#😳😂

[whiskey-fever]

“So whenever you guys send us weird DMs just know she’s the one reading them” LMAOOO 🤣🤣🤣

Miracle-eight

(gif created by me, the fallen nightmare. feel free to use, simply give credit)

Pairings: Noah Sebastian x Reader

Warnings/Tropes: forced proximity, slight enemies to lovers, slow burn, smut, angst, fluff, mentions of death, and swearing.

Summary: Reader is the merch girl for Bad Omens. It wasn't what she wanted to do with her life but when her mother got sick with Alzheimer's, reader took a job where she could to help with the costs. She thought it would be a one-time gig but the longer she was on the road with them, the harder she fell for Noah Sebastian; even if he wanted nothing to do with her. She needed a miracle to save her mom and her future.

Author Note: things are about to get REAL intense so buckle up!

Tags: @ada-clarence @nonamessblog @thescarlettvvitch @malice-ov-mercy @crimson-calligraphyx @theoneandonlykymberlee @yumikitten @blackveilomens @cherrymedicine13 @thebadchic @notmaddihealy @jay02bo @beaker1636 @jakekiszkasguitarpick @punk-pr1ncessxoxo @er3nslovergirl @iamdesolate @lma1986 @jessitpwk @themodern-daywednesday @writethrough @bngurngheart @dreams-that-are-anwsered

Holy shit, I give Bryan so much damn credit. He does this almost every single night and I've only been hopping around back and forth in front of the stage to get random clips or videos of the guys set for one night. At first, I was nervous to tell Bryan about my promotion because I felt as if I was stepping in his territory with taking pictures but he was ecstatic. Even offered to show me how to work the camera that I'd bought for my other content. I remembered how red in the face I'd gotten when he asked if I'd always been interested in photography when he saw the type of camera I had. Obviously I didn't tell him the real reason I had to buy it.

"It was a gift from an aunt," I lied.

My eyes glanced away from my camera over to Noah as he finished the last line of Like a Villian and snapped a few photos of him from different angles. I wasn't great at editing pictures, something else Bryan offered to help me with, but I still could tell what was considered a good shot.

I stood in front of the barricade and the crowd behind me screamed for the guys, absolutely thrilled that they could see them live even when the festival was canceled. It was the last-minute show that I pulled together and the small venue we were in was packed full of fans.

After our early dinner, before the show and after Noah fingered me under the table, we played oblivious to what happened. I hated we didn't talk about it because all I thought about while I was getting ready for the show tonight was if Noah and I were dating or if we simply were messing around. Even though I didn't want a relationship right now because of everything going on with my mom, I also didn't want us to be a casual hook up whenever one of us were horny.

I knew I needed to talk to Noah about this; it wasn't good to keep everything bottled up because it would only fizzle over before exploding. But the part of my heart that has genuine feelings for him was afraid of getting hurt if I found out he only had sexual feelings for me.

"How are we feeling tonight, Cleveland?" Noah asked the crowd.

Their screams echoed loudly around me as I took a few pictures of Nick before walking over toward Jolly to get a few pictures of him. I made a mental note to get back on stage to get a video of Folio drumming when Noah's voice stopped me in my tracks right to the side of him. I was on the floor but still only a few feet away from him.

"Before we play our next song, I want to give a shout out to someone special. She was the one who set up the pop up event earlier today and put this whole show together," Noah waved a hand around, showcasing the sold-out crowd.

The crowd cheered again as I gulped, not knowing where he was going with this.

A smile graced his face as he pulled the microphone closer to his lips. "She's someone that's been with us for two tours now and she's become a great friend to us."

I narrowed my eyes at him as ours locked.

"What are you doing?" I mouthed.

Noah ignored me, only giving me a smile and a small wave, even under the dark stage lights his eyes burned bright.

"You might recognize her as our merch girl but recently she became our social media ambassador so whenever you guys send us weird D.M's, just know she's the one reading them."

The crowd laughed at that, and I couldn't help but chuckle as well.

"But in all seriousness, she deserves this. Lets give Y/N a huge scream of thanks for putting all of this together."

Now the screams were deafening, and I tried not to sink into myself as people in the first few rows noticed me standing there. I gave a tiny wave to the crowd before snapping back over to Noah.

"Fuck you," I yelled up at him, no hint of malice behind it.

Noah winked. "You know if I'm being honest. I didn't think she could pull it off, so we made a bet. If she was able to, she'd get to design my next tattoo."

Some people in the crowd hooted and hollered at that.

"So if you see me with a tattoo of her name or some shit like that; that's why."

Before I could crawl into myself even more for having the spotlight on me, they started up into the next song, and letting my camera hang from my neck; I walked up the back of the stage up to the platform where Folio's drums were and watched in awe as he let himself go, being the beat that everyone followed. It was a true experience being able to watch him. I took out my phone to record a video of him to post on the Bad Omens Instagram story and when he finally noticed I was there; he winked after I took a few pictures of him with my camera, I walked down the stairs of the platform thinking of what I could get for the final shot of the night. I had a lot of close-up shots of Nick, Folio, and Jolly but none of Noah.

