#I remembered like two days ago and then it just *whoosh* | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

iamasaddie · 9 months

Text

and even though I can't forgive you, I really want you

paring: dark-ish!bfd!Joel x f!Reader

rating: explicit (18+ minors DNI)

word count: 6k~

summary: You heard him sending the video as clearly as you heard him muttering those foul, filthy words about stretching your ass next time…

a/n: you know, I was just sitting without internet in my countryside house and this happened. Not proofread because that is just the way I am. Dedicated to all my birdies who love it up the ass 🍑

warnings: PWP-ish; no-outbreak; infidelity; explicit sexual content; oral sex (f receiving); anal sex; degradation/ praise; face slapping; pussy slapping (barely); dirty talk; pain kink; Daddy kink; no use of y/n MY MASTERLIST

part one

THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION. I DO NOT CONDONE THE SITUATIONS DESCRIBED IN THIS WORK IRL. PLEASE, DON'T FORGET THAT WRITING AND READING FICTION IS A WAY OF HEALING AND PROCESSING TRAUMA FOR SOME PEOPLE, AND YOU CANNOT DICTATE OR POLICE HOW THEY DO IT AND WHAT TYPE OF WORKS THEY CHOOSE TO CREATE AND CONSUME. STAY SAFE, PRACTICE CONSENSUAL SEX AND SPREAD LOVE.

Nothing changed between you and Jason. You dreaded coming back to your shared apartment that night, unsure of what was waiting you on the other side of the door you'd slammed mere hours - which now felt like centuries - ago. You were ready for screaming, for disgusting insults, you were even ready to come inside the place you called home and see all the traces of your boyfriend - was he still your boyfriend? - gone. What you weren't ready was for Jason to be pacing around your tiny kitchen, two plates of freshly cooked pasta in both his hands, an unopened bottle of red in the middle with two empty glasses on each side of the table waiting to be filled. You stopped in your tracks and looked at your boyfriend, recognizing that miserable impression on his face he usually had after the two of you had a fight.

"Baby?" His voice shaky, eyes looking for hints on your face. Your skin felt tight after you scrubbed it with soap and water in the toilet of that god forsaken bar. You felt wetness on your cheeks, and then Jason was on you, hugging your pliant body tight to his and whispering constant 'sorry's and 'we'll fix it's in your ear.

You didn't think you could. Even if you put all of you into saving your relationship, it wouldn't be enough. Not when you felt freedom more than fear when you heard that 'whoosh' of a sent message.

And when he placed his hands on your hips that night you knew his palms were too small to fill in the bruises on your skin.

The morning after, you waited for it all to be some kind of a sick joke, maybe Jason was cruel enough to pretend nothing was wrong until you went mad and in the end he'd just laugh. But when nothing in your routine had changed, when he still rubbed your feet the next day as you watched some silly rom-com; when he still kissed the tip of your nose gently before murmuring 'g'night, bumblebee' and passed out in a blink, you realized he knew nothing. Clueless. Never got that message. But you heard… You heard him sending the video as clearly as you heard him muttering those foul, filthy words about stretching your ass next time… As a matter of fact, there wasn't a moment yet when that phrase hadn't echoed through your brain, transforming into an embarrassing pool in your panties. You were ready to commit yourself into a mental home for experiments, because the way shame and guilt sent arousal through your veins and ended up in wetness slicking your still sensitive folds until you had to take the matters into your own hands, clearly showed that you were clinically insane.

You tried to remember if there was something you were missing. Something that'd prove that the way everything played out was as logical as the Sun rising in the East.

When Jason suggested you to rent an apartment in a place where he grew up so you could spend the first summer after graduating there, you agreed without hesitation, as long as you actually had your own place and wouldn't be crashing at his dad's. Jason laughed at your joke that you'd give his old man an early heart attack with your after-dark activities but agreed, choosing a small apartment on the other side of the town just to be sure. 'So my man doesn't barge in on us having our daytime fun,' he giggled and pinched your ass.

That was two years ago. Summer turned into autumn, and then Jason got offered a job and you stayed, because apparently 'Texas was as good of a state as any, and why would we give up a place where we’ve already settled'. You couldn't imagine Mr. Miller - a handsome 50-something year-old father of your boyfriend had anything to do with it. You didn't know exactly what buttons Mr. Miller had to push for his son to get a too-good-to-be-true job offer out of the blue. You didn't notice that every time you visited for holidays or Sunday dinners - choosing Jason's small family over your larger but more estranged one - that the man's eyes lingered on you for longer than it'd be considered appropriate. That he'd buy a bottle too many of the wine you had once mentioned to like for the sole purpose of pouring you an extra glass, because after the alcohol took a claim on your body and brain, you'd let yourself stay longer in his embrace when you said goodbye. Would let your hands squeeze his back in a fake attempt at a bear hug, laughing in his broad chest, and his hands that crept lower than your lower back would go unnoticed. And when he was daring enough to squeeze your soft buttocks in his large palms you were drunk enough to pass it as a joke, forgetting all about it the next morning.

But you hadn't payed enough attention to those little things back then, and you couldn’t remember them now. And as you slammed the door of Jason's car, you didn't know how the time spent on the road to his father’s house flew by so quickly, and you were already standing on his porch, goosebumps rippling your skin, nipples hard, in only a white sleeping tank top that failed to protect you from the cold wind of the night. You cursed yourself and clenched your fists in the pockets of your light grey oversized sweatpants, thank god you at least put the pants on, fucking moron. You had half a though to bring your hands to hide your pebbled buds as the door swung open in front of you.

When the light from the inside shone on you, you were taken aback by the way how homey Joel looked. Barefoot, gray sweatpants a shade darker but matching yours in style, and a dishrag thrown over his left shoulder, clad in a worn-out dark grey t-shirt that you supposed had been black once upon a time. For a second there you could swear he was surprised to see you, but he scolded his face, plastering a crooked smile on his lips.

“You haven’t sent the video.” You pointed your finger at him, the accusatory gesture looked ridiculous considering the situation. Joel raised his eyebrows.

“Hello to you, too, sweetheart. Come on in.”

He stepped away from the door to let you in, and as you slid into his hall, he stuck his head out and looked around the already sleeping neighborhood to see if your loud appearance disturbed anyone.

“Why haven’t you sent the video? I heard the - th - the whoosh!”

“The whoosh?” The wrinkles on his forehead became more prominent as his eyebrows shot further up.

“Yes, the whoosh, the whoosh that you hear when you send a message.” You were babbling, cringing at the sound of your voice more pathetic than anything, but you couldn’t stop yourself, it was something you did when you were nervous, forced by your own hands out of your comfort zone.

Joel chuckled in amusement and shook his head. “Figured it’d be as bad for me as for you. Maybe even worse, since Jason's my fucking son.” He took the dishrag off his shoulder and went back to the open kitchen - as if pulled by a magnet you sauntered after him - and threw it on the wooden table.

He flexed his shoulders before turning around and didn’t look at all surprised that like a puppeteer you followed your master’s hand. “What are you doing here?”

The question took you off guard. What were you doing at your boyfriend's dad's place at midnight with Jason nowhere to be seen? What were you doing in the company of a man who blackmailed you into fucking, threatened you to tear your life apart, to tear everything you knew about yourself apart and then didn't follow through with it?

“I… What do you mean? I came to ask about the video.”

You barely had time to inhale lungs full of air when he was on you. Joel’s big hand engulfed your chin and he squeezed your cheeks with his fingers, forcing you to purse your lips.

“Don’t fucking lie to me, baby girl.” His tone was calm, as calm as the sky before being split open with lightning and thunder. “One more time, why are you here?”

Your thoughts were all over the place, the loudest screamed at you for subconsciously thinking with your pussy instead of your brain when you pressed your hands into his bruises before tugging on the closest pair of sweatpants and leaving Jason clueless and asleep, a condition he came to spending a lot of his life in. There was no getting out of it. The words came out muffled as the man’s hand was still squeezing you. “Last time you said…”

Joel barked a laugh in your face, interrupting you with genuine amusement.

“I cannot fucking believe it. You came here to ask me to fuck your ass?” The condescending tone of his voice brought wetness to your eyes. ‘Stupid, stupid, so fucking stupid.’

“No, I - -“

This time you were interrupted by a burning slap that landed across your face and Joel’s annoyed face as he pointed a thick index finger at you. “I said no lyin’.”

The words stuck in your throat, scraping the sensitive skin there like cats that wanted to sharpen their claws. You nodded.

“Goddamn,” Joel put his left hand on his stomach as if he was about to go into a fit of laughter. “You really are a fucking slut. How long have you been doing it, hm?”

“What?” You shot your eyes up to meet his after studying the gaps in his flooring for a couple of minutes.

“Cucking my son.”

It felt like a slap, but it burned more.

“No, I’ve never… you’re the only.. I - - ” You didn’t understand where the need for excuses came from. For some reason, you wanted him to know that you were an exemplary girlfriend, and he was the one who ruined you.

“Poor baby, my cock fucked you up real good.” He cradled your face in his warm palms, thumbs caressing your cheekbones. His movements contradicted the words pouring out of his mouth. “Fucked you so good, that you crawl back to me, and not even three days have passed.”

His right hand let go of your face, sliding down your body in a bold, possessive movement, and ending on the level with your pussy. Your breath hitched as his massive hand enveloped your begging core, pressing roughly. He leaned into you, hot breath burning the skin of your neck and ear.

“Tell me, baby, what is it that turns you on so much?” His whisper thundered in your ears, pumping blood creating a banging background music for his depravity. “Is it the fact, that you are getting fucked by a man more than twice your age?” His palm pushed harder into the seam of your sweatpants that was now pressing directly into your pulsing clit.

“Does cuckolding my dear son make you wet?” Joel’s middle and ring finger found where your hole clenched under the confines of your pants. “Or is it because you are doing it all with his daddy?”

You wanted to cry, but you didn’t know why. Your body was visibly shaking caged in his arms. He bit and licked your jaw - an animalistic move that made you whimper - on his way to whisper into your parted lips.

“You’re mighty silent when it’s not needed, baby, and too talkative when you need to shut up.” He leaned back, and the only contact you still maintained was his hand cupping your sex as if it was glued there. “Got it all twisted in that dumb head of yours.”

For the tenth time this evening, you cast your eyes down, but he didn’t let you avert the pitch black of his eyes for long, grabbing your chin between his index finger and a thumb and lifting your head.

“Answer me, baby.” No matter how gentle his pet names were, Joel’s voice was commanding, and you couldn’t stay silent like a soldier answering to their superior.

“All of it,” your whisper felt louder than a scream to you, but he furrowed his brows in dissatisfaction with your quietness. He wanted you to break, to accept the perverse desires that inflamed your insides like a deadly virus.

“Hm?”

You gulped, slowly accepting yourself and raising your voice. Something different glinted in the depths of your eyes. “All of it, Daddy.”

Joel smiled, actually smiled to you. The genuine gesture showed off his dimple and you grasped for air that suddenly was lacking from your lungs. A feeling close to pride bloomed in his chest as he nodded.

“Correct answer, baby girl.”

He brought his hand to your cheek, large palm bracketing half of your face as his thumb caressed your cheekbone. Rough fingertips trailed lower and lower until his hand was a necklace around your throat. You caught your breath as you felt him squeeze a little, not looking at your face but rather watching the fingers that had your life at their points. Joel's smile was wicked, as if he was wondering what else would you let him do now that you came willingly. He relaxed his grip and grabbed you by the back of your neck pulling closer, and you all but fell into his chest.

"Let's go, baby," he whispered into your hair when you didn't raise your eyes at him. "My bed'll be more comfortable for ruining that tiny hole of yours."

Arousal clouded your brain like a sticky wet fog, you could barely figure how you passed through the hallway and into his dark bedroom, danger being a hypnosis of its own. You only came to yourself when he pushed you on the neatly done king bed covered in dark sheets, you couldn't tell the color until he turned on the bedside lamp revealing blue tones that interlaced throughout his room.

It was spacious enough, a classic guitar in the corner, an old fan turned off on an even older dresser, a table with some paper thrown around - you figured it was something to do with his work, maybe new mockups - and some posters on the dark blue walls that you'd spend more time studying if only Joel's broad frame as he came to stand between your spread legs didn't block the view.

"If you don't wanna undress then at least turn over," his voice got muffled as he tugged his t-shirt over his head with one swift movement. "It'd be hard to fuck that ass when you lay on it."

He laughed, either at his joke or at the way you started involuntarily drooling at the sight of his broad chest. You couldn't stop yourself from licking your lips, finding them dry under your tongue. After that time at the club you couldn't argue that you finally saw him as something more than Jason's dad. He was a man, a handsome one at that, he was broad and thick in all the right places. Joel's stomach was softer with age but there was undeniable power hidden underneath that skin. There was a predator that could tear you apart, and you just came right to him, offering yourself as a meal. His words finally settled in your brain and you tried to turn over, climbing on the bed on all fours and trying to get rid of your sneakers at the same time. As soon as you settled, thinking what you should do next the bed dipped and his hands settled on your hips, trying to yank the sweatpants off.

"Wait," you felt the lace keeping the oversized item on your hips dig into your skin.

Joel stopped, but never took his hands away. "What, you came to your senses finally?" He huffed.

You shook your head, not even feeling the embarrassment anymore, "no, I need to unknot this first, you won't take them off like that." You explained, and his laughter accompanied your frantic movements.

"Fucking hell, girl."

You got rid of the damn item, throwing it somewhere on the floor and turning your head to see Joel's face. He noticed you watching and nodded to your top, "take that off as well while you're at it."

The top flew in a different direction and Joel whistled as he saw your bare form. "No bra, huh? You really live up to your status, little slut."

"I - ", you stuttered, bringing your hands to cover your breasts, "I was in a rush."

"In a rush to get your ass fucked? Now this is just getting better and better."

You wondered why his words didn't hurt, why they sent excitement chills down your back, as if creating a trail to where you wanted him tonight.

He leaned over you, grabbing your hands and yanking them away so you couldn't hide. When his palms enveloped both of your breasts you couldn't suppress the moan that ripped out of you. You hands found his shoulders, short fingernails digging into and breaking his skin that has been kissed by summer sun for at least the last half of century. Joel just hummed in appreciation, kneading your soft flesh with expertise, thumbs caressing the undersides as his fingernails scratched the hardened buds of your nipples. He was still staring at his hands touching you like this for the first time when his low whisper broke the silence.

"All fours now, baby."

You were too lost in pleasure to understand what he was saying, allowed to see him bare now, to touch his weathered skin, you couldn't seem to stop, tracing your hands from his shoulders to his chest, now swiping your thumbs over his tiny nipples that turned out to be more sensitive than you expected when he hissed and swatted your ass with a painful force. "I said all fucking fours, little slut." He growled, adding another slap on top of the previous one for good measure, "don't make me repeat myself."

It was awkward to turn around while his hands were still bracketing your body, but you managed to do as told, forcing yourself on all fours and founding your back pressed into the softness of his belly. You stood like this for a brief moment, you on your hands and knees, him in the same position but on top of you. A quick thought that you must look like fucking dogs in heat passed your brain. Animals, that was exactly what you were. All morals thrown aside to satiate the need of flesh. You couldn't mistake the hard outline of his cock pressed into your soaked panties with anything. A tiny whimper left your lips as you rocked your hips into his, desperate to feel more pressure, and you bit into your soft flesh until you felt a tang of blood on your tongue.

"My eager little whore." Joel's whisper was followed by a sharp bite of his teeth sinking into your shoulder. Anticipation and pain and pleasure all getting you drunker than the most expensive bottle of tequila. "Don't be so quiet, baby, I want e'ryone to know what a desperate fucking slut I got bouncing on my cock tonight."

"Please," you knew what your were begging for, just didn't want to say it out loud. Didn't want your lips to curve in the right shapes to form the filthy words. Didn't want your voice to give life to the filthy plea.

"Please what?" Another chuckle, another thrust of his clothed cock into your crying pussy, another bite to your flesh. "Say it, or you don't get it."

"Please," you begged once more, this time for him not to make you say it. To leave at least some innocence in you, at least some hope to pretend you still got some light inside you. Joel was having none of it, his smile glinting with cruelty when his eyes found yours as you turned your head.

"Say it, right now, or get up and get the fuck out of here." His words hissed into your skin were as gentle as a venomous snake's deadly bite. A tear rolled down your cheek because you knew there was nothing that would make you leave his bed right now. Not even the hope of your life getting back to normal would make you give up the promise of pleasure that laid in his hands.

"Please, Daddy, fuck my ass."

Joel's growl was animalistic, bordering on terrifying as he stopped caging you in favor to yank your panties off. A little fumbling and there was the last garment keeping the dignity (which you left behind as soon as you crossed his doorstep) intact. The fact that he was still half-clothed while you were stark naked and desperate under his demanding fingers was both intimidating and thrilling. The power he held upon you in more that one way turned your whole being in one of an obedient toy. His mouth was once again pressed into your ear, "I can feel you trembling, just can't wait to be ruined." This time there was no mocking in his voice, just pure carnal need to break you in half and put you together. Like it was his God given right to claim you in all the ways he deemed desirable. The sharp edge on his nose travelled town your backbone until his teeth sank into the flesh of your butt and you couldn't hold back a painful moan that deserved you another one, even harder, just underneath the first one.

Joel's hands spread your asscheeks and you felt his nose swiping lower, shuddering when it bumped into the tight ring of muscle that was abandoned in terms of pleasure as long as you lived.

"That pretty pussy dripping all over my sheets, baby. What a shame leaving her depraved today." He mumbled into the sleek lips of your cunt, his words vibrating into your flesh, making you scoot back and practically bump into his mouth. You expected another rude comment, a slap to you ass or even to your pussy, but Joel rendered you speechless again when you felt a broad swipe of his tongue from your clit and to your sopping entrance. The man continued humming inside you as he held your cheeks further apart, letting his tongue slide in an out of you deeper than anyone had ever tried to be before. The wet tense muscle caressed your folds with deliberate strokes, nipping at your swollen folds with his lips, as if he was kissing your mouth. You dug your nails into your palms, feeling the telltale sings of your orgasm approaching, the string in your belly pulling taught two, three strokes of his tongue away from snapping.

The obscene noises of Joel slurping your arousal made you blush, but you wished nothing more than for him to continue playing with your body like it only brought pleasure to him. Like eating your out, drinking you down was his reward. Like he wanted nothing more than to suffocate in your pussy.

"Joel, I'm - -"

His name slipped from your lips and at that exact moment his tongue left your burning flesh. This time the tears that drew rivers on your cheeks were from being denied, denied something that was just there. As if you were a kid, squeezing their favorite candy all the way up to cashier when your dad told you you can't have it. You wanted to scream, beg, cry, anything that would make him give you the damn candy. But Joel wasn't the one who'd be affected by a temper tantrum.

