers.

That was all gone, then.

Notes: I was a little wary of having the chapter be only the argument, but it got so long that I figured it'd be nice to have the next chapters work towards a resolution straight away. No need to stretch out the acute misery for any longer than necessary. I'll say, though, that just like IRL something like this isn't just fixed right away. So look forward to more chapters! This is getting so long. I started writing this like, hey, a cute oneshot with a butch OC! Here we fucking are.

Taglist: @autorasexy, @wedfan2, @unadulterated-moron, @modernsapphicism, @9unknown0, @sage-rose2000, @massive-honkas, @nattys-swiftie, @likefirenrain, @luz-enjoyer, @dandelions4us, @natashamaximoff-69, @alexkolax, @jareaul0ver, @here4theqts, @charleeeesworld, @natsbiggestfan1, @brocoliisscared, @yellowwallflowers, @scarlettbitchx, @ayoungexwife, @cyberbonesworld, @syddie-reads, @screechcat, @theenglishswiftie,@gabby-duhh, @sweetmissnothing, @masterofpuppets-10, @l1lass, @starved-mortal

[kisses4tom]

Sooo, since we got Uncle Billy do we now get GirlDad!Tom ?? I’ve looked high and low for a Tom X Reader family story😂😭 your writing is amazing <3

ᡣ𐭩 DADDY TOM

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YAYY FINALLY SOMEONE REQUESTED THIS!! 😭 I've been dying to write something like this since I have already made an uncle tommy hc! and thank you so much ml 💕

I think we can ALL collectively agree that Tom would be the BEST girl dad, right? 🌚 so the baby will be a little girl!

also I'm gonna make this a teen pregnancy (18), so from the very start up til now!

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when he finds out he would probably freeze for a moment before finally reacting (gotta soak it in yk)

he would be happy but shocked and confused at the same time

scared not to be present enough because of tour and the band

he would always kiss and touch your stomach

he'd cry when hearing the baby's heartbeat to the doctor 🥹🫶🏻

"I want the baby to be healthy, but if I had to guess I think it's a boy" (he 100% wants a girl)

idk I feel like he would call the baby "kleine Prinzessin" (little princess) or "kleiner Soldat" (little soldier) !!

when you go into labor he tries to keep his cool but deep down he's in full panic mode

the first time he met/held her it was like love at first sight for him even if he didn't quite know how to act since he never really had any past experiences with babies

he's very careful and gentle with her

always holding her

he would attack her with tickles to hear her little laugh

kiss attacks also

playing with her all the time

he wouldn't essentially spoil her (that's uncle Billy's job 😉) but he definitely gets her most things because he can't say no to that little face!

likes holding and showing her around: "look who's that in the mirror? it's you!"

definitely hiding her from the media

yet he LOVES talking about her in interviews!

though very very VERY rarely he would bring her out on stage and hold her like mf simba when she was about 1/2

his heart is always full whenever she's around

he would kneel down to talk to her‼️😩

always pushing her stroller or carrying her on his shoulders

don't ask me why but he'd get into play fights with her at the dinner table 😭 (especially when she's still learning to talk so she's speaking gibberish 😭)

he loves to take her baths and put fun toys in the tub

finds her extremely adorable in everything she wears

he'd give her his yellow dog plushie‼️😭 currently sobbing

I feel like he would try his best to let the baby's first word be "papa" 😭

when she's older he would start being more himself (so talk about things freely and make dirty jokes all the time)

he's not a regular dad, he's a cool dad! 😏 (please get the reference 😭)

he'd give her the talk 🫢🐝

he would pick her up in weird ways and make her laugh (like upside down etc lmfao 💀)

would let her do his hair but not his make-up

like I said in my uncle Tommy hc, i feel like he would love to play with the toy kitchen for some reason idk 💀

he's the overprotective girl dad FOR SURE (AND ITS THE HOTTEST AND CUTEST THING IN THE WHOLE UNIVERSE)

he'd go down the slide with her 😭

at lunch/dinner he would always sit next to her

looooves when she's at their concerts and would ask Bill to dedicate her a song (especially her favorite)

he'd definitely write her a song too

he would make her try to eat a lemon 😭🍋

it's important to him that she has a good bond with her uncle Bill and the boys too! (uncle Georg and uncle Gustav 🥹)

"Y/n she looks more like me than you, gotta be honest"

he would give her what he didn't have growing up (if you read Bill's book, like I have, you'll know)

he wouldn't let anybody hurt or say anything wrong about her

hype man fr

high-key a very chill and permissive dad

he would make sure she knows her worth and to always be herself, without listening to what others say

always saying that she's the better copy of him

since he had her young, people (maybe even teachers at parent teacher conferences) mistake him for her brother and it's needless to say that he's very flattered while his daughter is just like 😐

they have a great bond

LITTLE FUN FACT‼️ Tom said in his podcast that if he ever has a daughter then his dream is to name her Nala like in the lion king movie 🤭😭 crying rivers rn part 2

your daughter tags along on tours, especially because it's very important for Tom and she loves it (idk if I already said this but oh well lmfaoo)

I have a feeling almost all her friends have a crush on Tom (i know i would 😋)

Tom is such a basic dad istg, he does bbq every sunday

if y'all ever become parents a second time then he would definitely have a happier reaction than the first one, yet he would be scared to take care of two little creatures~

his fans always ask about her during meet and greets and give her little presents, which he appreciates a lot

your daughter is pretty much popular in the entire fanbase you guys have and is considered a "lucky charm" from the band

Tom would give her the longest and most comforting hugs known to mankind

he'd make her a memory book with Bill 😭

and he'd give her some old goodies of his!

like some of his old clothes, hats, glasses etc..

overall he's the best dad and UGHHFHSJENF I cry just thinking about him not having any biological children :(

i hope you enjoyed this !! 💕 (also i apologize for any spelling mistakes but your girl over here is too lazy to re-read 🤪 love y'aaaallll)

[stellamarielu]

show me

john mitchell x female reader

summary: bloodlust and sexual desire have become one in the same to mitchell making it increasingly difficult to have a normal relationship. so when you find yourself frustrated by the lack of physical intimacy, he figures out a way to solve the problem

content: nsfw, 18+, cursing, mentions of blood, mentions of death, a little bit of angst, a sprinkle of fluff, a shit ton of dirty talk, mutual masturbation [kinda], basically mitchell just wants to watch you get off, fingering, squirting? [lord forgive me]

authors note: first mitchell fic let’s go!! so, I wanted to start with something more tame for mitchell since it was my first time writing for his character, but i did no such thing. this is just full speed no brakes very smutty so if that’s not your jam just keep scrolling! there is some fluff and a little bit of angst but other than that it's just filth

-

It had been nearly a month since you learned the truth about Mitchell. What started as innocent interactions and flirtatious jokes turned into the two of you regularly going for drinks at the local pub. Before you knew it, your casual little dates led to you joining him and his roommates for movie nights at their home which always ended with you both cuddled up next to each other on the couch. 

Mitchell tried not to let you into his complicated life but failed miserably after the first time he felt that warm fuzzy sensation in his chest when he saw you. You had him wrapped around your finger in a way no one ever had, so much so that he started referring to you as his girlfriend, which of course made George and Annie annoyingly giddy. They absolutely adored you and thought you’d be good for Mitchell, someone to motivate him– to ground him. It all happened so quickly but you couldn’t help it, neither of you could. You were completely infatuated with one another; it was almost sickening. 

But of course, along with the fresh adoration of a new partner also came their baggage. It was something you expected. What you weren’t expecting however, were the skeletons in Mitchell’s closet to be so literal.

He had gone back and forth about telling you the truth and of course Annie had convinced him to be honest with you.

“If your feelings for her are real and you want a genuine relationship you have to tell her Mitchell.” 

He knew she was right, but it didn’t stop the anxiety weighing on his chest at the thought of rejection. It was terrifying. The possibility that you would run screaming kept him putting it off day after day until one night the two of you were having dinner at your apartment and it just kind of stumbled out of his mouth. 

“A Vampire?” 

The words slipped from you in a giggle, your face full of amusement at his confession. You figured he must’ve been trying to make some kind of stupid joke until you noticed his dead serious demeanor.

When he refused to meet your tickled expression with a smile of his own, your brain started running laps around itself trying to piece together the last few weeks of your life. Confusion and fear filled your senses and for a split second it felt like you were sitting across from a complete stranger. Despite your inner dialogue telling you to run, you didn’t leave. You didn’t even get up from your seat. You just sat and waited for him to explain himself further. 

So he did. He told you everything.

It took hours of explanations from him and hesitant stares from you, but after a night of discussing his condition you were sure he was telling the truth, and you were also somehow open to it. 

Mitchell was surprised by how understanding you had been about the whole thing. After the initial shock, the two of you laid on your couch until the sun came up and you interrogated him about his supernatural lifestyle.

he answered every last question. 

You learned about the different cities he’d lived in, the people he had known throughout his long life, who he once was, who he still longed to become. You admired his desire to live differently than the others like him. 

Even after listening to the man next to you give hour’s worth of evidence proving he was a bloodthirsty killer, you still managed to fall asleep in his arms. At the end of the day, it was still Mitchell; Mitchell who mopped floors and made crude jokes, Mitchell who was always there to give you a comforting smile or lighthearted wink when you were having a rough day, Mitchell who you had fallen head over heels for, Mitchell who wanted to be human so badly that he was attempting sobriety from the very thing his body craved most. Nothing could change the way you felt for him and so you held it together when he told you a secret about himself that he was sure would have your relationship unraveling.  

Only he didn’t tell you everything. There was one little detail about his life that he left out that night. He told you about the countless people he killed– about the guilt that ate away at him as he remembered their faces. He even confessed to you that he had given in to his bloodlust not long before you met. All the grim details about his murderous tendencies were true, but he made sure to leave out the part about how he killed them. 

You knew that he drank away their lives, that he consumed their blood until there was nothing left of them. But he couldn’t bring himself to tell you that it so often started by seducing a woman- getting her naked in bed, writhing and vulnerable underneath him. He hated that he’d weaponized sex for so long that he could no longer differentiate his longing for blood and his desire for sexual release– the two had become synonymous. It was so bad that anytime he found himself in a heated position with a woman he couldn’t tell if the passion he felt burning in his veins was actual yearning or just a desire to feed. This made his relationship with you extraordinarily difficult. 

You were so handsy. Of course you were. The two of you had been dating for nearly three months and the furthest you’d gone was a clothed second base. 

At first, Mitchell told you he wanted to take things slow, a little odd maybe, but you respected his boundaries and kept the physical touch to a minimum. But time went on, and the restraint you had both practiced began to falter. You started getting little tastes of what it would be like to have his hands on your body and his mouth on your skin it was driving you insane. Every time he kissed you, his lips lingered on yours and there was a certain hint of impatience that always peeked through. You could sense the hunger in the way he would crash his lips on you, his mouth molding to yours and his tongue tracing your bottom lip. Sometimes he would even let his hands find your hips gripping you tightly and pulling you into him as close as possible. Not to mention the little groans that would slip from him when you tugged on his hair. Those little grunts made you want to drop to your knees in front of him and see what other sounds you could pull from his mouth. 

You were constantly reminding yourself to take things slowly, but it was so hard when there was such a strong sexual tension tying the two of you together– or at least you thought there was; but based on the way Mitchell would break your kisses and take his hands off of your body like he just burned them on a stovetop, you were beginning to think maybe he wasn’t craving you in the same way.

Only there was no doubt in his mind that Mitchell wanted to fuck you. He was obsessed with you. He thought about what you looked like naked at least once a day and dreamed about hearing the little whimpers that you’d make when he was finally able to get between your legs. he wanted you, but he was terrified of possibly putting you in danger, so he tried to keep his hands to himself, Just for a little bit. 

At least that’s what he told himself at the beginning. He would work his way up to having sex with you. Like little practice runs, he would let himself give in to the temptation, a make out session here and there, maybe even some heavy petting- but he would always put an end to it before it went any further.

He had to pace himself with you. He needed to be able to control the blood driven part of him that had most of his hookups ending in red stained sheets. You deserved the best part of him. The part that he was convinced was still human. The part that could take his time and indulge in the intimacy of knowing another’s naked body. He knew that part of him still existed- he knew because you brought it out of him. With every touch of your hand to his cheek or the feeling of your sweet lips on his, he felt it. Hell, even when you had your fingers intertwined in his hair, pulling at it while you attacked his neck with kisses, he could feel a deep appreciation for the way you loved him. It was an innocent kind of love. It was pure and gentle and all-consuming and the last thing he wanted to do was ruin it by pushing things too far. He wouldn’t ruin this- ruin you. 

But then you were straddling him on his bed. Your legs spread on either side of his hips as he grabbed onto you, guiding your movements as you slid your fully clothed center over his, your lips meshing in a messy kiss.

The house was empty other than the two of you who were now involved in a very heated make out session in his bedroom. His hands were splayed across your thighs, holding them hungrily and his mouth chasing yours. Neither of you were showing any intentions of holding back, so you took it upon yourself to take things a bit further. 

You let your hands fall to the button of his jeans–undiscovered territory that you were determined to explore at the feeling of his obvious arousal beneath you. Just as you were fumbling with the zipper of his jeans, Mitchell broke your kiss and took a hold of your wrist in an abrupt attempt to stop you. 

You looked down at him, trying your best to hide the defeat you felt from yet another rejection. His eyes looked almost remorseful before he averted his gaze downward to where your hands met, he was tracing little circles on your wrist. 

You were out of breath, chest heaving, and thoughts jumbled. You were trying not to read into it, but this whole situation was so confusing to you. Was there something you didn’t know? He seemed to be enjoying himself just moments ago; so why was he stopping? Did he ever intend to have sex with you? 

“Mitchell, are you attracted to me?” The words flew out of your mouth as you leaned back, still sitting on his lap. 

“What?” 

His expression was a mixture of confusion and amusement which only frustrated you further because what on earth did he have to be confused about? 

“Seriously. I get it if you want to take it slow, but It’s been weeks and I’m starting to get scared that you don’t actually want to have sex with me.” 

He was watching as you spoke, a small smile curling on his lips. He couldn’t help it; you were so cute and flustered sitting on top of him talking about how badly you wanted to have sex. How could he not be attracted to you? How could you think something so utterly insane? 

“Why are you looking at me like that?” 

You were questioning him and teasingly shoving at his chest so that his back sunk further into the mattress beneath him. The only response coming from the man laying under you was a low chuckle. 

“Mitchell, talk to me.” Your voice softened.

You were serious now; Mitchell could hear it in your worried tone and see it in the unsure gaze holding his own. 

He sat up with an audible sigh and you took that as a sign things were taking a more serious turn. 

You carefully moved off his lap, opting for a seat next to him and plopping down on the bed. You sat facing him with your legs folded underneath you and your hand gently resting on his thigh. 

Everything about you was inviting his awaiting admission; your body language, the gentle smile encouraging him to go on, the way your eyes fell on him in an already understanding gaze. You were too good for him– too kind. Here you were willing to accept every last part of him and he was getting ready to tell you he uses sex to aid his homicidal affinities. 

“I did want to take things slow- I do.” He started with his eyes glued on you.

”I just, I don’t want to hurt you.” He spoke slowly, still searching your eyes for any changes to your expression.

“And you’ll hurt me if we have sex?” You were trying to clarify and make sense of what Mitchell was saying.

“I used to-“ He began but stopped himself. 

He looked down at your hand on his leg. Your touch so sincere. 

“I used to use sex as a method of getting women alone and vulnerable so I could- you know...”

He was still staring down refusing to look at you as he spoke. He couldn’t stand to watch the inevitable look of fear on your face. 

“It was just so easy. The first time I had sex after I turned, it was such a rush. Everything was intensified; her heart rate, the blood rushing through her veins, how much control I had. I didn’t even realize what I was doing and then she was just...” 

His words were trailing off yet again, he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud. That he was a manipulative evil monster who prayed on women and got off on killing them.

 It wasn’t true though. That side of him was something else entirely. It was someone he didn’t even recognize when he was with you. 

His thoughts were interrupted when he felt your delicate hands cupping his face, bringing his eyes up to meet yours. Instead of a look of terror, your face held nothing but forgiveness and warmth. 

“So you’re scared you’re going to kill me if we sleep together?” Your words were point blank as you stared into his eyes. 

“No.” His response was instant, but then quickly followed by a correction, 

“Well maybe. I don’t know, it’s complicated.” 

He paused.

“I never want to hurt you. I know that much.” 

The look in his eyes was so gentle, begging for the forgiveness you’d already given.

“There’s just this part of me that I can’t control, and I’m so scared that I’ll get too caught up and won’t be able to stop myself.”

“Have you ever had sex without-“ 

You began to ask but Mitchell finished your question for you.

“Killing someone?”

He looked away again, unable to come to terms with his own sinful memories.  

“Yeah, but it’s been a long time.” He confessed.