Biting my lip, I snuck up being him not to get in his way of performing, and as he sang the last few lines of Just Pretend, the lights in the venue went dark. The only source of light was from the flashlights of the fan's phones and seeing how ethereal Noah looked, I snuck up beside him to take two quick pictures.

He peered at me with a sideway glance as the corner of his lip lifted in a sly smile and once I was satisfied with all the pictures I took tonight I walked off the stage to the back. Noah, however, hooked a finger in the belt loop of my jeans and yanked me back towards him.

"Would you say I'm worthy?" he sang the last line, the lights fading around us.

I couldn't see anything in front or around me but I could feel Noah's presence behind me. His warm breath fanned across the back of my neck as mouth pressed gentle kisses there.

"Angel," he mused. "Do you know how beautiful you look tonight?"

His hands gripped my hips, and I shivered with his touch as he led us to the side of the stage where the rest of the guys were waiting. They would hang out for two minutes before going back on for their two song encore; Concrete Jungle and Dethrone.

I was turned in his embrace and saw the huge grin spread over Noah's soft features. Sweat glistened his body all over and his hair clung to his forehead.

Fuck, he looked so good.

My fingers raised to brush the hair back, but I stopped myself. Noah noticed, and he gave me a confused look.

"Everything alright?"

As much as I wanted to talk to him about us, I didn't want to do it before he was about to go back on stage.

"Yeah, you just took me by surprise is all with what you said."

"It's true," he shrugged. "Before when you were at the merch table, I could barley see you but now that you're so close to me, I couldn't stop watching you all night."

A blush painted over my skin and I cast my gaze downward, not wanting Noah to see how much his words affected me; although, I had a feeling he already knew. This was becoming more of a problem than I liked. I was allowing him to inject himself in my bloodstream, infect me with his presence and it would hurt me in the end. Whether it was because I ended things or he realizes that the problems with my mom were too much to deal with. I need to focus on my mom and now this huge step in my career, I couldn't let myself get blinded or involved with someone I worked with.

Too late for that.

The crowd was cheering for one more song and I knew they would run back out on stage in less than ten seconds.

"Angel," his finger brushed along my jaw. "What's wrong?"

My lips parted, but no words came out, unsure what to say. This wasn't the time and Jolly could tell as he watched us so he adjusted his guitar before slapping Noah on his shoulder.

"We have to go."

I nodded behind Noah. "I'm fine."

His eyes searched mine, fingers still gripping my chin. "You're sure?"

"Yep," I lied while patting his chest. "Go fight God; I'll see you guys back on the bus."

With a chuckle, Noah's fingers slipped away from me and I watched the four of them run back out on stage for the encore part of their song. I could stay and watch but there was no need to hang back anymore. They gave me the choice if some nights I wanted to help the crew take everything down I could or I could head back to the bus early to rest or do whatever I wanted.

I know I should hang back to help tear everything down but right now, all I wanted was a bit of solace on the quiet bus away from everyone.

"Oh, god not that one," I muttered to myself as I browsed through the pictures of my phone.

I should look at the ones I took tonight, but I was looking at more risqué pictures. Tonight, Lana's second payment was due and as usual, I was short. Even with being promoted, I wouldn't get paid until the tour was over. So, the only thing I could do was ask Lana if she was fine getting the payment a few days later than normal and thank fuck she was.

Take your time, dear. We're all good over here.

Even though I was alone on the bus, I couldn't risk recoding something in case someone walked on so instead I took a handful of different pictures. These, though, were way more revealing than I usually take. One was in the bathroom on the bus; I was bare from the waist down with my pussy in full view but kept my Bad Omens t-shirt on, rolling it up from the bottom until it stopped over the middle of my breasts. You could see half of them, but the nipples were covered. My phone blocked my face, which was something I still wouldn't forget, and I took a few different angles.

The next set of pictures were of me laying in my bunk, now wearing a black thong but now the shirt was off, and I had my hand resting over one breast while the other was bare for the camera.

As I was still deciding, Folio came bounding up the stairs of the bus, his energy radiating off of him. When he saw me scrolling through my phone, he sat down and took my phone from my grasp.

"Are those the pictures from tonight?"

"Folio, no!" I bellowed while reaching for my phone.

I fell onto his lap, my chest pressing against his hips and he stiffened when he realized what he was staring at; the picture of me in the bathroom mirror.

"Woah," was all he said.

I groaned in embarrassment as rolled over in his lap now looking up at him and snatched my phone back.

"Please forget you saw those."

Folio stared ahead as he blinked a few times, almost processing what he saw before his gaze fell on me. Something twitched beneath me and when I realized what it was, I sat up with a start staring down at his dick, which was semi hard.

Oh God.

"This is so embarrassing," I covered my face with my hands.

Folio let out a low chuckle before slowly removing my hands.

"Who were you sending those to?" He wondered.

I quickly shook my head. "No one."

