fic recs!

wooowriter @tinogiehd

fav fic: the gold room

heartinhands @dnfingtons

fav fic: anywhere with you (is home)

findingahome @findinghomes

fav fic: lost in drawers (everything i love)

indigoh @indigodnf

fav fic: calico

bug4o4 @bug4o4

fav fic: blossoming alone

demonstars @demonstars

fav fic: when you kiss my lips, you’ll make it stick

sappymix1 @sappymix1

fav fic: take my hand; i give it to you

Kore_Writes @lesbian-gnf

fav fic: Just Like You

ivegivenuponyou @droleblogger

fav fic: There’s A Crack In Everything (That’s How The Light Gets In)

tippysleeps @tippysnores

fav fic: house of gold

nervouswaltz @nervouswaltz

fav fic: only trying to get home

brokenlikeastitch @prettygnf

fav fic: on purpose

snowdreamr @snowdreamr

fav fic: trim my hair and my blooming desire

twostorms @absolutelyinlove

fav fic: tried and true blue

riversofgold

fav fic: home out of breath & body

furculaed @doyoupenis

fav fic: give you my wild

bytheview @justlikemoon

fav fic: taken by the view

gatzbright @gatzbright

fav fic: the chain (never break the chain)

havocrat @havocrat

fav fic: ‘til the bone crush

orlaith @orlait111

fav fic: for you, i would ruin myself

snowchcster

fav fic: sacred new beginnings

jack_not_found @valogogy

fav fic: teach you how forever feels like

discountsimp @roseamericano

fav fic: back to where it all began

percabethfeelsfandom

fav fic: a lot of my future is your future

Vxndetta

fav fic: your left shoulder (the perfect headrest)

simplyonestan

fav fic: Falling in Love To the Beat of the Music

mario anon

fav fic: Dream Steps Up (he is a stepdad)

sweetuhcreature @sweetuhcreature

fav fic: our coming of age has come and gone

womanhunt @fujogie

George is nervous.

Not for himself, no.

For the mop of dirty blond hair that’s bouncing weirdly in time with an incessantly bouncing leg.

Dream’s knee is working overtime on the cement pavement, and George briefly considers what to do in the event of a sprained ankle live on stage.

He hasn’t seen Dream this nervous since… ever. Not even during the blond’s face reveal, where the nerves had been cushioned by George’s wonderful arrival into the country.

“I’m worried,” Dream mumbles, stilling and glancing over at him. George holds his gaze and nods quietly, too anxious for him to crack a joke.

“I can tell.”

It’s not a reassurance, so George doesn’t know why he’s even surprised when Dream’s leg starts bouncing again. He leans forward.

“Hey, it’s gonna be alright,” George whispers quietly, moving in front of Dream. He kneels down and puts a hand on the blond’s thigh. “Besides, they already love you anyway. Those people out there are probably the last ones to criticize you if you even mess up.”

His words get him the reaction he wants this time. Dream huffs out a quiet laugh, body visibly relaxing against George’s touch.

“Thanks,” the blond whispers, leaning forward.

Their foreheads touch.

The warmth settles the nerves under George’s skin into a tranquil silence.

---

Dream is stiff when he walks onto the stage. George purses his lips, watching nervously from the side. Unwelcome thoughts, worst-case scenarios fill his head, and for a second George panics for Dream, escape routes unclear in his head.

But they’re soon drowned out by the loudest of screams, and George grins and cheers with the rest of the crowd.

Dream meets his eye and beams. He stumbles toward his side of the stage, clumsy and excited, and George’s worries fade away into fondness. His heart skips a beat, this time from the flush on his face and the warmth blooming in his chest.

Dream relaxes with every song he sings, and George’s shoulders loosen in tandem with his growing excitement.

George’s heart is a different story.

It seems to have mistaken the concert for a gymnastics competition, leaping into newly discovered heights every time Dream throws a subtle grin up at him.