You leaned back on the bed creating a bit more space between your bodies. You had a million thoughts running through your mind but the only one that mattered was the realization of how much Mitchell had come to mean to you in such a short time. Everything felt right with him. You were immersed so deeply in his world that this new piece of information just felt like a little blip on the radar of your lives. You would figure it out together. All of it. 

“Well okay then, we’ll just keep doing what we’re doing until you feel ready.”

As soon as the words left your mouth his eyes were back on yours. He was giving you the most hopeful smile, it nearly melted you. God- you’d do anything for him. 

“And if you never do, then I’ll just invest in a really good vibrator.”

You were joking to help lighten the mood. You didn’t want Mitchell to feel like you were judging him or disappointed in the new information regarding your sex life. 

Your comment had Mitchell cracking a smile for the first time in last five minutes and the sight of it warmed your heart. You were both just sat there looking at each other with silly little grins plastered on your faces, the dark tension in the room slowly dissipating. 

The silence between you lasted for a few seconds, Mitchell looked as if he was contemplating something before he finally spoke.

“Is that how you’ve been surviving this whole time?” There was a hint of laughter dancing in his words.

“My sweet girl gettin’ so frustrated she has to run home to relieve herself?”

His head was now cocked to the side as he probed you with a follow up question. He was smirking, clearly enjoying the effect his words had on you. If he couldn’t see the goosebumps on your skin, he sure as hell could hear your heart racing. 

“I’m sorry baby, you shouldn’t have to take care of yourself like that.” 

Mitchell’s voice was low, and he was moving his body closer to yours. He was hovering over you as your back rested against the warmth of his comforter. The sound of your heartbeat was amplified in his ears by the sudden closeness. 

This was new, you thought. 

Mitchell had never been this bold with his words. It was so filthy– so tempting.

“Do you think about me when you touch yourself?”

His eyes were heavy and his jaw tense as he awaited your response.

You thought about him every single time you touched yourself, which was more often than you’d like to admit given the current circumstances of your relationship. You had come up with one hundred different scenarios that involved you and Mitchell naked in his bed to aid you in your self-induced pleasure. 

But instead of divulging all of that to him, you just nodded your head in a simple reply to his question. 

“Show me.” His voice was dripping with desire, and you thought his eyes might burn a hole through you with how hard he was staring. 

“Mitchell…” 

You suddenly felt so shy. Just minutes ago, you were grinding down on his lap hungry to unbutton his jeans. Now he was asking to watch you touch yourself and your confidence was wavering. 

“C’mon baby. I wanna see how you get off.” His tone was so sultry, you were nearly slipping your pants off at sound of it.  

“Let me see baby.” He was intertwining his fingers in your hair and pulling you in for another messy kiss. 

“Fuck- I think about it all the time. What it would be like to watch you cum.” His hands were now trailing down your body, his touch was more rough than usual, but you didn’t seem to mind. 

“I touch myself thinkin’ about you too baby.” His gaze was scorching, as he watched you fumbling with your jeans in such hasty desperation to get them off. 

“Always so worked up from not being able to touch you the way I want to. It drives me fuckin’ insane.”

Now he was assisting you; pulling your jeans down your thighs, just as needy to see your body freed from them. 

Mitchell’s hands instantly found the exposed skin of your thighs as soon as your jeans came off. He was basking in the feeling of your warm skin, memorizing the way you felt in his hands as he gripped and kneaded the flesh of your upper leg all the way up to your hips. 

You were pulling him back down in a frenzied kiss when you felt his hands at your sides teasing the material of your underwear. His fingers were hooked in the waistband of your panties, and you found the kiss getting sloppier the closer you got to being half naked on Mitchell’s bed. Your lips were moving in a chaotic harmony when he pulled back to speak again. 

“Is this okay?” 

It was as if he was breaking character for just a second. The dirty words of primal desire were replaced with a tender whisper. The man who was just ripping your jeans from your body was now searching your face for approval before going any further. 

“Mhmm.” You were humming and nodding your head simultaneously placing your hands over his on your hips and helping him peel your underwear from your body. 

“Jesus- fuck.”

Mitchell couldn’t help the profanities that fell from his mouth as you looked up at him with such an innocently sensual gaze while you guided his hands down your legs. You looked so desperate for him.  

You were kicking your panties from your legs and instinctively closing your thighs, partially for the friction but mostly due to the nerves of your sudden vulnerability.

 Mitchell could sense your brief hesitation and wanted nothing more than to make you feel comfortable. To tell you how fucking hot this was- because it was. He hadn’t had sex in so long he thought he might just cum in his pants from the sight of you like this. 

He kissed you once more, deep and passionate while his hands found their place back on your thighs. He was running his fingers over your skin and grabbing each of your legs slowly pulling them apart as he situated himself between them. Then he broke the kiss and sat back on his knees to get a better view at your body all sprawled out on his sheets. 

“Fuck you’re so perfect.” His voice was close to a groan as he gazed down at your exposed center. He was in a hypnotic state at seeing you spread open all for him, so wet and ready; he was losing his mind.

“I wanna see you baby.” 

His fingertips were tracing your inner thighs, and you almost had to shut your legs again at the sensation; his touch causing you to let out a shaky breath. 

“wanna see how you play with yourself when you think about me.” 

You were closing your eyes and letting your hand trail down your stomach until it reached your core. If it weren’t for the fact that you were so pent up with sexual frustration from all the nights you had to leave Mitchell’s house after make-out sessions that led nowhere, you might have been more embarrassed by how quick you were to oblige with his directions. You were eager to finally get some sort of relief from him, even if it came in the form of his eyes on your body and his foul whispers in your ear. 

Your fingers were circling your clit and the sounds that came from the man above you were utterly carnal. 

“fuckkk.”

In a long, drawn-out groan Mitchell was releasing pent up frustrations of his own while watching your hand between your legs. 

He had envisioned you like this a million times but not one of those images even came close to what he was witnessing right now. He’d intended on trying to keep his composure but as soon as your fingers met your cunt, he couldn’t contain himself. 

“That’s it baby.”

Mitchell swooned, his body practically shaking as he watched you. All he wanted to do was replace your hand with is. He wanted to feel you. Needed to show you that the little scenarios of him you had conjured up in your head weren’t even comparable to the real thing. 

“So pretty for me.”

His words were only pushing you further into the lust filled abyss that threatened to swallow you whole. Your fingers were working faster in tight little circles and moans were forming in your throat and fighting to fall from your lips. 

“Look at me baby.”

You followed his command, looking up at him. He was going back and forth between looking into your eyes and watching the hand between your legs. He felt the familiar simmer of heat in his chest and the buzzing in his head– sensations that often came with his inability to stop himself from indulging in his deepest desires. He was teetering on the edge of losing all control when he found your eyes again, your tender stare bringing him back to reality. 

“Do you wish it was me touchin’ you like that.” He kept talking, hoping it would help tether him to his humanity. 

The low growl of his voice had you feeling brave enough to bring your hand lower, dipping a finger into yourself and whimpering out in pleasure at the thought of it being his touch instead. 

“Bet I could make you feel so good with my fingers- fuck.” 

The second he saw your hand venture lower he could feel his cock swelling in his pants. There was absolutely no way he would be able to keep his hands to himself now. Not while he watched you slipping your delicate little fingers into your cunt- something he had quite literally dreamed of doing for months now. 

“Oh sweet girl I need to touch you.”

You watched as he palmed himself through his jeans, the look on his face was so needy it made you bite down on your lip to muffle the obscene sound that fought its way to your mouth. 

“need to fuckin’ feel ya baby.”

And with that his lips were crashing into yours, your chests touching and moans mixing. You felt his hand on your inner thigh and nearly jumped when it skipped to your soaked core, his finger already pushing into you. 

“So wet for me huh?.” He was gathering your arousal and spreading it at your opening as he easily added a second finger along with the first. 

His head dipped down and his lips came in contact with the nape of your neck and you flinched. 

Your earlier conversation was still fresh in your mind, and you couldn’t help the involuntary recoil. Having Mitchell so worked up and putting his mouth on your neck startled you.  

He halted, every single one of his movements pausing as he drew his head back just enough to lock eyes with you. He had every intention of kissing down your neck, just wanting to envelop you in the feeling of his lips on your sensitive skin. He wasn’t even thinking about sinking his teeth into the flesh there, but once he felt you shrinking away from his touch, he felt awful. Shit did he scare you.

“Hey.”

He was searching your eyes, his expression full of worry. 

“I won’t hurt you.” A flip had switched, and his voice was now soft and reserved. 

“You’re safe.” He was reassuring you and now you felt bad for overreacting. 

You pulled him back to you in an affectionate kiss. 

“I’ve got you, I promise.” With that he was slowly moving his fingers inside you again. His thrusts were gentle, and he kept his eyes on you. He was being so careful, it was endearing. 

He had never felt so in control. It was a strange feeling, to be physically intimate with someone and not have a single hunger driven thought. While he had plenty of unsavory thoughts about you running through his mind, not even one had to do with his thirst for blood. All of them centered around hearing the cute little sounds you were making and watching you cum all over his fingers. 

He could sense your body relaxing under his touch and he watched your eyes flutter closed as his fingers curled into you. He was taking advantage of your comfort and switching to a faster pace. 

You had to squeeze your eyes shut completely as his fingers worked faster and depper. You were doing your best to keep quiet, scared that maybe someone would come home and be able to hear you, but with the way Mitchell was touching you, you finally let go of your worries. A lengthy moan fell from your lips, and had him groaning in response. 

“That’s it baby, don’t hold back.” 

He was encouraging your noises of satisfaction as he brought his lips back to your neck. Only this time, instead of flinching from the sudden attention, you tilted your head to the side to give him better access. You could feel him smirking against your skin. 

He was placing sweet kisses behind your ear while his fingers worked harder sliding in and out of you. His movements were perfectly executed, each thrust of his digits curling into you at the perfect spot and causing whispered profanities to form on your tongue. He knew exactly what he was doing, and it almost shocked you how close he had you to an orgasm already. 

“You feel that baby?” His voice was a mumble against the crook of your neck.

You were whining out a pathetic “yes” as he kept his pace, not holding back. You could feel your release building higher and higher, Mitchell’s fingers getting deeper alongside it. The exposition to your climax felt more intense than you’d ever experienced, and you were reaching for Mitchell’s forearm attempting to steady his movements, but all you were doing was pushing him on further.

“Let it out for me baby.” His voice was shaky, and it sounded as if he was holding back moans of his own.

Hearing him get so aroused by talking you through your pleasure only added to the pressure building in your core. 

“C’mon sweet girl I can feel you. So fuckin’ close.” 

You were writhing below his touch, whimpering and allowing yourself to give into the feeling of Mitchell’s fingers as he deliberately made sure each stroke hit the right spot. The sensation forming in your belly was almost too much to bear. 

Your relief was surging closer to release, like a wave it just kept building and you weren’t sure if you could handle it. And then, with Mitchell pushing into you, whispering little praises into your ear, you were coming undone. The floodgates were opened and your release was crashing over you, intense and all consuming. You were speechless as you felt yourself gushing over Mitchell’s fingers still deep inside you. He was coaxing you through your release, watching as you soaked his hand.

“Mmm look at that baby.” his voice was seeping with lust and he was looking between your bodies in a trance by the mess you were making beneath him. 

“Good girl.” He was growling and slowing the movements as he watched you come down from your high.

You were out of breath and in a state of pure bliss as you stared up at Mitchell. 

“Good fuckin’ girl.” With him looking back at you, you could see the look of pride in his expression, a smug smile on his lips.

“God I’m never gonna be able to get enough of you.” He brought his mouth down to you, locking his lips with yours in a hungrily passionate embrace.

You couldn’t bring yourself to care about the mess on Mitchell’s sheets or the fact that you didn’t think you could form words at the moment. All you wanted was to keep going, to make Mitchell feel just as good as he had made you feel. 

You were pushing yourself onto your elbows and making every effort to find your way to the obvious erection in his jeans. 

As much as Mitchell wanted to spend the entire night fucking you in every way imaginable, he knew it was too risky. Hell, he had almost lost his control before he even laid a finger on you.

While he felt excited by his newfound ability to venture further into this territory with you, he still wanted to take it step by step. He wanted to make sure he could trust himself– that you could trust him. 

“next time.”

He was grabbing your hand and bringing it to his lips, sealing his promise with a kiss to your palm.

You were pouting, but also inwardly thankful for his guarantee of future sexual escapades. 

“Don’t wanna bite off more than we can chew, yeah?” 

He was grinning to himself and leaning down to place a quick kiss on your forehead before hoping off his bed and searching for a towel. 

my masterlist

[targaryenluvs]

SKELETONS AND SCARES

pairing: fred weasley x fem!reader

summary: it’s fred’s mission to scare his girlfriend ever since she told him it was impossible to.

warnings: pranks and shenanigans, kisses, fluff, hitting? insinuations (sexy 👀)

a/n: it’s christmas and i’m writing halloween stuff idk why

the library was quiet as you and fred studied together. well you studied and he more so watched. ever since halloween approached he’d been restless. and the students were on high alert, especially with the weasley twins on the prowl. yesterday you ran into at least four people who’d been the subject of their pranks.

“oh! and then colin accidentally walked in on the prank for ron. wasn’t any less hilarious to be honest.” fred laughed as you smiled, “all these students are easily scared fred. choose someone more difficult or more amusing. i’m sure draco deserves a visit.” you joked as fred thought, “like who?” you pointed at yourself. “you? you want me to scare you? you’re easy.” you scoffed at his words, “and why is that? can you recall any time you’ve managed to prank me?”

fred’s mouth open and closed. you were really right, he hadn’t even scared you once. but he’d do it now. “okay, what do i get if i do?” you wondered for a second, “me. wherever you’d like, whenever.” fred liked that idea as he reached his hand out to shake before quickly retracting it, “what do you get if i fail?” you grinned, “you.”

he was relentless in his efforts. the first day after your agreement had you in the library again, this time with hermione in your spare time. you’d both wanted to read your favourite books. and as you pulled out yours a spider jumped out and onto your hand. rather than panicking you pulled out your wand “pertrificus totalus.” you picked it up and placed it outside the room.

fred was nearby and groaned at your calm demeanour whilst george leaned against the wall to take a peak. “well it seems your ever so amazing plan has already failed. what’ve you got up your sleeve?”

two in one day was something you wouldn’t expect from him, right?

wrong.

but a snake in a suitcase was extremely dull. you had no clue why fred’s pranks were so bad when it came to you but for others they were a howl. fail after fail and every day you woke up with the expectation of a success perhaps. even when you hung out with him he was planning his next prank. “if you’re wondering what miserable plan you’re going to use next i beg you to not. having george pop out of a closet with a mask i mean come on.”

fred jokingly hit your arm, “why are your pranks so bad when it comes to me?” fred shrugged his shoulders. “maybe i just don’t want to hurt you.” it came off as a joke but you could feel the sincerity in his earnest words.

“well aren’t you a sweetheart.” you replied as you kissed his cheek.

you’d been biding your time for him.

fred made his way into the room and you took it as your chance and jumped at him, which caused the two of you to tumble down onto the couch.

“how long had you been waiting there?” he yelped as you sat up, “as long as i had to for this, priceless! you’ve been annoying me for the past few days with very pathetic attempts when the simplest prank was amazing and effective.” you preened as he laughed.

“you’re the girlfriend of hogwarts’ best prankster. there’s no way i’ll be resting until i succeed.” fred crossed his arms with his chin in the air as you began to howl in laughter. “well your times up and you failed, i bet george would’ve scared me by now.” fred’s mouth turned into an ‘o’ before his hands crept to your stomach, “you take it back, take it back right now y/n weasley.” he joked as you grinned, “weasley? i like the sound of that. when’s george available?” fred was relentless as he tickled you, your hands beating on his body at the torture. “i was kidding! please!” you cried out as he tutted.

“no mercy for traitors y/n!”

[waywardxrhea]

Part of Your World - George Weasley

Chapter 14

pairing: George Weasley x fem!Muggle!reader

installment list / previous chapter / next chapter

word count: 2,228

content: tooth rotting fluff, tickle fight, mentions of death (we’re post war, this seems to be happening every chapter now whoops), George losing his temper (in a flashback scene), tears, mild angst

The next week, after Arthur, Molly, and George helped your family settle back into your house after the family of holidayers packed up, you woke up wrapped in George’s arms - the way you had every morning since your return to Camden. As you snuggled further into his warm embrace, a chuckle rumbled out of George’s chest. “You’re so cute,” he mumbled before kissing the crown of your head. 

“I just love being in your arms,” you admitted, a sleepy smile on your lips as you kissed his chest. “Do you have to go to work?” 

George nodded, telling you, “As much as I hate to leave this bliss, I’ve got to get going soon…” As he said this, you threw your leg over him and cuddled him closer. This made George laugh, so as he ran his fingers through your messy overnight hair, he asked, “What do you think you’re doing, Miss?”

“-m just so cosy,” you mumbled, your eyes closing once more.