A small noise sounded from the back of his throat as he adjusted himself on the couch, still clearly affected by seeing my half nudes.

"If it makes you feel better, I like the one in our shirt the best," Folio grinned.

I smacked his chest. "You can't tell anyone about this, please. I already feel weird about taking them and now that you saw them, it's going to make things weird between us."

"You're the only one that thinks that, Y/N. And if you feel weird about taking them, then why did you? From what I saw, you have nothing to worry about."

My eyes narrowed at Folio in a playful glare; it was very clear that he indeed liked what he saw.

"If I wasn't mortified by you seeing my nudes, I'd take that as a compliment."

His brow raised in amusement. "Were they for Noah?"

"Hell no. He can never know about these or even see these, understood?" I pointed a finger to him.

"I won't tell him but I can't promise that I'll forget what I saw," Folio winked before get up from the couch and headed back to his bunk.

I was still burning up when Nick, Jolly, and Noah came onto the bus and when the latter's eyes fell on me, he reached for my hand.

"What?" I stared at it.

Noah lifted me from the couch and dragged me to the back area of the bus so we could have some privacy. He was still wearing his stage clothes, and I marveled at the tattoos that peaked through his blank tank top. Once alone, he let the door shut behind us as he fell to the larger couch in the room; me falling into his lap.

"What are you doing?" I asked while trying to sit next to him instead.

Noah's fingers dug into my hips to lock me in place. "I think we need to talk."

With a sigh, I nodded. He was right and as much as I didn't want too, this had to be done. Still in his lap, I positioned myself so I could look directly in his brown eyes.

"This," I pointed between us. "What is this?"

I could see with the look that flashed over his face that Noah was trying to figure out the best words to describe us.

"I'm not sure what to call it but I like what we have going. I don't want it to stop," he admitted.

"What changed, though? Last week it seemed like being around me was like pulling teeth," I said.

Noah sighed and wrapped his arms around me to pull me into his chest. "I tried to stay away from you because I thought it was a bad idea to get involved with someone on the crew and with what happened in Chicago, I took it as an opportunity. But the harder I tried to forget about you like that, the deeper you sunk your claws into me."

My heart shuddered in my chest.

"Can we maybe take things slow? Maybe see where this goes. I can't have a relationship right now. There are some things going on in my life that needs my attention, especially once I'm home," I explained.

I didn't miss the hurt look that shined in his eyes but Noah nodded. "I can wait, angel."

He was not making this easy.

This time, I extracted myself from his grasp and stood on my feet, giving us some distance.

"I can't ask you to do that," I said.

"You're not. Whatever you've got going on, I want to be here for you," Noah assured.

Tears brimmed in my eyes as I let out a long shaky breath. "It's a lot and I don't want to push you away again. If I'm being honest, I've wanted this from you for so long and now knowing you feel the same, I'm afraid."

He was on his feet fast to press me against the wall with his hips. Noah's large hands pinned mine above my head then he buried his face deep into the skin of where my shoulder met my neck. I let out a mix of a whine and moan when his rutted his hips into mine.

"Angel, I'm not going anywhere."

I gave a half nod, understanding, but I couldn't really focus with the way his cock pressed against my lower abdomen.

"This," I panted. "Isn't slow."

Noah hummed as he left a small mark on the skin behind my ear and I nearly melted into him.

"You're going to kill me," he breathed before pulling away from me, my hands falling to my sides. "But we can take things at your pace. If you want to hang out and watch a movie or something, I'm here. Or if you need help with other things, I'm here."

I linked my fingers with his and brought them to my lips to kiss the tattoos on the back of his hand.

"Thank you, Noah."

With a fond smile, he led me out of the room to the front of the bus where he motioned for me to sit at the table.

"Want some tea?" He asked.

I smiled. "Please."

I then sat at the table across from Jolly and Folio. Still embarrassed by him seeing my nudes, I refused to meet Folio's amused gaze and kept my own on my phone. I was turned away from everyone so no one could see me as I uploaded a few pictures to my Only Fan's page. I needed these pictures up as soon as possible to start making money.

"So are you excited to go back home for a few days?" Jolly asked.

"Oh shit. I almost forgot!" I beamed.

Bad Omens had a two-night show in Los Angeles, where we headed next. Then after those two nights, we would head up to Washington. With everything that had been going on lately, I forgot to mention to Lana that I could stay home those nights with my mom.

"We can book you a hotel for you if you want," Folio said.

"Or you could stay with someone," Noah piped up from behind me.

I glanced over my shoulder at him. "Slow, remember?"

He bent low to leave a kiss on my forehead and my eyes fluttered shut. "I'm only kidding."

"My mom's excited to see me so if it's alright, I'll stay at my place," I said.

Noah's lips twitched before he nodded. "Sure."

Seeing that the pictures uploaded to my site, I stuffed my phone back into my pocket and talked some more with Jolly, not realizing that Noah's phone went off with a notification or the way he adjusted himself in his pants when he looked at the screen.