"Sorry, baby, almost forgot what you're here for." The cheer in his voice gave out exactly how he felt about it. He didn't forget for a second. He might've lost himself in the way your taste claimed his tastebuds, but he was never going to give you that orgasm. And when he didn't stop little chuckle escaping his lips you realized that he wanted you to know that. Wanted you delirious from the lack of it, feral and mad. And that was exactly how he had you right now.

"Please," you hiccuped, "please, Daddy, please."

"My little slut, you beg so pretty." He squeezed your asscheeks together painfully, before bringing them apart again. "How can I ever say no to you?"

With this he brought the tip of his index finger to your tense entrance and circled the sensitive skin of it. Instead of pushing into, he plunged two of his fingers into your pussy and you gasped at the unexpected fullness. "Now, baby," he spoke as his fingers meticulously pumped in and out of your wet cunt in almost absentminded movements. "You better relax that tiny ass of yours or it will be painful. Mind you, I will still tear it apart," you shivered at how mundane his tone was, "but I though you might want to help yourself to enjoy that. So, relax for me, little slut."

His degrading pet names felt like kisses on your skin, and the next time he brought his now sleek fingers to your asshole you felt your muscles relax even without giving them a conscious command.

"Theeere we go," his thick index pushed inside and oxygen left your lungs. The sensation was new, raw, something you'd never thought you'd experience. He just settled one of his fingers inside you but you already couldn't wait for more, unknowingly tensing your muscles around his finger.

"Fuck, baby, what a tight fucking ass. Can't wait to ruin it with my cock."

The words were too quiet so you though that he could've been speaking to himself until he addressed you. "How many cocks did this pretty ass take, hm?"

You shook your head, the thickness of his finger making you feel fuller than you thought it would. Getting your whimpers as response he sighed as he added a second finger next time his finger slid into your slowly opening hole.

"When," in "I," out "fucking," in, "ask" out, "you" in, "fucking" out, "answer" in, two digits spreading wide inside you, making your hole open up more than it had ever before. You could feel his gaze stick to your entrance that instinctively tried to close but was forced open. And then you heard the unmistakable sound and felt wetness trickling inside you. He fucking spit into your open asshole, and it was something that ripped words right from your chest.

"No one, ever. No one ever fucked my ass, Daddy, just you."

He continued pumping his fingers in and out of your abused hole, skin around it becoming puffy and glistening with all types of bodily fluids.

"Never had your ass fucked and came to me? Fuck, little slut, you should've been smarter. You know my cock ain't for the first timers."

He took his fingers out of you and settled back on his knees, for a second admiring the way your hole was gaping just a little, inviting him back in. For the longest second you thought that after he learned about your virgin ass, he'd just send you on your merry way, but relief overtook your fear when you heard him popping open a bottle of something. Lube, you figured.

"But there's no turning back now," his voice was interlacing with lewd sounds of him pumping his cock, and you couldn't stop yourself from turning your head to admire the heavy, dark flesh accessorized by veins and a bead of precum glistening on its tip like a jewel in the low light. His dick looked massive even embraced in his large hand, and before you could think the question, he answered it with a cocky smirk, "we'll make all of it fit, baby. I want you to feel my balls slapping your cunt as I ruin your ass."

Your pussy clenched around nothing, another glob of your arousal running past your sleeked lips, leaving an evidence of your desire in a from of glistening trail on your legs. You didn't care about anything at this point, not the embarrassingly loud moans and pleas sticking to your lips, nor the shameful need coursing through your body as the wrong, wrong man leaned over to claim the last part of you left untouched by him. You didn't even care about the pain as he pushed just the tip of his burning flesh inside of you. You only cared about feeling him so deep inside you that he'd leave bruises on the inside of your perverted body.

"Fuck, baby," his groan was almost pained, "c'mon, be a good slut, relax for me some more."

Joel's hand snaked around your waist and found it's place on your pussy, slapping it a couple of times, as he growled in your ear, "I said fucking relax that ass for me, precious."

You squeezed your eyes tight, white flakes of pain and desire dancing behind your closed eyelids as you felt him push deeper, deeper and deeper still. When he said he'd tear you apart on his cock, you were more excited than terrified, but now it felt like he was trying to fuck you with a baseball bat, still not bottoming out when you already felt him in your throat. You remembered he was big, but he didn't feel that big when he was claiming your pussy. Bigger and thicker than you ever had, for sure, but now he just felt inhumanly massive and the pain started to slowly become unbearable as you pushed one of your hands back and pressed in into the tense muscles of his stomach.

"I can't, I'm sorry, I can't," you started to cry, not sure if it was from pain or from disappointment in yourself. It was too much, there was no way you could take all of him, he was right when he joked about not being for the 'first timers'. Just when you thought he'd make some snide remark, forcing himself into you still, suffocating your cries with intricate insults, he stopped. One of his hands pressed into your tailbone, massaging the spot and forcing you to relax a little, and the other gently covered your trembling stomach.

He pressed his lips to your shoulder blade, kissing it gently as his whisper cut through the fog in your brain.

"You can, baby. Y'know why?" You shook your head, answering him or telling him he was wrong, you didn't know, fat salty tears fell on the pillow, creating black constellations on the dark material. "You can, because you're perfect. I know that, and you should know that, too." He pressed harder on your stomach, his hand splaying on it and engulfing almost all of your soft flesh. "You can, because I want to feel myself here, and you want that, too. Don't you, baby?"

To answer his question you pushed your hips back, taking another inch of his cock into your warm heat, and he rewarded you with his expert fingers playing with the swollen bud of your clit. "Good girl, such a good girl for Daddy, taking me all the way inside. You ass is so tight, won't ever be able to stop fucking it. Want to fuck it so many times that you take me with no resistance at all, baby."

Your moan deafened you both as you felt his balls do exactly what he promised, a heavy swing on them slapping against your pussy.

"Fuck, that's it, that's it, baby." Once again he stilled, now all the way inside you, feeling your tight hole choking him in the most delicious way. "Tell me who you are?"

"A good girl," you choked on the sensation rippling through your body. His hands never left your clit, playing with it like he created you for himself with his own hands.

"That's right. You're Daddy's good girl."

"I'm Daddy's good girl," you echoed his words like you were in a trance.

"And now Daddy's gonna ruin you, baby."

Whatever wanted to leave your mouth caught in your throat as Joel slid almost all the way out and pushed back in a painfully long stroke. After he had opened you up there was no stopping him. You whines and moans only added to his ferocity, his hipbones bruising your ass with every push. He cock was cutting into you easily, like a knife into a brick of soft butter that was forgotten on the table.

Your body was on fire, but your mind was underwater. The contradicting feelings confused you, but brought your pleasure to the new level. Your head was empty of every thought but 'more', your soul having no emotion but greed. You felt full, full, full, but pushed your body to meet his as if you wanted to swallow him whole, and it still wouldn't be enough.

Joel smacked your ass, seeing you actively jumping on his cock, your tight ring of muscle stretched to the limit around his girthy shaft. "Such'a good fucking slut. All mine. All fucking mine."

Every word was accentuated by a slap of his balls against your sensitive cunt, each harder than the other. His left hand pressed in your tummy and you cried like a woman possessed feeling exactly how deep he was, the thought of it combined with the fingers of his right hand that never stopped playing with your clit overwhelmed you. Your throat was raw, but nothing compared to your ass as Joel's massive cock continued pounding into you.

"I'm right here, baby, feel me?"

You just continued to cry and moan and whimper non-stop, your mouth dry and your jaw hurting from being spread open in an attempt to get those feelings out of you.

"I'm gonna cum so deep inside of you. Your hole is so stretched you won't be able to keep none of it inside."

It was filthy, the images he painted with his words made you feel dirty and you reveled in it. You felt disgusting, it was divine.

His steady movements started to falter and he grew rigid inside you, "come on, little slut, cum for Daddy, I know you want to."

He was right. It was fucked up how he knew you better than you knew yourself. You were on the edge for the longest time, pain just another source of your pleasure. Your head felt heavy and you dropped it, catching an upside-down glimpse of his hand on your belly and something - fuck, that was his dick rearranging you guts - moving inside you. The sight was the final straw that held you together, your hands gave out as you fell face first into his pillow, body convulsing in a soul-crashing orgasm. You were just a rag-doll, pulsing around him as he pumped you full of his cum. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," his vocabulary fucked down to the most basic expletives as he shuddered on top of you.

"You should go now."

When the words cut the silence of the room you weren't exactly surprised. His cum was still trickling out of your painfully sore ass while you laid on your stomach, him on his back beside you staring at the ceiling. It's not like you were waiting for him to kiss you goodnight as you pressed your still sweaty bodies together in a perfect puzzle piece and drift off to sleep. It was still unpleasant, though. You swallowed down the toxic taste his words left in your mouth and got up, nakedness of your body suddenly too shameful and not in an erotic way, as you scraped for clothing thrown all over his bedroom floor.

His eyes were watching you intently, and as you picked up the last item - your panties - he sighed.

"Leave these."

When you thought that man couldn't surprise you more he'd say some shit that would make your eyebrows disappear in your hairline. You searched for answers on his face, for the reason he'd ask for it, but found none.

"I'm no good for anythin' else, baby."

You didn't know what you nodded to, wether you were agreeing with him or your head was just too tired to keep up straight. The hand clutching your panties relaxed, letting them drop back to the floor as you left his room.

#joel miller x reader #iamasaddie fic #tlou fic

411 notes · View notes

hatchetno1 · 3 months

Text

sage forest mental institution.

chapter 5. in which you discover...well, something. word count: 2.6k note: straight up this fic has stopped making sense. i am losing it cw: toby has mood swings. some crying too.

You make up for the lost dinner with a big breakfast, scarfing down your food as quickly as Jeff had grabbed the soul out of you the previous day. You almost worry that you’re eating too noisily beside the artificially smiley faced-man, but he seems to be eating more noisily than you. Absolutely no manners.

“Morning!” Chirps Toby like a baby bird, except in a baritone as he enters the dining area, in the same clothes as yesterday. Jeff growls at him through a mouth full of food to shut up.

Whoosh.

Barely a second and a whirlwind of brown and orange later, Toby’s at his throat. You did not expect this to occur during your peaceful meal.

“What did you say.” Toby growls at him, gripping Jeff’s collar so tightly you think his shirt might just tear apart. But Jeff matches that iron grip with his own on Toby’s wrist. “I said,” Jeff snarls, “shut the fuck up.”

How do you de-escalate a situation between two angry, violent people?

You remember a really stupid viral video from years ago and stand between them, your cereal bar between your lips.

“Whatcha dooooin’,” you mimic Toby’s line yesterday, keeping the tremble in your voice to a minimum. You need them to regain a sense of normalcy, or at least confuse them enough that their anger will end.

“Uh.” Jeff stares blankly at you. “What the fuck are you doing?” His lip curls up in a sneer of disgust. You suppose they were actually stupid enough for it to work…?

“Oh!” Snaps Toby back to attention. “Can I join you for—woo—can I join you for breakfast, Y/N?” He grins down at you like a ray of sunshine, like nothing ever happened.

Extreme mood swings.

“Sure,” you reply, and in no time Toby is shoving Jeff to one side so he can sit with you.

“There’s a left side and right side on her, lover boy,” complains Jeff, but he leaves all the same when he’s done with breakfast as Toby yaps into your ear about random topics. One sentence it’s the weather, and the next it’s torture methods. The range on this boy is a bit too concerning for your liking.

“Oh-oh, Y/N, Y/N, did you know that if you shoot a person in the head, they’ll…”, he giggles childishly here, “pee their pants?” It’s amusing how he giggles, a literal “heeheehaha” kind of sound, amongst small vocal tics. Smiling at him both out of amusement and out of politeness, you say, “Do you wanna know something?” His eyes light up even further, and you wonder if there’s a limit to how bright one’s eyes can be. “Wh-what?” His legs shake up and down and he clenches his fists, almost vibrating in his seat. Wow, that’s a lot of energy. But given his mood swings, it’s likely this won’t last too long.

“Sometimes,” you begin, “sometimes they live. It’s not a guaranteed death.”

“I know!” Toby exclaims, slapping the tabletop with both hands. You try not to give away your startle with any sudden movements, for fear that his current state is truly volatile and may be overtaken by negative emotion if you show any sign of hurt or fear. “Brian has sh-sh-shot many people, and, sometimes they—fuck, crack!—don’t die!” His grin is brighter than the sun, the corners of his eyes crinkled with joy, and you could almost mistake him for a young child if not for his sunken eyes and dark eye circles.

“But,” he begins thoughtfully. “Sometimes I throw my hatchet at their heads, uh, and, they die! Instant K.O!” He makes a bzzzzhhhh sound, like a buzzer. His attitude towards death is…concerning. You wonder if you could observe him in action as he kills his targets.

Your mind seems to have entirely shifted to an “I’m a therapist and nothing fazes me” mode, but you know that if he were to actually let you follow him on a murder spree or whatever it is he does, you might piss your pants and have a panic attack at the sight of the death of another human being. Did he ever have to get used to murder? Or was he always so cheerful about it?

“I see you’re getting along well,” comes a male voice, a slight grouch to it, a couple feet behind the both of you. Toby’s neck cracks as he whips his head around to face the person, and so do you turn to face them, though not at the same literal breakneck speed.

“Timmy!” Exclaims Toby.

What a strange nickname for such a stand-offish man.

One second he’s seated beside you, and the next, in a blur of brown and blue, something that you can only presume to be Toby clings itself onto Tim-not-Masky, and the two men go tumbling onto the ground, yelps of pain coming from Tim and more “heeheehaha”s coming from Toby.

“You fucking bastard,” spits Tim(my), but with little venom in his voice. Their relationship is almost that of brothers.

“You love me anyways!” Toby teases, nuzzling the man, who protests by saying something along the lines of “Toby I’m not gay,” and “Toby you’re not gay”.

“How would you know?” Says Toby lowly, grinning in a mockingly malicious manner like a fifth grader trying to mock-flirt with his friend. Tim shoves him off with a disgusted look and an ugh, then hurries to the kitchen to get away from the boy, who looks prouder of himself than he should be.

“So…” You tread carefully. “Are you gay?” Then, almost stumbling over your words, you blubber, “I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with it.”

Toby goes quiet for the first time today, deep in thought. Just as you worry that you might’ve said something wrong, he speaks up. “Nope! I’m straight as a stick! I…I think.” He frowns a bit at that. “I dunno.”

“That’s okay, Toby,” you reply, taking another bite out of your toast. “I don’t know either.”

“But…you seem like you…—wa-woo!” He swallows, putting his thoughts together in his head. “You seem like you know everything!” He seems to be idolizing you already, which is not good. This is not good. You’re not qualified to be regarded as an actual therapist; you can only be an equal to whom they spill their worries. You conjure the brilliant idea of straight-up telling him you’re not to be put on a pedestal.

“I’m a normal person just like you and Tim, Toby,” you say. But this does nothing to put out the flame of wonder in his eyes. Did he even process what you just said at all?

You’re alerted of Tim’s presence as he sets a bowl of cereal and milk down on the tabletop, right opposite Toby. “He thinks normal people are the best,” he states flatly. “Because Brian and I are normal to him and he thinks we’re his whole world.”

You don’t know whether to laugh or dig a hole, cry, and wait for The Operator to come after your ass.

—

After your little…learning experience with Toby, you get to setting up your office. The proxies were surprisingly resourceful, having transported entire bean bags, a big-ass carpet and a table from wherever they raided straight into your little extra room, along with a thoughtful little box of snacks and the stationery you requested. Just as you wonder if you actually did write your request for snacks down onto the paper yesterday, you find a little note in the snack box. It’s surprisingly cute, and could be mistaken for a kindergartener’s work. On it says, “With love, Toby,” in very shaky handwriting, along with a cute little heart next to it, equally shaky.

Chuckling to yourself, you set the note aside and get to work. To your relief, you do not overestimate your strength and actually manage to shift everything in place. The carpet doesn’t cover the entirety of the ugly blue tiles, but it’ll have to do. You’ll also have to do something about the cold lighting in the room, flickering every so often. What if you just place a piece of yellow paper on it? Easy fix, you laugh to yourself. But for now, you don’t have a ladder nor a means of getting up there, so you can’t even slap Toby’s cute note onto the light bulb.

Speaking of Toby, you think about the “patients” under your care. The most prominent profile in your mind right now is the youngest boy. If you had any access to the internet right now, you’d be able to do more research on his symptoms and conditions. Alas, you’re literally off the grid right now, and have to settle for descending into a half-sleep half-daydream sort of trance when bored.

And so it is that trance you descend into as you shuffle boxes here, boxes there, furniture back and forth, playing idly with placements, rolling pens across the desk—

“Hey Y/N! —woo!— I like what you’ve done with the place!” Comes Toby’s cheerful exclamation from the doorway.

The place is desolate. It’s absolutely dismal for a therapist’s safe space, one that they offer to turmoiled patients.

“Uh…thanks, Toby!” You try as hard as possible to not sound sarcastic, but it seems you don’t have to worry about it—the boy’s already flopping himself onto the beanbags, rolling around and frolicking. Damn, proxies don’t get many good things, do they?

Nonetheless, you take the chance to get some work done and pick up a pen and foolscap. “Toby?”

“Yeah?” Comes his reply, his head immediately turning to you from his ridiculous position. It looks like he’s trying to do a backward roll on the beanbag, with his ass in the air, knees beside his head.

“Wanna talk about life?”

—

And so the both of you talk. And you talk, and talk.

Toby had sat up normally—well, as normally as he possibly could, with his fidgety mannerisms and all—and he’d spilled. It’s how you come to learn of his past, or to be precise, the fact that he has no memories of it.

But as much as the empty cup can, it spills, even just a few drops. He can’t get into cars without severely panicking, so when sent out on missions, they use vans instead.

“I pretty much only remember my name,” he informs you. “Other than that, I don’t know much. I mean, I’m pretty sure I had both parents…and sometimes, I think I remember having a sister,” he says wistfully. “I think I loved her.”

You jot the information down as furiously as you can, letting the boy run his full train of thought.

“Sometimes…sometimes I wake up in the—mm!—middle of the night, and I feel like I remember everything…and then I can’t help it. I start crying.” He twiddles his thumbs even more furiously in an attempt to negate the negative energy he’s radiating. “Sometimes,” he continues quietly, “I think I remember her name.”

You allow the boy a moment to catch up to his feelings and thoughts. Then, you ask gently, “What do you think her name is, Toby?”

“Um…” He scratches his head, his messy brown hair curling every which way. “Lyra. I think.”

You smile. “Lyra must have been beautiful.”

“She was, I think.” A sniffle. A tear runs down his cheek, and you begin to panic, before reaching over for a box of tissues—you’d forgotten to write this down, but the proxies were thoughtful enough to bring you a few—and passing it to him.

“It’s okay to cry, Toby,” you murmur what little comfort you can. “I doubt you’ve talked to many people about this, in such a vulnerable manner.”