“How ‘bout I change that?” he asked, a devious smirk on his lips.

“Don’t you dare-!” you started to say but couldn’t finish your sentence as your sides were attacked by a barrage of tickles from George as he pinned you to the mattress for the assault. It only took a few seconds to have you gasping for air through your laughter and the scene in front of him made George’s heart melt, a wide grin spreading across his features as he began to slow down the attack so you could catch your breath. “What was that for?!” you asked through residual giggles when he finally relented. 

“I need to get to the shop and I love listening to you laugh. It just seemed like a win-win,” he replied, leaning down to place a tender kiss to your lips before sitting up on the side of the bed and summoning some clothes over so he could get changed. 

“Not for me!” you countered, another laugh tumbling out of your mouth. You wrapped yourself around him and mumbled, “I miss you already…”

“Here, how about this then: when I take my lunch break I come and get you and I show you Diagon Alley? It’s nearly back to how it was before the war and I would love for you to see it. We could get something to eat and maybe some ice cream as well?”

“Now how could I turn down that offer?” you asked, your voice muffle into his skin as you spoke. “I should be back here around one, I just have to turn in the paperwork for my transfer back to uni, but after that I’m free!” 

“Brilliant, so I’ll see you then,” George said, turning around and placing a kiss on your cheek before getting up from the bed, your arms trailing after him in a feeble attempt to keep him in bed longer. He chuckled and said, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you replied as you fell back into the warm blankets while George disapparated with a pop! 

When one o’clock rolled around and George took you to the Leaky Cauldron for lunch, there was an electricity in the air that had never been there in your time coming and going through the pub. There were more patrons in the pub, and another change was that for the most part they were smiling. During the war, it was hard to come across anyone smiling in the desolate establishment. 

After the meal was finished, George got the attention of the young woman who was in charge of the place. “We’ll take the check, Hannah. Everything was great as usual!”

“Check’s paid for,” she replied with a warm smile. George sent her a quizzical look and she nodded her head over to a man at the bar. The same man that you ran into during your first visit to the shop. The man that George had made a habit of giving money in his time of need. “He said he owes you his life, so paying for your meal was the least he could do.”

“Let’s go give him our thanks,” George said to you as Hannah began clearing off your table. 

“It was nice to meet you,” you told her with a smile as you and George went to thank the man for his generosity. 

George had told you that when you were in New York, Tom had passed away and Hannah had taken over the pub. He also told you that they knew each other from when they were in the DA at Hogwarts, but she never finished out her schooling because of the war. Overall she seemed to be doing well for herself and you were happy to make another friend in the Wizarding world. 

Once you said your thanks to the man at the bar, George took your hand and asked, “You ready?” as he took out his wand and began to tap the proper bricks to gain access to Diagon Alley. 

What was revealed on the other side couldn’t have been any more different than the last time you had been in the dark and desolate place. There were people everywhere scurrying about with shopping lists, children ogling in windows, owls swooping in and out of buildings, and finally, colour everywhere as shops had opened back for business following the demise of You-Know-Who. The only other place you had ever felt this buzz of energy was at the Burrow when it was packed with witches and wizards, so you could only assume it was the sum of everyone’s magic coming together. A wide smile spread across your face as you saw a set of parents walking out of a broom shop with their little one proudly holding what seemed like his first broom. There was a young lad coming out of the Magical Menagerie with an owl cage securely tucked under his arm and you heard him tell his parents as he walked by, “Now we can write back and forth from Hogwarts all we want so I don’t get homesick as bad! Thank you!” 

Your thoughts of the future were interrupted by George asking, “Like what you see?” 

“It’s…it’s magical!” you told him with a laugh. 

“Brilliant innit?” he asked with a chuckle as he took your hand and began guiding you through the crowd to the ice cream shop labelled Florean Fortescue’s. As you waited in line, George told you about how the place was owned by a man who had a brilliant mind for magical history, but he was taken and murdered during the war. So now his son had been running the shop since things got back to normal.

After a lovely ice cream sundae shared between you and George, you both began heading toward Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. When you entered the busy-as-ever shop which was bustling with children wanting to spend their Christmas money, you were greeted by a woman a few years older than you who had dark ginger hair. “Have a good date?” the woman asked as she walked by with an armful of items to restock on a shelf. 

“That we did,” George told her as he pulled you close to his side. “Tulip, this is my fiancee!”

“Nice to meet you!” Tulip said as she waved her wand and the items began to restock themselves. “Tulip Karasu, prankster in chief around here, third only of course to the founders of this fine establishment!”

“It’s nice to meet you too,” you said, giving her a warm smile in return. “How long have you been working here?” 

“Just over a year on and off, the war getting in the way and all,” she replied. “I knew George way back when we were in Hogwarts - I was in year six when he started school, but we got up to a lot of trouble together! So when I heard this place needed an extra hand I couldn’t turn down the opportunity!” 

Before the conversation could continue, a set of children came up to her and asked for some help with getting something off of a high shelf, so she went to help them. Curiosity got the better of you, so you asked, “What happened to Verity?”

George stiffened up at the mention of the blonde, so he took your hand and said, “We can talk in my office.” As you both walked up the stairs to the office located in the flat, George’s mind flashed back to the week you had your memories wiped. 

Walking down the stairs, George rubbed his eyes as he yawned - they were bloodshot from his lack of sleep as well as the tears he had shed that morning over the fact that his dad had informed him that your family was officially out of the country. It had been a hard week, but he knew he needed to get it together before doors opened in less than an hour. 

As he began restocking shelves on the opposite side of the shop from Fred, the door swung open and Verity walked in, cheerily greeting her bosses as she once more locked the door behind her. It was only a few seconds into her being in the space that she could tell something was wrong, so she came up beside George and asked softly, “Is everything all right? You seem…off.” 

“Not the time,” Fred said gently as he walked by with an armful of Skiving Snackboxes. 

Verity didn’t listen though and pressed on, asking, “Is it because of what happened with the Ministry? Has business been bad the last few days I’ve been off?”

“No,” George replied simply. 

“Was it something at your brother’s wedding? I know those can cause some drama, especially with tensions already running as high as they are these days and-” 

George’s usual kind demeanour disappeared at the barrage of questions, so he snapped, saying sharply, “If you must know, yes, something did happen at the wedding. My fiancee got the Cruciatus Curse cast on her for information we didn’t have and the Death Eaters said they had been watching her house. So I had to watch as my father wiped all of her memories of magic and of our relationship before sending her off across the ocean! So pardon me if I seem a bit off.” 

“I’m still trying to figure out how they found out she was a Muggle in the first place,” Fred said, a tinge of anger in his voice too as he stocked the shelves. 

“She… Death Eaters watching her? Oh, Merlin…” Verity said, her eyes widening as she put a hand over her mouth. 

“Oh, Merlin what?” George asked, his gaze snapping up to look at her. 

“I…I think I know how they knew…” 

“How?!” George bellowed, his hands balled into fists at his sides. 

“I… Last year there was a young man in the shop buying some Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. I was restocking the Muggle line when he came up to me asking for help and before I took him to the back he asked why we were still selling them all things considered. He had said that he knew you from Hogwarts so I assumed you were friends and so I… I told him you were dating a Muggle…” She took a deep shaking breath and said, “I’ve seen the papers lately and I figured out he was a Malfoy and… I’m so, so sorry, George, I didn’t know at the time and-”

“Get out,” George said, his voice dangerously low as he attempted to control his anger, his chest heaving. 

“I-” she tried. 

“Get out!” George shouted. “I don’t want to see you here again! Out!”

“O-okay… I’m sorry…” Verity whispered before she ducked her head and began heading back toward the door. 

When she closed the door, George shouted a curse word loudly before tears began streaming out of his eyes again. Fred cautiously approached and said, “Mate…”

“Don’t,” George said as he began stalking toward the stairs to get some time alone. “She told a Death Eater that she’s a Muggle! She’s the reason that my heart’s been shattered into a million bloody pieces and shipped across the ocean!”

Fred sighed and nodded, saying, “You’re right. Take your time and get your anger out before coming back down, yeah?” He smirked before adding in a teasing tone, “I’m sure I can handle three people’s jobs at once.”

“I’ll be down soon,” George replied as he finished making his way up the stairs in a huff. 

“So…so Verity is the reason my house was being watched…?” you asked in shocked disbelief.

“Yeah, and afterward I remembered that over a year before Harry confronted me about selling the powder to Draco, so it could have been for even longer than we suspected…” he replied with a shake of his head and a heavy sigh. 

“Bloody hell…” you whispered. “I’m just glad that nothing happened before then I guess. They could have done something when you weren’t there and who knows what that outcome would have been…”

“I’d rather not think about that, honestly,” George said. He stood up and pulled you into a kiss before telling you, “I’m just glad that you’re here with me now and that all of that is in the past.”

“Me too,” you replied, kissing him once again. 

a/n: for those of you who play Hogwarts Mystery, yes, it is Tulip from the game! i wanted to incorporate her into this after coming up with the idea that Verity was the reason the Death Eaters knew the truth about George dating a Muggle!

ps: until i was typing out "chapter 14" i didn't even realize that we are very quickly approaching the ending of this little tale (and i still haven't finished writing the last two chapters) as always, coming to the end (chapter 19) will be bitter sweet, but i hope i am able to wrap it all up with a nice little bow for you all!

likes and comments are always appreciated! xo, brooke <3

taglist: @v1ckycheesue @superduckmilkshake @5starl1ght

dividers as always by @firefly-graphics

[gardenwalrus]

John Lennon writing about the Beatles’ latest tour within DISC (1 June 1963)

‘There’ll never be another year like 1963 - there just can’t be! Two Number Ones, two Silver Discs, a fabulous tour and now the chance to write about it all in DISC - and on the front page, too. Fabulous! 

Not that it’s easy trying to write my piece backstage at a theatre between shows. So far this evening I’ve had about seven interruptions and nasty comments from Paul McCartney who wants to know what I’m doing!

So far this tour has easily been our greatest. We’ve only done three, but until now we’ve never topped a bill. Course it would be even better if the boys weren’t so clumsy! That Paul McCartney’s left handed, and I’m bruised and battered from having been knocked about by his bass guitar. 

I’m warning him right now, either he stops bashing me about or he learns how to use that other hand!

We had our first ‘live’ present the other day. A fan gave us a lovely little kitten. We’d like him to travel with us as a mascot, but we have enough trouble trying to feed four mouths, let alone a pet. But if Ringo had his way he’d insist on bringing a complete menagerie into the act!

You know, it’s a great life on the road, but with some of the things that happen it’s a miracle we ever make the stage! For instance, when we played Nottingham some Judy put her high heel in Les Chadwick’s bass. He nearly went mad, but fortunately it wasn’t damaged too much. 

On the same date the boys and me decided to hide in the orchestra pit during Tony Marsh’s act. He’s the compere. We were trying to make Tony laugh, and he couldn’t understand where the cracks were coming from. Then George Harrison poked his head up and we had to run for our lives!

George really takes the cake! A few weeks ago we put out an appeal for jelly babies. We both love ‘em. Since then we’ve had about two tons delivered, but every time I manage to pinch a packet for myself, George comes in and pinches it back again. He eats them like there’s no tomorrow.

I hope one day he gets indigestion. It would serve him right!

Before we played Walthamstow we had to record the first of our four radio programmes, ‘Pop Go The Beatles.’ It was a load of fun, but we ran so late we nearly missed getting to the theatre. In the end we had to borrow Gerry Marsden’s mini-bus.

The programme itself was fun, but in the middle of one number George started laughing. We played the song again, but at exactly the same point, George started laughing again. When I asked him what was wrong, he said my pitch was too high, and I would stop shouting in his lug-hole because it was tickling him. 

If we ever get another series after this lot, it will be a miracle.

You can’t measure success, but if you could, then the minute I knew we’d been successful was when Roy Orbison asked us if he could record two of our songs.

He’s knocked out with ‘Please Please Me’ and ‘Thank You Girl’ and he sings them all the time when he’s not on stage.

Most of the time the audiences have behaved themselves quite well, but they got a bit out of hand the other night at Walthamstow when a few fans started leaping on the stage after our act. Even during ‘God Save The Queen’ they were still jumping about.

The worst part is getting out of the theatre. When you think you can get away safely and you’ve managed to get into the couch, you find that some nut has let the tires down.

Now the boys are shouting for me and I have to go on stage. Be with you again next week - if I get out of all this alive!’

[gffa]

I saw you used to dislike Obi/Ani but you don't anymore.

I'm not an anti idm what you ship I'm just curious how it happened

Hi! It's pretty much just, "I watched The Clone Wars and got smacked in the face with how they did not act like I thought they would." When I first stumbled back into Star Wars, it had been a very long time since I'd been into it, probably since a bit before AOTC came out, and so I was originally a Qui-Gon/Obi-Wan shipper. You could pretty much go down the line of Hot Takes Of SW Fandom and I bought into all of them--the Jedi were stagnant and brought about their own downfall, Anakin was kind of abused by them and not responsible for his own actions, Obi-Wan was Anakin's dad, the prequels were bad movies, Hayden Christensen's acting was terrible, etc. I was on all those trains. Then I just. Watch The Clone Wars. "Huh," I thought. "Obi-Wan's actually kind of trying to help Anakin here and Anakin's not listening." I watched some more. "Wow," I thought. "That is some very flirty dialogue they have going there. 'Study the bottom of my boot!' and 'Two steps forward and you'd be kissing it.' really??" I watched even more. "Wait," I thought. "The Jedi seem like they're actually right about a lot of this stuff, the Force and politics and the Separatists are actually going to kill everyone if they don't fight back and the Force really does need you to be calm and the dark side is in all of us but it's something you have to let go of." And then I started watching George Lucas interviews. "Ohhhhh," I thought. "The Jedi ARE right about 97% of everything and Anakin DID have help offered and chose to push them away because he was too afraid and didn't want to live a life that accepted things were transient and impermanent." Ultimately, it just comes down to that I never had any moral or ethical objection to Obikin, I just didn't feel the chemistry was right for me. But I watched more of The Clone Wars, I went back to the movies and saw ohhhhh no those two do not feel like they see each other as father and son to me, however, I do feel that from Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan now (ehhhh sort of), so that one's squicky to me now, personally, but I get Obikin. (And I still have no moral or ethical objection to Q/O, I get why people ship it, they see it differently than I do. I get why people are squicked by Obikin, they see it differently than I do! Both are are valid positions to have.) It helped that the Obikin part of fandom was very fun and there's a lot to be made of the Mustafar fight feeling like a big, dramatic divorce, that there are moments from official creators (like Stover's novelization or Gillard's interviews or even some of the things Lucas says about their narrative roles in the bigger story) that just sort of all helped ease the way further, but primarily it was just: Man, those two flirted in TCW and it tickled my brain chemistry real good.

[mushiewrites]

Got Your Back

Hiya! So I’ve had this fic since last September, I wrote it for @emmadoodlewrites when we both went insane for tickle machines and made up a few in a flustered frenzy. I recently rediscovered this fic and shared it with @wishitweresummer, who encouraged me over and over to upload it. So, I reworked it, somehow added 1K words, and here we are. Thank you @awkwardtickleetoo + summer for reading this through for me and for hyping it up and making me want to post it! (and thank u cal for the title ur a genius). I love how it turned out, and I hope you do too!

After George confessed his love for tickling to Dream, he decides to make him something special in support. Dream gets curious, and before he knows it, he’s stuck

(lee!Dream / tickle machine : 3.6K words)

Dream had always been curious. Everyone who knew him was aware of this fact, mostly due to the blonde getting himself into trouble because of it. Whether he was exploring new places without a map or tinkering with things he shouldn’t, he was used to things backfiring. But he didn’t really mind. He much preferred taking the risk in favor of trouble in order to learn everything he could about anything and everything he was interested in - including people.

Another thing Dream was known for was his generosity. Gift giving was absolutely one of his main love languages, and he constantly used it to show his friends and loved ones just how much he cared for them. Dream was thoughtful, always collecting things that reminded him of specific people and being so excited to give it to them, relishing in the way their faces would light up at the unexpected gift.

Recently, George had revealed some very personal information about himself with Dream. A few weeks ago, while sitting underneath an oak tree in the rain, George had told Dream his thoughts and feelings on tickling - about how much he loved it, and how much he adored the feeling of it. He told Dream how warm and safe the action made him feel, sputtering and whining through it all. It took some much needed coaxing and reassurance from the blonde, but in the end, George got it all out. Dream was there to support him through the whole thing, wrapping him into the biggest hug he could while showering him in praise.

Immediately after George had left that day, the cogs in Dream’s brain began to turn. He was set on creating things to show George that he didn’t have to be embarrassed about his secret adoration for tickling, wanting to make him something special and just for him. Dream spent many nights hunched over his crafting table drawing up blueprints, feeling like a madman whenever he came up with a new contraption to torture George with. After coming up with a few solid ideas, the building began.

It started with a small tickle machine.