[sparklyoats]

Washing all my clothes today.. that fits.. so cant do any grocery shopping 😳

[onifanss]

Tharchog x Yansae •

[dangerousbride]

Drowning 😨🏊 || (Extra)

[doriana-gray-games]

This is how I feel about the latest chapter after Lestrade verbally abused my Sherlock.

Got to say Watson is winning so far with that power move.

[oniii-fans]

SUN

[starleska]

i have a very important ask sitting in my inbox suggesting a Christmas-themed f/o who i know will make me absolutely insane when i watch their source material...so i wanted to post my other Christmas-themed f/os 🙈💖 anyone else have any festive blorbos? 🎅❄️🎄

[cuubism]

Do It Scared

While he's in the middle of being overstimulated and miserable at a wedding, Dream's meager attempt at finding peace is disturbed by the intrusion of a drunk man from the party across the way. But what first seems like a curse might actually be a blessing, as his new companion is inordinately charmed by Dream, anxiety and all. [Explicit]

--

Dream cradles his glass of wine between his knees, scrunched up as small as possible on the bench outside the venue door. He should have brought his coat. He is freezing. But he can’t go back in. It’s too loud.

He takes another sip of wine. It doesn’t help him feel less fried. It doesn’t help him feel like less of a drag, less of a burden, any less than the worst company in the entire world.

He takes another sip.

It’s very cold. The music at the reception pounds through the doors behind him. He grimaces.

Sometimes, Dream wishes he could be the person who could enjoy it. And not the person he is.

He takes another sip.

The doors across the way crash open. There is another wedding going on this same night, Dream remembers. A man stumbles through the doors, jacket and tie askew, trips, spilling half his glass of wine, but rights himself just before falling.

Dream watches warily. He came out here to avoid interacting with others.

The man shakes himself, straightening his tie. He must be very drunk. Dream wishes he were, too.

Then the man catches sight of Dream moping on his bench. “Shit,” he says. “Sorry. Didn’t realize someone was already sobering up in this courtyard.” He tries to go back inside, but the door’s locked automatically behind him. “Fuck.”

Despite himself, Dream laughs. At least he is not the only one who feels an utter mess.

“Well, was a shit party anyway,” the man says to himself, before slumping down onto the bench across from Dream. “Can I share your courtyard?”

“If you don’t mind me ignoring you,” Dream says.

The man laughs. “Fair enough.”

He sips his wine, what’s left of it. Closer, now, Dream takes in the dishevelment of his hair, and the red tinge to his eyes that suggests he might have been crying. Dream is curious, but doesn’t ask.

“Feels like weddings are supposed to be happy,” the man muses, more to himself than to Dream. He wipes at his eyes. “But.”

“I primarily find them overstimulating,” Dream says. He really should be better company at his own brother’s wedding. But he’s never been very good at it.

“That why you’re outside?”

“When I’m overstimulated, I begin ‘behaving like a cunt’,” Dream says, and the other man laughs, startled. “So, yes.”

Dream can barely manage his social graces at the best of times. And the best of times these are not. The mask has been filed away.

“Alright,” says the other man. “Fair enough. I can’t judge. When I’m sad I start behaving like a narcissistic dickhead. Look, I’m even making someone else’s wedding about myself.”

“Why are you sad?” Dream asks. Weddings make him feel sad, too, but he thinks not for the same reasons.

“Was supposed to get married,” the man says. “Last year. She died. Sorry, don’t think I have the story in me tonight.”

Probably for the best, as Dream would hardly know how to go about responding to it. “I can see why weddings could be traumatic,” he says sagely.

The man smiles, though it’s sad. “Yup.”

He finishes his wine, then says, “It’s Hob, by the way.”

“Oh. Dream.”

“Dream,” Hob muses. “You don’t like weddings either?”

“My complaining will be far less justified than yours,” Dream warns.

“Let’s hear it, I could use any distraction.”

“It is not just weddings,” Dream says. “Social events. They remind me. Of all the ways I am deficient.” Conversation. Interaction. Posture. Occupying a physical space. Coping with stimuli. Relaxing enough to be normal. He cannot do any of it. “I ought to dance, and. Celebrate? Should I not? But. I cannot. I. I cannot do any of it.”

How many times has he been told that he should, and now it is like a one hundred foot wall that he cannot surmount, the years of compounded expectations too great to tackle.

“Do you want to?” Hob asks.

“I don’t know.” Dream can no longer disentangle who he is from who he was told to be. From who he should be. He is trying. But. “I want to… be a person who wants to. Who can. I wish that… I was a person who could dance freely but I. I cannot. I do not know why.”

He waits for Hob to tell him he should just do it. It doesn’t come. Instead he says, “Well, if you don’t dance, at least you can sleep easy knowing your Great Aunt Ethel didn’t watch you shaking it to ‘WAP’.”

Dream bursts out laughing, clutching his wine as the liquid sloshes in his glass.

“I’m just saying,” Hob says, grinning. “I mean, I’m shameless, but I don’t blame you for wanting to keep the twerking away from family eyes.”

“There has not been any TWERKING.”