He sniffs. “Thank you,” he says, barely above a whisper. “I think I’m grateful the—sniff—that The Operator had us bring you back alive,” he says. “He ss-sent us to the asylum, and told us—sniff—to wait for someone to come, and when that ss-someone came, he’d let us know.”

“Many people came and went, and Jeff kinda…” He gestures vaguely, but you chuckle. You know exactly what he means. “He—ah!— killed ‘em all, except for you.” He forces a dry chuckle. “You’re lucky. B-but, I still can’t believe he sent us to look for a therapist, of all things. Probably just wants to prolong our shelf life o-or—mm!—something,” he mutters the last part.

Wow, the Operator’s kind of turning out to be a bit of an asshole, huh? You think to yourself, but pay it no mind. It’s something to ponder later, no matter how important it might be. The patient’s health comes first.

You nearly fail to catch the fact that Toby just stated that they did not kidnap you at random. He said, he sent us to look for a therapist. You don’t know what to do with this information. Laugh? “Haha, tall-ass eldritch monster sends his tiny humans to look for a shrink!” Cry? “Fuck, tall-ass eldritch monster knows what a therapist is. Who knows what else he knows?” That doesn’t make too much sense.

But the Operator’s powers still remain a mystery to you. Though, you suppose he was being literal after all. How else did he perceive your presence and make the (fortunate? unfortunate?) decision to bring you back alive? Hell, does this even concern you when your life is at stake? Is your life even at stake? Well, it is, but it also isn’t if you can treat his proxies.

It’s all a little too complicated.

“Y/N?”

You shake out of your stupor. You’ve been absently gazing at Toby staring back at you for the longest time, but it’s only now that you actually see him. Your vision is blurred and you dismiss it as a product of not blinking for a while.

“Are you ok-k-kay? You’re crying,” worries Toby.

Oh, so that’s why your vision is blurry. What kind of therapist cries in the middle of the session?

Before you can get the words “I’m fine” out of your mouth, Toby’s body language shifts to that of an obviously anxious one. Too quickly for you to even try to convince yourself he’s fine, he shoots up and shakily pulls out a few tissues from the tissue box, but he shakes so much that the box falls to the ground, and he follows, crouching over the fallen object.

“No, no no, no no no,” he mutters shakily, voice thick. A sniffle.

You act before you think. “Hey, hey,” you soothe him, hand reaching out for his shoulder. “What’s going on, Toby?”

He looks back at you, eyes and nose red, lips curled downwards, stifling sobs. “I-I’m so—sss-sorry, Y/N,” he mumbles. “I can’t do this to you. I love you too much.”

And all of a sudden, he shoots back up to full standing height, and before you can even blink he’s reaching for the handle of the door, slipping through faster than light and slamming the door back closed.

You’re left there to stare blankly.

chapter 6 is out.

47 notes · View notes

gripefroot · 5 months

Text

Crooked Ways [19/22]

“Bulma.”

She moaned, turning her head away from the sound, too deeply entrenched in the soft blackness of slumber to care who was talking or why.

“Bulma.”

Again? This time a sharp shake of her shoulders sent her head flying up, almost banging it on the lamp of her desk. Cussing, Bulma rubbed her sore head and whirled around in her seat, giving Vegeta’s scowl an even better, blacker scowl.

“It’s two in the morning,” he said. “Go to bed or I’ll put you to bed.”

Two in the - no, it couldn’t be. It had been ten p.m. just a few minutes ago, when she’d been putting the finishing touches on her giant robot design. She’d had the brilliant inspiration to install some gravity sensors to pull things towards it - a fantastic challenge that Vegeta would no doubt enjoy.

“It is not,” Bulma protested, her voice thick. She picked up her watch where she’d taken it off to work on her design. Squinting, she gasped aloud when she saw that Vegeta was right. It was two in the morning. “I can’t go,” she said, grabbing at the papers around where she’d rested her head to gather them together. “I wanted to get this done and start working in the morning. I mean, I’m close, but I - ”

Vegeta started spouting off better cuss words than she had. A second later her chair was kicked away from the desk and she was hauled straight out of it, tossed over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

“This is for your robot!” Bulma fumed, but didn’t bother fighting. She had no chance.

“If you make me a robot without a proper night’s sleep, you’ll probably end up killing me,” he said. “You are going to bed.”

“Ha! You want to have sex this bad, don’t you?”

Outside of the lab, the Capsule Corp hallways were dim at the late hour, oppressively silent after their echoing voices. What had Vegeta been doing up, anyway? Training, probably. Or eating.

“This isn’t about sex, Bulma,” Vegeta intoned. “You are going to bed.”

“Mine or yours? Because if it’s yours, I’ll know for sure you’re lying.”

“Fine, then. Your bed.”

She grumbled, tempted to kick out her legs to make the journey more difficult for him. He’d probably slap her bum if she did that. Tempting, and she was about to start kicking when Vegeta jostled her violently with a,

“Don’t squirm.”

“Hmph!” Bulma wriggled her hips, but half-heartedly. “Are you going to tuck me in, too? Or is that beneath you?”

He grumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “Nothing that involves a bed and you beneath me is beneath me,” but she couldn’t be sure. “Only to ensure you don’t get up and start working again,” Vegeta said.

“Why were you awake, anyway?”

Silence. She heard the whoosh of the door opening to her bedroom, then it closed almost on her head after he stepped inside.

“You had a delivery,” he told her.

Bulma found herself lowered to the ground a second later, facing her bedroom in the dark with a frown. The shapes all looked to be their normal, chaotic selves. Then she saw Vegeta’s finger point towards her closet where a dressmaker’s dummy stood with a dark blue gown draped over it.

“Oh, my gala dress! I’m going to try it on right now - ”

“You absolutely are not!”

Bulma whirled around, meeting his furious gaze with her own. “I want to and I will!”

“You need to sleep!”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead!”

Vegeta’s head jerked back, eyes wide with surprise.

“Hello?” She snapped her fingers. “Remember? Androids? We’re all doomed anyway. Let me try on a pretty dress while I still can.”

“You are not doomed.” His voice went icy-cold, sending shivers up her spine. “I am the one destined to die that day.”

She hated the reminder. Stomach twisting in miserable knots, Bulma lifted her chin. “Not if I can help it. Why do you think I want to get that robot design finished tonight?”

Vegeta crossed his arms in front of his chest, armor fully patched over his expression. “Go to bed, Bulma. I’m not leaving until you do.”

She smiled a pretty smile, tugging out some curls from her headband with a twist of her finger. “What if I want you to stay?”

He blinked, mouth twitching. “Then I’ll leave until you go to bed,” he decided.

“You’re no fun.”

“I was awake because I was trying to put on those blasted garments.” Vegeta nodded at her gown, implying that his tuxedo had been delivered as well. And that it had been a struggle.

“Oh,” Bulma said. “Well.”

“Must I strip you and tie you to the bed?”

“Yes. Definitely.”

Even in the dark she could see the shade of his face deepen. “How utterly vulgar,” he said, clearly meaning to be disapproving.

“You’re the one that said it,” Bulma laughed. “Let’s make a deal. I’ll go to bed but you have to stay with me all night.”

Vegeta waved a hand in agreement. Likely he’d had a mind to stay with her, anyway, if only to keep her horizontal. Smiling, she unzipped her jumpsuit to wriggle down her hips, stepping out of it enough to kick it in the general direction of her dirty clothes.

“Good enough,” she chirped. “Come on.”

“Woman,” he warned. “If you start this, you will not sleep at all tonight.”

“I had a nap! I’m ready to go!”

“It negates the purpose of my forcing you to bed. You may as well work on your robot.”

“Would you rather I do that?” Bulma asked, hating the squeeze of rejection in her chest. “Go back to the lab and leave you here? You sleep alone and I design your robot?”

Vegeta’s eyes drifted down her body, then back to her face. “You already undressed. It would be impractical.”

“Oh, I can go just like this.” For emphasis she plucked at the front of her tank top. “It’s warm in the lab, anyway.”

“In your undergarments - ”

“Hardly! Besides, these cover way more than swimsuit, anyway, and those are perfectly acceptable to - ”

The air was knocked out of Bulma as his shoulder drove into her gut. Not too hard, though, and she landed on the bed a second later with the striking realization that he must have flown them the fifteen feet to her bed. The look of utter consternation on Vegeta’s face - flaring nostrils, grim mouth and all - broke her into gales of laughter that he clearly didn’t appreciate.

“What’s the deal to get you to sleep?” he demanded, remaining nestled between her thighs.

“Hmm.” Bulma tapped her chin in thought, a giggle or two still waiting to come out. “I’ll think of something. But I’ll warn you, I’m a tough negotiator.”

“And I’m a prince with diplomatic experience.” A grin slowly crept over his face, more thrilling than his hands gripping her hips.

“Like blowing things up?”

“I didn’t say my experience was nonviolent.”

She laughed, grabbing him by the shoulders to drag him down for a kiss. To her surprise, he allowed it. “Here’s the deal,” she whispered. “You stay and hold me and I’ll go right to sleep like an obedient human.”

“I accept your terms.”

Bulma occasionally thought that Vegeta hated this sort of thing. The affection that bubbled naturally out of her when she felt treasured and special. Normal sorts of affection that came with a relationship. She caught him scowling sometimes when she hugged him from behind or she kissed his cheek by surprise or tangled up with him like an octopus after sex.

But he did it. That stunned her more than anything, and she cherished the weight of his arm around her waist as they settled in for a short night.

Before sleep claimed her, his voice drifted through her memory: I am the one destined to die that day. She stirred, clutching his arm harder, determined to cherish this moment all the more for the prophesied shortness of it.

His nose was in her hair, so he couldn’t see her lips form the electrifying, damning declaration I-love-you. It was given to the night where it would be kept hostage from the only ones the words could destroy.

“These blasted clothes!”

The door to her bedroom banged open just after the shout came. If Bulma weren’t used to it, she would have jumped and ruined the line of her lipstick she carefully applied in her bathroom mirror. Even the looming presence of Vegeta in his black suit and black mood standing impatiently in the bathroom doorway didn’t deter her from finishing the job well, smacking her lips together when she was satisfied.

“Hello to you, too,” she said silkily, leaning away from the mirror to cap the lipstick. “Want to tell me what’s bothering you at a normal volume?”

Bulma turned, smiling a dazzling smile to detract from her throat going dry at the sight. For an alien, Vegeta was well-suited to tuxedos. The crisp lines of the fabric showed off his broad shoulders, the cut of the trousers making him look taller than he was. Or had he gotten taller? Perhaps it was the shoes, all shined and spiffy.

He didn’t respond right away, and her eyes traveled back to his face when she realized they were standing in complete silence.

“You,” he said. His eyes had stayed on her body. She couldn’t blame him - her dress was stunning and made to accentuate her figure to perfection. “You…”

“I look amazing,” she finished for him. “What’s wrong with the clothes, Vegeta? You look very handsome.”

Lips pinched together, he held out three strips of cloth for her to examine. “I figured out most of the items, but these make no logical sense,” Vegeta growled.

“Ah.” Bulma took them from him. “I understand. Let’s start with the cumberband.”

“The what?”

“Take off the coat and I’ll help.”

He grumbled the whole time, but he did as she ordered. He even lifted his arms without prompting so she could wind the cumberband around his hips to fasten in the back. “What is the purpose of this?” Vegeta snarled over his shoulder, watching her every move.

“I don’t know. I’ve never researched the origins of men’s formalwear before.”

He gave a snort of derision. “And what’s that square? Why is it blue?”

Finished with her task, Bulma wandered around Vegeta to pick up the offending square. “It’s a pocket square,” she said. “It goes in your pocket.”

“Like a snot rag?”

“Well, it’s one-hundred percent silk, but hey, my family has money to spare so why not.” The blue fabric matched her dress perfectly. When Bulma had ordered their clothes she hadn’t specifically asked that they match. Was this Dad’s doing? After folding the square she tucked it into the suit jacket laying on the bathroom counter.

“It matches your dress.” Vegeta’s temper must have blown out, because his words were much much quieter than earlier.

“Yes,” Bulma said.

“Is that a human custom?”

“I suppose.”

“Does it indicate that you are mine and I am yours?”

Vegeta and his archaic language! Grabbing the bow tie, she smiled as she planted herself in front of him, ready to do her worst. “I’m guessing most people will get the idea,” she admitted, slinging the bow tie around his neck. The weight of his attentive gaze would have been disconcerting a year ago. Now, it was only cozy.

“I have wondered,” Vegeta began in a low tone while she looped the bow tie over itself. “How humans discern who is who’s. And how I might ensure that everyone knows that you are mine, even when we are not together.”

“Possessive little ape, aren’t you?”

“We Saiyans scent each other,” he continued, ignoring her remark. He didn’t find it offensive, evidently. “During coupling, the individuals lace each other with their scents and it makes a new one. It’s obvious to Saiyans when one is not available for courtship.”

“I see,” Bulma murmured. One final knot and the tie was complete. She tightened it with a tug, straightening it beneath Vegeta’s chin.

“Naturally such a thing wouldn’t work among humans, what with your limited olfactory glands. So humans prefer matching clothing?”

“Not usually. The standard practice is that each person in a relationship wears a ring.”

“A ring?” He nodded, as if approving the simplicity. “Wear one.”

“Excuse me?”

“You own rings, don’t you?”

“It’s not the same!” Bulma stepped back, crossing her arms and unsure why, in the last five seconds, her annoyance rose so quickly. Of course Vegeta wouldn’t know - why was she so offended? “The man has to give the woman a ring!”

His eyes narrowed.

“It means they’re either married or going to be married! The man wears one too after they get married.”

Vegeta’s stiff posture broke with a single blink and a sway. As if he’d been about to take a step back and caught himself just in time. At the prospect of marrying her? Why, the -

“Have you scented me?” Bulma demanded. Her best method of tamping down painful feelings in the quickest way possible: a sour attitude and a solid offense.

The method sizzled and fizzled. He didn’t answer, only dropping his gaze to his suit coat. When he reached around her to pick it up, she felt the heat of his body leaning in. It made the cool air when he pulled back all the more frigid.

Of course he hadn’t scented her. They weren’t the same race. There was never any spoken or indicated intention to stay together longer than…longer than the android ordeal. Or until Vegeta left to train somewhere else, just like everyone else always did. He wouldn’t want to bind himself to her, a human. Saiyans were proud, and he was the proudest of all. Hadn’t he said over and over again how disgusting he found female hysterics? No doubt he’d believe she’d fall into hysterics over an honest conversation that he had no lasting intentions with her. That they would part ways and never see each other again.

Without a word Bulma tugged the lapels over his chest while he stuck his arms through the sleeves. The sharp scent of his soap filled her senses in a painful, overwhelming way, and she had to sniff to keep anything leaking out that would ruin her mascara.

Of course she’d been stupid enough to fall in love, for the second time, with a man even less likely to stay with her.

“How long must we stay?” Vegeta asked roughly. His arms dropped to his side while she smoothed down his lapels one more time. The press of ten fingertips into her hips indicated that his hands hadn’t stayed limp.

“A few hours.” Bulma gnawed on her bottom lip, lipstick forgotten. She kept her eyes on his chin where she wouldn’t have to meet the scrutiny of his gaze. “Really, you don’t have to come. I won’t come home drunk again. I was miserable last time.”

“I’m going. But I’ll be thinking of peeling this dress off of you the entire time.”

His comment lightened her mood by a shade, and she was able to smile. “Keep saying things like that, and the time we have to stay will get shorter and shorter,” she said lightly, her palm resting over his heart long enough to make hers squeeze with unspoken longing. “I’ll call the car and tell them we’ll be down in five minutes.”

Vegeta pulled her tightly against him, their hips bumping. The feeling of his erection through his trousers made Bulma squawk in surprise - here? Now? Was he insane?

“Make it ten,” he said.

“And ruin all the hard work I did to make you look nice?” she sniffed. “Dream on, Vegeta.”

He grumbled but released her hips in favor of taking her hand, dragging her towards the door. The lightswitch change between moods had Bulma grabbing for the doorframe. Her weak strength didn’t slow him down.

“The sooner we get there, the sooner we can leave,” he said over his shoulder.

She tumbled over her high heels, dragging the train of her gown to rush forward. He could haul her around at Capsule Corp and she wouldn’t mind (too much) but in public? No way. “And here I thought you didn’t want to go,” Bulma teased, winding her arm through his elbow. Vegeta’s eyes glinted as he cast her a sullen look. To no surprise he didn’t deign to respond to that.

“What perfume are you wearing?” Vegeta asked abruptly. Waiting at the top of the circular driveway for the driver to bring the car around, Bulma tore her eyes away from the darkening blush of sunset to give her plus-one a puzzled look.

“The only perfume I ever wear,” she said.

“You smell different.”

She could only shrug at the approaching crunch of gravel. “Maybe you did your Saiyan scenting ritual by accident,” she suggested. Vegeta’s frown deepened.

“Then I would know why your scent has changed, wouldn’t I?” he said blithely. Tandem steps down to where the driver held the door open for them. Bulma would have liked to press the point, and the issue, a little further, but after sliding inside the car with Vegeta right after her, she decided in the silence that she’d rather not be overheard.

“There are three seats,” she told him as finagled a seatbelt over his chest. He sat in the middle seat, practically pushing her into the door.

“I don’t want you to escape.”

“Hi, Ralph,” Bulma chirped, leaning forward to put her head next to the driver, who adjusted the rear view mirror. “Whatever my date says, I promise I’m here of my own free will. He’s not kidnapping me.”

“Sure, Miss Bulma,” Ralph said.

She settled back in, shoulder-to-shoulder with Vegeta and, rarely, feeling short next to him. He had a way of looming even when their eyes were level.

“It’s just one night,” Bulma whispered in reassurance, but couldn’t discern if she was speaking to Vegeta or herself.

#vegebul #dbz fanfic #bulma x vegeta #dragon ball

25 notes · View notes

smol4bluengine · 11 months

Text

Today was the day, Thomas and the others were waiting at the edge of their wheels in anxious anticipation for Sir Topham Hatt to arrive with Gordon.

A few days ago, Sir Topham Hatt had moved some engines around, Edward and Henry were once again back at Tidmouth sheds while Rebecca took Henry's spot at Vicarstown and Nia switched with Edward for his spot at Wellsworth. The older engine hoped Philip wasn't keeping the helpful engine up all night. The engines believed the switch was done to cheer up the big engine once he returned from the works.

A whistle announced the approached of Flying Scotsman, Thomas's attention was drawn to the famous engine as he backed onto the track next to the sheds.

"Hi there Scotsman, are you excited about Gordon returning home today"? Thomas asked.

At first the two tendered engine didn't say anything, remembering that he had agreed with Sir Topham Hatt not to react to his brother's current state until after the other engines had been told what happened. Scotsman was trying his best to conceal his frustration, in his attempt to calm down, a large plume of black smoke whooshed out of his funnel.