It was around the same size and shape of a normal backpack, and designed to sit against the back the same way. There were eight retractable arms that sat over the shoulders, ribs and sides, much like how a koala would cling onto a person. The arms were designed to be able to perform the meanest of tickles that George could handle (or not, but that wasn’t Dream’s problem). The ends of the metal rods were covered in small rubber nubs, molded to glide expertly between ribs, to skitter up and down squishy sides, to poke and prod against sensitive stomachs - the possibilities were endless on someone as ticklish as George.

The machine was still in the prototype stages, but it was ready to be tested to make any final adjustments. He planned on waiting until the next time he was with George to test it, wanting to see how the machine worked on the smaller boy and hoping to find ways to make improvements. But the longer the device sat idly, waiting for its first victim, the more Dream’s curiosity grew.

So he decided to test it himself.

After a lot of pacing and contemplating, he walked over to the chest in the corner of the room where he kept the machine, opening the lid and chuckling nervously when he saw it. It looked like some kind of giant upside down bug, with the legs curled in on themselves while in the ‘off’ position. Dream lifted it from the chest, holding it in his hands and inspecting it while the butterflies in his stomach erupted into a whole new wave of panic. It took a bit of self convincing but he finally decided that yes, he was absolutely going to test this now. What George didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Dream let out a nervous giggle as he pressed the little green power button on the middle of the machine, reaching around and holding it against his back the best he could to try and secure it. He struggled with the positioning, taking a few steps back until he felt his heels hit the wall. Dreamed leaned against it, using the wall to help hold the machine in the correct spot and allowing the arms to finally extend out and over his body, clinging on and tightening to hold itself in place. The blonde watched in amusement as the arms reached over his shoulders and hugged around different parts of his ribs and sides, settling down after a few minutes and becoming still against him. He smirked to himself, happy with the way the machine was working so far.

Dream jumped forward with a yelp as the arms began to move, pulling him from his thoughts and bringing his attention to the new sensation that was spreading across his torso. It was only the first stage of the tickling, Dream having set different settings and stages for different tickling speeds and techniques. But even at the lowest stage, it had Dream doubled over, squirming against the wall as the ends of the metal arms pressed lightly against his ribs. The drew small, slow circles into the bones, pulling strained laughs out of Dream even as he tried his hardest to hold them in. He didn’t expect it to be this bad, but it was, and all he could think about was how much this would get to George. Through his panicked giggles he cheered at his success in making a functioning tickle machine.

The arms slowed to a halt, giving Dream time to catch his breath. He stood back up on his feet, turning around to face the wall and leaning his forehead against it with a groan. He closed his eyes as he continued to take in deep breaths, smiling at the thought of George screaming and squealing having to endure this himself. Suddenly the arms sprung back to life, digging in with a little more pressure at a quicker speed. Dream was thrown into loud cackles almost immediately, pushing off the wall and throwing his head back, his arms pressed as tightly as he could to his sides in an attempt to block out the tickly feeling.

“Ohoho my Gohohod, fuck! Thihis is bahahad!” Dream knew no one was around but couldn’t help but narrate the feeling. It was just so much more ticklish than he ever thought it would be, and it was only the second stage. He clenched his fists tightly, his eyes still squeezed shut as he let out a wheeze through his laugh, hiccups and high pitched squeals following closely behind.

The arms that rested over his shoulders were prodding into his top ribs, just below his armpits. They dug in slightly, vibrating over the bones every few seconds and making Dream feel weak in the knees. The other three sets of arms were poking into his ribs and sides, moving slightly every time they lifted up and touching down, always tickling a new patch of skin to keep him squirming. He leaned forward as he cackled, trying his best to stay standing as he laughed himself silly. He couldn’t remember the last time he was tickled this much - in his defense, he couldn’t really remember anything anyway with how fiercely the machine was tickling. Through it all, though, he did have one consistent thought; it tickled, and it tickled bad.

Dream gasped for air the minute the machine came to another pause, his giggles remaining as the metal arms stayed pressed against the bones of his ribs. He couldn’t shake the ghost tickles that had his stomach doing somersaults, even when he used his hands to rub the areas around where the arms were resting. The blonde found himself giggling helplessly, deciding he’d done enough testing for one day and reaching back in an attempt to power off the machine. George could try out the more intense settings the next time he stopped by.

But as Dream felt around blindly for the power button, he realized he couldn’t reach it from this position. He opened his eyes in a panic, quickly looking around on the table beside him for anything he could use to help reach it.

“Shit. Uhm….” Dream was mumbling under his breath as he searched through different tools, eventually giving up and turning around to gently press against the wall behind him to try and successfully hit the power button. But it was no use, and the familiar sound of the machine whirring to life echoed through the room once more.

Suddenly the arms were digging into his ribs and sides, only this time, the bottom set of arms made their way over to his very sensitive tummy. He let out a shriek as they vibrated into the pudge of his lower tummy, between his belly button and the waistband of his pants.

“No no nahahahaha! Fuhuhuck, plehehease! PLEHEHEASE!” Dream wailed, feeling the second lowest set of arms moving over either side of his belly button and pressing in, vibrating again, but at a much faster pace than before. He doubled over once again, his back arching off the wall before leaning over with his elbows to his knees, cackling towards the floor with his eyes squeezed shut.

Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse, the top two sets of arms began seeking out even more sensitive spots on his very ticklish torso. The lower of the top two sets found their way to the back of Dream’s ribs, a spot he had programmed purposely to fuck with George. He cried out at the feeling, never having been tickled there before and realizing how absolutely torturous it was. The top set framed themselves perfectly to wiggle their way under Dream’s arms, sending him flying back against the wall with his arms crossed over his stomach tightly.

“Nohoho, oh fuhuhuck, stohohop!” His knees began to wobble and he allowed himself to slowly slide down the wall, only stopping when he hit the ground with a thump. Dream pulled his knees up as much as he could, attempting to try and protect himself from the tickling but finding that it only further pressed the arms into his skin. He quickly straightened his legs out against the ground, kicking as he grabbed fistfuls of his pants, needing to hold onto something.

As the tickling continued, Dream fell to the ground on his side, turning onto his back and rolling back and forth a few times to try and hit the button against the floor. The third set of arms moved a little closer on either side to his belly button and he squealed, thrashing and squirming and kicking out as much as he could. No matter how much he pressed the machine into the ground, no matter what angle, it was no use - Dream was well and truly stuck.

The tickling finally stopped, but Dream couldn’t stop laughing. He was overwhelmed with the vibrations from the ghost tickles, still feeling the tingly circles and pokes over his torso as if they were still happening - even in the spots left untouched. He heard a noise from across the room and opened his eyes quickly, almost choking on his own breath as he saw George standing in the doorway, whose cheeks were bright red with his jaw dropped to the floor.

“G-George! I cahahan-”

“Dream?” George interrupted, his blushy cheeks somehow also appearing to be drained of all color as his eyes focused on the machine still wrapped around the blonde. “..What is that?”

The younger boy opened his mouth to try and explain, to try and make any excuse he could, but was cut off with a loud cackle when the machine clicked back on, the arms back in motion and making him scream.

“Noho not again! Nohoho plehehease! NOHOHO!” Dream let out a squeal that bounced off the walls of the room, startling George with the force of it. The older boy ran over and kneeled next to the blonde, trying to figure out what it was and what exactly was happening.

He watched with wide eyes as the metal arms poked and swirled and vibrated against Dream’s torso, focusing on his ribs and under his arms. The blonde let out a scream when the machine began to pick up speed and the bottom arms moved, making him arch up against the ground before falling back down against it, writhing and kicking as he did. Dream’s hands were wrapped around the bottom set of arms, pulling as much as he could to try and dislodge them, but finding it useless. George’s eyes trailed down to where they disappeared under the blonde’s shirt, moving a hand to grab the bottom of the fabric to slowly pull it up. George felt his face burning up as he saw the two bottom arms tickling at Dream’s belly button - one circling around the edge as the other pulled at it, occasionally dipping in and making Dream cry out in ticklish agony.

Dream swore he saw stars from how hard his eyes were squeezed shut. He knew he was screaming through his laughter, yet everything sounded muffled. His senses were on fire. The arms of the machine were sinking into every sensitive spot with precision, and with the two taunting the small indent in the center of his tummy, he thought he might seriously pass out at any second. His face was hot, and he could hear George talking to him and saying his name, but he couldn’t focus on anything else besides how horribly everything tickled. He attempted to open his eyes, but he was laughing so hard that his cheeks were keeping them squinted, blurring his vision and making it essentially impossible to see. Dream had no choice but surrender to the tickles, throwing his head back and letting himself laugh as much as he needed to.

He felt a hand grab his shoulder and pull him onto his side, and suddenly he could breathe again, taking in gulps of air and gasping through his cackles. George had managed to find the power button, finally freeing Dream from the ticklish hell he had been enduring. The brunette was carding his hand through the blonde waves, adjusting the two so that Dream’s head was resting against his thighs.

“Thank you, ohoho my God…” Dream managed through his left over giggles, turning to lay flat on his back as he draped a hand over his chest, letting out a deep sigh when he felt how fast his heart was beating. His eyes were still shut but he could hear the brunette laugh from above him, feeling his hand being moved from his chest and being replaced with one much smaller than his own. Dream moved his hand back, laying it over George’s and holding it for comfort.

“What even was that thing?” George asked hesitantly. Dream could sense the nervousness in the elder’s voice, opening his eyes slowly to adjust to the light and allowing them to focus on the brunette. George’s face was closer than he expected, making him giggle when George realized and pulled back quickly, clearing his throat and looking away from the blonde. Dream watched with a wide smile as George’s face grew an even deeper shade of red, clearly flustered at the situation he had walked in on.

“Well,” Dream spoke through his teeth, grunting as he moved to sit up slowly and cracking his back before turning around to face George. “You were nice enough to trust me with the whole tickling thing, so I wanted to do something special for you!”

Dream laughed as George physically cringed at the mention of the dreaded word, turning his attention from the blonde once again and looking down at his lap, picking at a loose thread in his pants to distract himself as he continued.

“O-Okay, and what? You decided you wanted to torture yourself to relate, or….?” He let out a squeaky giggle when Dream scoffed at the accusation, squirming to the side when a poke landed on his ribs.

“No, idiot. I actually made it…for you. For fun for us, but I was also thinking about it for the times where I can’t be there to help, you know?” Dream spoke gently, suddenly feeling shy about the whole thing and reaching behind him to pick up the small machine to hand to George. He watched as George’s face continued to turn a bright red, biting his lip to hold back the giggle that was threatening to escape to try and remain calm, knowing how embarrassing the subject was for the brunette.

“Dreeeeam,” George whined, holding the machine in one hand and bringing his free hand up to cover his face. “That’s…that’s just…”

He was struggling to find the words, torn between wanting to scream out in embarrassment, and wanting to cry because of how lucky he was to have someone like Dream supporting him. The younger boy giggled at the response, leaning forward and pulling the smaller boy into a hug. He smiled when he felt George lean into him, letting out a shaky breath as Dream used a hand to rub up and down his back soothingly.

“You’re welcome, Gogy.” Dream smirked, feeling George hide his face into the crook of his neck, whining about how much of an idiot he was. He let George pull away after a minute, using the floor to push himself up onto his feet and leaning down to offer George a hand. The brunette accepted it, grabbing the bigger hand and laughing when Dream yanked him to his feet as if he weighed nothing.

“I have a feeling this thing is gonna absolutely destroy you, Georgie.” Dream teased, poking at the machine and giggling when George turned his hips to prevent him from touching it. He noticed the elder’s blush had spread to the tips of his ears, the light pink color slowly turning a lighter shade of red the more flustered he became. George rolled his eyes at the blonde, hugging the machine to his chest as he spoke.

“Well, it sure did destroy you, didn’t it, Dreamie?” Dream made a move to walk towards the door, George suddenly stepping in his path and making the two almost collide together. He felt his own stomach flip at the question, taking a small step back and bringing a hand up to run through his hair as a way to cope with the nervousness he suddenly felt.

“I don’t know about that, but-” he tried to excuse the accusation away, but George was having none of it. He got a sudden wave of confidence, and mixed with his normal cockiness, Dream was doomed.

“No no no, you’re not gonna act like that didn’t just wreck you to pieces, Dream.” The blonde felt himself swallow hard as George took a step forward back into his space. “Which is kind of questionable, actually, because why would someone subject themselves to such torture if they didn’t like it? Care to explain?”

“N-No! No, I-”

“You liked it, didn’t you?” George held up a hand, slapping it over Dream’s mouth when he opened it to protest. “You wouldn’t have tried it if you didn’t think you’d like it at least a little bit.”

George removed his hand to let Dream answer, bursting into bright giggles when the blonde pressed his lips together tightly, his cheeks burning up and turning a dusty pink.

“I don’t!” George laughed at the way Dream was immediately defensive, not having any real excuse to offer other than a denial.

“Don’t worry, Dream. Your secret’s safe with me.” The older boy poked a finger into Dream’s tummy, making him jump back with a squeal. When he looked up again, George was walking towards the door, laughing as he went. Dream groaned, looking down at his shirt and bringing a hand up to his stomach, rubbing out the lingering tingles that George had left behind. He heard the door opening, looking up and being met with a very menacing smirk.

“Just to let you know, I absolutely will be using this against you. Watch your back, Dream. Your very, very ticklish back.” Dream felt a shiver run down his spine as he watched George flash him one last smile before turning to step through the threshold of the door with a wave, closing it lightly behind him.

Dream walked over to the crafting table, leaning back against it and letting out a deep breath he didn’t realize he was holding in. He sat down on the stool next to him, letting his head fall into his hands with a flustered whine, giggling to himself at how ridiculous the whole thing was.

When the flustered feeling finally passed, Dream was back on his feet, scribbling over blueprints of other ideas he had, making little improvements and upgrades as he worked. Dream decided he needed to up his game. If George thought that machine was mean, he decided to show him just how bad it could get. Dream was about to create George’s worst nightmare. Dream was determined to make George cry.

And he had just the idea on how to do it.

[awkwardtickleetoo]

Lee!George Week Day 6 - Intense Tickles

well. this has taken way too long

I'm sorry it took like 8 years to get this out, but I'm hoping that it being literally 12k words will maybe make up for it a little??? thanks everyone for being patient, I hope you guys still like this <3 and day 7 will be out shortly!! for real this time lmao

this is still part of the lee!george week event that mush put together!! you can find the prompts here, and if you want to participate make sure to use the tag "mushie's lee!george week" when you post <3

WARNINGS: feet nibbles!! I can't sugar coat it, dream fully nibbles on george's feet/toes!! there's nothing weird or nsfw about it, but I know a lot of people really do not like that kind of stuff, so this is your warning, if you don't like mouth tickles and/or feet tickles, they are both featured in this PRETTY heavily, so either skip this one or proceed with caution <3

this entire fic is pretty nibble-centric, so if mouth tickles are where your issue lies, I'd say skip this one, BUT if it's just the feet tickles/feet nibbles that bother you, I'm gonna highlight the last word before it and the first word after it in green so you can skip just that section if needed!!

thank you guys for being understanding <3

lee!george, ler!dream, ~12k words

enjoy!

--

Dream, Sapnap, and George had arrived back home in Orlando the previous day from their two and a half week long trip, which was split between North Carolina for George and Sapnap and then Los Angeles for all three of them. The plane landed on smooth pavement at 6pm on Monday evening, and the three went out to dinner and then headed home to finally get some well deserved rest and relaxation. They had all piled into the reclining chairs in the movie room, sharing the biggest blanket they owned in the house and watching a few hours worth of movies and TV shows, before finally heading up to their own respective rooms for the night. They planned to take the next day or two as well to get back on their Orlando schedule, since they wouldn't be traveling again for a while.

Fortunately for Dream, and unfortunately for George, this meant there was plenty of time for Dream to enact a very evil plan that he had been forming in his mind since he dropped the other two off at the airport to head to Karl's house. And Dream was not going to wait any longer to do so.

He'd prepared everything he needed to complete this task the night before, not wanting to waste any time or risk any complications the next day when he put it into action, so everything was completely ready to go when he left his room and left the door barely cracked behind him. He padded his socked feet across the floor with a subtle pep in his step, trying to stay as calm and collected as possible so he wouldn't risk revealing his plans too early. He planned to go up the stairs and head to George's room, hoping to find him there and make sure he wasn't still asleep, but he was redirected when he heard noise in the kitchen, switching to follow the sound instead to see who it was.

To his luck, it was George, nearly finished blending a smoothie at the counter with his back facing Dream. This, Dream decided, was the absolute perfect time to get moving.

"George?" He called softly as the whirring of the blender slowed to a stop, tapping his knuckle against the wall three times to alert George of his presence. The elder startled a little, whipping his head over to look at Dream, before a wide smile spread across his face. Dream couldn't help but smile as well. "Hey!"