“Maybe not from you, didn’t see what I was up to.”

“I see,” Dream says, trying to regain his dignity. “You are projecting on me.”

“Would feel better if it wasn’t just me who’s a slut, but oh well.” He takes a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, and a lighter. “Fag?”

“Sometimes.”

Hob stares at him. Dream stares back. Hob holds out a cigarette to him.

Dream looks down at it. “Oh.”

Hob snorts. “I like you.” He lights his own cigarette, sticking it between his teeth, then lights Dream’s.

“I’m poor company,” Dream says stiffly, embarrassed.

Hob shrugs. “Good company’s boring as fuck.”

Dream doesn’t smoke, so he just watches Hob. His hands tucking the lighter away, then taking the cigarette from between his teeth, blowing a stream of smoke away into the night.

“Why do you smoke?” he asks.

Hob shrugs again. “Get restless. Settles my hands.”

“You ought to try fidget toys instead to avoid the risk of lung cancer,” Dream says, and Hob laughs so loud that he doubles over coughing after inhaling too much smoke.

Dream takes a tangle toy out of his bag and hands it to him. Hob stares at it incredulously. Then takes it.

He immediately starts fidgeting with it, though, so Dream considers it a win.

“What else you got in there?” Hob asks, gesturing to Dream’s bag.

Altogether too much, according to everyone he has spoken to. “Medication. Headphones. A book, though I’ve felt it might be considered rude to read it.”

Hob laughs. “Maybe. But who cares. Go on and read it if you want, I won’t judge.”

“I—“ Dream realizes abruptly that he had been about to say he was enjoying talking to Hob instead. When did that happen? That is not like him, normally he is so paralyzed by fear and confusion that every social interaction is draining in the extreme.

“I. I like. Talking to you,” he admits, grateful that the darkness hides his blush.

Hob smiles. “Me, too. Hey. Will you be missed if we get the fuck out of here?”

“So you know how long you have to dispose of my corpse?”

“My young life is too promising to be spent in prison,” Hob says, winking. “Got to make sure there’s no witnesses.”

“I doubt my absence would be noted while the bar remains open,” Dream says wearily.

Hob stands, swaying slightly, leaving his empty wine glass aside. He holds out a gallant hand to Dream.

“Come along, darling.”

So often when Dream has been called things like Darling, Sweetheart by others it has felt patronizing. But with Hob it’s… nice. Somehow. Then again, he feels Hob may be quite drunk still and may very well regret his choice of company later.

Still, Dream takes his hand.

“I do hope you don’t simply plan to take us to another bar,” he says as they make their way through the venue, retrieving Dream’s coat. “I do not think my stomach could take it.”

“Nah. Drinking doesn’t help with the sadness,” says Hob with a wan smile, helping Dream into his coat. “No. You said you were overstimulated, so a bar doesn’t really feel like the atmosphere anyway, does it?”

Dream stares at him, speechless. Hob had… actually listened to that. And not simply discounted it as nonsense.

“Am I wrong?” Hob says, when Dream is silent.

Dream clears his throat, feeling overcome. “No,” he says, at length. “Not at all.”

Hob smiles and takes his arm. And they leave the noise and merriment behind them.

-

They end up just walking along the riverside in the dark. Hob lights another cigarette—Dream will have to keep trying with the fidget toys—and Dream watches the embers flare in the dark.

“I didn’t dance much at that wedding either,” Hob says, looping back around to their previous conversation topic. “Eleanor—that’s my fiancee who died—used to love it. Just makes me sad now.”

“Would you have had a big wedding?” Dream asks.

“Small one. She wanted to use the money to go on an extravagant honeymoon instead. Said she wasn’t spending thousands of pounds feeding distant relatives mediocre steak when we could be in the Maldives instead.” He laughs.

Dream dislikes parties, and thinks this is an eminently reasonable position. “I can’t help but agree.”

Hob bumps their shoulders together, but says, “Never did get to go.”

Dream does not ask what happened, though he is curious. He does not think Hob wishes to discuss it.

“Guessing your reasons are different,” Hob says.

Dream thinks it through. “Dancing feels. Emotionally exposing. I don’t wish... to show so much of myself.” He feels tight and uncomfortable thinking about it, and wraps his arms around himself. “I know that may be foolish. And that no one cares as much as I do. I have heard it all before.”

The arguments, the convincing, the pressure, even well-meaning, serves only to make him feel more self-conscious.

He has thought, many times during their conversation, that Hob might do the same.

Hob shrugs. “Don’t have to convince me of your own feelings.”

Dream so often does have to that it has become an automatic impulse.

“I wish that it were easier,” he says, quieter. Every day, the same wish. I wish it was all easier. I wish I could just do it all normally. I wish I could. Exist. Without it being a constant trial. “That it was not all. So uncomfortable.”

“You’re not uncomfortable now, are you?”

“I am always uncomfortable,” Dream says. “But not because of you, specifically.”

“I can pretend you’re not here if it helps,” Hob says. “I don’t even see you.”

“Hob.”