It’s not obvious, but it definitely catches George’s attention, and for a good few minutes he wonders if anyone would catch Dream’s little lovestruck expressions.

(If he would care if anyone saw.)

His face adorns an almost-permanent blush, hidden only by the shadows casted by the dimly-lit venue. But he can’t bring himself to look away, with his own, impossibly wide grin rooting him in place, keeping his eyes on the blond.

Idiot, George thinks fondly.

“Spotlight” comes on, and George’s heart stops in its tracks.

Because Dream’s looking up at him, head tilted up, eyes sparkling brighter than the lights above him. Everyone is watching him, but he’s looking only at George. And there are people looking up from the crowd and gaping at him, but George finds that he doesn’t give a shit what they think.

He laughs quietly and lifts his hand in a small wave, giggling as the blond’s grin widens. It only lasts for a second, but George spends an entire lifetime under his golden-eyed stare.

---

Dream’s singing is captivating, both to George and the rest of the crowd, and by the time it’s his turn to show up on stage, the nerves are nowhere to be found.

They had written their song for laughs, but the energy from the crowd is so infectious George ends up putting his entire effort into the song.

When it ends, George is drained beyond belief, but leftover adrenaline keeps the stupid grin staying on his face. He’s glued to Dream’s side the entire way home. Dream drapes an arm over his shoulder and holds him close.

The afterparty is small and relaxing, with just a few friends and beers in the living room. Patches celebrates her unusually large number of treats quietly on her cat bed. When their friends leave and they retreat to their room for the night, George feels a pair of arms wrapping around his waist.

He turns around to find Dream smiling at him, and George leans back into the blond.

“Hey,” Dream chuckles quietly, and George smiles.

“Hey.” It’s all George can say before Dream drags him onto the bed. They land on the mattress with a grunt and George squirms, still locked in Dream’s arms, laughing at the awkward position.

They settle on top of the blankets, facing each other.

“The concert went so well,” Dream starts, his features taking on an excited expression. “It was awesome.”

“Yeah, it was,” George laughs quietly. “My song was the best performance.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

They fall into a comfortable silence, one that leaves enough time for George’s mind to wander. The way Dream had stared at him flashes through his brain, and a flush blooms on his cheeks.

“What?” Dream asks, leaning forward. “What are you thinking about?” George flushes lightly and shrugs.

“You know,” he starts. “Just the, uh, just the thing you did during-”

“During ‘Spotlight’?” Dream interrupts him. George nods quietly, eyes darting toward the blankets. 

He misses the worry that begins to etch its lines into Dream’s expression.

“Was it-was it because I made it obvious?”

The hesitant tone sends George whipping his head back toward the blond.

“What-no, no!” He sputters. “I’m not upset about it, i-idiot.” He huffs when Dream visibly relaxes, melting back against the sheets.

“I just remembered it and it was-it was nice, that’s all,” George whispers quietly.

“So you’re okay with it? With, uh, with everyone seeing it?”

George nods, smiling hesitantly. Then Dream launches himself at him. He barely has time to let out a squeak that would be embarrassing if Sapnap was around to hear it, before he’s flattened against the mattress.

The struggle ends with Dream on top of him, not that George minds. The blond’s cheeks are red and his grin is so wide George can’t help but huff out a resigned laugh himself.

“I love you,” Dream laughs quietly. The words send flowers blooming in his chest, and George leans up, pressing his lips against Dream’s.

It’s more of a peck, with gravity working against his will before he’s forced to flop back down onto the bed, but Dream simply chuckles and leans down, reconnecting their lips for the second time.

This time, they stay that way for longer, gentle and intimate, before they pull apart. George stares up at him, and lets himself get lost in the gold.

“I love you too.”

It’s a bit of a fever dream. It’s January now, nearly one month since alcohol made their tongues loose and confessions slipped past their lips one after the other. It’s been wonderful, of course, but now George is shaking. 