"Hi," George responded, turning his attention back to the blender as he took it off the stand and began pouring it into a glass. Dream slowly walked over to him, gently bumping George's hip with his when he made it there and making them both giggle. George did it back, and they both giggled harder, and George shook his head fondly at the actions.

"Whatcha makin'?" Dream asked, rocking back and forth on his feet.

"Smoothie. It's got, uh…" George paused, picking up the bag of frozen fruit and reading the list on the front. "Strawberries, pineapple, mango, and peaches in it. I usually make it with bananas but we don't have any so I used these instead… you wanna try?"

"Sure!" Dream agreed, nodding happily. To George's credit, his smoothies were always fantastic, perfectly blended and perfectly balanced in flavor. George took out another glass and poured Dream some of the smoothie mix, about halfway full just in case he didn't want to finish it, and he then grabbed a cup with a straw and lid that he'd set to the side and poured the remaining amount into it before putting it into the fridge. He stepped back over to where he was standing next to Dream, pressing into Dream's side as he picked up his phone, and Dream looked over George's shoulder as he sipped the smoothie to see him texting Sapnap that 'hey idiot there's extra smoothie in a cup in the fridge for you if you want it' before placing his phone back down on the counter, leaving it open on the text. 

"So?" George asked as he went to take a sip of his own smoothie, looking up at Dream and waiting for a response.

"It's really good! I like that you can taste the mango in it."

"Me too. I'm shocked I even got to use it, since all you ever do is eat the mango out of every package we buy."

"Ha, ha. Very funny. That's why we buy extra mango, you little idiot." Both boys smiled as they bickered, the jabs clearly playful, and Dream glanced over at the dirty blender before pointing at it. "Want me to wash that for you?" 

"Uh– yeah, sure, thanks," George nodded a bit as he spoke, smiling up at Dream in appreciation. Dream grabbed the blender, catching a glimpse of George's phone again and seeing that Sapnap had replied with two messages, saying 'no ew fuck you' and then 'thanks kitten <3' immediately after. He watched George type out 'i hate you' and then 'ur welcome stupid' and then turn off his phone and slip it back in his pocket, and he finally went to rinse out the blender. Dream finished washing it, rinsing the soap out and placing it upside down on the drain board to dry, just in time to turn around and see George about halfway finished with his drink. Dream grabbed his own empty glass, washing that out as well, just in time to reach out his hand and offer to take George's now empty glass too. George smiled at him again, letting out a small giggle this time at the way he was completely correctly predicted, and Dream finally finished the dishes and dried his hands.

It was now or never, he supposed.

"Hey, George?" He started off, leaning back against the counter the same way George was and placing his hand on top of it, behind George's back. His thumb was within reach of the back of George's t-shirt, so he slid it forward, curling his pointer finger around the edge of the counter and trailing the tip of his thumb against George's spine.

"Hey, Dream?" George mimicked Dream's tone, turning his head to look up at him.

"Do you remember what I told you right before you and Sapnap left?" George furrowed his eyebrows in thought, pressing his lips into a line and tilting his head to the side. "Like, right as I dropped you guys off at the airport, when I called you back to the car?"

"Um…" George said, before his eyes widened and he looked at Dream in shock. "Oh…"

Bingo.

"Aw, good! You do remember," Dream said with a smile, significantly more sinister than the fond one he'd been sporting the whole time. He slid his hand forward on the counter when he noticed George take a step back, leaning down to be closer to George's face and lowering his voice. "I think it's time I show you what I have in mind, don't you agree?"

"Drehe– Dreheheam I– I don't think that's nehecessary–" George stuttered, already letting out nervous giggles. He felt the heat rise to his face, positive that Dream could see the pink tint rising with it, but he still attempted to keep his cool. He stepped back again, then once more, then tried to take a third, but he was stopped by Dream's hand on his waist, pulling him close and tight into his chest. He gasped at the pull and leaned backwards, placing one hand against Dream's stomach to keep their distance and flicking his head down for a second to look at the grip Dream had on him before looking back up at him with wide eyes. "Dream, c'mohon. Don't."

"I want to, though, is the crazy thing," Dream said, squinting his eyes in a way that was just so Dream that it made George's heart flutter and made his giggles lighten up a bit more.

"Dream, no, we can't, I can't, I'm–" George tried to bargain, pushing Dream away and moving to take another step back.

Suddenly, Dream took his hand off George's waist and crouched slightly, wrapping his arms around George's thighs and lifting him off the ground, throwing him halfway over his shoulder and walking towards his own bedroom before George got the chance to even process what had happened. 

"DREAM!" George yelled, entirely caught off guard, squirming and kicking in Dream's arms and pushing at his shoulder to try to get away. "LET GO, WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?! PUT ME DOWN!"

"No can do, Georgie," Dream said, adjusting his grip and hoisting George up further when he began sliding down, making George squeak and grip onto Dream's shoulder harder. He went still for a second, regaining his balance so he could be sure he wouldn't fall and hurt himself if Dream did suddenly let go or drop him, before placing his free hand on the back of Dream's head for stability and moving the one that one on his shoulder up to cover his mouth. "My mind's been made up for two weeks. You can't stop me."

"Dreheheam, this– oh my gohohod–" George still let out his nervous giggles, butterflies erupting in his tummy as he thought more and more about what Dream might have planned for him. He dropped his hand from over his mouth to squeeze Dream's shoulder again, as they rounded a corner that made him sway a little too far to the side for his comfort. 

They finally made it to Dream's room, and George expected to be taken over to Dream's bed, but instead Dream walked past the bedroom door and into his office next to his bedroom instead. George laughed nervously as he was brought into the room, twisting and turning in Dream's arms to check his surroundings for anything suspicious. 

"Whyhyhy– why in here? Why– why nohot one of, like… our nor– normal beheheds?" George asked, obviously confused on top of his fluttery nervousness. Dream slid him down in his arms, barely a foot just to get closer to his face, making George squeak and grab onto both Dream's shoulders for stability as he slid. He was still unable to touch the ground, even when he looked down and stretched his foot as far as it would go, and the material of his t-shirt had caught between them, making George even more nervous as the bare skin on the now exposed strip of his stomach pressed against Dream's shirt as well. George couldn't stop giggling, the butterflies in his tummy threatening to explode out any minute, but he still looked at Dream and caught his eye when he noticed him staring at him.

"Why in here?" Dream repeated, earning a confused nod from George. Dream pushed the office door closed with his foot, smirking menacingly at George as he reached over to the knob, and George breathed anxiously at the sound of the lock clicking. "Because it's soundproof."

"Wh– DREAM?!" George yelped out in shock when Dream suddenly lunged forward and threw him onto the small bed against the wall of his office. He bounced on the soft mattress when he landed, taking barely a second to comprehend what had happened before he was trying to sit up and crawl off the bed, but Dream was even faster than him, jumping on the bed at the same time and immediately straddling George's thighs. "NO, NO! GET AWAY, GET OFF!" George shouted, sitting up and pushing at Dream's knees to try to get him away, then at his chest and shoulders, then against the mattress to try and push himself off as well, before Dream stopped him.

"Nope," He said simply, pressing one palm flat to George's chest and pushing him down against the bed. George fought him the whole way down, pushing against him and squirming and screaming and protesting, but it was no use. 

"DREAM, JUST– STOP!" George attempted one final time, as his elbows finally gave out and he was forced the rest of the way down, laying flat against the narrow bed, barely 30 seconds after he had been haphazardly tossed on top of it like an extra throw blanket. He breathed heavily, nerves bubbling up in his stomach, the rapid rise and fall of his chest barely even affecting Dreams's hand. "Dream. This is stupid."

"Relax. You're being a baby." 

"I'M– WHAT?!" George exclaimed, in complete disbelief at the accusation. He knew Dream had only said it to get a rise out of him, and embarrassingly, it worked like a charm. "DO YOU NOT HEAR YOURSELF?!"

"Oh c'mon, George, all I'm gonna do is tickle you until you cry, it's not that crazy," Dream explained casually, barely giving George time to react when he suddenly grabbed his wrists. George gasped and flinched away, pulling his arms away and holding them to his chest.

"WH– THAT– WHAT? YOU'RE– ARE YOU INSANE?" George sputtered, unable to form a proper sentence at first as the weight of Dream's words flooded over his body.

"Yes. Now give me your wrists," Dream said simply, holding out his hands and making subtle grabby hands at George's arms. When George didn't hand them over, he reached out and grabbed his wrists again, smiling menacingly as George struggled to pull them away again.

"NO?! Fuck off, Dream, no, Dream, NO!" George squealed, sliding his arms out of Dream's grip again. Dream simply grabbed him once again, holding tighter, until he decided to play into the fight and let George slip away so he could just grab him more. They continued their game of cat and mouse for quite a bit longer, with Dream laughing and giggling happily and George screaming and fighting for his life the whole time. "I'M NOT– STOP! LET GO, STOP IT!"

"Shhhh, relax, Georgie. Just relax." Dream soothed, finally deciding to put a stop to George's fighting and firmly grip his wrists, holding them up in the air above his face so he could see that Dream was serious this time. George gasped, letting out a small sound from the back of his throat when he tried to pull again and was truly unsuccessful. "Relax. Okay? You know I won't actually do anything bad, you're gonna be fine."

"Dre‐Dreheam– dohon't…" The smaller boy whimpered, shaking his head. Dream just giggled again, pulling his wrists upwards and placing a small kiss on each of them to comfort him. "Oh, Dreheheheam…" George whined bashfully, closing his eyes and turning his head to rest his cheek on the soft pillow behind his head.

"It's okay, sweet boy," Dream spoke quietly, dropping George's right wrist and tugging his left up to the corner of the bed. George's breath caught in his throat the second he felt his wrist being pressed flat against the top of the mattress, and he whipped his head around to stare wide-eyed at what Dream was doing. His squirming and pulling started up again the second he saw Dream pulling the cuff up from behind the bed and wrapping it around his wrist.

"NO– oh my god, Dream, don't, do NOT, don't do it, please, NO, DREAM–" George turned his body to the side, using his free hand to push as hard as he could at Dream's hands, trying desperately to get him away from his wrist. He heard the first clasp of the cuffs clink, followed by the second, and then Dream leaned back and left his wrist alone. He tried to pull on it, reaching up with his other hand to try to undo it himself, whining and whimpering when nothing worked. He yanked his arm as much as he could manage, biting back more nervous laughter when Dream then took hold of his other wrist, repeating his earlier actions and pulling it up to the opposite corner. "Dream, STOP!"

"Stop whining," Dream reprimanded, pulling up the second cuff and tightening it around George's wrist. He secured both clasps, twisting the material so it didn't irritate George at all, and then he backed off for a few seconds to give George some space. The elder, against Dream's words, kept whining, tugging at his wrists and letting his head fall back and his eyes squeeze shut when he realized he couldn't escape. Dream let him calm himself down for a few moments, before gently brushing his fingers through George's hair and resting the other hand on his hip, palm first so he knew the touch wasn't cruel just yet. "Hey, baby. Can you look at me for a second? Just a second. Then you can hide all you want." George whined, squeezing his eyes tighter before blinking them open and looking nervously up at Dream. As soon as their eyes met, George's shoulders relaxed, he stopped pulling at his arms, and he let out a soft breath. "There's my kitten, hi angel. You doing okay?" 

"Mhm, yeah," George responded, voice soft and slightly shaky already from all the yelling and heavy breathing he'd been doing that tired him out. Dream smiled down at him.

"Good." Dream reached his fingers up to mess with the cuffs, slipping his pointer finger into the tops of both of them as he continued. "These feel okay too? Not too tight, not too loose? They're alright when you pull on them?"

"Yeah, they're– they're good. They're okay." George pulled lightly on them a couple times for demonstration, nodding. Dream's smile widened, showing his canines and scrunching up the corners of his eyes.

"Perfect. If at any point you need to stop, like completely, a hard stop, you yell red, okay? Does that work for you?"

"Mhm, red. That's perfect," George said with a nod. 

"And if I wanna check in and everything is okay to keep going. you say green?"

"Green. Got it."

"And if you need a pause, just to catch your breath for a minute or two but not a completely hard stop, yell pause. I know we usually use yellow, because the light system makes the most sense, but I wanna give you all one syllable words in case it's difficult to get out. Does that sound good? Red, pause, and green?"

"Red, pause, and green. That's perfect, Dream." They both smiled, letting out soft giggles as Dream nodded this time. 

"Okay, great! Good… Really good," Dream mused, mostly to himself, patting George's side and then resting his palms flat on George's tummy. He tapped his fingers against George's tummy, through the material of his t-shirt, giggling as George sucked in his tummy and whined nervously, letting out a barely audible 'oh god' as he did so. "You ready, Georgie?"

"I dohon't– I don't really have much of a choice."

"Oh… yeah, I guess not, huh?" Dream said with a small chuckle, making George shake his head fondly.

"You're such an idiot, Dream."

"I know," Dream agreed, and then suddenly dug his fingers into George's upper ribs, where they started just below his underarms. George bursted into loud laughter, caught off guard by the quick movement, and he tensed his entire body at the feeling.

"FUCK– DREHEHEHEAM!" George squealed between his cackling laughter, throwing his head back against the pillow and squeezing his eyes shut. He shook his head, yanking at his arms to no avail. Dream pulled his fingers back slightly, this time rubbing slow circles into his ribs and the space in between. "Oh my GOHOHOHOD, Dreheheheam!"

"What's wrong, Georgie?" Dream asked smugly, tilting his head to the side in fake confusion.

"Ihihihit– it tihi– aha!"

"What was that? Sorry, you kinda cut yourself off a little, it what?" 

"Ihihit tihihihi– nahaha–!"

"Oh, it tickles? Well yeah, baby boy, I would sure hope so!" Dream continued to pretend to be concerned, and he reached behind him to grab one of George's ankles, slipping his right leg out from underneath him and holding his foot up in the air.

"Fuhuhuck yohohou!" George said, and then gasped and yanked at his bound arms as he realized what Dream was doing. "NO! No, no, nonono, don't, whatever you're gonna do don't do it, NO– NOHO, DREHEHEAM!" He was lost to hysterical laughter almost instantly, as soon as Dream began scratching over the sole of his socked foot with two fingers. He twisted and turned and pulled at his leg as much as he could manage, shaking his head wildly before letting it fall against the pillow underneath him. "Dreheheheam, plehehehease!"

"Oh, c'mon, Georgie. This is nothing, you've handled way worse than this," Dream encouraged in his own backwards way. "You will handle way worse than this." 

"Dohon't sahahay thahahat, oh my gohohohod–" George complained. Dream didn't respond, instead sliding his thumb into the top of George's sock and pulling it down his ankle, slipping it over his heel, still swiping his fingers up and down his sole in between movements. George gasped and pulled at his foot again, twisting and yanking a lot more frantically now, knowing exactly what was coming next. "NOHOHO, Dreheam, don't, dohohon't, don't you DAHAHAHARE– LET GOHOHO–"

"Jesus Christ, George, just– oh my god, stop KICKING– oh, you're being– you're so ridiculous, just–! STOP!" Dream fought with George's kicking leg the entire time, trying to find a way to keep him still enough to properly tickle him without risking a kick to the face. He pushed himself forward on George's other leg, wrapping his leg around the thigh that was held up in front of him to keep his leg in place at the top first, earning a squeal from the elder once he realized it was actually working. Then, he grabbed the toe of George's sock and slid it the rest of the way off, dropping it on the floor next to the bed before harshly grabbing George's big toe and holding him in place with one hand there and one hand cupped over his heel.

"Oh shit, oh gohod, Dreheheam–" George tried to plead, heart racing in his chest once he realized he was really, fully stuck in that position. Dream's hold was working, and they both knew that.

"God damn, now I can't even, like… how am I supposed to tickle you if it takes cuffs and every fucking limb just to keep you in place, like, do I just have to…" Dream mused, mostly to himself, but smiling at the whimper it got from George as an idea popped into his head. 

He tilted his head to the side and smiled wider, looking up at George and baring his canine teeth as he did so.

Then, he leaned in, and experimentally nibbled the side of George's incredibly sensitive foot.

George reacted immediately, squealing and trying desperately to pull his foot away, his entire leg flinching in Dream's hold. He scrunched up his nose and squeezed his eyes shut, pulling at his arms again.

Dream repeated the action, going further and leaving a few nibbles this time, and George bursted out laughing as soon as he did so.

"DREHEHEAM, WHAHAHA– whahahat the FUHUHUCK, DREHEAM!" George protested, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion at how the fuck Dream had an idea like this. "Wh–whahaha– WHY?! S-STOHOP IHIHIT! Whahahat the FUCK?!"

"Listen, okay!" Dream began defensively. "I couldn't tickle you with both hands occupied holding one of your stupid little squirmy feet in place, okay? So I had to think quickly, and this seemed like the best solution, so… deal with it," Dream finished, and immediately dove back in to deliver more devious nibbles. George flinched and squealed again, squirming the rest of his body as much as he could manage to get his energy out.

