1 - 20 of 24 Works by indigoh
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On his desk is the portal to another alternate dimension, accessible only through his computer screen. There’s another on his phone. The metal switch of his nightstand lamp. Even the blades of his ceiling fan after they’d been properly dusted.
George thinks he’d like to live in one where he’s not in love with Dream.
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“I don’t know if I should be talking to you about this.”
After a moment, George helps to shut him down, gently. “Maybe not right now.”
Dream’s throat feels dry. “I think I should probably hang up.”
“Okay.” George is speaking softly. Dream doesn’t want to know what it means.
Or, Dream gets out of surgery and wants to talk to George.
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George has taken a liking to sitting in the hot tub lately.
Dream joins him one day, and it starts to rain.
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Throughout the years, George learns how to balance how much he says and how much he keeps close.
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It was unreal, how beautiful Dream looked on film.
George took a breath in. “You look—” golden, like sun rays through the tattered screens of a back porch. Like a rocking chair and the wind chime that trilled with every gentle gust of wind. Like chips in the paint. Like cracks in the wood. Like sandals scattered along the lawn. The colors of summer, and how nostalgia blanketed them, made them look like a place you used to know and love. “—like Dream.”
Or, George buys a camera. Dream knows exactly what to do with it.
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George opens his legs wider, and Dream positions himself like he’s actually fucking him.
Except he’s not, because there’s layers of fabric in the way and, somehow, the denial makes it all the hotter. He leans in close again, re-places his elbows on either side of George’s head as George whines into his mouth. Their bodies are inches away from each other, only touching where they both feel the most sensitive. He doesn’t understand how they got this carried away in such a short amount of time, how George can have such a strong effect on him without even needing to do much.
Or, sometimes, Dream feels nothing. George helps him feel everything.
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"What do I smell like?" Dream had added once it was clear George wasn’t going to speak.
"Like Dream," George had answered easily. "You smell different in the morning compared to at night."
Or, George has always experienced the world through smell.
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George rides Dream.
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"My, like, night terrors," George had been telling him one night three Halloween’s ago, the one before his first one in Florida, "they get bad the night before Halloween. They get really bad. I don’t know why. They just do."
"What were you dreaming of just now?"
George took a while to answer, the only reason Dream knew he would do so was because of the way he could hear his lips part hesitantly before coming back together again. He heard his muffled sighs of frustration, his breathing deepening with each second the time dragged on.
"You don’t have to tell me."
"You," George had said almost at the same time. "I was dreaming of you. And, like, bad things happening. To you."
It's often that Dream wishes he could climb inside George's head.
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Dream and George and catastrophe.
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Dream thought that the most difficult thing he’d ever done in his life was when he’d figured out his sexuality through a series of discord calls with his best friend.
Or, Dream and George and coming out.
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no grave can hold my body down by indigoh for invinciblelikeu
Fandoms: Video Blogging RPF
18 Aug 2024
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“I just –” Dream continued. “It’s just I really hoped it wouldn’t happen again.” He scoffed then, tone rising in intensity with every breath he took. “It’s not fucking fair. Soulmates are supposed to have this amazing thing getting to experience their happiest memory together when they first touch.”
There was an anger, a hatred, a passion in Dream’s words that George just couldn’t meet. He felt somber as the sentence left his lips: “Us touching for the first time is one of our happiest memories.”
It hadn’t fully clicked until he’d said it out loud.
Or, all Dream and George have ever known is intimacy without touch.
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“Dream,” George continues, “did you not hear me? I said that’s enough work for today.”
When George doesn’t get an answer after a few seconds, he tries calling his name again: “Dream?”
And again, more forcefully: “Dream.”
And then he says the one thing he knows always gets Dream’s attention: “Fine, I’m getting naked.”
Or, Dream gets stressed while working on the project. George puts on a little show.
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Georgie doesn't really wear makeup. Georgie doesn't really like makeup. But that doesn't stop her from wanting to try on some of Dreamie's lip tint – the closest thing to Dreamie's kiss Georgie will ever feel.
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What she really wanted to say was you look beautiful in my clothes. What she really wanted to say was you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. What she really wanted to say was kiss me again. Kiss me again like you did all those months ago.
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George has been sleeping his days away lately. Dream tries to keep him up with funny TikToks and kisses, but George is stubborn, and realistically, Dream knows that George is his own man, and that he can’t just force him to do what he wants. They’ve been like yin and yang in a way – two opposite forces working beautifully together: Dream can’t sleep; sleeping is all George can do.
Or, Dream has always been there when George gets sad.
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George’s hand was steady as it reached out once more towards the glaze. He scraped a dallop up with the nail of his thumb. But instead of bringing it up to a part of his own body like Dream expected him to do, George brought it up to Dream’s bottom lip instead.
He smeared it like cheap lipstick. Dream felt fucking beautiful.
Or, a shared bottle of rum leads to a drunk hookup, something that just friends don't do.
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On the eve of Dream's 24th birthday, Patches goes missing.
And it's all George's fault.
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If he knew how Dream’s body was going to react to being edged, George would’ve done it a lot sooner.
Or, George gets a little jealous sometimes
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So, when it looked like Dream was close, George let go.
Dream gasped, surprised, and the whimper he let out after was completely wrecked. He clutched at silk, the material slipping from his hands like liquid gold. He thrusted his hips up pathetically, grinding his dick against the air, against absolutely nothing. “Fuck,” he moaned.
And, “Oh,” George realized wildly. “You liked that.”
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Dream kisses him again, and it’s slower than the kiss they shared on the couch. He starts to lick into his mouth and when Dream feels George sigh against him, only one thought overtakes his mind:
I want to marry you. God, I want to marry you.
Or, it's the first day of Dream's third time in London and Dream is planning on proposing to George the next day.
But then when he wakes up, it's the first day again. And then again. And again and again and again.