I wanna put you in the spotlight

Turn off the cameras, now you're all mine

All mine.

All… mine. Mine.

“George?”

“Fuck,” George breathes. 

Three miserable years he spent stuck in an unrequited love, but then he landed in Florida, suddenly wrapped in an immeasurable amount of love for the first time in the seven years he and Dream have been friends. 

And now his head is spinning. He’s shaking and sweating and holy shit Dream loves him. 

He doesn’t even need to say the three little words, because George knows. It goes without saying. But not without singing, because those lyrics say more than Dream ever has face-to-face.

“You hate it,” Dream says, face falling.

“Wh-” George starts, cutting himself off as his gaze turns from the audio file on the computer screen to Dream’s sad golden eyes, staring up at him. “No,” he says, but not even he believes himself. 

He blinks and sighs and reaches up, gently cupping Dream’s jaw. Dream shifts his chair to face George completely as George steps closer, brushing his thumbs across Dream’s cheekbones. 

“Am I the first one to hear this?” George murmurs. 

“Besides the producers,” Dream says, “yeah. I wanted you to hear it before the others.”

Butterflies swarm in George’s gut. Blue morpho butterflies with shades that match the hues that stained George’s heart while he was stuck in London. Clouded yellow butterflies that compliment Dream’s eyes in the same color George is restricted to seeing. 

George smiles, tilting his head. “Is it about me?” he teases gently, running one hand through Dream’s hair. 

“Well, who else would it be about, idiot?” Dream asks, grinning widely. One finger taps against George’s lower thigh before Dream’s hand encases George’s hip. 

George’s fingers card through Dream’s hair, untangling small knots. Dream watches him carefully, gold watching brown, until they meet, and they both smile. 

“Did you mean it?” George whispers. 

Dream doesn’t blink. “Of course I did,” he says. “I’d never lie to you, George.”

Oh, look in your eyes like woah, they always shine bright, I see the limelight, I can't describe that glow

Make you a superstar in my mind, my mind

I'll follow, anywhere you go

Watch the door when you get home, yelling, "No paparazzi"

A superstar in my bed

“You’re so obsessed with me,” George says, cracking a small smile.

Dream only stares up at me with eyes full of genuine love, blinking slowly like cats do to say they love you. The butterflies flick in George’s gut, and his gaze flicks down to Dream’s lips. 

“Why’d you say it?” he asks. 

“Because,” Dream says. “I want you to feel as special with me as when I’m in front of the camera. Only, it’s just as and we’re alone.”

George smirks. “And in your bed, apparently.”

Dream scoffs. “I had to.”

“Are you going to release it?” George asks.

Dream hums, gently taking the hand against his jaw in his own. He presses a kiss to the skin, looking up at George as he does. “Probably,” he mutters. “Unless you don’t want me to.”

“I think you should,” George says gently. 

Dream grins. “I’m not sure when I will.”

George brushes his hair from his eyes before leaning down to kiss between his eyes. “That’s okay,” he says. “We’ll keep it to ourselves for now.” He smiles, and Dream looks like he melts. 

There are no words exchanged, but they both move towards each other, and their lips meet eagerly. Prior to this, the two had only shared a few kisses, quick and little ones. This is real. 

Dream stands, gently cradling George’s jaw as hands slide down to rest on his waist. They push closer to each other despite having no room to do so, hands moving to touch and touch and touch. George’s hands slide under Dream’s sweater while Dream’s get lost in George’s hair, kissing him harder.

“Did you like it though?” Dream breathes as they pull apart, foreheads resting together.

“I loved it, you idiot,” George says, smiling happily. “You’re such a simp.”

Dream huffs. “You should hear some of my other songs.”

George doesn’t give him anymore time to talk, quickly pressing their lips together again. “I love you too,” he whispers between kisses. Dream smiles against his lips.