"Thihihis ihis fuhucking weheheheird, Dream, stohop!"

"You keep saying stop but you're not seriously telling me to stop. You know exactly what you have to say to let me know you need to stop."

"This is STUHUHUPID, Dreheham, gehet OFF MEHEHEHE!"

"Georgie, what's your color?" Dream asked, rubbing his thumb gently over where it was gripping the side of his heel. George went quiet for a second, whimpering and sighing in defeat before mumbling something incoherent. "What, George?"

"I sahaid greheen, idiot."

"Good boy. That's what I thought." Dream immediately resumed his nibbles, this time moving them up and down the inside of George's foot from the ball to right above his heel.

"Oh, FUHUHUCK– Jesus CHRIHIHIST, DREHEAM–" George screamed out through his laughter, trying desperately to get Dream away from his foot, but nothing was working. "Yohohou are soho WEHEIRD!"

"Oh, am I?" Dream asked between nibbles, moving to the other side of the same foot, the outside this time, to see if it would get him any different reactions 

"FUCK– YEHEHES! Yohohou're a fuhuckihing WEHEIRDO– GEHET YOUR STUHUHUPID MOHOUTH AWAY FROM MEHEHE, yohohou FREHEAK"

"Wow, weirdo and freak, huh? You really think that little of me, sweetheart?" Dream asked, exaggerating his sad facial expression when he caught George's eye. George immediately dropped his head back down to avoid looking at him for too long, knowing it would only make him giggle more, and groaned in frustration. He pulled at his arms again, yanking on them so hard Dream thought he might hurt himself, before trying the same with his legs with the same amount of success. He groaned again, falling off into a whine as the knowledge of how trapped he was kept circling around his head.

"Yehehes!"

"Yes?"

"Mhm."

"You really wanna stick with calling me a freak?" Dream smiled when he didn't get an immediate answer, having to bite his lip to stop himself from giggling at George's hesitation. 

"…Mhm."

"Hmm… okay then! If I'm a freak, I might as well embrace it just to make you miserable for a while," Dream said, smile still evident in his voice, as he moved his hand to hold around the middle of George's foot, nibbling suddenly on his toes. George absolutely screeched, before falling into helpless, squeaky laughter, shaking his head and pulling his leg as much as he possibly could.

"NAHAHAHA, DREHEHEAM!" George yelled, arching his back and crashing back down, squirming wildly against the blankets below him, desperate for some kind of help. "STOHOP, PLEHEHE–AH! PLEHEHEASE!" George squealed when Dream caught his third toe with his canine tooth, curling his toes to try and get away from the sensation. In retaliation, Dream forced his fingers underneath George's scrunched toes and scratched at the skin there– knowing that was one of George's most sensitive spots in that area, if not the most sensitive– and moved his other hand down to the back of his ankle so he could nibble at his heel as well. George squeaked, quite adorably, before bursting into broken laughter again, gasping for air whenever he could, and trying to kick his leg again. He had gotten so used to being held in place and having his kicks be pointless that he didn't expect much of it, and he was incredibly shocked when his foot actually moved forward this time.

Dream did not appreciate the movement like he did.

"Did you just kick me?" Dream asked in disbelief, and George was already shaking his head before he even finished.

"NO! No, nononono, I didn't, I promise I didn't, I didn't mean to, I-I didn't– I didn't think– you were holding and I thought– I thought it wouldn't–"

"You kicked me!"

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Dream, I'm really sorry, please, please don't do anything, please–"

"Y'know… I think your other foot could use some attention too, don't you?" Dream said as he pulled George's other leg out from underneath him. George protested instantly, but Dream just continued pulling it out, propping it up, and began tugging off his sock. He moved slightly, pulling his other leg back from where it was still wrapped around George's thigh to mirror the position with his new target.

"NO, DON'T– Dream, don't, Dream, please, you can't do this, I can't take it, please," George pleaded, tugging at his arms and staring up at them helplessly when he barely moved the cuffs an inch.

"You know what to say if you can't take it, baby boy," Dream responded casually, tossing George's sock onto the floor to join the other. He wrapped one hand around George's ankle and the other around the top of his foot, leaning in and nibbling the inside of it just the same as he had done to the other one.

George was lost in hysterical laughter immediately. 

"NOHOHO, Dreheheam, plehehehease!" He begged, twisting his foot however he could, using his now free leg to kick at Dream's thighs and stomach and arms to try to get him away. "STOHOHOP, DREHEAM, DOHOHON'T!"

"Kick me one more time and I'll tie your ankles and toes together and stay here the whole time. And I won't stop until you safeword," Dream threatened sternly, but his tone stayed casual, and George squeaked and immediately pulled his leg back, gently resting his foot on Dream's knee instead. "That got through to you?"

"Mhm," George whimpered, biting his lip and nodding.

"Good." Dream smiled, giggling to himself at George's tense body language. "Aww, sweet angel, I wouldn't be so cruel to you if you didn't deserve it. Take a breath, okay? You're alright," He soothed gently, patting George's foot and placing a soft kiss to his ankle. George nodded, and he did take a much needed breath, whining at the gentleness of the kiss compared to how fucking evil Dream was being to him. His reprieve was cut short, however, when Dream nibbled on his ankle lightly, making him squeal and let out a few tiny giggles again. Dream nibbled up his leg more, up the side of his calf, letting out little growls as he did so and giggling himself as George let out more confused protests at his actions.

"Whahaha–!" George giggled out, nose scrunched again and head thrown back. "Yohohou're soho WEHEIRD, oh my gohohod…" George complained, seemingly bashful, face burning bright red as he squirmed his hips slightly, sliding his heel against the bed and twisting his leg in Dream's hold.

"You're the one letting me tickle the life out of you though, aren't you?" Dream replied smugly, chuckling as George whined openly and squeezed his eyes shut. "Yeah, exactly. So you let me worry about how weird I am, okay, sweetheart?" Dream concluded, sliding his hands up George's leg. He wrapped one arm around his calf to keep it in place, letting the other hand come up to scratch behind his knee and returning to his nibbling, now hitting his inner thigh right above his knee. George gasped and squealed, whimpering as he tried desperately to hold in his laughter, his leg shaking in Dream's hold and his thigh tensing every time Dream's teeth grazed his skin. "Oh, c'mon, George, you can't hold back on me now." 

"Sh-shut uhuhup–"

"Come on, you know you wanna laugh," Dream teased, blowing a tiny raspberry right on the inner thigh spot he'd been nibbling and cheering when it caused George to flinch and burst into laughter. "Yes! There we go, that wasn't so hard, was it, my kitten?"

"Whaha– yohohou nehever sahay kitten?!" George asked, in genuine confusion at where the sudden use of that name came from.

"I feel like it's appropriate for today. I'm taking it from Karl and Sapnap," Dream explained, before getting an evil idea, saying it before he could stop himself. He continued scratching behind George's knee the whole time, keeping him giggling, but not too much that he couldn't respond. "You're my kitten today."

"Oh gohohod– juhuhust… shuhut uhup!"

"Shut up? Okay! I'll just go back to nibbling!" Dream said, leaning back in and nibbling on George's inner thigh again before he could protest. George flinched and squealed, yanking his leg away, and Dream just grabbed both his thighs right above his knees and squeezed rapidly. George yelped again, pulling his legs in as much as he could, but Dream just followed him as he curled up anyway. He tried to kick his legs out, but it proved to go even worse when that only made it significantly easier for Dream to push his knees down against the bed, continuing to grab and squeeze at his thighs.

"NO– FUCK! LEHET GOHOHOHO! PLEHEHEASE– FUHUHUCK OFF!" George screamed, drumming his knees against the bed as well as he could when he was still held down, twisting and turning his arms, shoulders, and hips in an attempt to get away.

"God, Georgie, I love hearing you scream," Dream commented, making George shake his head and clamp his mouth shut so Dream didn't get the satisfaction of hearing him. "Come on, baby. Don't hold out on me. You know I'll just make it worse," He said, and George whimpered, but shook his head even more. He kicked his legs again, and he was able to knock one of Dream's hands off, but Dream just let go of his other leg and used both hands to grab the kicking one instead. 

This time, however, he let George's leg drop down on the bed, pushing his knee down so his leg was slightly turned, and then pushed his shorts up a bit and leaned all the way down to nibble his inner thigh that way, keeping George's leg almost entirely immobilized against the bed.

Apparently, this was the worst thing that he ever could've done, because George was immediately begging, thrashing, screaming in laughter, doing anything and everything he could think of to get him to stop. Dream had no intention of doing so.

"NOHOHOHO, OH MY GOHOHOHOD– FUHUCK, PLEHEHEHEASE–" George screamed, turning to the side as much as he could and attempting to pin his legs together, but all he did was and up with his other thigh resting against Dream's head and keeping him in place between his legs. He kicked out instinctively, unable to do much else other than kick his leg uselessly against the bed and pull at his arms desperately. "DREHEHEAM, I CAHAHA– I CAN'T, I CAHAHAN'T! PLEHEHEASE!"

"This always has been one of your worst spots, Georgie, I'm kinda shocked I haven't lost a tooth yet," Dream said, unsure if George could even hear him over his booming laughter. 

"DREHE– PAHAUSE! PAUSE, PLEHEHEASE!" George shouted, and Dream pulled back immediately, pressing his palm to George's thigh and rubbing away the leftover tingles for him. "Hohoholy fucking shihit…"

"You okay? I didn't go too overboard, did I?"

"Noho, I'm fihine, I just… cahan't fucking breheathe…" George said, chest rising and falling rapidly as he gulped down some desperately needed oxygen. 

"Yeah… sorry, baby…" Dream mumbled shyly, adjusting their positions to be slightly more comfortable for when they continued. He moved to sit criss-cross between George's legs, grabbing his legs and gently laying them on top of his own thighs, so George's legs were almost wrapped around his waist. 

"It's okay. Thank– thank you for, uh, pausing when I asked, though. I thought I was gonna die," George said with a small laugh, turning his head to the side as his face turned even more red as the fluttering position he was now put into.

"Of course, angel, I would never, ever wanna make you uncomfortable. You can pause as many times as you want, okay? And we'll stop whenever you want too," Dream reiterated, and George nodded. Dream let his hands rest on George's thighs, tugging the legs of his shorts down where they'd ridden up before gently rubbing his thumbs over his skin. Seconds later, George whimpered and gave a light tug to his arms, squeezing his hands into fists and biting his lip. Then, he shifted his legs, curling them around Dream's waist and squeezing him, pulling him in closer. Dream chuckled, letting him squirm for a few more seconds, before finally putting him out of his misery. "You want me to keep going?"  He asked, and George nodded frantically. "I need a verbal answer, please, my baby kitten," He requested, knowing it would hit the nail perfectly on the head. George whimpered, tilting his head back, before nodding again.

"Yes, please," He mumbled along with his nod, just loud enough that he knew Dream would hear. Dream cooed, sliding his hands up George's thighs and resting them gently on his sides.

"Oh my god, you're so cute I could cry," Dream fawned, leaning over slightly to watch George's blushing face as he reacted to the compliment. He shook his head, squirming against Dream's hands on his sides, arching into the touch to try to get him to just shut up and get on with it, then whining when it got him nowhere.

"Shut uppppp, you're such an idiot," George complained, giggling when Dream delivered one tiny squeeze to his sides, already on edge of his next movement. He tensed his legs again, squeezing his knees tighter around Dream's waist, squirming as much as he could in his incredibly immobilizing position.

"I can't! You're just– you're so cute, like, just squirming around like a little worm and letting me completely destroy you and not even asking me to stop until you absolutely need me to, like– you're just like– you're adorable!" Dream finished off, bouncing George on the bed once just to test the waters, smiling as he broke into bright, giddy giggles, butterflies no doubt fluttering all around his tummy. "You're just so precious, Georgie, oh my god, you're literally like a little kitten, I just wanna–" He shook him again, repeatedly this time, holding his sides firmly and bouncing them both up and down against the mattress. George's giggles never stopped, and Dream giggled along with him, the silly, playful nature of the situation getting to both of them. 

"Dreheheam!" George squeaked out, laughter becoming more high pitched the longer the bouncing went on, and when Dream finally stopped and let him rest flat again he was already out of breath and limp once again from laughing. "Yohou're so duhumb!"

"You're the one who's giggling like a little baby at it! Maybe you're dumb, then!"

"Shut uhup! Just go alreadyhy!" George complained, and Dream could tell he was actually getting antsy, especially with the way his legs curled around Dream's waist and his knees struggled not to curl up.

"Okay, okay, fine. Party pooper." Dream moved his hands back down to George's hips, his thumbs resting right on the spot between the tops of his thighs and the jutting bones of his hips. He pressed in softly, and the second George felt the pressure on that spot he was already squirming and yelling. 

"No! Nononono, not there, not there, that is off limits, no!" George protested, yanking on his arms. Dream giggled, gasping as George pulled hard enough to actually slide himself up on the bed a few inches, squirming the whole way up. Dream grabbed his squirmy hips, pulling him even further down than he was before, and George screamed out as he realized he was even more screwed. Now, his arms were pulled taut, completely straight above his head and out towards the corners of the bed, and he couldn't bend his arms more than a few centimeters no matter how hard he tried to pull. His hips were tilted upwards now, his lower back resting against Dream's crossed ankles and his butt on his calves, and this time his thighs were in line with Dream's waist instead of his knees wrapping around them. "NO! NO, DREAM, DON'T, LET GO, LET ME GO, YOU CAN'T DO THIS!" He complained, trying to squirm away again, but he found himself pinned even worse than he already was. His entire torso was as stretched out as it could be, and he noticed the bottom of his t-shirt had ridden up as well. When Dream placed his hands back on his hips, he felt the tip of Dream's middle and ring fingers resting on his bare skin, and it took everything in him not to whine about it. He knew if he did, it would only make Dream torture him more. "Dream, please, please, this is evil, you can't do this, you know you can't!"

"Hmm… I think I can do whatever I want," Dream teased, and immediately dug his thumbs into the spot between George's thigh and hip that he'd teased already. 

George yelled, pulling uselessly at his arms, breaking into chest-aching laughter as he tried his hardest to wiggle his hips away from the tickles. He arched his back, dropping down only seconds later as his body seemed to give in on itself for a moment, before.his squirming and shaking started up again at full force.

"Jesus Christ, Georgie, this is a good spot, huh?" He asked, tugging down the waistband of George's shorts and boxers just a tiny bit to be able to slide his thumbs underneath and dig into the same spot, right into George's skin this time. George nearly hit the ceiling with how hard he jumped and arched his back, his laughter raising in volume and desperation as he shook his head wildly.

"SHUHU– SHUHUT THE FUHUHUCK UHUHUP!" George yelled, blinking his eyes open before immediately squeezing them shut again. Dream could barely see the beginnings of tears forming in his eyes, and he heard how hard he had to gasp to be able to keep any air in his lungs, and he sensed that if he kept up with this technique and spot any longer that George might call his safeword much, much earlier than either of them would've liked for him to. He stopped what he was doing, wrapping his hands around George's hips and rubbing over the bone with his thumbs, letting George take in a few breaths before continuing. 

"I'm gonna dedicate an entire day to that spot. Just so you know."

"I will… I will actually kill you," George responded between breaths, letting his tense body relax at the soothing touch.

"Meh… it'll be worth it," Dream said, and then he suddenly shifted himself and leaned down, nibbling right at George's protruding hip bones. George whined the second he touched down, squirming side to side and trying to slide his hips out of Dream's grip. "Oh, nibbles work well here, don't they?" Dream said, pressing his lips right against George's skin as he spoke, making him squirm even more.

"Sh-shuhut uhup!" George said for the millionth time, his tummy tensing and twitching with his laughter. His giggles were turning hicuppy, and he was not at all helped when Dream let the nail of his pointer finger scratch ever so gently over the line of skin between his hip bones. "Dreheheheheam!"

"George!" Dream responded, mimicking George's tone, pressing a group of tiny raspberries in a circle around George's hip and then jumping back into nibbling the bone. George squealed at the raspberries, arching his back again, his squeaky, hicuppy giggles making Dream want to continue forever.

"Dreheheam, plehehehease, sohomewhere ehehehelse!" George pleaded, whining again as Dream placed another raspberry down, on the inner side of his hip, and then followed it up with a soft kiss.

"Okay, but you're not gonna like it," Dream said as he slid his hands up George's sides, letting the hem of his shirt catch on his fingers and pushing it up to the middle of his ribcage. He kept his head against George's skin, resting his chin just underneath his bellybutton as he did so. George instinctively sucked in his tummy, pushing his chest up and curling as far away from Dream as he could, letting out a small noise of protest from the back of his throat.

"Oh god, why nohot…" George whined nervously.

"You know why, pretty boy." Without any hesitation, Dream leaned down and connected his teeth with the edges of George's belly button. The elder absolutely screeched, dissolving into flustered, breathy giggles, as he continued to try to curl away and suck in his stomach to get away.