Hob whirls around. “Who said that?”

Dream doubles over laughing. Hob is truly ridiculous. Dream still feels uncomfortable in his skin. But less so than he did at the reception, and that’s a start.

“Tell me honestly,” he says, when he’s straightened up. “Did you bring me out on this walk because you wanted to take me home and have sex with me?”

“Um. Would you be into it if I did?”

Dream thinks about it. It is extremely out of character for him to go home with a veritable stranger. But he likes Hob, and that is equally rare. “Maybe.”

Hob raises his hands in victory. “Not kicked to the curb yet! Thank God, I’m too emotionally fragile to be brutally rejected by you.”

“I do not think you are fragile.” In fact, he is quite charmed by Hob.

“You’d be surprised.” He seems content now, though. “Didn’t actually go to the wedding intending to pick up a cute boy. Just so you know. But I’m happy I have.”

Dream is finding himself happy about it, too, strangely enough. “Where do you live?”

“Oh, not too far. We’re heading that way. There’s a bus stop there, too, if you change your mind.”

Dream huffs a laugh, hands shoved in his coat pockets. He feels nervous at the prospect of going up to Hob’s flat. But excited, too. “You’re very considerate.”

“Just hedging my bets, really.”

Dream decides then that he will go home with Hob. He doesn’t know what will happen, if anything. But he wants to try. To be open to possibility, which he so often fails to be.

“I would like to see it,” he says.

“The bus stop?”

“Your home, Hob.”

“Oh.” Hob grins. “Good. Great. Um. Just around here.”

They eventually do make it to Hob’s building, and up the stairs to his third floor flat. Nerves ping and spin all through Dream’s body as Hob unlocks the door and lets them in. He has never been in this position before. He feels like he might be in a scene from a film, a stereotypical moment, except Dream has never been very good at knowing what comes next in the script. It’s hard to know what he is supposed to do.

He follows Hob into his flat. Lets Hob take his coat and hang it by the door, slips off his shoes. He’s wearing more formal clothes than he normally likes to, in deference to the dress code of the wedding, and feels uncomfortable, but to take anything else off would likely convey something he isn’t certain he’d like to convey. Or. Doesn’t know how to convey?

Hob takes off his own shoes, too, and leads him into the kitchen. Dream takes in everything about his flat, lived in and cozy, soft warm lighting that Dream appreciates. He never feels quite comfortable in other people’s spaces, but he likes it, he thinks.

“Do you want some tea or something?” Hob asks. Now, for the first time, he looks uncertain. He has the fidget toy in his hands again—he must have had it in his coat pocket—and is fiddling with it unconsciously.

“I—” Dream starts. Swallows hard, his throat dry. He takes a hesitant step closer to Hob. Heart pounding.

He doesn’t know why it is always so hard. It is not as though he is afraid of Hob. But he is afraid of… this moment. Of sharing it. Of Hob’s touch reminding him that he is here.

He tries so, so hard, every moment of his life, to forget that he is here, that he is part of things, tries to melt into the shadows, tries not to feel anything lest it all swallow him. People always try to draw him out and it only makes Dream want to cling to the shadows tighter to avoid being seen.

Hob didn’t try to pull him out. He just sat with him there, in the dark courtyard. He hasn’t even turned the lights on in the kitchen yet. There is only the pale yellow one on over the stove. There are still shadows. It feels safer. 

“I. I don’t want. Tea,” Dream manages. He steps in closer to Hob, and Hob lets him come, doesn’t lure him in, but lets him lure himself. Dream gets close enough that he can make out the rich brown of Hob’s eyes, the stubble starting to come in on his cheeks, his hair, messed and fallen from its low bun. He wonders what Hob sees in return, and then tries not to focus on it too much lest he get overwhelmed.

Hob’s hand comes to rest on his cheek, just above his pulse racing in his throat. “Are you afraid?” he asks, brow pinching in concern.

“Always,” Dream says, and rides the wave of it into a kiss.

If he’s going to feel like he’s shaking apart from adrenaline either way, then he might as well do so while kissing Hob. Hob makes a surprised sound against his mouth, but then takes Dream’s face between his hands and starts kissing him back.

His kiss is. Desperate. Hungry. Dream does not know how to be wanted like that. It’s terrifying. But his heart leaps. He wants. It’s so scary how much he wants. He doesn’t know how to be the one who wants.

He grabs hold of Hob’s wrists. Grounds himself, braces himself on Hob. Gasps for breath against Hob’s mouth. Leans into the burning touch of Hob’s hands. It’s all so much. It’s so much.

“I need to—” he gasps, pulling back, lips brushing Hob’s, “I need to. Relax.” A constant refrain for himself. Relax. Relax. You need to relax.

“Why?” says Hob. Dream is utterly overwhelmed and still Hob’s look upon him is all want. “I can handle a live wire.”

Is that what he is? Dream always thinks he is nothing. A ghost. A whisper. A thing consuming itself. But to Hob, he is light and danger and wild unpredictable energy. He doesn’t know how he feels about that. But he likes it better than being a ghost.