"Are you alright Scotsman"? Emily asked concerned as she watched the smoke dissipate into the air.

"I'm fine Emily, just really, really anxious about today." Scotsman replied with a forced smile.

"Well, alright Scotsman, if you say so." Emily said, doubtful.

"Do you think Gordon will want to go back to pulling the express after all that's happened"? Henry asked.

"Knowing Gordon, he'll want to pull the express as soon as possible, but given the accident Sir Topham Hatt will likely put him on light goods trains just to help Gordon readjust back to life on the railway, and to make sure that there are no issues with his repairs." Edward theorized.

"Let's just hope Gordon doesn't break something in an attempt to prove to Sir Topham Hatt that he is ready for the express sooner than he actually is." James commented.

"Agreed, Sir Topham Hatt, Lady Hatt, and Dowager Hatt have enough on their plate with running the railway, Gordon, and the baby." Percy added.

"Percy, I went over with you that Sir Topham Hatt and Lady Hatt aren't expecting a baby." Edward told the little green engine.

"I know you did Edward, but its been hard to ignore. Everybody on Sodor has been spreading stories about seeing Lady Hatt pushing around a baby stroller over the past week." Percy responded.

Overhearing Percy talking to Edward about a baby was making Scotsman's side rods rattle. He was about to speak and reveal what had happened when he met with Sir Topham Hatt, when he and the others heard the honk of Sir Topham Hatt's car horn as he pulled up to the shed, Dowager and Lady Hatt accompanying him. The three stepped out of the car, Lady Hatt holding baby Gordon in her arms, the engine swaddled in a blanket. Percy immediately perked up.

"See, see! They do have a baby"! Percy peeped excitedly.

The other engines besides Percy and Scotsman were surprised, they weren't expecting the rumors to be true.

"Hello engines...." Sir Topham Hatt said but was suddenly interrupted by Percy.

"Congratulations on the new baby Sir and Lady Hatt"! Percy excitedly announced.

The Hatt's were caught off guard by Percy's excitement, but they quickly understood why as Gordon was woken up by Percy's outburst and began to fuss as he hadn't liked being woken up so suddenly. Lady Hatt tended to the upset engine, moving a bit closer to Edward which allowed the older engine to get a better view of the bundle Lady Hatt was holding. He was surprised to see a little funnel.

"Is that; a baby engine"? Edward asked surprised.

"Engines can be babies"? Percy replied confused.

"No Percy, baby engines are engines used as kiddie rides for amusement parks, zoos, traveling carnivals and the like." Edward explained.

"Sir why would you bring in a baby engine? Are they for the Earl and his dino park"? Thomas asked.

"I bet the baby engine is for Mr. Bubbles and the circus." Henry said.

The engines kept asking questions, overwhelming Sir Topham Hatt who tried to get his engines to quite down to no avail.

Having had enough, Scotsman blew his whistle loudly, immediately causing all the engines to stop their chatter and turn their gaze at him.

"For Lady's sake, it's Gordon"! Scotsman yelled; it was clear that the famous engine wasn't happy with the current circumstance.

The other engines were surprised.

"That's Gordon? But he looks so small and..... helpless." Thomas said stunned.

"Aw! Gordon looks so cute! Did Sir Topham Hatt go back in time to prevent the accident but went to far back"? Percy asked.

"Pft, don't be ridiculous Percy, it's obvious that this little engine isn't Gordon." James said in denial.

"I'm afraid it is true James." Sir Topham Hatt confirmed.

"But Sir, why would you do such a thing"? Emily asked.

"There were no other options, if I hadn't gone through with the essence transfer, Gordon would have been scrapped"! Sir Topham Hatt admitted.

All the engines gasped. Thomas now understood why Scotsman was so upset. "Will we ever have the old Gordon back sir"? Henry asked worriedly. " I don't know Henry, the Ramsfield's will perform an evaluation on Gordon in about a year's time and if everything goes well, Gordon will be transferred back into a big engine." Sir Topham Hatt answered. "And if it doesn't sir"? Thomas asked. Sir Topham Hatt looked down at baby Gordon, the little engine whining as he wanted to see Scotsman. Sir Topham Hatt carefully picked up the baby engine and walked over to Scotsman, gently placing Gordon on Scotsman's front footplate. "We'll come to that bridge if we cross it Thomas, for now can I ask for the Steam Teams help with watching over baby Gordon"? Sir Topham Hatt asked. Thomas looked at the rest of the engines, each of them giving silent approval, though some were still in disbelief over Gordon's current state. "Of course, sir"! Thomas agreed.

29 notes · View notes

lunathebee · 2 years

Text

虎穴に入らずんば虎子を得ず。

‘𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐠𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐜𝐚𝐯𝐞, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐜𝐮𝐛’

Pairing: Steven Grant|Marc Spector x detective!fem!reader

Warning: gore, horror-ish? (It turn out like a thriller), one cursed word, no love line whatsoever, this is not your typical fanfic.

A/n: it tooks me week to come up with a plot for this one, hopefully it's good enough lol.

Summary: Someone is always two steps ahead of you, or maybe three?

"H-hello? Is this the correct address for...oh..umm...detective Y/n? Hello?" A British voice from the doorbell camera disturbs the quiet of your apartment. Who could it be this soon? It is only 7 in the morning.

Y/n grumbles and forces herself to wake up, she pushes all the messy hair out of her face before walking to the front door. Whatever this man has to offer better be important. There is this case that she has been working on and can barely get any sleep because of it.

Y/n opened the door in a whoosh, and before the man in front of her could say anything, she put on a smile and said what she had been saying for a thousand times. "Yes, hello, I'm Y/n, the number one female detective. Justice is my sword, and truth shall be my quiver! How can I help you? "

God, you hate your catchphrase, it's too late to change it now anyway, but this is not the time to talk about it.

"Oh...hello, I'm Steven... with a V, and I work as a gift shopist, from the London museum? Do you... remember?" The man named Steven fiddles with his jacket sleeve while talking.

Y/n stood there dumbfounded from the morning daze before letting out a loud "Oh!". She remembers this man, Steven Grant, as the only witness to a terrible and mysterious crime that occurred just days ago.

How could Y/N forget him? She was the one who investigated him about everything. The poor man is on the verge of crying and can't even finish answering all the questions . Speaking of that, it's also the case that has been giving her a headache and sleepless nights.

"Oh yes, Steven, right? Come in please. You have made up your mind to talk about that event?" Y/n step to the side and open the door wider.

Steven smiles and excuses himself to go in while talking, his voice still has a hint of hesitation. "I think so. I'm still traumatized, but I think talking about it now is the right decision."

"I appreciate that a lot. Make yourself at home, Steven. I will make you some tea." Y/n gave the British man a comforting smile before disappearing into the kitchen, unaware of how she got a pair of eyes staring at her back.

===☾︎ ☾︎ ☾︎===

After waiting for Steven to finish his cup of tea (mixed with an unhealthy amount of honey), Y/N pulls out a stack of documents including paper and multiple pictures. Most of them are wrinkly and filled with red circle marks.

"Now Steven, I want you to let me know everything that you will and can tell me about this crime...event...whatever you prefer, okay?"

After earning a slow nod from Steven, Y/n pulled out a picture of a gory crime scene: A woman's bloody body was discovered on the ground, with all ten of her fingers severed, and more importantly, her face appears to have been pierced multiple times by a sharp object, making identification difficult.

Steven gulped looking at the picture, the red blood made him feel a bit dizzy and nervous. Y/n noticed how he tensed up and switched to the next picture that got cut from the CCTV camera of the museum: A blurry figure of a person in a hoodie and hand gloves. Their back was facing the camera. Other than that, nothing is worth mentioning.

"So Steven, do you find the man familiar? Or maybe the woman has something that catches your eye? I know it is hard since we barely have anything to work with, but everything helps" Y/n let out a long sigh before licking her dry lips.

This murderer is different than any other killer she has met, attacked the face? Fine enough, but chopped off fingertips so the police couldn't trace down the victim's identity? Far too insane.

When Y/n arrives at the crime scene, there is nothing whatsoever. Usually the killer leaves behind their weapons since carrying them would be too risky, but in this case, there is no weapon or anything near by that could do such damage to the woman's face. That could only mean one thing: the killer does not intend to stop at just one victim.

It is still too early to say it, but you trust your mind. This guy is a serial killer, and if nobody stops him soon, more people will be in danger.

"Ah! This- This right here..." Steven exclaimed while pointing at a film photograph that he had pulled out from the stack. Y/n's eyes lead toward where Steven is pointing: a small symbol written on the woman's palm.

Y/n scratches her head in disappointment, she already knows about this one. In fact, it is where she's stuck at. The more she thinks about it, the more it ends up in an image of the killer mocking her for not being able to de-code it, resulting in a nightmare at night.

"It's a number written in Arabic, ثلاثة - pronounced thalatha. It means 3, I can't believe my own eyes..." Steven hold the photograph high up, eyes bulging out in amazement.

This discovery shocked Y/n and brought a chill down her spine. Arabic? Numbers? Of course, the hint to solving the case is right here. She can't let it pass.

Y/n chewed on her fingernails (a habit of hers when she's anxious) while scribbling down what Steven had said in her notebook and letting her detective brain run wild.

If what Steven said is correct, then there must be two bodies that haven't been discovered yet, each representing a number. In this case, the numbers written on the other victim's palm must be واحد - pronounced wahed (which means 1) and اثنين - pronounced ethnein (which mean 2), the woman in the museum that they're discussing is obviously 3.

It all makes so much sense now. The killer must be writing a number on the victim's palm as a sick way of counting their possession.

"God Steven THANK YOU SO MUCH! I get it now" You hold on to Steven's shoulder and shake him out of excitement. The poor man can't do anything about it except yell out inaudible words.

=== 3 days later ===

"Y/n! Miss! Please come to the museum, I think...I think the killer is here!" Steven said into the phone, after hearing a frantic "I will be there! Hide!" he hung up the phone.

Hide? Who is she kidding? Steven tossed the phone on the table and continued doing his job in the inventory room. He takes a glance at the clock; the ticking sound is hypnotizing him in a weird way. Steven smirks, the job will be done in approximately 10 minutes.

But when he exited the inventory room, a loud voice yelled out, making him flinch in surprise. "Hey you! Josh right? What are you doing at this late man? Go home!"

A security guard? Steven is a bit forgetful when it comes to work hours in the museum. He quickly flashes a smile to the guy and apologizes. But like Steven has said before, the job will be done in 10 minutes, and he will do anything to finish it in that time.

---

When Y/n finally arrives at the museum, she runs straight in, and what awaits her is far more shocking than she could imagine. The iron smell of blood is everywhere. There is a man lying on the ground with a beaten up face. His fingertips also got chopped off.

Y/n cried in agony; another person had been killed under the hand of that serial killer.

All hope left her body when she checked for the man's pulse. It was too late. He was dead and there was no need for medical action. But what catches Y/n's attention is the number on the man's palm.

ثلاثة

Why? Why is it still thalatha? She expects to see the number 4, with the symbol أربعة, but this is no doubt the same symbol as the previous victim.

Y/n holds her head in pain, she is wrong about the number. If so, what does it potentially mean? Wait, Steven... Where is he? You have to go get him first. He could be in danger now.

But before Y/n could even look around for him, Steven appears in front of her, covered in blood.

"Omg Steven! Fuck... you're bleeding. Let's get you out of here before-" Y/n abruptly stops when she looks at what is in Steven's hand: a large metal thing that is in the shape of a crescent moon, with fresh blood still dripping from the sharp edges.

Y/n fall back in fear and shock. Steven is the serial killer this whole time? No...it can't be.

"Detective Y/n, you sure are quick with your thinking, I guess it is a must if you are working in this field. If you're so smart, why don't you count for me?" Steven gives Y/n a sinister smile, eyes locked on her shaking body.

Y/n uses all her strength to answer back. "Wha-What do you mean, two? There are only two of us here. "

Steven let out a disappointed sigh and whisper. "Wahed"

Suddenly, his eyes rolled back so hard you could only see white. The British man let out a groan before exhaling, his hands gripping harder on the moon-shaped weapon. He looks the same as before, but his whole demeanor and facial expressions change. It's almost as if the man in front of Y/n is now a different person.

The man's eyes get darkened before he laughs, mouth only musters out: "Ethnein"

Y/n's soul left her body at that moment, she wanted to run but her legs refused to cooperate. Tears began to stream down Y/n's face when she realised what was going to happen next.

Thalatha.

She is number 3.

#steven grant x reader #steven grant x y/n #steven grant x you #marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #marc spector x y/n #jake lockley #marvel moon knight #moon knight imagine #moon knight x reader #steven grant #marc spector #oscar isaac #moonknight

84 notes · View notes

thestalwartheart · 2 years

Text

short fic: blue 🔵

Hello! 👋

This short little 00Q fic grew from a draft of a previous prompt fill. I couldn't stop thinking about this little scene, so I'm putting it out in the world anyway. I hope you enjoy. 💙

Under the cut, as usual, or available on AO3.

blue.

When he is thirty-four and M is buried in the ground, Q knows it’s all his fault. He can’t look at Moneypenny without feeling the sick turn of guilt in his stomach. In fact, he can’t look at anyone except the one other person who was there for it all.

James Bond finds him in MI6’s blue-lit server room. He hands Q a hip flask without a word and Q drinks. One sip turns into two, two to three. When three turns to four, Bond revokes his drinking privileges.

“That’s enough,’ he warns, not unkindly.

Q swears around a small, silent burp. “Sorry, that’s probably quite a good whisky.”

“Consider it payment for the lost gun.”

God, the gun that got fed to a Komodo dragon. That seems like a lifetime ago.

For nearly ten minutes, silence reigns. Q can’t even hear Bond’s breathing, though he supposes that’s just one of those agent-specific things: an ability to keep quieter than the steady whoosh of air conditioning between server racks.

In any case, the quiet stretches so long and thin that it becomes unbearable.

“It was my fault,” says Q.

Bond snorts. “Well, that’s a bit bloody arrogant.”

“I don’t see how it’s anyone else’s. One bad decision is all it takes, and I made a fucking monumental one.”

“You think I don’t know about bad decisions?” Bond asks, ignoring Q’s sharp sound of interruption. “If I was ten seconds quicker, she wouldn’t have been shot. If I’d killed Silva on that island, none of this would have happened. If my grandmother had wheels, she would have been a bike." More quietly, he argues, "You can’t think like that, Q. It’ll destroy you.”

Bond takes a swig out of his flask, and Q uses the opportunity to really look at him for the first time in days. The exhaustion lingers on his face, his eyes puffy and red, though it might well be from drinking. He looks as he did the day Q first met him in the National Gallery. A relic covered in the dust of ruins.

“She liked you, you know,” Bond tells him, either not noticing or wilfully ignoring Q’s study of him.

“What?”

Bond gives him a small smile. “Somewhere near Stirling, she called you the brightest mind of your generation.”

Oh. Oh, bloody hell. That has Q’s eyes watering dangerously, which…shit, he can’t. Not in front of Bond. But it’s useless. He’s suddenly remembering every conversation he ever had with her, from the most inane to the one he’d been called in for far earlier in his career than he’d been expecting.

“It doesn’t matter if you feel ready,” she says, “You’ll have to be. You’re the only man for the job.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

He turns on his heel, the new Quartermaster of MI6, and tries not to trip over his own feet. He feels woefully unsteady, as if a light breeze from the window would knock him over. Before his trembling hand can open the door, she calls his name.

When he turns around to face her, that usual lioness-like visage is showing cracks. She looks both tired and full of contrition.

“You’ll make mistakes,” she warns. “But we all do. Learn from them, and don’t let them fester.”

Two huge, warm hands on his cheeks bring him back to the present, wiping away a week’s worth of tears. It feels more intimate than anything he’s ever experienced. Closer than the tightest hug, and more fulfilling than most of the sex he’s had. When Q finally summons the courage to look up into Bond’s face, Q finds himself near enough to count eyelashes.

And he might have tried to if he weren’t so distracted by the eyes. They’re so blue. Cobalt. Unnaturally vivid under the LEDs shining down on the server racks.

Perhaps that’s why Q does it.

He leans in and kisses Bond. It’s an awful kiss. Clumsy in the extreme. Besides that, he hasn’t stopped crying, his breaths are uneven, and his whole face is wet and snotty. He’s not surprised when Bond puts a stop to it.

“Shit, I’m so sorry. I know you’re not into…” he can’t say it, so he waves his hands pathetically and looks away.

“Wouldn’t have thought you were one for assumptions.” Bond murmurs, stroking a thumb over his cheek. “You’re wrong.”

“Then why…”

“Something tells me you’d regret it.”

Q regrets a lot of things. He regrets not leaving his room more at university. He regrets going to a different bakery last week for pastries (new and shiny but vastly inferior to his usual). He regrets…God, his biggest regret of all is playing right into Silva’s hands by plugging that fucking laptop into the network.

But he can’t imagine regretting this.

“I wouldn’t,” he whispers.

Bond smiles, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Then ask me again tomorrow.”

Without waiting for Q’s confusion to abate, he gets up, dusts himself off and reaches out a hand to help Q up.

“Come on. I’ll drive you home.”

#00q #00q fic #my fic

105 notes · View notes

sga-owns-my-soul · 8 months

Note

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 🤍

omg i love this and you for sending this to me!! thank you!!!

Like him and John had found their own special, unique thing, hidden away from the rest of the universe. Their own secret discovery, too beautiful and precious to share with anyone else.

this one is the first fic i ever posted on ao3 and it holds a very special place in my heart, it's my actual personal headcanon for john and rodney's relationship (yes i know i'm a die hard mcshep fan and i always will be but they aren't actually in a canon romantic relationship in the show and this fits with that so fight me)

In the Pegasus galaxy, there’s many stories that are told. Stories of ancestors, and of the past. Stories of the stars and the skies, stories of good and bad. This story is about a scientist. They say he creates miracles, saves lives; some even say he’s one of the Ancestors themselves. But the scientist doesn’t only bring good.

i'm a sucker for anything that includes john and rodney being part of folk stories in pegasus and i wrote about that! it's short but i think it's really cute

“John, we don’t have to do this,” Rodney whispered, offering one last out, heavily aware of all the eyes in the room on them. “Shut up McKay. Atlantis needs this trade deal, and this is the only way to get it. Just, get on with it.” John’s voice was quiet and strained, and Rodney felt his chest tighten. He took a deep breath. He could do this. He could fuck his best friend, whom he was in love with, and had been for years, in front of a room full of people, including his other two team mates.

classic aliens made them do it pwp it's fun it's hot it's silly i love it!