"Oh nohoho! Nonono, Dreheheheam, plehehease, not thahaht!" George begged, kicking his legs out behind Dream, his tummy fluttering under the nibbles.

"Not that? Okay, let's try this then," Dream mumbled against George's tummy, not pulling away to speak this time, and making George flinch even more.

"No, no, NO– NOHOHO– Dreheheam!" George protested, as Dream slid his hands back down to George's sides and gently scratched at the backs of them, on either side of his spine. He arched his back instinctively, as far as he could, but he then had the horrifying realization that it only pushed his tummy further into Dream's mouth. And if he dropped down, he would land in Dream's hands. He was entirely stuck in place, giggling his head off, arching and curling up between evil fingers and even more evil nibbles, and he had no idea how he would handle the situation. "Fuhuck, oh god, Dreheheheam, plehehease, this is awfuhuhul."

"I know, baby," Dream mumbled, blowing another small raspberry right underneath his belly button just to see him flinch in both directions and let out another squeal. "Too bad I don't care."

"DREHEAM?!" George shouted in response, offended by the notion that Dream didn't even care that he was torturing him. Dream simply giggled, scratching even more unbearably light at his back and going back to nibbling the area all around his belly button.

George could feel every breath he took, expanding his chest and sitting between his ribs, and he could hear his laughter getting more squeaky and broken. He wasn't sure why, and he wasn't sure how, but it seemed like the more Dream stayed in those specific spots, completely unmoving and unwavering, the tickling only became more maddening. He was laughing harder now, way too hard for the soft techniques that were being used, and he realized he was becoming more frantic as time went on. Squirming more, gasping more, begging more, and once again, George was convinced he might die if he didn't get a break right that second.

"PAUSE, WAHAHAHAHAIT– WAHAIT, wahahait, wait, wait wait wait, wahait…" George babbled, catching his breath once again as Dream paused his tickling. Dream took both hands away from George's back, gently guiding his hips back down so his back was flat and his hips were against Dream's legs like before, helping his body relax. Dream rested one hand on his tummy, covering almost the entire surface of it and making George whimper through his breathing at the thought, holding his hip with the other one to comfort him.

"You okay? That one was more frantic."

"Yeah, yes, I'm good, I just– that, like, both at once, just… I couldn't do both at once."

"Too much?" Dream asked, slightly nervous at George's explanation.

"No! No, not at all, it just… it really, really t-ti…"

"Really, really tickled?"

"Shut up," George answered the second Dream spoke, making the younger bark out a laugh of his own, rubbing his palm over George's tummy to help calm him.

"You're cute," He stated, no question about it, making George scoff. "And pretty," He continued in the same tone, making George whine a bit at the compliment. They stayed silent for about 30 more seconds, before George spoke again.

"You– you can keep going now. Just don't do, like, back and front at once, okay? Two spots is fine, but that– that was a lot… and it hurt my back." George giggled at the end, shifting slightly in anticipation. 

"Of course, sweet boy. As long as you're comfortable," Dream agreed, patting George's tummy before sliding his hands around his sides again, holding him gently. "You are comfortable, right?"

"Yeah, I am. Somehow," George said, smiling kindly up at Dream. Dream smiled back down at him the same way.

"Good. That's good, because I'm gonna switch it up a little bit," Dream explained, rubbing his thumbs up and down George's sides as he spoke. George furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. 

"You're gonna switch it up?"

"Yeah. I think I've been too nice to you," Dream said nonchalantly, and George's eyes almost shot out of his head with how wide they got. 

"WH– you think you've been TOO NICE?!"

"Yeah."

"Dream, I-I've had to take two breaks so far!"

"Eh, could've been more. I haven't broken you yet." Dream smirked, and immediately dug his thumbs into the area right above George's hips so he wouldn't have time to protest. He screamed out, falling into loud laughter and bucking his hips uselessly to try and get him away. "I'm gonna keep going until you use your safeword. Use it whenever you feel you need to, okay, baby?"

Miraculously, George still managed to nod in understanding through his shrieks and squeals, and Dream decided he would get the show on the road. He leaned down again, blowing a line of huge raspberries up and down George's left side, pressing far into his skin and gripping his other side so he couldn't pull away. He gasped for air between every raspberry, never getting more than a few seconds of rest while Dream took in enough air to deliver another one. Dream finished with his left side after going from the bottom of his ribcage, down to his hip, then back again, and repeating that process without stopping probably four or five times– George lost count after the second– and then he switched to his right side, doing the exact same thing. Bottom of his ribs, down to his hip, then up again, repeated five times (George was more confident in the guess this time). 

"DREHEHE– DREHEAM, PLEHEHEHEASE!" He begged, voice broken and raspy, clearly nearing the end of its ropes and threatening to break and go silent very, very soon.

George's chest was already burning from his laughter, his throat dry and his stomach aching, and he had barely enough time to suck in two huge breaths and swallow his own saliva before Dream was already moving on. His next target was his tummy again, only slightly less cruel by avoiding his belly button. He nibbled up and down the sides of his tummy, as well as over his lower tummy, sprinkling in sporadic raspberries there as well. His laughter became less worryingly frantic with this technique, and he was able to calm down his shrill laughter enough to be bearable, even if it was still unbelievably hard for him to breathe.

"Dreheheheam, fuhuhuck! Oh gohohohohod, oh god, plehehehease stohohop!"

"No can do, Georgie!" Dream mumbled right into George's tummy, making him squeak even louder before falling into even more giggles. He nuzzled right into the side of his belly, smiling and giggling into his skin as he felt it flutter beneath him, clearly still tickled by his growing stubble and the rumbling of his words. 

"Stahahaha–"

"Is this a good spot, sweetheart?" Dream asked, dragging his syllables out as much as he could on the last few words. "Do you like it here? It sounds like you like it here."

"Nohohoho!" George immediately protested, shaking his head wildly. 

"Hmm… I think you like it there."

"Shuhuhut UHUP!" He could barely breathe to respond, gasping when he finished, shocked that any coherent words made it out at all. Suddenly there were hands on his ribs, and thumbs pressing into the middle of his ribcage on both sides– right between along the 5th rib from the bottom, where Dream knew was his favorite spot. "FUHUHUCK–!" He yelled, arching his back and trying desperately to dislodge Dream's hands. Nothing worked, and Dream's fingers stayed exactly where they were, massaging incessantly into his ribs, only moving every so often to switch to a different rib to keep George on edge. He continued placing tiny raspberries and nibbles all along the sides of George's belly, giggling into his skin every so often when he felt George have a particularly strong reaction. 

"How are you doing up there, kitten?" Dream asked, smiling at the way George stuttered through wild laughter as he tried and failed to answer. "It's okay, I know the answer is 'I'm doing great, Dream, thanks for asking, this is everything I want and more', right?"

"OH MY GOHOHOHOD, I CAHAHAN'T, DREHEHEAM, I CAHANT BREHEATHE!" George finally managed to get out, taking a huge gasp for air after he finished speaking before it was too late to try.

"Oh no! So sorry about that!" Dream said, cruely insincere, and George whimpered and cut his laughter off to swallow before exploding into another wave. "I'll get right on that for you."

"FUHUHUCK YOHOU!" George screamed, feeling the tears that had been forming start to finally slip out of his eyes when he squeezed them shut so hard he began to see spots. 

He felt his chest aching again, and he couldn't stop thinking about how desperate, how helpless, how utterly trapped he felt. His arms were useless, his legs were wrapped around Dream so he could barely even kick, and Dream was boxing him in pretty much completely– sitting between his legs, his hips on Dream's lap, hands holding his ribs, Dream's body essentially bent in half with his face pressed into his tummy– and he no longer had the strength to get away even if he'd been completely free. Those thoughts, combined with Dream's promise of 'I'm gonna keep going until you use your safeword' and his observation of 'I haven't broken you yet', circled rapidly around his brain, and only in that moment did he realize that Dream was actually going to break him. He whimpered, took in another sharp breath and swallowed, feeling breathless for a new reason, feeling his face flush even more and feeling the heat radiating off it when he turned his head to look up at his left wrist. He pulled at the cuffs a few times, less desperate and more observational, before whining again through his laughter.

"WAHAHAIT, WAHAIT, SLOHOW DOHOHOWN–" He pleaded, not needing another break but needing the absolutely maddening sensation on his ribs to relax slightly. Dream pulled his head up, moving his massaging fingers down to George's bottom ribs and drilling in circles, just to keep him laughing wildly and to make him arch his back with a choked noise.

He hadn't called for a stop or pause, so Dream wouldn't give him one.

"What's wrong, my kitten? Does it tickle?" Dream asked, faking his sincerity, which was almost more infuriating than him being obviously insincere. George groaned, squirming as much as he could through the discomfort of arching his back.

"Yehehehes!" 

"Aw, right here?" Dream said, shifting up to his middle ribs again and making him drop back down with a squeal and more boisterous cackling. 

"AHAHA– YEHEHEHEAH!"

"Really bad?"

"YEHEHEHES, YES, REHEALLY BAHAHAHAD!" George agreed with a frantic nod, hoping it would get him somewhere, yanking at his arms instinctively.

"Aww, baby," Dream said with a pout, shifting up to the top of his ribcage, barely below his underarms, and George squirmed nervously and tried to pull his arms down again at the proximity to such a deeply flustering spot for him. "I'm sure it does, angel. You poor thing. Poor baby kitten."

"Yohohou're so MEHEHEHEAN!" George whined, shifting his legs and kicking out as much as he could with Dream's body in the way. Dream laughed out loud at that, nodding his head.

"Thank you, I try," He responded, and then suddenly tugged the sleeves of George's t-shirt down to expose more skin and switched between fluttering his fingers and scratching his nails under George's arms. George's laughter switched almost instantly, beautifully, music to Dream's ears. His loud, painful, broken screams and cackles switched to incredibly shy, fluttery laughs and giggles, high pitched and continuous. His eyes relaxed slightly, staying squeezed shut, but not as painfully tight. His nose scrunched up too, and his head tilted back before falling to the side as he attempted to bury it in his arm. "Aw, baby, this spot is so embarrassing for you, isn't it?"

"Shuhuhuhut–" George cut himself off when his voice cracked, clearly hoarse and rough from everything he'd already been through. He clamped his mouth shut, trying to stay silent, but he burst back into bright and raspy giggles after only a few seconds. "Dreheheheam!"

"Yeah, sweet boy?" Dream asked softly, and George was too exhausted to care if that was real or fake sincerity. The name still made him whimper, hiding further in his arm. "Aw, c'mon, don't hide on me. Let me see your pretty face."

"Mm-mm, nohope," George protested, gasping and pulling on his arms when Dream scratched a little too close to the top of his underarm near his tricep.

"C'mooooon, please?" Dream pushed, reaching up with one hand to poke at George's cheek. George giggled and flinched away from the poke, squeaking when the hand went back down to his armpit, saying no again. "Okay, suit yourself," Dream conceded, and George peeked one eye out just in time to see Dream leaning down towards him, squeaking when he felt Dream press his lips right to the exposed side of his neck.

"NO, Dreheheam, doh–ON'T!" George squealed as Dream blew a raspberry against his skin, right in the middle of his neck, Dream's cheek pressed against his arm where it was still bound above him. He tried to scrunch his shoulder up without moving his face out of hiding, but it wasn't possible in his current position. "Dreheheheam, stohop, dohohon't do ihit aga–AHAIN!" He let out another yelp when the action was repeated, this time right behind his ear. He couldn't keep himself hidden through that, whipping his head back to face straight forward as he scrunched his neck up to get Dream away.. Dream did pull away, giggling at George's reaction.

"There's my pretty baby!" Dream exclaimed dramatically, making George groan, as he moved his hands up to hold both sides of George's face. "I missed you! Don't leave me again, stay like this." They both giggled at Dream's words, and George rolled his eyes and tilted his head back, letting his eyes shut again. "Okay, back to business!"

"Oh, fuhuck– FUCK!" George yelled out when Dream suddenly jumped his hands back down to his ribs, digging his thumbs into the same middle ribs and rubbing in quick, tiny circles. "GOHOHOD, NOHOHOHO!"

"Yes, Georgie, yes!" Dream teased back, continuing his thumb movements while he leaned down and blew a few more raspberries in a line on the side of George's tummy, nibbling in between them.

The switch from gentle yet insanely flustering tickling to the most brutal tickling George thought he ever felt was a lot, and it was way too much for his body to handle, sending a surge of energy that felt almost like an electric shock up to his brain the second it started. As soon as Dream caught the spot above his hipbone between his teeth again, George knew he had to call it quits, not convinced his body and mind could take much more torture without completely caving in on him.

"OKAHAHAY, OKAY, REHEHED, DREHEHEAM, PLEHEHEHEASE STOHOHOP!" George begged, yelling out his safeword in the middle of his sentence before collapsing into hysterical laughter, not even attempting to speak anymore. He trusted Dream to stop, and he did so the second he heard the word come out of George's mouth.

He rested his palms on George's ribs, pressing in with just enough pressure that George knew he wouldn't tickle anymore, but it would still push out the ghost tickles. Dream rubbed over his ribs for a while, letting him calm himself down and catch his breath, before glancing down at his still jumpy tummy and pressing one hand over it as well, repeating the soothing process. When he was done rubbing the residual tickles away, he placed his hands on George's thighs, rubbing his palms up and down the sides of them, until George finally seemed to fully calm down, at least enough to speak. 

"How are we doing, angel?" Dream asked softly, watching George as he wracked his brain for a response. 

"Mm… good…" He mumbled, his voice still shaky and hoarse. He swallowed, taking in another deep breath.

"Do you feel okay? Nothing hurts? Nothing feels bad?" Dream asked again, tapping his fingers against George's thighs gently. George shook his head.

"Mm-mm, everything's good. I feel good," He started, coughing a few times before continuing. "I mean… my throat is dry and my chest feels like it's on fire and I can feel your fingertips inside my ribcage, but yeah, I feel really good." They both laughed at that, and Dream nodded, reaching up and rubbing his thumb over George's ribs.

"Yeah, I… I may have gotten a little carried away. But you loved it, to be clear."

"Maybe I did."

"I mean, look at you. Like, actually, look," Dream said, and George lifted his head up as much as he could manage to look down at his torso.

There were red marks all over his tummy and sides from Dream's teeth and stubble scraping and rubbing ruthlessly against his skin. There were a few marks by his hips, slightly more faded than the rest, from the nibbles and digging fingers. And there were finger-shaped, bright red spots all over his ribcage from how harshly Dream had dug in. The sight made George's jaw drop, letting his head fall back against the pillows.

"Holy shit, Dream, did you turn into a monster or something? It looks like you tried to maul me," George said in disbelief, making them both giggle.

"I became a tickle monster, Georgie, what can I say," Dream replied, making them both fall into laughter again. 

Dream was seconds away from standing up and starting his plan of taking care of George, when suddenly he realized there was one tiny detail that had slipped both their minds.

While Dream's office was soundproofed, it didn't drown out every single sound. It was nearly impossible to, some small sounds would always travel out through cracks in the door if they were loud enough, and while they wouldn't be too audible, they could definitely be heard if someone was close enough to the door of the room.

And they had a third person in the house. A third person who had open access to the kitchen… that Dream's door happened to be in the direct path of.

Sapnap made it downstairs just about 30 seconds before George needed to scream his safeword, intending to go grab the smoothie the aforementioned man had told him was left in the fridge if he wanted it. On his way down, he heard a sudden scream coming from Dream's bedroom area that was directly next to the stairs he had just walked down, extremely muffled but still audible enough for him to be concerned. He turned to his left and walked barely three steps to Dream's cracked open door, pushing it open and stepping inside.

"Dream?" He said quietly, glancing around and seeing the room was empty. He heard another scream, and he was able to place it as George's this time, and he assumed it was coming from Dream's office instead. He walked over to that door, putting his ear up to it and hearing that he was indeed right– there was definitely screaming, and it was definitely George– before he gently turned the handle, slowly so as to not alert either of the other boys.

To his dismay (or relief, he wasn't sure yet), it was locked.

So, he pulled out his phone and pulled up Dream's contact, messaging him 'wtf are you doing lol' and then a second message that said 'are u killing him in there??'. He placed his phone back in his pocket, scurrying off to the kitchen to grab the smoothie he was originally going to get, before going back and standing outside the door, now curious about the answer.

That was the moment Dream had his realization, and he picked up his phone to see the text from their youngest housemate. Dream smiled, almost evil, before gently grabbing George's legs and placing them on the bed next to him so he could stand up. 

He stretched his legs as he stood, standing up on his toes and then dropping down, before stretching his arms over his head and arching his back, then relaxing that position as well.

"Hold on," He whispered, patting George's hip, before going over to the door and unlocking it. He opened the door slowly, cracking it open just enough to stick his head out and look at Sapnap. "Hey!"

"Hi! Um, are you guys okay? I thought I heard screaming and I just wanted to check in," Sapnap asked, fussing with the straw in his drink nervously, spinning it in circles. 