Hob’s hands fall to his hips. His thumbs stroke under Dream’s waistband, tug his shirt free, press warm to his skin. Dream shudders, heat rushing through him, starting to grow hard in his trousers, which do very little to conceal his arousal. Hob draws him close, presses their bodies together, and now he can feel Hob’s own erection against his hip.

It’s too much. Hob’s touch. Hob’s body. The air that crackles hot between them. How much he wants. Dream is actually physically shaking. His hands are trembling. The world is spinning. He actually might pass out, and he hates his mind so much.

Normally Dream would stop whatever he’s doing when he gets like this. But now the thought of having to stop is making him angry. And maybe he just needs to have it out with himself. If he needs to have a panic attack, if he needs to have a dizzy spell and faint, so be it, he’s tired of it.

“Easy,” Hob says, pulling back, taking his hands and squeezing. “God, you’re actually shaking.”

“I know.” He tries to calm the surge of anger. He knows better than to try to muscle himself into submission. He knows that fighting that electricity isn’t going to end well.

He tries to breathe. Imagines himself composed of frightened sparks. They aren’t going to go away, not tonight. But Dream knows how to survive them. He’s constructed his whole life into an elaborate grid to keep them from bursting. To keep from blowing the fragile circuit.

Just don’t be anxious. But they are a part of him. They are him. One can’t just switch off a bulb and still have its light. Just don’t be anxious. Just stop it. Just do it.

He thinks of Hob instead. I can handle a live wire.

Dream feels so tense he might start fracturing out of his body. He squeezes Hob’s hands to remind himself that he’s here.

“Can we. Take this somewhere,” he says, words measured, “that doesn’t require standing?”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Hob asks. It is, Dream thinks, the first time tonight that Hob has questioned him on his feelings. Normally he gets pushback on everything he says, but from Hob, only this.

“I am just. Very anxious,” Dream admits. Hob looks as though he might say something concerned, so Dream says, “Can you trust when I say that none of this is your doing? This is simply how I am.”

“Okay,” Hob says, and Dream sighs at the easy acceptance. Hob runs his hand through Dream’s hair, down his neck and back to land low again on his waist. Dream’s skin prickles in an entirely different way. “I believe you.”

It is so easy for him. To not try to fix Dream before allowing him to want this. Hob doesn’t try to bring Dream down from his anxious peak, something that wouldn’t work anyway. He lets the current run through him.

It’s so easy Dream almost feels he doesn’t have to fix himself.

Hob brings him over to the couch, sits down and draws Dream into his lap. Dream straddles his thighs, breath shaking. He’s still trembling, but he doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to get up. He wants this, this singular, terrifying moment.

Hob unbuttons his shirt with steady hands. Helps him out of it. Dream undoes Hob’s tie, setting it aside, then unbuttons his dress shirt, gradually revealing the shape of his body, strong shoulders, broad chest, coarse hair. He presses his hands to Hob’s skin, mesmerized.

When he gets nervous, he starts to disappear, starts to distance himself from everything around him, but this time he tries very, very hard to stay present. “Touch me?” he asks.

Hob does, hands stroking up and down his sides; kisses the side of Dream’s neck, and his shoulder, and Dream tips his head back, shivering. He is still shaking, god damn him, but Hob seems to trust him, and doesn’t stop.

His hands go to Dream’s trousers, undo the button and zipper, and Dream freezes. It’s so much, to be seen, to be touched, all his senses flying around him in a whirlwind.

He’s hidden his face in Hob’s shoulder. Hob draws him back, kisses him lightly, says, “Try something?” and Dream nods, yes, yes anything, if anyone could direct the chaos of him, he thinks it would be Hob.

Hob takes his tie from where they’d left it aside on the couch, wraps it over Dream’s eyes, tying it at the back of his head. Dream ought to feel more nervous at having his senses blocked but instead everything goes quieter. He lets out a long breath of relief.

“Better?” Hob asks.

“Yes.” Somehow. Someway. It makes him feel less seen. Even though logically, he knows this does nothing to Hob’s ability to see him. Nevertheless. The panic of his body is quieter.

Perhaps when he trusts Hob more, if Hob even wants to see him again after this, he might ask Hob to block his hearing, too, let him forget about all of it and zero in on just the sensation of Hob touching him. For now, he hovers in the middling dark of being temporarily blinded, and listens to Hob’s voice in his ear.

Hob kisses his jaw, up along his neck, biting kisses that will leave marks. Dream clutches to him. He feels he can do little but hang on. Hob’s hands to go his trousers again, and he takes Dream out, holding him carefully. Dream’s breath catches. Hob’s hand is warm and sure as he starts to stroke him, just easy and slow, letting him warm up to the feeling of being touched.

It’s so much easier with his vision gone. It’s like he’s imagining all of this in his own mind, freed of the terrifying, brilliant knowledge of its reality. He can lean into Hob’s touch, gasp against Hob’s cheek as Hob strokes him. He may be starting to dissociate but it doesn’t feel scary, this time. It feels floaty and peaceful.