“I need you to teach me how to get through it.” Rodney finally looked up at John, meeting his eyes directly with a hard stare. John felt anger well up in him, but then he noticed how Rodney was gripping his arm, and he remembered what had happened not even 3 days ago. He felt angry for a different reason.

i think this is my least popular fic that i've posted on ao3 but i really like it. i just really love the idea of rodney seeking out john to learn how to deal with The Bullshit that comes with their job

John’s hand shook as he swiped the chime. He was at his wits end and didn’t know what else to do. Everything had gone wrong so fast, and he didn’t even know why. The door whooshed open after a second, and he was met with an angry glare.

i'm a sucker for both misunderstandings and the entirety of atlantis taking rodney's side in a fight and this has both! plus john forcing himself to talk about his ✨feelings✨ out of desperation is always great!

#ahhh thank you for this!!!!!#you're the sweetest #i'm really really proud of these fics honestly #and i'm proud of myself for writing them #thank you for giving me an excuse to share these again!!#ask tag #my writing #fan fic #sga fan fic #john sheppard #rodney mckay #mcshep #sga #stargate atlantis

6 notes · View notes

dapandapod · 2 years

Text

Beloved

So! This was the last of the prompts for @thepassifloradiscord Fluff Bingo Card nr 3, this time for Getting engaged!

Written around midnight and posted as soon as I woke up, so sorry if my spelling and grammar is a little funky but I'm running out of time xD Please enjoy our boys! <3

On Ao3 here

Witchers don’t get nervous, Geralt tells himself, fiddling with the flower Jaskier gave him, absolutely feeling nervous. The day had been perfect, just the two of them on the road, but Jaskier was… different.

Good different, but a way that made him ache with anticipation. The bard is planning something, Geralt can tell. It’s in the way he keeps smiling secretly to himself, keeps checking his pockets, the way he gave Geralt a flower and kissed his cheek, like he gave him his entire heart to hold- yes, Geralt is a little nervous.

He feels like he is being courted. Wooed. And it's working, despite already being thoroughly lost on the man. Every time Jaskier reaches for him, it's like when he first finally acknowledged this thing he was feeling for Jaskier, and let himself respond to it.

Roach is pulling at the reins next to him, finding him an absolute bore when he doesn't let her graze by the road side. Technically, they are on their way somewhere, but there is also absolutely no hurry.

He walks next to her, and when she realizes Geralt will not give in, she sighs. Big heavy sigh. She hangs out too much with the bard.

"So dramatic." He tells her with a smile, and she agrees, letting her ears droop and drags her legs behind her.

"What did I do?" Jaskier asks from in front of them, turning to look at Geralt. Fuck he is so beautiful.

"Wasn't talking to you." Geralt tells him, and pats his dramatic mare on the neck, only to see his dramatic bard fake swooning.

"Oh, no, he loves me less than his horse! Oh woe me!"

There is only one reply to that, so Geralt hums and rolls his eyes. This is not a discussion he will have with both of them present, or things are going to go sideways really quick.

There is a set up resting spot by the side of the road, a few travelers there already, but Jaskier frowns at them and shakes his head and leads them on. He doesn't say why, but the way he takes hold of Geralt's hand, their fingers laced together, palm pressed against palm, it doesn't matter.

All is well as long as Jaskier holds his hand.

Yes, Geralt is a sap. He can admit it in the safety of his own mind. No witches here to read it anyway.

They walk until Jaskier seems to find what they are looking for. A small, overgrown trail takes them to an old burnt out house. The only remenants of what once were is the cornerstones and the wild but beautiful garden.

Jaskier smiles and leads them towards a big old apple tree. Before Geralt lets him unpack Roach however, there are some things to confirm. Like the witcher he is, Geralt walks around the house, flower behind his ear and ready to draw his sword should his medallion make the smallest vibration. But it seems clear. Just the singing birds and the whooshing of leaves.

"Finished?" Jaskier asks, hands at his sides. Geralt nods. "You don't remember clearing out this area only two springs ago?"

....Did he? Maybe he did.

"You got 20 Orens and a gwent card." Jaskier reminds him, and oh yes, alright, Geralt remembers. He got an excellent archer card from that one, that he traded with Lambert as soon as he met him.

"Now come join me. Oh, and maybe take off Roach's saddle, we're going to be here for a while."

"We are?" Geralt asks with an amused smirk.

"Oh yes." Jaskier agrees and looks away with a blush, touching his pocket again. It makes Geralt curious out of his mind, but he won't ask.

Together they set up the tent and a picnic blanket Jaskier somehow smuggled into their packs. The wine had been saving is also brought up, and from his own bag, Jaskier produces a kind of cookie with jam and some honey for the stale bread Geralt picks up from one of the saddle bags.

It's early summer still, too early still for the heat to become troublesome, but late enough for flowers to spring forth everywhere and the apple tree to bloom. They eat their make shift dinner in relative silence, which is unusual for Jaskier, but he looks lost in thought. Geralt doesn't push, just enjoys listening to Roach snorting, the birds singing, the gentle humming of Jaskier as he absently chews on a piece of bread.

When Jaskier attempts to chew on the cork from the wine bottle, Geralt intercepts his hand, grabbing his wrist.

"Alright. Spit it out."

Jaskier tenses up, his every feature reads how nervous he suddenly is.

"What?"

"You almost ate a cork. What is distracting you this much?"

Only now does Jaskier notice that it indeed is a cork in his hand, and he lets it go with a frown.

"I... Hmm." Jaskier says, and that infuriating blush is back again, and he can't seem to meet Geralt's eyes. "I have a surprise for you?" Jaskier dives towards his bag again, digging until he can find a little wooden box with some fabric sticking out.

When he opens it and shows it to Geralt, the witcher can't help but gasp.

"Grapes? This time a year?"

"You have no idea how much I paid for these." Jaskier agrees. "Come. Put your head in my lap."

Jaskier leans back on the apple tree, Geralt resting his head on Jaskier's thighs. It is comfortable. Familiar. Every now and then, Jaskier pops a grape into his mouth, plays with his hair, and then finally picks up a poetry book and reads it out loud.

It is a love poem, of course. They have been, for the past weeks. Jaskier's free hand is resting on Geralt's chest, fingers tracing the worn fabric of his tunic.

"Geralt?" Jaskier asks after a while, and Geralt realizes he has closed his eyes.

"Hmm?" He doesn't open them. Too comfortable.

"There is... I have something I want to ask you."

The bard's hand is still on his chest now, the book put down and the grapes gone. It's just them, and the way that Jaskier is looking down at him.

"Ugh, no, this is such a weird angle, sorry, here."

Jaskier helps him sit up, making room for him to lean against the tree. Their knees knock together and Jaskier takes a hold of his hand again.

"You know I am a viscount, right?" Geralt nods. "It doesn't mean much in the end, but it does make loving me a little more... serious."

"I know this. I still want you." Geralt reassures him, tightening his grip. "If you'll have me."

"My sister is married now, and she has taken over our estate. I am a man free to love again." Jaskier says shakily, before letting his free hand slide into his pocket and dig out a little pouch. "Which brings me to this."

Oh. Wait. Hang on.

"I love you, Geralt, you must know." Their eyes finally meet, and they turn to face each other properly. "You make each day worth waking to, each step worth taking if it is by your side."

Geralt's heart is doing something weird, it is beating hard as if he is in a fight, his hand suddenly feels damp against Jaskier's, and witchers are not supposed to be nervous, but things are about to irrevocably change.

"Geralt of Rivia, you are the best and the worst thing that ever happened to me. I have nothing to offer you but my hand, but if you would take it, you would make me the happiest man in the world."

For a long moment, Geralt doesn't know what to say. He looks at Jaskier's hopeful eyes, his hands growing even more clammy.

"What?" He manages finally, and Jaskier chuckles.

"Guess you haven't been proposed to too often." He jokes, and oh, it is really happening. "Geralt. Will you marry me? I have talked to my sister's adviser and he says that-"

"I will. I do. I-" Geralt interrupts. He doesn't know what to say, what to do, his hands are shaking with some kind of adrenaline, worse than that first time he pushed himself into kissing Jaskier. The bard's hands comes up to hold his face, to cradle his jaw, and their foreheads press together.

"You want to?" Jaskier breathes, smile spreading on his lips.

"I want nothing else. Anything that will tie me to you. Everything." Geralt whispers, closing his eyes when Jaskier is kissing him, soft, happy pecks that makes him laugh.

"So not marrying me for my title then?" Jaskier jokes.

"Fuck your title." Geralt growls, leaning in to kiss him again and Jaskier chuckles.

"I got you a ring..." Jaskier says finally, leaning back, a blush climbing from his ear to his chest. He fiddles with the little pouch, untying it and revealing a golden ring on a chain. "Figured you are not a ring person, but I wanted you to have this."

"Help me put it on?" Geralt asks, turning his back and lifting up his hair so that Jaskier can reach. His warm arms are around him, reaching around, and then he feels him fiddle with the clasp at his neck.

The chain is a little shorter than the one for his medallion, but not by much. It hangs over his heart, and Geralt presses his hand to it, Jaskier's arms wrapping around his waist as he leans against his back.

"I love you, witcher mine." Jaskier whispers.

"I love you, poet of my heart." Geralt whispers back.

Alright, maybe he is a sap outside his head sometimes too. It is worth it however, when Jaskier holds him closer and kisses him behind his ear.

"I was so nervous you wouldn't want this." Jaskier admits after a while.

"I'm a greedy man, Julek." Geralt murmurs back. "Everything you offer, I will accept. Always."

"Help me put on my ring too?" Jaskier says shakily, letting go of Geralt only so he can turn back and bring out the other ring that was in the pouch. More finger sized this time, with more elven inscriptions.

Geralt holds Jaskier's hand in both of his, slowly putting the ring on his ring finger. When he is done, he presses feather light kisses to each of Jaskier's fingertips.

They sit on their blanket for a long time. Until the light fades, they feed each other what is left of the sweets, until hands start to wander and it is time to go inside the tent and touch, feel, love each other in every way they can.

They fall asleep in each other's arms, Jaskier's ring clad hand resting over Geralt's heart, next to a ring with elven script, just one word.

Beloved.

#geraskier #established relationship #getting engaged #fluff #geralt x jaskier #the passiflora discord #roach my beloved #dapanda writes #the witcher #picnic #part elf jaskier #because i say so

43 notes · View notes

justabooknerdposts · 1 year

Note

hi !! would you be willing to post a one-shot with the underwater kiss that happened in the air bubble in tlo from percys pov? you're literally an amazing writer and i think you'd handle this pretty well

***So, I hadn’t checked my Tumblr messages in a long time (I think I may have forgotten it was a feature, oops!), but when I logged back in, one of those messages was a request for the famous underwater kiss from Percy’s POV. When I actually sat down to write it, Annabeth started talking, too, so it’s from both of their POVs. It’s a little sweet, and a little awkward. Classic Percy lol Hope you enjoy! Also, to the anonymous asker, sorry it took so long to respond!***

***

WHOOSH.

Normally, the cool lake water would have felt like a shock, but since the evening air was still thick with summer humidity, it just felt refreshing. Plus, at the moment, Annabeth was too giddily happy to feel the cold. Percy’s hand was still gripping hers, even as they sank into the lake. She had to fight back a grin to keep from accidentally swallowing lake water.

Once they stopped sinking, she automatically kicked upward, but Percy tugged on her hand, pulling her back down. When she looked at him through the murky green water, he gestured towards the bottom of the lake, about fifteen feet down. She frowned, but he gestured again, his expression clearly saying, Trust me. And she did. So she nodded and let him pull her to the bottom of the lake, hoping he would remember that she couldn’t breathe underwater (as he’d reminded her before he’d disappeared into New York Harbor just a few days ago).

She shouldn’t have worried. Once they were floating a few inches above the lakebed, Percy closed his eyes. Bubbles rushed towards them, some remaining from their initial splash into the water, and formed a much larger bubble, enclosing them in a protected cocoon of oxygen. Annabeth’s ears popped as the pressure equalized, and she took a deep breath.

“Nice,” she said, looking around the bubble. The memory of Siren Bay flashed through her mind.

Percy grinned. He was still holding her hand. He hadn’t willed himself dry, which she appreciated, since she obviously couldn’t. Plus, he looked really cute with his dark hair plastered to his forehead, his green eyes reflecting the color of the lake around them. “Well, you know, the whole son of Poseidon thing. It had to be good for something.”

“I knew it would pay off eventually,” Annabeth said, finally allowing herself to smile.

“Oh yeah?” Percy returned the smile.

“Yeah.” Annabeth moved a fraction closer to him. Her lips were still tingling from their kiss in the dining pavilion. She really wanted to kiss him again, but so far she’d been the one making all the moves. This time, she wanted himto make the decision.

***

Standing only inches away from Annabeth in a not-super-roomy bubble under the lake was making it hard for Percy to think clearly. Especially since she looked so good, even with her hair dripping wet. Her damp orange t-shirt was clinging to her in ways Percy found really distracting. His head was still buzzing from the kiss in the pavilion. He definitely wanted to kiss her again, but he wasn’t exactly sure what to do. Why did everything look so easy in movies?

He wondered for a moment, when Annabeth stepped towards him, if she would just solve the problem for him. But when he met her eyes, he saw the message there—Your move, Seaweed Brain—as clearly as if she’d said it. The first two times, she’d kissed him. If this was what he wanted, he needed to step up.

So, taking a cue from slow dancing, Percy put one hand on her waist, the other on her neck, summoned his courage to pull her closer, and kissed her.

Her lips tasted like blue icing. After a moment, Annabeth pressed closer, her arms sliding around him. Percy fought down the urge to smile because he couldn’t keep kissing her if he was grinning like a maniac. And he definitely didn’t want to stop kissing her yet. Or ever.

And maybe they didn’t know exactly what they were doing, but that was okay. They’d figure it out. The prophecy was finished. They had time now.

***

Annabeth eventually had to pull away to breathe. Her heart was doing a happy gymnastics routine, though, while her brain was saying, Finally!

“Wow,” Percy said, looking a little bit like he’d been knocked over the head by a giant’s club.

Still feeling giddy, Annabeth laughed. When Percy grinned at her, she thought maybe, just maybe, this could be the start of something really good.

“Come on, Seaweed Brain,” she said, taking his hand and feeling another thrill when his fingers wrapped around hers. “Our friends are probably waiting.”

Hand in hand, they swam for the surface.

***

***Thanks for reading! If you want to read a story set immediately post-The Last Olympian, my story August 19th (on Ao3 and FanFiction.net) covers that and briefly touches on their possible conversation once they re-surface.

Now, quick announcement: in honor of the Nico/Will book The Sun and the Star coming out May 2nd, the PJO TV show being in production, and, of course, the new Percy, Annabeth, and Grover book The Chalice of the Gods coming out Sept. 26th, I’m going to open up to requests. I've never really done this before, but I think it could be fun. As of right now, I will only be taking requests from now (January) until Dec. 31, 2023. Just a couple of requirements for requests:

Canon-only requests (AU is not my strong suit). College fic and future fic requests are also totally fine—these are fun

Canon-only pairings—for example, Percabeth, Solangelo, Jasper, Caleo, Frazel, etc. However, if there are minor characters who aren’t specifically stated to be with someone, we can play with those

Missing moments are probably my favorite, or anything with character backstories that we don’t necessarily see in the text (either lead or minor characters)

All series—PJO, HOO, TOA—are fair game

Requests for crossovers with Kane Chronicles or Magnus Chase will be accepted—I like these series, too, lol and the canon crossovers have been fun

I will try my best with all requests, but reserve the right to adapt as needed to make a scene work

If you have questions, send me a message—I will try to respond in way less than a year this time 😉 And please, feel free to start submitting requests!! 😊

#pjo #fanfiction #ff #fanfic #percabeth

13 notes · View notes

apocalypanties · 2 years

Text

Okay so, for the past month I’ve been mixing powdered Lion’s Mane mushroom into my coffee and smoothies. Grief ruined my short and long term memory, and I read about the brain-benefits of Lion’s Mane, so I’m trying it out. And holy shit…

- two weeks in, when I took a bit of THC/CBD oil before bed (normal low amount to help me drift off, I take it once or twice a week), I became aware of the shape of time. I wasn’t even thinking about it, I was thinking about my daughter starting school and then WHOOSH THIS IS WHAT TIME LOOKS LIKE, FYI. In case anyone was wondering, time looks like a fraying/growing cable full of energy, and we’re each a fibre travelling through it. Mkay? Anyway I didn’t realize the Lion’s Mane would react with the oil, but it definitely did, and I’m not complaining.

- three weeks in, my head started to feel like it was coming back alive. Less noise, less chaos, less fog. Like certain tracks were clicking back into place and thoughts were moving as they should’ve been all along.

- four weeks in, and where a month a ago I had to work so hard to recall basic information, (especially in work meetings, it was so frustrating and honestly scary, I’m generally a quick person and this past year has been such a struggle, I thought my mind was permanently damaged), now it all just comes. Before, I had zero ability to remember. If I didn’t write it down, it was gone in 10 minutes. Now it’s all just there, fully accessible. I’m slaying in meetings.

- I also realized a couple days ago that I haven’t felt anxiety in at least two weeks. I’ve always had anxiety and it was especially bad after losing my partner. Now it’s just not there. There were legit gunshots in my neighbourhood yesterday, and after reporting them, I got groceries and went for a walk with my dog and felt totally fine. Mild work drama doesn’t phase me. Thinking about my role as a solo parent/widow doesn’t eat me up anymore. I’ve started a new relationship and I’m not having panic attacks or catastrophizing everything. It’s going really well!

I’ve been taking about 2g per day (Longevity brand) and I guess I’m into mushrooms now. Got some Turkey Tail too. Hell yeah mushrooms.

Here’s some real science stuff about Lion’s Mane.

#hell yeah mushrooms

2 notes · View notes

thesquiddlesquad · 2 years

Text

Roger’s Old New Pet

It was a quiet Saturday morning. Geoffrey and his son Roger sat together in the living room, sharing a companionable silence. Happy not to be at work, Geoffrey had settled down on the sofa with a cup of coffee and an Agatha Christie novel. Roger lay sprawled on the carpet in front of his father, sorting through a small pile of bones. He had always been fascinated with skeletons and dead things. Geoffrey found it slightly unnerving, but not surprising. It was only to be expected that Roger turned out a little weird, all things considered. Right now, all that mattered was that the two of them were there together, enjoying a peaceful start to the weekend. At least, they were, until they heard the sound.

It came from outside, a sharp whoosh of air, followed by the roar and splutter of a struggling car engine. Father and son recognised it at once. Roger’s head shot up, and he scrambled to his feet, while Geoffrey sank further into the couch cushions, sighing.

“There goes our quiet day at home,” he muttered. Then he dragged himself to his feet, closed his book, and went to face the visitor.

On the doorstep was a tall, lanky woman with a tangled mop of dark hair and large cat-eye glasses. As soon as Geoffrey opened the door, she pushed her way inside like she still lived there. She was already talking.

“Ugh, this place is frigid after the Eocene epoch. That was a real toasty kind of time. You could – you could sit out with a tequila sunrise or something, like you’re on the beach. If you remembered to bring a chair.”