"See for yourself." Dream smiled at him, opening the door further and pressing his back to it, giving him space to walk in. Sapnap stepped past him, his eyes immediately focused on the bed, and his eyes widened at what he saw.

George was laying there, wrists cuffed above his head, breathing heavily, and looking completely disheveled. His hair was a mess, his shirt was still pushed up and his shorts were still tugged slightly down, his socks were still on the floor, and his entire body was flushed red and sweaty. Ordinarily, Sapnap would make a joke about the two doing something inappropriate in there, but Sapnap knew exactly what had gone on without even having to ask any questions. 

He felt the heat rising to his chest, his jaw dropping open and his eyebrows raised, feeling bashful himself just looking at the state George was in and thinking about how Dream managed to do that. He glanced up at Dream, giggling nervously, tapping the toe of his socked foot against the carpet. 

"Oh…" He mumbled, flicking his eyes between the other two. "Oh, God, uh… wow."

"Did this help you get the idea?" Dream asked quietly, gently placing his hand on Sapnap's upper back and rubbing up and down.

"Ye– yeah it did, uh…" He stuttered, letting out a shaky breath. "Well, um, you guys have fun, I'm gonna go back upstairs now," He said, smiling up at Dream before walking out of the room, sipping his smoothie as he left. Dream couldn't help but burst out laughing as soon as Sapnap left, closing the door behind him and bracing himself on the doorknob. He recovered quickly, letting out a few leftover giggles as he walked back to George.

"That was so mean," George said with a smile, rolling his eyes and shaking his head fondly. 

"Aw, come on, it was adorable!" Dream defended as he reached up to remove the cuff on George's left arm.

"You know how flustered he gets by this kinda stuff!" George sympathized, watching Dream as he worked. Dream finished removing the left cuff, gently taking George's wrist and placing a soft kiss to the red marks on it before guiding it down to him again. He started removing the right side as he spoke again.

"I do, but did you see his face! He got so shy so fast, it was so precious," Dream explained, pouting slightly at the cuteness. "I mean, it's not like he doesn't like it, he just gets embarrassed! It wasn't, like, making him actually uncomfortable. Just antsy." Dream placed another kiss on George's right wrist before letting go of his arms entirely, letting him have them back.

"That's true." George rubbed his wrists to get rid of the restricted feeling. He paused, smirking evilly up at Dream. "We should do this to him one day."

"I was already planning it the second I unlocked the door," Dream agreed, matching George's smile. He reached forward to adjust George's waistband, fixing it for him, before tugging his t-shirt down and patting his tummy gently, making George giggle and curl up. Dream turned around and reached into the mini-fridge next to his desk, pulling out a water bottle and handing it to George. "Sit up and drink this, please?"

"Mhm," George hummed, pushing himself up into a sitting position, his legs hanging off the side of the unnecessary high bed, kicking aimlessly as he thankfully accepted the water. While he drank, Dream kneeled down in front of him, grabbing one of his socks and bunching it up. 

"One." He gently grabbed George's swinging leg and slid the sock on his foot, pulling it up over his ankle and adjusting the top, before letting that leg go and repeating the process with the other sock. "Two. Perfect." George smiled down at him, silently thanking him for the gesture, before taking another sip of water and capping the bottle again. Dream stood up, running his hand through George's hair to fix how messy and disheveled it was, before jumping back on the bed and laying down behind George. Then, he wrapped his arms around George's waist and yanked him down to lay with him, making him squeal and giggle all over again, squirming around until he was comfortable. Eventually he turned over in Dream's arms, facing him this time, and settled down in that position. "Is this okay?"

"Mhm, of course," He agreed, nuzzling into Dream more. They ended up with Dream on his back, his arm underneath George's head and curled around his shoulders, with George's legs curled and one arm between his knees. His other hand played with Dream's fingers on his free hand, and he nestled his head under Dream's chin on his chest. "My tummy still hurts from laughing so much."

"Aww, baby," Dream cooed, pressing his palm to George's tummy. George giggled, nervous at the touch, holding Dream's wrist to make sure he didn't do anything. "Poor little tummy."

"Shut uhup, Dream!"

"I can't! I just can't help it when you're so cute!"

"Okahay, okay, shut up. No more teasing," George said, pulling Dream's hand back and cupping it in his.

"Ugh, fine. I'll be nice now."

"Thank you." George relaxed against him again, staying quiet for a second before saying something else. "You know I'm definitely gonna get you back, right?" He asked, and Dream hummed out a sigh.

"Yeah. I do."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I kind of expected you'd want to."

"Good. Not now, though."

"No, not now. Now is cuddle time. I'll be nervous about payback starting tomorrow."

"Good. You should be."

"…You're gonna be ruthless, aren't you?"

"Ohhhh yeah. More ruthless than you could've even threatened to be to me."

"Oh god… should I be scared?"

"Very. I'm already planning it as we speak," George said with a chuckle, nuzzling more into Dream's chest and squeezing his hand. "Now shut up. Nap time."

And that is how Dream was left, wondering what George could possibly be planning, wondering when it would come. He knew by the next morning he would be scared out of his mind (he was never good with anticipation), and he would probably end up begging George to 'please just get it over with' in just a few days' time because he couldn't take the waiting.

But, for now, all he had to worry about was making sure George was comforted, safe, and held for as long as he wanted. So that's what he did, curling onto his side and wrapping his other arm around George's side just to pull him closer. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head, hearing George chuckle softly, before they both drifted off into their well deserved nap for the foreseeable future.

[f0point5]

no because i totally see the shift in lando!!

i think after japan then qatar with oscar being right there with him as a rookie whilst he was in his fifth year… yeah, a sense of bitterness was noticeable in some instances!

just seems like he’s a bit fed up and it’s rational in some sense. losing out on the sochi win while lewis claims his 100th. he watched daniel get a win in a car he’d been driving for years, compared to daniel’s months. george got his first win, carlos got his then a second with lando right there beside him. then along comes oscar, a rookie, who got settled and was battling for poles/top 5’s and scored his first win (albeit sprint, it’s still a first lando doesn’t have).

all that, with years of zak brown hyping him up and putting him first, it’s easy to see why bitterness would bubble. its come and gone over the years (prevalent, imo, when daniel was initially doing well with mclaren but we know how that went. unfortunately). he’s a first driver with second driver results, it’s why people think he would work with max. enough competition to challenge but not overtake.

he’s a good driver, that’s certain after 2023. whether the bitterness will be gone by bahrain and if performance only betters from last year, we’ll see. it obviously depends how 2024 rolls out and whether the red bull holds the lock out dominance, or whether mclaren/mercedes/ferrari will the walk the walk and do something. mclaren will certainly be a good watch this year, that is if the car doesn’t bottle under last years pressure:/

a teeny part of me feels/wants oscar to get a win before lando but i think that’s the villain in me🫡

I just want to start this off by saying I am a professional hater, so I also want Oscar to get his first win before Lando. I kind of want Oscar to do a Carlos and be the only non RB win next year lol. Just because when I see that “it should have been me” attitude, all I want is for it to NEVER be them. Like, it still tickles me that George has won more recently than Lewis. Oscar being the most recent driver to win, after Danny Ric, would be cinema. And even though I have hope that Lando will let out the hot air eventually, I just need a revenge arc.

Okay onto my Bitter Lando Medium Deep Dive (it’s not a proper deep dive because I could go for hours lol).

I feel like Lando came late to the “best of the rest” party, so he was still kind of processing how unbeatable Max is by the end of the season when everyone else had kind of settled into the groove. Like he spent the first half of the season thinking “if I just had the car I could do what others can’t” (and lbr that’s the angle the media was pushing, that if Lando had the car he would be a challenge for Max) and then he got up there and was like…oh wait no I can’t. He got up there and a) he wasn’t really troubling Max and b) he still had other drivers up there (eg the four car race in Singapore) as well as his rookie teammate to contend with and c) he was still making mistakes under pressure. I think Singapore was a bit of a wake up call for him that Max wasn’t necessarily the fight for him up front, because even without Max he couldn’t win, and then when Max was back, there was no question. I think that took the wind out of his sails. Maybe if he’d been up there since the beginning of the year things would have been different but I think he was waiting for his chance all season and when it came the disappointment hit him hard.

And then there’s Oscar. The rookie who outqualified him in Japan, who wins the sprint in Qatar, whose contract is extended beyond Lando’s. Oscar is already being talked about as WDC potential while Lando keeps getting asked why he can’t win a race. The way Lando takes public opinion to heart, that can’t be easy.

When everyone says the McLaren is the only car that can challenge a red bull, but Lando isn’t challenging Max, I guess he has to wonder if it’s him that’s not good enough.

I understand the bitterness, but at the same time, it comes across as undeserved arrogance. “It should have been pole”…woulda shoulda coulda lando, but you didn’t, did you? So just take it on the chin.

I am not hopeful of McLaren maintaining the performance leap of last year, but if they do, I don’t see things with Lando going back to the way they were. I think the climate is starting to get a bit dicey for that generation of drivers because they’re getting to the crossover stage where it’s either going to happen for them or it’s not. Lando is in an RB era, with a teammate who isn’t likely to be destined to be a second driver, and he’s stuck with him till 2026 now. I don’t see how that pressure gets better unless McLaren goes back to the midfield.

This was a jumbled rant but I could literally talk for days about this because I feel like Lando is the most honest/visible with his emotions about what’s probably in the back of a lot of driver’s heads rn.

[elliemarchetti]

Pumpkin Pastries

A late Fremione drabble for @liquidluckdrabblechallenge's prompt #55

Plot: Hermione is sad after her break-up with Krum, Fred delivers her favourite sweets to cheer her up.

Words: 530

Since Hermione had arrived at Grimmauld Place, Fred had yet to see her smile. Ron had told him not to worry about it, that it must’ve been girls' problems, but Ginny had mentioned a break-up between her and Viktor, and although it was Hermione herself who had made the decision, it was clear that she suffered from it.

“She called it a practical choice,” was all his sister let out after a long interrogation, whatever that meant.

So, Fred had made it his mission to make Hermione laugh, and with George’s help he had managed to get a loud snort, an eye roll and a smirk tinged with sadness.

“Maybe she just needs to be consoled,” his twin had suggested, after their last failed attempt to cheer her up, and he was probably right, but there was no way to do it without touching on the subject he wasn’t supposed to know about.

The perfect opportunity to dive deeper in what she needed came after one of their countless tense dinners, during which his mother and Sirius kept bickering about what was best for Harry, for the Order and for everyone else inside those damned dark walls. The owner of the house had stormed out before he could finish what was on his plate, probably to bring some dead mice to Buckbeak, while the Weasleys sealed themselves in their shared bedroom, prompting the other diners to scatter around the house. The only one who hadn’t left was Hermione, who was still glued to her seat looking at an undefined spot on the floor.

“You don’t seem to like it here very much,” Fred ventured, hoping to get her attention.

Predictably, Hermione flinched at the sound of his voice, but she recovered quickly and put back on the demure mask she sported for weeks now.

“There’s just a lot more people than I’m used to,” she replied, getting up to help him clear the table.

“We could go out for a while,” Fred ventured. “There’s a park nearby.”

“Your mother will never give us permission,” she murmured, before heading towards the kitchen.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” he asked, wondering if falling in love was worth it, if suffering was all it came from it.

“Unless you know the secret recipe of Madam Puddifoot’s pumpkin pastries, I’m afraid not,” she tried to joke, but the words came out more depressing than she intended.

A small golden tray, dressed in the typical pink wrapping of the Hogsmeade tea shop and secured with an enormous light blue bow, appeared on her bedside table the following evening, accompanied by a note, written in Fred's unmistakable awkward handwriting.

Whatever you want, just ask.

Hermione didn't know if it was the scent of her favourite sweets that tickled her nostrils, or the idea of ​​Fred breaking all the rules Mrs. Weasley had laid down since they arrived at Grimmauld Place just because she had a specific craving, but for the first time since she had ended things with Viktor, a sincere smile opened on her face, and the light of a new beginning seemed to reach her even in that gloomy house.

[nofingjustaninchident]

the invisible bffism string has brought me here 👩‍❤‍💋‍👩

CONGRATULATIONS ON TWO HUNDRED FOLLOWERS MY DARLING GIRL 🥹 you deserve all the love the world has to offer and i cannot think of somebody more deserving of achieving such a HUGE. GOAL. than YOU! and i know i've said this about a billion times but i truly mean it, i'm SO ecstatic for you 🫂 WE'RE ON THE ROAD TO 1K 😈 (and TRUST i'm going to be there every step of the way)

NOW FOR YOUR GORGEOUS AMAZING PERFECT EVENT

i would LOVE! and i mean LOVE! LOVE! LOVE! to have don't take it personal as my first request for your event 💐

so now let me overshare to see which character you think for me 😊

⊹ i'm basically a leo valdez variant (it's true, rick riordan confirmed it himself) (my source? trust me bro) i tend to make a lot of sarcastic, witty comments instead of actually providing anything useful to a conversation except for the laughs

⊹ supreme certified overachiever ™ in whatever i do, whether it be for school, for work, or of my own volition i have to give 110% at all times. i'm an overachiever with a degree in perfectionism.

⊹ i'm a stickler for organization and doing things in a very systematic order (some would probably call me a control freak but.... denial is a river in egypt OKAY?!?) (i'm not a bad control freak everything just has to be perfect at all times.)

⊹ i tend to be very overcritical of myself and what i do. i've got chronic overthinkerism over here it's great, i'm living in paradise every day.

⊹ some random qualities i think match me: blunt, sarcastic, honest, caring, concise, helpful, and occasionally affectionate.

⊹ I'M VERY PASSIONATE ABOUT THE THINGS I LOVE! whether it be a random book character, a song, a movie, a celebrity, a topic of interest, or anything of the sort. i wholly invest myself in whatever topics tickle my fancy.

⊹ i'm an ambivert! i've never really felt like an introvert or an extrovert but instead resonated and felt like both! i can be really sociable while simultaneously wanting to stay home and read a book. i push myself out of my comfort zone sometimes and other times i keep myself confined to a box.

⊹ i tend not to take things very seriously and i'm not affected by things very easily. it takes a lot for me to be upset, angry, annoyed, saddened, or moved to be honest.

⊹ i love to make my own jewelry, i read constantly, i write pretty frequently as well, i love to connect music to my favorite types of media (books, tv shows, movies, characters, etc.), and i love singing (i used to do so in choir but i stopped after high school) it's still so much fun just to burst into whatever song is stuck in my head though

⊹ my favorite books are foolish hearts by emma mills, the raven boys by maggie stiefvater, and masters of death by olivie blake.

⊹ my favorite color is purple. it's been my #1 since i was like two or three 😭

⊹ professional yapper (i'd put another tm but i used it once) if you get me talking about a subject or topic i really, really love i will talk your ear off about it until there's a zombie apocalypse. i'll be dead and i'll still be talking to you as a sassy, well-dressed ghost.

⊹ i like to think i'm nick miller in a teenage girl's body. i'm basically him and he's me and we're the same.

ANYWAYS! i probably have a lot more information to put but i think that's good, right? I HOPE SO 😁 ANYWAYS! again take your time leah girl! i can't wait to see your answer <3

THANKS FOR COMING BABYYYY!!! you had me in tears with those first paragraphs and i love you so much!! thank you for all the support, and although we’re still fairly away from 1k i REALLY hope you’re here 😖😖

so.. you gave me a weird mix of characters. you’re like a perfectly-mixed-in-a-gorgeous-bun harry potter mixed with a little bit of the weasley twins and with a hint of percy jackson.

cause like, there’s so many things that are george and fred coded, and then comes percy, and then comes harry- my brain is short circuiting.

anyways, thank you for the love my baby!! soon it’ll be you 😖😖

[kasey-writes-stuff]

Day 6 intense tickles

Head canons prompts

Super intense tickles definitely are not his thing at first and honestly never really become his favorite thing no matter how long it’s been since Dream and sap or any of his friends have started tickling him

They’re more reserved for special times like when he really really needs to just be left his melty giggly unable to think state to calm his ever racing mind

Or when he’s feeling very energized like way more than normal and it’s getting too much and in a similar fashion he again needs them to help calm him down work out his energy and just completely tire him out until he can barely get to his bed to get some sleep

He only lets Dream and Sapnap do intense tickles with him he feels comfortable enough with them and like they know his boundaries and his body language enough to know when to move spots or when he’s finally had enough and he feels very vulnerable during these types of tickles and especially after them so another reason why only Dream and Sapnap get to do them

Also quick lil call back to soft tickles he’s slightly more lenient with those though he still prefers Dream and Sapnap be the ones to do them after a long while he will finally allow a few other friends like Karl,Foolish and Punz to occasionally give him soft tickles

Overall yea I think intense tickles definitely have to have a specific time and place for George to enjoy them and he only gets them when he asks Dream and Sapnap never ever do them without permission

Beep boop never much but hope you enjoy regardless 🫶🏻