Hob doesn’t seem to mind taking the lead. He brings Dream’s body higher and higher. Dream hangs on, in the pleasant darkness, overwhelmed. Eventually he hears Hob undoing his own zipper, and his breath catches. Hob takes his hand, brings it down, wraps Dream’s fingers around his length.

Dream holds him gently, cheek pressed against Hob’s, breathing shallowly. Everything is heightened without his sight, every detail of Hob’s body, the precise weight of him in Dream’s hand, the heat of him, the slickness of pre-come at the tip. His heart thunders in his throat as he strokes Hob, as Hob’s hand wraps around his, shows him the rhythm at which he likes to be touched.

“You are so beautiful,” Hob says in his ear.

“I would say the same, but,” Dream says, and Hob laughs, delighted.

“Don’t have to say anything at all.”

He presses Dream closer by the small of his back, arching Dream’s spine, so Dream’s cock is rubbing against him. Wraps his hand around them both at once. Dream moans at the touch, the slide of his body against Hob’s stoking fire within him, so much more vivid than when he touches himself. He’d thought Hob would want… more of him, but this is good, this is comfortable, and safe.

Hob slips his hand under the waistband of Dream’s trousers, palming his ass, bringing him closer, closer. His grip is sure and possessive. Dream falls into his touch, his knowledge, his acceptance.

He’s getting close. He tucks his face into Hob’s shoulder, breathing hard. Hob must sense it, he strokes them harder, faster, crushing their bodies together.

Dream bites down hard on Hob’s shoulder as heat rushes through him, hips jerking into Hob’s hand, utterly overcome as his orgasm races through him. Hob yelps at the press of his teeth, but then laughs. He laughs so easily.

Dream is still floating but feels when Hob’s hips stutter and he comes, spend spilling over their hands. His chest heaves under Dream. Dream takes peace in the rhythm of his body. The strength, sweat, surety of him.

Dream comes back to himself, slowly. And immediate is the rush of embarrassment. How could he—

He kisses Hob’s shoulder where he’d pressed his teeth. “Sorry.”

Hob’s chest rumbles with laughter. He pets Dream’s hair. It feels delightful. Dream wants to lay his head down in his lap and have it never stop. “Don’t worry about it. Just surprised me, is all.” He whispers in Dream’s ear. “I’m more into it than you know.”

“Oh?” Dream is… intrigued.

“Mmhmm.” He nuzzles Dream’s cheek. “You liked the blindfold.”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.”

Dream wonders what’s going through his mind, though he expects, if he sticks around long enough, he will find out.

“Feel better?” Hob asks.

Dream is not so shivery now. Not so utterly keyed up. Electricity spent. “Yes.”

“Good.” He touches Dream’s belly, where his come had landed. “This is going to get uncomfortable quick. Come on.”

He helps Dream up. Unties the tie from around his eyes. Dream almost wishes he wouldn’t, but he doesn’t want to walk into a wall, so he allows it.

When it’s gone he’s met with Hob’s gaze on him, and it’s so indulgent and adoring that he immediately wants to hide away again, take back the blindfold, put on his shirt, before his heart races itself into a early grave. But Hob takes his face between his hands before he can turn away.

Words tumble from Dream’s lips before he can think them through. “Have you... been with anyone since your fiancee passed away?”

Hob’s expression turns sad, and Dream feels bad for asking. “Few one night stands here and there. Nothing that really mattered. But this.” He leans his forehead against Dream’s. “I don’t know, Dream. It feels like it matters.”

The words are like pure restoration washing through him. “I feel the same,” Dream says, with a breath of relief. Of course, he does not have one night stands to compare it to. This is not a thing he has historically done. But still, it feels significant. That he even wanted to feels significant. The way Hob handles him feels significant.

Hob smiles, and kisses him, soft, shallow, but sweet. Far too adoring, Dream thinks, for what he understands a one night stand to be. It utterly terrifies him. He leans into it anyway.

“Come on,” Hob says when they part. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Dream follows him, hand in hand, messy, exposed, ever-nervous, but strangely, at peace.

[d0d0-b0i]

lil something

[theheartnexttophan]

I made a bracelet to take revenge on fandometrics for not posting yesterday

[m00f1e]

boinkd

(Sound on pls)

Geto getting boinkd except hollow purple is a purple bean (???)

More animations: moofgifs

[maaninenpyromaani]

blind channel tiktok video 11.6.2024

[onifanss]

Yansae •

[daddy-long-legssss]

i scream so very loudly [x]

[cherry-bomb-ships]

Aaaaaah I know I've been talking abt this art for like 3 days but I FINISHED IT HEEHEE 💖💘💖💘💖💘💖 The thought behind this was Cherry was getting mugged during their walk back to her apartment cuz Townsville be like that, and this is the moment Mojo swooped in to her rescue (How did he know it was happening? He deeeefinitely wasnt spying on them lol) ANYWAYS ENJOY If you want more thoughts look at my tags!! 💖💖💖💖💖💖

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