“Hello to you too.” Geoffrey let her words wash over him, having long ago abandoned any efforts to persuade her to make sense.

“Anyway, I got what I was looking for. Hey Roger, get over here, let me tell you about it.”

“What’s brought you back to the here and now this time, Meredith?” Geoffrey folded his arms. She never showed up just for the sake of it.

“What, I can’t come and see my son on his birthday?”

“Apparently not,” said Geoffrey frostily, “Seeing as his birthday isn’t for three days.”

“What? No, no, you’re shitting me. It’s the fourteenth.”

“Seventeenth,” Geoffrey corrected, “My birthday is on the fourteenth.” Meredith rolled her eyes.

“All right, fine, whatever. I’ll go and come back on the seventeenth if it matters that much.”

“No.” Both Geoffrey and Roger spoke at once – Roger in a frantic outburst, Geoffrey in a resigned sigh.

“Don’t go now,” Roger carried on, “I want to show you my bones. I’ve been putting together the skeleton you gave me, and I think I know what it is.”

“Oh yeah?” Meredith stuffed her hands into her pockets. “Go get ‘em then, let me see. Then I’ve got something to show you – something even better.” Roger disappeared back into the living room, and Geoffrey took the opportunity to whisper to Meredith:

“This had better not be something weird and dangerous.”

“Weird and dangerous? Nah, one – I figured just one of the two was enough. Oh pull the stick out of your ass, Geoffrey,” she went on, noticing his expression, “It’s something Roger’s gonna like, is what it is.”

Roger returned with a small skeleton in his arms, which he had fastened together – with some help from his father. He held it up proudly for Meredith’s inspection.

“I thought it was a bird at first,” he said, “But that didn’t make sense with the way the wing bones are arranged. Then I thought maybe a bat, but that wasn’t right either. But then…” He thrust the skeleton at Meredith, who took it and began turning it in her hands, examining it from each angle. Roger reached into his pocket and brought out a piece of paper. When he unfolded it, Geoffrey recognised it as a page from a book. He’d told Roger to stop tearing them out. Before he could say so, Roger went on. “I recognise it from here. It’s a pterodactyl – well, a miniature model of one.”

“Right and also wrong,” said Meredith. Roger’s eagerness melted into disappointment, until she added: “It is a pterodactyl, but it’s not a model. These bones are the real deal.” Roger snatched the skeleton back, his eyes wide.

“But… they were bigger than this, weren’t they?”

“Yeah, they were. I shrunk this one down ‘cause – so Geoffrey wouldn’t bitch that it was taking up too much space. Lot of my stuff took up ‘too much space’, according to him. Well, now I can have all the space I want.” Roger nodded.

“Dad says that to me too.” He fidgeted for a moment, then said: “Meredith?” Roger hadn’t called his mother ‘mom’ since long before she left. Geoffrey had tried to encourage it when he was small, but once it had become clear that using Meredith’s name was the only way you stood a chance of getting her attention, he had given up. She had never done much to deserve the title anyway.

“Yeah, what?” Meredith answered.

“…What’s my present?”

“Present, right – follow me.”

Instead of going back towards the front door, Meredith carried on into the kitchen. Roger followed her and Geoffrey followed him, wondering if he should be standing in front of his son, just in case. Meredith stopped in front of the back door, her hand on the knob.

“So, Roger,” she said, “Remember how you wanted a horse?” Roger’s mouth dropped open.

“Meredith!” Geoffrey protested, “I said not to get him a horse. We don’t have-”

“Space, yeah, I know. That’s why I got him something else that isn’t a horse. Definitely not a horse, I swear.”

“Then… what is it?” Roger asked.

“You’ll see.” Meredith pushed the door open. “Go on, get out, see what I mean.” Roger didn’t need to be told twice. He hurled himself through the door, leaving his parents to follow him.

Outside, a small brown animal, knee-high to Geoffrey, was racing around the garden. At first it was moving too fast for him to get a good look at it, but its next circuit brought it closer. Close enough for him to notice its distinctly equine appearance.

“Meredith,” Geoffrey repeated, “I said no horse.”

“Yeah, I heard you the first and the second time, Geoffrey, which is why I didn’t bring a horse. This thing here? Not a horse. It’s a prehistoric ancestor of the horse, which is better ‘cause it’s – ‘cause it doesn’t take up too much space. It’s – it’s like a horse, but smaller. There could not be more accurate representation of ‘the best of both worlds’. Except maybe if you took two planets and you kinda… you cut out the best bits of each planet and stuck them together into a new planet. Maybe I should try and do that…”

“Stop changing the subject. We can’t have a prehistoric horse running around our back yard.”

“Except you do. And Roger loves it.” She was, as she had the annoying habit of being, right. Roger was tearing around the garden in what seemed to be a game of chase with the not-horse – though it was hard to tell which was chasing which – and his eyes were wide with excitement. Resigning himself to his new life as a prehistoric animal owner, Geoffrey said:

“What are you going to call it, Roger?” Roger stopped running and stroked his hand pensively through his hair.

“Prequus,” he decided, “’Pre’ from ‘prehistoric’, mixed with ‘equus’ for horse.”

“Of course,” said Geoffrey dryly. Roger knelt down and held out his hand for the creature, which was slowly but curiously approaching him.

“Does it eat grass?” he asked, “Or was there something else around before grass that I have to feed it?”

“Oh yeah.” Meredith snapped her fingers. “Get a load of this. You know that shrub – that one over there?” She pointed to the corner of the garden. “The one you could never tell what it was and where it came from? Well, it’s there ‘cause I went back and – went and got it from thirty million years ago and then planted it here just before we moved in. So the food won’t – it’s not a problem.” Roger went over to examine the bush, followed by Prequus, while Geoffrey stood and massaged his temples. He could feel a headache coming on.

“Coffee, Meredith?” he offered, not knowing what else to say.

“Coffee?” she repeated, mockery creeping into her tone.

“I’m not offering anything else.”

“Then yeah, I’ll take a coffee.”

Geoffrey sloped back into the kitchen and picked up the coffee pot. There was still some left that he had made earlier, but it had gone cold. He tipped it down the sink and started making a fresh one. Meredith perched on the countertop, swinging her legs.

“Is it still just plain black for you?”

“Unless you’ve got any whisky.”

“Meredith, I am not giving you alcohol at 11am.”

“Yeah, you would say that, when you – when you’re still bound by the constraints of linear time. In my world it’s five o’clock whenever the Hell I want.”

“Well if you want to skip forward, go ahead, but I’m not promising we’ll still be home when you get there.” Geoffrey poured out two black coffees and handed one to Meredith. As expected, she didn’t bother thanking him.

“Why five o’clock anyway?” she said, more to herself than to him, “Who decided that? Who – who thought they got to decide what time it’s okay to start drinking?”

“Probably someone who wasn’t an alcoholic.”

“No, no, it’s not – it can’t be someone who’s not an alcoholic at all, or else why would they need a time? Why would they need a time to start drinking if they weren’t waiting to start drinking?”

“A borderline alcoholic then,” Geoffrey reasoned, “Or a recovering one.”

“Yeah, probably.” Meredith took such a vigorous swig from her mug that a trickle of coffee spilled out of the corners of her mouth. “Anyway, I don’t care what they think, so why should I care who they are?” Geoffrey sipped his own coffee and shrugged.

“You brought it up.” Meredith wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and went back to staring out of the window. Roger had pulled a branch off the prehistoric shrub and was feeding it to his new pet. When he saw Meredith looking, he waved.

“He misses you,” Geoffrey said.

“Probably because I let him have fun.”

“I’m being serious. You didn’t see what he was like after you left.” There was a silence during which Geoffrey heard exactly six seconds tick by on the kitchen clock.

“Yeah, well… I came back, didn’t I? I can come back any time I want, I can see him whenever.”

“It’s not the same thing,” Geoffrey insisted, “It’s not the same as you being here.” Meredith drank from her coffee again, tipping her head back to drain every last drop.

“It doesn’t matter,” she finally said. Geoffrey slammed down his own coffee cup hard enough to chip it.

“So that’s it, is it? You just don’t care.”

“No, not ‘I don’t care’ – ‘it doesn’t matter’,” Meredith said, as if the difference should be obvious. “It doesn’t matter if I care or not. Even if – even if I came back, if I stayed, it wouldn’t make any difference. It’s not like I’d be around much longer anyway.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Meredith pulled both legs up onto the counter and wrapped her arms around them. “What is it?” Geoffrey continued in a lower voice. “Do you die in the future or something?”

“Everyone dies in the future. Unless you manage to die in the past, which I might end up doing…”

“I know that. I’m not as stupid as you think.”

“Stupid’s relative. I would know – I’ve got a lot of stupid relatives.” She nudged him with her elbow, smirking at her own joke.

“Meredith, seriously. Did you see your future self die?”

“Damn, Geoffrey, I wish it was that interesting.” Meredith let one of her legs drop down and began swinging it back and forth. “No. I just know that now I’ve been out there, travelling through time and space and all that crap… Coming back to just stick in one lousy place… I think that’d kill me.” Geoffrey didn’t want to ask what she meant by that. He already had a good idea.

Before he could say anything at all, Meredith sprang down from the counter and clapped her hands together.

“Sure, there’s plenty of stuff out there that could also kill me – probably even faster – but compared to dying of literal boredom, that stuff’s the better option.” She was already shifting back into her usual flippant manner, filling up space with words that said nothing. Geoffrey had rarely been able to squeeze a serious conversation out of her before. Why should that change now?

“Roger!” Meredith called, already standing in the doorway, “Hey, Roger, you wanna see this thing I got from the future? It’s gonna – you can use it when you’re playing with Prequus. C’mere.” Geoffrey watched his son race towards Meredith, wide-eyed with anticipation. He knew how different his face would look later, when Meredith had left again. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to come between them. Not just now.

#writing #my writing #original fiction #ocs #original characters #oc meredith #oc roger #oc geoffrey #(finally named him)#btw geoffrey's birthday is the 14th of a different month - i didn't know how to make that clearer

2 notes · View notes

writer-zoe · 2 years

Text

Simulation

This is a story that I started from a tiktok. What if Earth wasn’t real? What if it was a prison, where people are sent to atone for their crimes? This is what I think it would be like. THIS IS NOT A COMPLETE STORY. Just the start and I don’t know if I’m actually going to finish it, though I do want to and have ideas, just not the motivation to write.

Death is scary, especially to younger folk, but when you’ve lived as long as I have, death is just the next step. I lived a good life, married an amazing man who moved on before me. That’s why I’m taking this so calmly, the doctors telling me that I was 3 months away from seeing my love again was a relief.

Opening my eyes, they landed on the woman sitting in the hard hospital chair. Tears had streaked her makeup down her face, “Marie, baby, go home. I’m not going anywhere just yet.” My daughter was just as stubborn as I was, I knew she’d say no, I just wanted to at least try to get her to go home and sleep. “You haven’t slept since they brought me in almost two days ago.”

“Mom, hush. I slept last night.” She lifted her hand, waving me off. She had me there, technically she slept, in that stupid chair she was still sitting in. Probably has back pain from it. “I’m fine, but how are you feeling?”

Like I’ve been running my entire life, everything ached, and a nap sounded really good but something nagged on me to tell my only child that I was fine, “I’m fine, little achy, but when ain’t I?” I chuckled at myself. “I love you sweetie, I’m a little tired, so I’m gonna take a nap.”

“Okay mom, I love you too.” She stood, pecking my forehead as she did so, “I’m gonna go get some late breakfast. I’ll bring you a muffin and some juice.”

“Okay baby,” I said as I closed my eyes for the last time.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When I opened my eyes again, I was encased in glass and metal. Fear swept me up, with confusion following closely behind. I died. I was old and I died. I was no longer in the hospital, the chair and bed gone.

“She’s awake.” A voice said, I couldn’t see anyone through the rounded glass window in front of me. “Ashley, welcome back. I hope your time on Earth was inspirational.”

Ashley, they knew my name, confusion took even more hold, “where am I?” Fear thick in my voice, not surprising. “And how do you know my name?”

A sigh entered the pod like thing I was in, “I’m not surprised, most take a minute to remember.”

“What.” But as soon as the word left my mouth, I was hit with a memory. I was in a court room, a judge with a mean face sentencing me to as many life cycles it took to atone for my crime. “Goddamn,” I said, the memory leaving me with a pounding headache. “I remember.” I must have completed the sentence. Did that mean I was free? I didn’t feel like the same person that was sitting in the court room.

“Good. We have to run a few tests. You went through 63 life cycles. One of the shortest of our inmates, impressive.” It didn’t feel impressive, I was exhausted. Was that why it felt like I’d been running my entire life those last moments? “Your physical health is where it needs to be, I’ll be opening the simulator, be careful stepping out.”

They had me at a slight angle, almost standing up, my head tilted back. When the pod opened, it was silent, not making the expected whoosh I thought it would make. “How long have I been on Earth?” Earth was a simulation planet, a prison. Inmates are sent there for as many life cycles it takes to not be a shitty person anymore. Stumbling as my feet hit the ground, I grabbed the edge of the machine that held me. Letting my eyes roam the rest of the room. Small, a square table pushed up against the wall, two chairs pushed in facing each other. An large desk holding multiple monitors and clutter sat in a corner behind me, two people behind it. With the pod in the center of the room, the desk was out of view when I was in it.

“Please, have a seat.” One was standing, clip board in hand, “I need to ask you a few questions.” The click of heals sounded as she stepped around the desk and towards the table. Taking her lead, I slowly stumbled towards the table, my legs numb.

#story #beginnings #novel beginning #personal writing #writing

3 notes · View notes

suitcasescalling · 1 year

Text

Home Sweet Narrowboat Home

Today is our last day on Rebecca, our narrowboat. We turn it in tomorrow morning and race to the airport to catch a flight to Edinburgh Scotland.

Thirty years ago I would not have enjoyed this trip as much as I have today. In my 20s and 30s I wanted more activity, more excitement, more adventure. I was also not sure I’d ever be able to return to a place so I wanted to wring every drop of “experience” out of it I could. Just floating along would have felt like a waste of a rare opportunity.

I suspect it’s the same reason I find classical music, even opera, more tolerable (even pleasurable) than I did 30 years ago.

When we first started out and found ourselves so sore I presumed it was because this was a young person’s endeavor. I was soooooooo very wrong! We’ve talked to so many other boaters and they are all over 40 at least, if not *well* into their retirement years. No, our aches and pains weren’t because of our age, they were because we were new to this! Now that we’ve gotten used to it, we don’t moan and groan as we head to bed each night.

(Mostly)

Ben and I love working the locks. Even after…I don’t even know how many locks we still get a thrill of opening that last panel (when filling a lock) and watching the mighty wave of water gush out of the gate. Whoosh!

This kind of travel also has us outdoors and active way more than we would be at home. Whether sitting up in the stern driving the boat, cranking open the panels in the locks, pushing open and close the 1,000 pound-plus lock gates, or going for a walk on the canal between locks we’ve been in the fresh (frequently chilly) open air every day and it’s been good for all of us.

We have created our own little home-away-from-home and our own little family. While Jeff and I knew both Patricia and Ben, they didn’t know each other. But they’ve fit together quite nicely only this trip. It’s a small space to discover you loathe a travelling companion!

In talking to other boaters, we’ve learned that they are interested in us as Americans because Americans have been slow to return to narrowboating post-covid. I think we make them optimistic.

Big points to Jeff for suggesting this. Big points to Patricia and Ben for joining us. I will remember this trip for a very long time.

It's seriously this wide only

View from the kitchen to the stern, where the steering gets done

Ben in the kitchen

One of two bathrooms. The shower is more comfy than expected.

Berth #1. Turn in place and you're looking at....

Berth #2

Berth #3 (where Jeff and I slept). Pass through the doors hidden by that little curtain and you're....

...In the seating area in the bow.

That's the whole 68' of the boat from one end to the other!

0 notes

kinksandkurlsss · 3 years

Note

What about Itachi for praise/ worship 👀 (if it's not taken ofc)

💀 KINKTOBER SPECIAL

Reader heads straight for bed for much needed rest after work, convinced the darkened circles under her eyes are due to a lack of sleep in recent days. Little does she know, however, the true source of her exhaustion lies in her dreams — an incubus lover she can only remember once she’s asleep, Itachi.

Trigger warnings: Elements of nonconsensual sex technically, since he’s an incubus

Note: For 18+, minors do not interact

(AO3 Link)

You’d just gotten home from work less than an hour ago and you were already so exhausted.

You slowly padded to the bathroom, sluggishly removing your purse, your shirt, your belt, and remaining articles of clothing as you prepared for bed.

Reality felt faded, like your eyes had been encased by some kind of invisible screen that made everything hazy. It became harder and harder to discern what was real from what was fake.

You assumed a lack of sleep was to blame, that you needed more of it, despite setting aside eight hours nightly to rest during the work week.

You winced as you looked at the darkened circles that had begun to form under your eyes in the bathroom mirror. Surely, they couldn’t be that dark?

Once you finished brushing your teeth and sliding on a pair of pajamas, you collapsed in your bed, too tired to even pull your comforter over your frame in the cool, dark room.

You fell asleep within seconds.

Finally, you would be able to rest once more.

Blackness shrouded your mind as you succumbed to slumber.

Soon, you weren’t able to move at all. Your limbs felt fastened to the mattress, like there were sandbags weighing down every inch of your frame.

You assumed you were asleep. But for some reason, you’d still felt awake somehow, but you couldn’t open your eyes. You wondered if you were having another episode of sleep paralysis.

You attempted to wiggle your toes, trying to recall tips you’d read online of how to awaken whenever things like this occurred. But those efforts proved unsuccessful.

Exhausted, you decided to try to clear your mind, to return to that blissfully ignorant state of unconsciousness for the next eight hours.

That was, until…

“Hello, beautiful,” you heard a male say in a deep tone that seemed to ring inside of your head. “I’ve missed you.”

That voice… who was that?

It sounded strangely familiar …

In your dazed consciousness you’d wondered if you’d might have heard it before.

“You have,” the voice answered slowly in your head, as you felt a presence stealthily creep from the shadows before it seemed to slowly begin to tower over you.

“My name is Ita—”

“Itachi,” you said breathily in the dream, little slivers of your recent encounters with the being beginning to float to the fore of your mind.

Suddenly, you felt a brush of air blow across your ear. Then, in a smooth tone that seemed to slither from your visitor’s lips, you heard him hiss excitedly in your mind, “Precisely.”

You could feel shivers begin to slowly inch up your spine when you began to recollect more slices of your evenings with the being. The things he’d do to you. Things you’d beg for.

You heard a tsk sound interrupt your clouded thoughts. “You think too much, love.”

Who … what … how did you meet this Itachi? When did you two …

“Shhhhh,” you heard him whisper in your mind.

“I will show you where we first met,” the voice said.

In an instant, you’d felt a whoosh of air against your frame, as your arms flailed in the darkness. You couldn’t discern whether you were flying or falling.

Within seconds, you materialized in a room.

There were red, embroidered satin curtains that decorated two large windows. The floors were marble. You could see a reflection in the tile, but jumped when you saw another woman staring back at you.

When you saw another reflection in a nearby mirror move at the same time, you touched your ear experimentally, only to see the reflection mimic you in real time.

Was that…

She looked like you, but not … you. She wore the most elegant sapphire gown you’d ever seen. Her hair was beautiful, wild curls upon curls that fell every which way. She also had a gold, emerald lock that…

You looked down and grew startled when you saw you wore the same necklace, the dress … your hair. Slowly, you began to stumble backwards, you hit something firm, yet soft.

“Hello, beautiful,” that same voice from before whispered against your ear. You felt your stomach drop as you rushed forward, struggling to process your sudden presence in the foreign environment.

When your eyes fell on the being, you saw … you saw a man. He wore fine clothes, a crimson silk blouse and black pants. His scarlet eyes seemed to glow with an intensity that rivaled even the flames lit at different corners of the room.

“I-Itachi,” you murmured as more of your memories began to flood your mind once your eyes met his.

How could you forget… He was … everything — is everything to you, as you were his. Each other’s reason for being. You’d known him for an eternity, it felt like.

You bunched up the train of the crimson satin dress you wore as you desperately rushed to meet him.

The being’s red eyes dimmed slightly as you hurried to his embrace, his sharp teeth baring for only a moment into a sinister grin as you nestled your head against his broad chest.

The instant your two bodies touched, you became overwhelmed by a craving for your lover. As you looked up to meet his hot-blooded gaze, you felt like your will was being taken over by an insatiable desire only he could slake.

Slowly, your hands slid up along his chest, clasping behind his neck as you grew consumed by those scarlet eyes.

“You’re hungry,” you said knowingly to the being.

She wasn’t supposed to say that, he contemplated to himself.

He still wondered how you were capable of not conceding your will entirely to him since he’d first attached himself to your consciousness days ago.

It was rare to find a human capable of such an act, able to still cling to her will despite charms from an incubus. It was so rare, in fact, that you’d only been the first prey capable of such that Itachi had fed on.

A single look was all it took, usually, to entrance a human. As possessors of old magic, incubi were able to concoct powerful illusions, capable of implanting childhood memories in their prey’s head of a life that never happened, as well as changing their form completely.

Most incubi would masquerade as people’s partners. Others would dig into the minds of their prey to match their appearance to that of their prey's deepest desires.

Only a few, like Itachi, did not alter their forms at all.

Instead, he would implant memories of him and his prey together in their minds as … himself.

He’d tell himself it was because he was up for a “real challenge.” Why make a woman fall in love with someone she’s already fallen for? Where was the fun in that?

But on a deeper level, he'd known of another reason … though he’d deny it at any cost.

In actuality, it was rather simple.

It was … acceptance.

Genuine acceptance … or as close as he could obtain in his cursed life.

When Itachi didn’t respond for several moments, you stroked his hair, pulling his attention to you once more.

“You’re getting lost in your head again,” you said softly against Itachi’s lips.

Itachi’s brows furrowed as he studied you.

Another line he didn’t script, he noted to himself.

Though Itachi would remain in his human form when he assumed control of his prey’s mind, he’d found the experience flowed more smoothly when he operated with complete steering of their consciousness.

Most incubi found it easier to extract life force when their prey already had a close tie to their form. But when incubi used a form virtually foreign to their prey’s mind, it’s usually much more difficult to foster a genuine tie to their consciousness, making it easier for his prey to reject him.

But with you … somehow you were capable of maintaining even a modicum of control of your mind, despite Itachi essentially holding the keys to your brain when you were sleeping.

While you were indeed under the effects of his magic, none of your words seemed to subscribe to any of the acceptable lines he’d outlined beforehand.

Nor your actions.

It was all very peculiar to the being.

If any of his past prey had this amount of control over their consciousness while he was at the helm, their minds would have eventually been able to build enough strength to combat his magic.

Yet, you … you seemed to genuinely be satisfied in this reality, as if there was some universe in which you could care for a being such as him.

Itachi lost focus when you pressed your lips suddenly to his, a strange feeling washed over him, one that felt alien in some ways but … pleasant.

Your kisses carried a warmth that seemed to spread to every part of him. He ignored the urge to grin against your lips when he’d realized even this kiss had been completely unplanned, another break from his scripted evening.

And, surprisingly, he found it … refreshing.

Itachi’s hands smoothed along your back as he molded his frame to yours, his large arms encasing your bodice as you deepened the kiss.

To you, he’d been your partner of five years in Itachi’s illusion, an incubus who saved you and your lover, whom you treasured above all.

In a blink of an eye, your feet were off the ground as he cradled you in his arms.

You giggled into his neck when he took you to the grand, golden arched bed that sat just feet from a matching set of amber furniture that had been adorned with the finest gems you’d ever seen.

His tender lips found yours as he laid you atop the fine bedding. You closed your eyes as your head pressed against the soft pillows while your lover continued to kiss you passionately in this disillusionment of his making.

When he pulled back slightly, his eyes, his sharp features, those lips, his hair … you couldn’t help but notice it all seemed so clear. Clearer than the world had seemed in a while for you.

You smiled as strands of his hair tickled your face once he climbed on top of you. You slowly raised your knees outward as he nestled his hips between them.

When your fingers found their way to his face once more, cradling his cheek, Itachi leaned forward slightly, but you stopped him just before he could reach your lips.

“Wait, love,” you said smiling, your eyes scanning his visage once more before staring deep into those pair of blood-red rubies.

Itachi stilled as your eyes locked onto his so fervently. In seconds, he was prepared to bed you, to harvest on your pleasure as he consumed your life force.

And you laid here, aware of his intentions to a degree, and with the shred of your will that remained, prepared to allow your lover to do just that.

He stubbornly found himself pondering if you were truly capable of loving a creature as he, or just so weak that you would be content to live here, in a fantasy with an incubus as your lover, even if it meant your doom in the waking world…

When your thumb tenderly rubbed him along his cheekbone, Itachi’s brows drew together as he studied your mind. You were … savoring this time with him.

“I just love when you make that face,” you said, softly giggling.

“Now…” you said before slowly guiding his face lower for his lips to meet yours.

The kiss was a slow build, growing deeper and deeper as the seconds passed, minutes of soft touches and kisses evolved into tender caresses and long, smoldering kisses.

“Itachi,” you whined as his sharp teeth grazed your neck. He grew ravenous as he felt your appetite for him beginning to overflow.

When he bit into your neck, you whimpered from the blinding pleasure as he began to draw on your life force.

He relished the taste, basked in it, as he began to suck on your neck. You moaned as the being began to grow more feral, his nails elongating to claws as he began to rip away your layers of fabric.

As he broke away, you felt yourself craving even more of him, needing him as you tugged at his pants, helping him remove his clothing with haste before he laid on top of you once more.

Your mouth crashed against his, eagerly sucking on his lower lips as he began to rub his thick erection along your wet folds.

You gasped against his lips when he began to plunge into you, he gnashed his teeth as he felt a flood of pleasure coupled with your life force began to flow into him.

When he began thrusting, you moaned as you felt waves of pure ecstasy overtake you. Being with him like this was unlike any pleasure you’d ever experienced.

Itachi became more wolfish by the second with every drop of your life force, the purest he’d ever tasted. It was almost healing.

By the time you’d begun to reach your peak, his eyes turned pitch black as he consumed more of you. Soon, he began to whisper in your ear praises of worship as your slick walls clenched tighter around him.

“My pet.” “You are my goddess.” “I can feel how close you are.” “I get hungrier just thinking about it.”

He could feel your pleasure building with each praise as you gave yourself to him, your life force now pouring into him.

Itachi growled once you reached your peak, eventually roaring as his thrusts became wilder, sloppier. And still, he yearned for even more of you.

He could kill you. Was ready to drink the last drops of your life force. The urge burned deep within him.

But as he looked down at your frame, something struck him when he saw your eyes flicker with a raw emotion as you stared into his.

You slowly lifted your hand to the being’s face once more as he looked upon you with an indiscernible emotion.

His quick thrusts slowed as he began to lose himself in your gaze.

No. You would live another night, he thought. She must.

When he finally came, the incubus let out a thundering yell.

“Mineeee,” he said a deep hiss as he barreled into you.

When his thrusts slowed to a stop, he pulled his prey close to his frame as you clung tightly to him.

This … these feelings … it all was strange to the incubus.

He was hesitant to let down his guard, but struggled against relaxing as you stroked his hair before dealing a series of small and pleasant kisses along his bare chest.

“I will — I will see you tomorrow … ,” he said hesitantly, as your kisses made their way up to his neck.

“I look forward to meeting you again,” you said, before your lips claimed his one last time and he wiped your memory once more.

#itachi #itachi x reader #naruto smut #naruto fanfiction #naruto fandom #naruto headcanons #kinktober

408 notes · View notes

covenofwives · 2 years

Text

Ticklish Dolls

Dream and George are bored when DreamXD comes to find them, keeping them entertained by showing of an array of wonderful items they've never seen before. Eventually XD shows the two a small white blob doll, with a wide smile and tiny black dot eyes. George is curious. Dream is panicking.

I swear, hand on heart I started this story way before talk of the ticklish blobs concept started here. Me and Llama were talking about this headcanon of XD having a blob doll of everyone on the server and giving them out in gambles, like they do with the heads, and this beautiful idea was born. And now that everyone is loving the concept this is the perfect time to post.

Please follow @fluffallamaful as she helped create this beautiful idea and gave me so much motivation for it.

This will absolutely be a series. I will be making more of these ticklish blob stories :)

---

It was almost easy to forget that DreamXD was a literal God. George had grown used to the extra arms, the mask of shifting colours and the fact that he had never seen the protector’s face fully. None of these factored into or changed the fact that XD was a friend.

So when he was always reminded that DreamXD, his friend and protector of the SMP, could create anything he wanted with just a thought, George was amazed.

“What is it?”

“Do you not remember them, Dream? You’ve seen them before.”

The day began with Dream and George hanging out in George’s cottage home. When mid afternoon rolled around, DreamXD had came to visit and the two were already bored out of their minds with every activity they had tried that they begged XD to show them, or take them, somewhere cool.

Perhaps the God was in a cheerier mood than usual, because XD complied and did both.

The God grabbed the two and whooshed them off to a glade neither Dream nor George had seen before. The trees were tall, and looked like oak but the leaves of them held small pink and purple flowers. There was a small pond tucked at the edge, surrounded by what looked like overgrown lilly pads and the bottom of it glittered like a crystal.

Dream and George were in awe of the beautiful glade when XD offered another activity for them.

DreamXD held out one of his hands, and with just the slightest of twitches in his fingers, a golden shimmering apple appeared in his palm. Dream and George were stunned, watching the twinkling fruit as XD held it up, grinning. Of course Dream and George had seen the apple before, but that was after harrowing adventures and in dangerous situations. To see it summoned so casually was beyond amazing

The two were still admiring it before George made a move, quickly trying to grab the apple from XD’s hand. Dream gasped but of course XD was too fast and raised it up, out of George’s reach. Dream was tense for a moment, worried XD would be angry, but his sibling only laughed to George’s attempt. George huffed before he and Dream screamed with a mix of shock and annoyance as XD quickly ate the apple in just a few bites. The God chuckled, relishing in their shock before he offered to show them more things.

And the afternoon carried on from there.

Now XD was sat in front of the two. In their hand they held what they said was a creature. It was a white box shape, similar to a shulker box. George was very excited when he first saw it, but when the box moved on it’s own and small eyes peeked out from the opening, he gave a small yelp, and scurried behind Dream.

“It’s a shulker.” XD chuckled. The top of the box twisted, trying to open itself more but XD placed a hand over the top to stop it.

Dream knew of the shulker boxes, but he couldn’t remember ever seeing one that was alive. He gave a slow shrug. “I don’t remember them…”

XD gave a low hum. “You were young when you saw them last, and it was a while ago.”

“Is that where shulker boxes come from?” George asked.

XD nodded. “They can be crafted from these. But they are locked away where no-one can’t get them.”

The box closed. Whatever creature inside it made a weird gargling noise and then XD tapped over the top and the creature disappeared. While George was clearly glad it was gone, he gave a frown of disappointment at still not getting his shulker box.

While XD had the amazing ability to spawn in anything with a simple thought, they had an annoyingly strong moral code. They refused to give out anything, even something as useless as flowers. So while XD seemed to be in a good mood now and showed off the items they’d usually never before, Dream and George thought it best to stay on XD’s good mood.

“Do you have anything that we don’t know about?” George asked, shuffling out from behind Dream again.

“You didn’t know about the shulker.” XD pointed out.

“Dream did.” George huffed. “Even if he didn’t remember it, he’s seen them before. What about something new?”

XD hummed in thought. He tapped one of his nails against the bottom of his mask before he seemed struck by an idea. “Something new? Well, it’s not exactly new but it’s something.”

While the mask covered XD’s face, the two could hear the grin with their words. Usually that grin meant it would be fun for XD and had some sort of peril for Dream and George, but when XD held out their hand and the next item appeared, the two were caught in different levels of surprise.

The item was about the size of XD’s hand, maybe just a little bigger. George wasn’t even sure what he was looking at. It looked like a white blob but the longer George stared at it, the more he realised that was exactly what it was.

It was a white cylinder shape with a large circular head. The only pattern on it was two little dot eyes and a wide smile stretched over it’s face. A very similar pattern to the face on Dream’s mask.

“It’s…what is that?”

“It’s a doll.” XD’s voice was light with joy. “I made it myself.”

“A doll… Is it of Dream?!”

“Yes!” XD’s voice trilled.

While George shuffled closer to look over the doll with curiosity and a growing amazement, Dream had stayed back and looked to the doll with wide eyed shock and a slow growing dread.

“Y-You… You still have that…?” Dream controlled his voice the best he could. He felt he was playing it cool until XD tilted his head to look at him. The mask covered his face but Dream could physically feel the grin behind the mask, and the blush rose to his cheeks.

“Of course, Dream! I’d never get rid of it.”

Dream repositioned his own mask over half his face, hiding most of his blush as George awed over the doll.

“It’s like a little blob doll.” George snickered. “Aww, it looks just like you Dream!”

“Shut up.” Dream huffed, lightly kicking his leg out to push at George’s hip.

“It’s also soft as well, George.”

XD’s words froze Dream. The blush over the blonde’s face was drained as he paled, but it came back double as quick when George looked up with surprise and scepticism.

“Really?” George raised an eyebrow as he analysed over the doll. “It doesn’t look soft.”

“Oh it is!” XD held out the doll, closer to George. “Feel it.” They insisted.

George hesitated before reaching out. His fingers made contact with the doll, just lightly poking into it’s face and he blinked. “Oh… It is soft!” He poked at the doll again, this time onto it’s body. “It’s squishy!”

Dream pulled the mask over his face just before the squeak passed his lips. George poked, again, into the doll’s side and Dream flinched, pulling his arms around himself.

Fuck! The stupid doll still has that!

DreamXD wouldn’t just use their power to make a regular doll. That would be too simple. The doll wasn’t just modelled after Dream as a kind gift for their brother; it was connected to Dream.

Everything that touched the doll, Dream could feel it too. Each little poke George made into the doll’s side was pressed into Dream’s, bringing a giggle up his throat and shaking his shoulders.

XD was looking over George, watching Dream’s reaction and no doubt grinning under that mask and Dream wanted nothing more than to rush over and grab the doll; but he couldn’t give away his reactions to George. He couldn’t imagine what George would do with the doll if he actually knew the connection.

“Don’t you want to look at the doll, Dream?” XD offered. His voice came out sweet and genuine, yet Dream could hear the smirk laying under that mask. He knew XD had it because that was the same tone of voice Dream used when he was grinning behind his mask.

“No. I’ve seen it…” Dream carefully spoke, trying to watch George and only talk when his friend was never touching the doll. Thankfully George seemed to lose interest in the doll, instead looking back to Dream.

“Why are you wearing your mask?” George asked, his eyebrows raising above his goggles in question.

“Cause I want to.” Dream snapped, regretting it as he saw George’s shoulders flinch. Just as he was thinking about apologising he saw George straighten himself up, puffing out his chest and matching Dream’s same attitude.

“Why are you being so anti-social now? What’s your problem?”

“Nothing…” Dream mumbled. He needed to drop the attitude but he couldn’t relax when XD still had that thing in their hand. It wasn’t helped at all when he saw XD’s thumb curl in and brush up and down the doll’s side. Dream jumped - even though his eyes had never left the doll - as he could feel the thumb rubbing up and down his side, tracing over his ribs and pressing into his side. It wasn’t too ticklish, but Dream’s skin prickled with goosebumps and shivered at even the slightest touch. Something about not having anything actually physically touch him but still tickling him made him more sensitive. “Stohop!”

“Stop what?” George lifted his goggles to get a better look at Dream. While he was frowning, his eyes betrayed his actual concern for his friend. “Why you being weird?”

“I think he’s jealous you’re giving attention to the doll, George.” XD sighed slowly, his voice low and hurt like an injured puppy. He actually sounded like he had been genuinely upset, but Dream knew his sibling better than that. XD was fucking delighted this was happening. “Dream never did like it…”

“What? Why?” George looked back up to XD. “What’s wrong with it? It’s cute.”

“That’s not the problem!” Dream snapped. While he himself knew he was behaving like a child, he wasn’t going to let XD make him seem so petty.

“Then what is?” George looked back to Dream.

“So you like my doll, Dream?” XD made their voice hopeful, annoying Dream all the more.

“No!… But not…ugh!” He glared at XD through his mask. He wished his blush would have went down so his anger could be fully seen. “You’re so annoying!”

George looked back to the doll as XD pressed his hand out, nudging into George’s shoulder to grab his attention. “Would you like to have a closer look, George?” XD offered.

George blinked his mismatched eyes. “Really?” He looked between the doll and XD. “Is that okay?”

“Of course!”

“No!”

XD and Dream both answered at the same time. George whipped his head between both of them.

“You don’t like it, Dream,” XD spoke calmly, “so what’s the problem?”

“He just…can’t…” Dream shuffled, but he wasn’t moving any closer or letting anything else slip. He’d die if he had to admit to George what the doll did.

“Well it’s not yours to give out,” XD sat up straighter with a matter-of-fact tone. He pressed the doll further to George’ practically putting in into his hands. “Go ahead, George.”

George gave a small giggle of excitement as he carefully rearranged the doll in his hands to have it sitting properly. He brought it close to his face, looking over every small detail and letting his thumb absent-mindedly brush down the front of the doll’s body.

“It’s so soft.” George complimented again. “It sort of feels like those knitted dolls people buy and follow the instructions to make.”

George’s thumb pressed in just a bit much, poking into the doll’s front and Dream flinched. He wrapped his arms around his stomach, puffing out his cheeks and holding back the laugh that almost spilled out. That poke was right above his belly button.

“It feels so firm too!” George carried on. “Squishy but cushiony. It pops back out!”

George squeezed the sides of his doll to prove his point, unknowingly kneading into Dream’s sides. No matter how hard the blonde’s hands rubbed over them, the feeling wasn’t going away. Not until George pulled his hand back, letting Dream give out a quiet sigh and have a moment of peace.

Just a moment though.

George’s fingers left the doll’s sides but they traced down to the bottom edge of the doll’s body. His finger moved unbelievably slow around the rim of the doll and Dream thought he was going to die, feeling that finger trace around his knee. He let out a snort, when the finger touched on the back of his knee, but nothing prepared him for George slipping his finger under the doll, swiping his fingernail along the end.

Dream fell back after his body practically jolted him into a dramatic jump. His legs kicked out, feet stomping into the ground as the feeling of that fingernail still swiped along the sole of his foot.

“G-Ge-ohohOHOhoge! S-Stohohop!”

George did stop. All his attention was onto Dream now after that jump. “What’s wrong?!” He asked, his voice laced with worry. Dream looked like he was having some sort of fit.

“Yes Dream, what’s wrong?” XD joined in to the question, but all fake worry and hurt was gone from his voice. He was very clearly delighted.

“N-Nohothing!” Dream managed to take in a gulp of air, calming his breathing and settling his laugh. His foot was still tingling inside his boots and he could feel the ghostly touches of George’s fingers over his sides but he was in control again. “N-Nohothing wrohohong…”

Perhaps not as in control as Dream thought because George seemed to quickly catch on. His eyes blinked, disbelieving before a small, nervous smile pulled at his lips. “Are you…lahaughing?” He chuckled with the absurdity of the situation. One moment his friend was throwing a tantrum over a doll, and the next he was writhing on the ground, laughing. “What’s happening?”

“Nothing! Just…” Dream managed to calm himself a bit more, his sounded more pleading than laughing. “Puhut down the doholl please!”

George looked between his friend, picking himself up off the ground, to the doll sat perfectly in his hand. His thought process was clearly visible through his eyes; the only way it could be more obvious was if there was a circular loading symbol spinning over his forehead.

Some idea came to George’s head as he looked back out to Dream. His eyes were focused onto his friend but his fingers squeezed into the doll’s side again, kneading into the squishy white fluff.

Dream yelped again, a jolt running through his body as he fell back to the ground, arms wrapping around his torso again for useless protection.

“Geohohohorge! N-Nahaha! D-Dohohon’t doho thahahat…!”

That was all George needed to confirm his theory and he gasped, like an excited child given the best present ever for Christmas. “Does this tickle you?!” His voice squealed in joy as he quickly turned his head to XD. The God saw no need to hide their face anymore, pushing their mask up to show their pleased grin. “Does this tickle him?!” George asked, clearly not trusting any answer from Dream. “Can he feel what the doll feels?!”

“Yes, Dream and the doll are connected.” XD nodded, calm before giving a very fake gasp and raising their hand to their mouth. “Goodness! Did I forget to mention that?!”

“Yohou dick!” Dream cursed from his puddle on the ground. “You absoholute-hahHAHAHA! NN! GEOHohohOHOHORGE!”

George wiggled his finger along the front of the doll’s body and Dream was floored, kicking his legs and rolling on the floor as the ghostly finger wiggled and tickled his stomach. “Geohohohohorge! GEOHOHOHOHORGE!!! S-STAHAHAHAHAP! PLEHEHEAHAHAHASE!”

The tickling over his tummy did stop, but was replaced by pokes and kneads into his sides and ribs. George poked up over the left side of the doll, giving his high pitched giggles as Dream rolled on his side and curled up.

“Awww, Dweam! The doll is so cute!” George cooed. He wiggled his finger into Dream’s side again. “How does the connection work, Dream? Do you feel it in your side exactly? Is it different if I poke up here?!”

George poked up by the spot just under the doll’s head. Dream felt an identical poke onto his neck. It didn’t tickle as much but Dream was already giggly and sensitive. He hunched his shoulders, rubbing at his neck and then he felt another poke, but this time it was in his armpit.

“Stohohohop!” Dream giggles, frantically rubbing under his arm.

The tickling stopped with a thoughtful hum. George pulled back his finger, holding the doll gently still. “I poked in the same place, but it tickled somewhere different.”

“It’s not exactly linked to the same spot every time.” XD explained. “The little dolls don’t have exact anatomy. Their spots have a general area relating to the body but it can be different each time.”

XD reached out, giving a small poke with his nail into the blob’s front and grinning as he watched his brother jump and squeal again. “Of course I made sure Dream’s tummy always gets tickles on the front of the doll.”

George giggled along with Dream’s fading giggles. He watched his friend rub away the ghostly tickles along his stomach before a thought came to mind and George’s smile faltered. He held the doll gently in his hand but now he was more aware and self conscious. He tried to keep a light grip over the doll while not letting it fall.

“It’s not… I-I won’t hurt him right? As long as I’m careful…”

XD looked down to George, noticing the worried look right away and they switched from teasing to comforting. “Oh don’t worry! You can’t hurt him.”

XD reached forward, carefully taking the doll from George’s hand. George had to fight back his instinct to protectively cover the doll but he trusted XD and watched with worried eyes as XD lifted the doll.

“The doll doesn’t pass over every feeling. I only designed it so Dream would feel soft touches and tickling. See?”

XD held the doll up between his forefinger and thumb. He squeezed into the doll’s sides with his nails, practically making his nails meet as the doll crumbled and bent in his hands.

George quickly looked over to Dream. Despite XD’s words the brunette still panicked, thinking the pain would transfer over; but just as XD said nothing happened. Dream just picked himself up, recovering from the tickling before and clearly not in pain. George sighed with relief.

“I would never make it harm him.” XD assured George, pulling their nails back and handing the doll to George over as it popped back into it’s perfect shape. “It’s a perfect tickle tool. Nothing else.”

“Perfect tickle tool?! It’s torture!” Dream huffed. He picked himself up, his mask was half hanging off as he stood up and he pulled it off the rest of the way, showing his blushed cheeks. George giggled at the frazzled look of his friend, only making his blush deepen.

“Oh I’m sorry, would you rather feel the pain?” XD argued back.

“I’d rather you forget you ever made that thing!” Dream snapped back before his eyes fell to George. Specifically to the doll. “Give it.”

George blinked before covering over the doll protectively. “N-No.”

“George.” Dream’s voice tried to be serious. It was hard to take him seriously with his pink cheeks and flustered look, but his eyes were stern. “Give me the doll.”

“No!” George now held the doll close into his chest. “XD gave it to me.”

George could see the plan forming in Dream’s eyes. Years of being his friend meant he could pick up the little tells just from the smallest movement. So when Dream launched for George, the brunette saw it coming and pushed himself back just in time. Dream collided with the ground, barely missing George but he picked himself up and tried again.

George had less of an escape this time, but as Dream grabbed hold of his legs, George poked into the doll, tickling over the doll’s front and Dream crumbled.

“Ack!” The hold over George’s leg faltered and George slipped out. “G-Geohohorge! Thahat’s cheheahating!”

“You were just about to steal my doll!” George poked over the doll’s side, watching Dream fall and curl up with giggles.

“Ihihihit’s mihihihiy dohoholl! Yohohou-ACK!”

Dream was suddenly lifted. Between the scuffle of the two, XD slipped behind Dream, wrapping their arms around under Dream’s and pulling him up. “Now that’s not fair Dream. You said you didn’t want the doll.” DreamXD cooed while they pulled Dream back onto their lap.

“I sahaid I dihihidn’t wahahahant the dohohohoholl arohohohound! Thehehe-NAH! AHAHHAHAHAHA!!! G-GEOHOHOHOHORGE!!!”

With a safe distance between himself and Dream, George tickled again, wriggling his fingers against the doll’s side and watching Dream flail like a fish out of water.

“N-NAHAHAHAH! NOHOHOHO! THAHAT! THAHAhahat tihihihihickles sohohoho baha-AHAHAHAHAHAD!”

Dream arched his back, pulling at XD’s arms as George’s wiggling fingers came back to his tummy. The ghostly tickles spread over his lower tummy and passed up to his ribs. They covered more area than if George was regularly tickling him.

“S-Stohohohop!!! Enohohohough wihihihith the behehehehelly!!!”

“It’s so fun tickling you there!” George giggled.

“Try another spot, George.” XD encourage. Dream had slipped down over XD’s lap. The God readjust his arms under Dream’s again and lifted him back up. “Dream will get tired out too quickly if you keep tickling him there.”

George pulled his hand back, letting Dream catch his breath as he pouted. “He tickles my worst spots all the time.” He huffed.

“But it’s better if he doesn’t know where the tickling will be.” XD pointed out, grinning as he motioned to the doll again. “Not every spot connects to the same spot on his body…”

George’s eyes sparkled with sudden excitement. He held back his giddy giggles as he looked over the doll carefully, examining over each spot. Dream whimpered, suddenly feeling like caught prey and George’s eyes weren’t even on him.

George thought before making his next move. He ran his finger along the lower part of the doll before poking in, watching Dream’s legs flail and kick out.

“N-Nohoho! Stahahahap!

“Where does it tickle?” George skittered his fingers over the same spot.

“Ihihit-AH!” Dream’s left leg kicked up. “K-Knehehehehess!”

“And what about here?” George ran his finger softly around the edge of the doll.

Dream’s laughter quietened down and his legs didn’t kick up so much. He settled back to soft giggles, wiggling back into XD’s chest. “Th-Thahat…ihihit’s mhiy cahahalvehes.”

“Oho~” George cooed. “Dream has ticklish calves! I didn’t know that.”

“Ihihihit’s nohohot tihihihickly! I-Ihit’s weheheird!”

“Why are you laughing then, Dream?” XD teased behind Dream’s ear. His breath tickled, making Dream hunch his shoulders up to rub at his ear.

“D-Dohohon’t!”

“What about now?” George moved his finger up, poking in the same spot as the one before. “Is it still your knees?”

Dream’s laugh turn into a squeak, kicking his legs into the ground more frantically. “Nahaha! Th-Thihihihighs!”

“It does change!” George confirmed gleefully.

George kept his finger at the same level but moved it round to the side of the doll, kneading into the lower part. Dream’s laughter dropped, bringing out a deeper cackle as he squirmed and tried to turn in XD’s arms. “N-Nohoho! I-Ihihihit’s ohohohon mihiy hihihihihips!!!”

George giggled, letting Dream catch his breath and melt further into XD’s arms. “P-Pleheahase…n-noho mohore…”

“I think he’s getting tired, George.” XD purred. He held around under Dream’s arms with his lower set while his upper hands soothed though Dream’s hair. “Only a little more, then we’ll stop.”

George huffed. “He can last longer.”

“George…” XD’s voice came in a warning. “You were the one who taught me not to push someone too far with tickling.”

George’s voice grumbled. “I had to… you near enough killed me every time you used to tickled me.”

“Then you can sympathise with Dream now.” XD pet over Dream’s head, chuckling when their brother sighed and caught his breath. “Just a little longer.”

George pouted, looking over the doll thoughtfully. He carefully turned it over in his hand, poking at the centre of the doll’s back and scratching his nail gently along it. Right on cue, Dream started to giggle. He shuffled in XD’s arms, wiggling and shaking out his back as George’s tickling crawled down his spine.

“Where is it tickling now?” George asked, giggling along with Dream.

“M-Mihihiy bahahahack!” Dream chuckled, jumping up when George’s nail swiped over a specifically ticklish spot above his hip. “Th-Thahaahat’s mihihihiy bahahahack!”

“I tickled there last time and it was the back of your knees.” George thought out loud. “So it keeps in the same spot when you move.” George pulled his hand back. “But if I stop and go back.” George poked in again, watching Dream’s legs twitch and kick. “It tickles on your legs now!”

Dream fell into his giggling fit as George gave a thoughtful look to the bottom of the doll. He remembered the laugh Dream gave before when he had just curiously touched over it, before George had even known the doll was connected. The brunette had a mean thought and before any sense or guilt could talk it out of him, he swiped his finger on the underside of the doll and watched as Dream’s giggling suddenly screamed into laughter. His legs kicked out, before stamping on the ground.

“GEHEHEHEOHOHOHOHORGE!!!”

“Where does it tickle?” George asked excitedly while he scratched his nail on the underside of the doll.

“FEHEHEHEHEHEHET! Y-YOHOHOHOHOUR TIHIHICKLIHIHING MY FEHEHEHEHET!!! N-NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! GEOHOHOHOHORGE! STAHAHAHAP!!!” Dream fell back into XD’s chest, burying his head into their cloak and muffling his laughter into the fabric. “E-EHEHEX DEHEHE! M-MAHAHAKE HIHIHIM STOHOHOP!”

“Alright, George. That’s enough.” XD brought Dream to sit up again, their head tilted up to look at George. “He’s done.”

“Wait!” George did stop his tickling but he pulled the doll back into himself protectively. “Just one more thing!” He pleaded. He tried his best puppy dog eyes, batting his eyelashes though Dream probably couldn’t even see them. “One more, then I’ll stop. Please?”

DreamXD gave a low hum with his thought. He gave a look down to his brother who was basically a puddle in their arms. “Dream?”

The blonde whined. He was still coming down from his laughter, only slightly paying attention when he felt the back of XD’s fingers rub over his cheek. He gave a slow look up.

“Can you handle one more thing, or do you want to stop now?”

Dream whined again and George worried he’d refuse. He had every right to and George wouldn’t blame him, but to his utter shock, Dream’s cheeks turned red and he hid his face into the sleeves of his hoodie. He mumbled something that George couldn’t here, but XD spoke fondly.

“He says one more. But it’ll be a quick one, George.” The God looked up. George could feel the stern stare. “Not too long.”

George nodded, though he knew Dream wasn’t going to be able to last this for longer than ten seconds. With a sly grin, and an apologetic thought spared to Dream, George pressed his lips against the doll’s front and started to nibble.

The laugh that tore from Dream’s throat was more a scream than laugh. He arched his back like a shock was going through his spine and struggled in XD’s arms like his life depended on it. Suddenly he went from a piece of jelly in XD’s arms to a live wire.

“NAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! GEOHOHOHOHOHOHOGRE!!! STAHAHAHAP!!! EHEHEHEHEHEHEX DEHEHEHEHEHE! STAHAHAHAHAHAP HIHIHIHIM!!!”

“Okay, that’s enough.” XD’s voice broke through the laughter and with a click of their fingers, the doll disappeared from George’s hand.

George was disappointed, but it was quickly replaced with sympathy as he watched Dream fall back into XD’s lap. His chest heaved as he gasped for breath and continued giggling. He was curled up, arms wrapped around his stomach. George felt bad as he could see his friend trembling.

“N-Noho…noho mohore…” Dream giggled, nuzzling into XD’s arm. “P-Pleheahase…”

“No more.” DreamXD’s voice purred softly. It was softer, more comforting than his purrs of joy. His hand rubbed over his brother’s back, slowly having him uncurl. “We’re done.”

George shuffled forward beside them. “Is he okay?” He asked tentatively. The guilt weighed in his chest, only lightening when XD chuckled.

“He’ll be fine. He just needs to catch his breath.” XD assured him. “Aren’t you, Dream?”

“Sh-Shuhut uhup.” Dream giggled in XD’s arm. He took in a long sigh before picking himself up. His cheeks were still flushed, making his freckles stand out on his skin. “Thahat was the wohorst…”

“You lasted well.” XD pointed out fondly.

“That nehearly kihilled me.” Dream shuffled off XD’s lap to sit by George. While George had a small moment of worry for revenge, it faded as Dream slumped and leaned his head over George’s shoulder. “It was like…n…tickling all over my stomach. It’s bad enough with regular ones, but that was covering over my whole stomach.”

Dream gave a glare over to XD then, who still sat up straight and held an air of delight. “I’m burning that doll.” He growled.

“You will do no such thing.” XD spoke matter-of-factly. “You used to love the doll.”

“Yeah, until you tickled it and I nearly died.” Dream huffed against George’s shoulder. “Then Drista got a hold of it that once and tickled me till I cried. I couldn’t’ stop laughing for hours.”

“I think they’re fun, XD.” George giggled, getting a glare from Dream below him. “I think you made very good dolls.”

XD perked up suddenly. “I’m so happy you think so, George! Because I have a surprise for you!”

While George was usually nervous to the God’s chipper tone, he was in a good mood so he had no sense for danger. Instead he looked curiously.

XD laid their hand out again and popped another item into their palm. Dream felt a spike of panic through him seeing the familiar shape and whiteness of the doll but then when he took in the details, he realised it wasn’t the same blob. The wide smile was gone and the small dot eyes were replaced by white goggles. The doll wasn’t a replica of Dream. It was a replica of George!

“Is that…”

“M-Me?!”

George had noticed the doll’s appearance as well. His calm mood was suddenly flustered and a slow growing blush grazed over his cheeks.

“Yes.” XD beamed, happily turning the doll in his hand. “A little George doll for little George.”

“W-When did you make th-that?”

Dream noticed the flutter in George’s voice. He was also watching the brunette slowly inching his way up, unfolding his legs as though readying to move.

“Not too long ago! I started practising making new dolls, and got much better at it. I’ve made a good few of them now!”

The last few words stuck out in Dream’s head, though he filed it away for later. Right now he was more focused on George and the slow growing worry on his face. He saw the slight twitches George kept making whenever XD’s fingers brushed along the doll.

“Would you like to see it, Dream?”

“Yes!”

“N-NO!”

Dream looked over to George, just in time to see the brunette lunge for the doll, moving much faster than he had when he was going for the golden shimmering apple. Just like with the scene before though, XD pulled the doll up and out of reach and George flew past them. He turned around, no doubt to make another grab, but XD squeezed into the doll’s side and George was floored, giggling over the forest floor and clutching his sides.

“W-Wahahait…”

“Would you like a turn, Dream?” XD turned to their brother, their grin wide.

“I would love to.” Dream grinned as well, holding out his hand and carefully holding the doll in his palm. It was so soft, and almost weighed nothing. Dream gave a little experimental poke into the doll’s front with his thumb and George jolted.

“D-Dreheaham! Plehehease…”

“What’s wrong George?” Dream held the doll firmer now and raised his other hand. His fingers on his free hand wiggled, slowly moving towards the doll. “I thought you liked these dolls?”

“NO! Nohoho! Dreheaham! Dream! Dohon’t-NOHOHOHO!! DREHEHEAHAHAM!!! NOHOHOHOT THEHEHEHEHERE!!!”

#dsmp tickle #mcyt tickle #lee!dream #ler!george #ler!dreamxd #ticklish blobs #i'm making the tag it's all come out now #ticklish dolls #covenofwords

263 notes · View notes