The way Dream spoke about him in the song was like nothing he’d ever heard the blond say before that moment. He sang about George as if he was a Greek god, worthy of devotion and adoration. As if he hung the moon, or–better yet–was the moon. The duration of the song had George feeling woozy and sick with butterflies. No one had ever, in his 26 years of existence, loved George in the way Dream does, let alone love him enough to write a song for him. A song like that, too. George is so, so in love.

And the painted lady butterflies knew it too.

----

Dream doesn’t know what to do.

He doesn’t know what he’s feeling. Betrayal? Hurt, maybe? He looks down at his phone and scrunches his nose. A video of George and Karl hugging replays, silently mocking him.

The sharp pang of jealousy sends him flopping onto his bed. George has never let Dream hug him like that. Not after the first day George had arrived in Florida.

Memories of that day had been cemented in Dream’s head. The way George had beamed the moment they had made eye contact, the way arms had squeezed around him as they had enveloped each other in a tight hug.

It had been all Dream had ever wanted, George in his arms. And once he had gotten a taste of it, he couldn’t get enough.

But then George had pulled away. But it had been under the gaze of the camera, so Dream had chalked the rejection up to the existence of the stream. Then it happened off-camera, so Dream had assumed George had an aversion for affection. Christmas had arrived, and he had watched astonished as George wrapped his arms around Sapnap on stream.

Denial had come almost immediately in tow, so when the chance had come Dream had tried for a hug of his own. He had been greeted by a scrunched nose into the camera, and no reciprocation.

And now. Dream picks up his phone and stares at the arms around Karl.

He didn’t know pixels could hurt so much.

Resignation sends tears pricking his eyes.

---

It’s been days since George has had to fight off a hug. Not that he’s been counting.

Three hugless days had sent George’s brain overthinking, worrying if he had done something wrong. But when he had hesitantly asked whether everything was alright, Dream had simply nodded his head with a soft smile.

Eight days have passed since then. Eleven days, total. George has yet to receive a hug.

He doesn’t like it.

Dream is sitting on the couch when he comes down the stairs. George purses his lips. A plan forms in his brain. His feet bring him into the living room before he can change his mind. George flops down onto the couch, inches away from Dream, and sighs dramatically.

“I’m so tired,” he mumbles, watching as Dream sits up and furrows his eyebrows in worry.

“Honestly, I feel kind of stressed out,” George adds, for good measure. He slumps forward.

“You alright?” Dream asks. A hand hovers over George’s back, almost hesitant to touch him. Anticipation rushes through George’s body, the almost-touch already burning him.

The hand moves away.

Disappointment hasn’t felt this terrible in a while, George thinks, pouting slightly. He hides his face in his hands. Next to him, Dream shifts.

“What-what’s wrong, George? Are you alright?”

The question draws a groan out of George’s throat. Dream’s noise of confusion is cut off when he looks back up, irritated.

“Just-just come here, idiot,” he hisses over the blush on his cheeks.

Dream’s confused glance is almost infuriating. George huffs, throwing his arm up in frustration.

“Why don’t you hug me anymore,” he asks, turning toward the blond. “You never hug me anymore.”

Dream furrows his eyebrow.

“I-I thought you didn’t want hugs from me,” Dreamhe stutters. George gapes at him, astonished. “I, uh, thought you didn’t like it when I hugged you.”

Dream looks away, flustered. George scrambles for words.

“I don’t-”

Nervous rambles cut off his reassurance.

“I just-you hug Sapnap and Karl, but not me, and I don’t know if I’m just overthinking or, you know, if you-I don’t know.”

Oh.

Panic and desperation to correct the blond sound the alarms in his brain, and George swivels toward Dream, eyes wide.

“I like when you hug me, just-just-”

I can’t let my feelings show, he wants to say. The words get stuck in his throat. Dream looks up at him, cautious hope in his eyes.

“Just?” He prods quietly, and George gulps.

“I’m scared people will-will notice,” he manages, already dreading the inevitable request to clarify.

“Notice what?”

The way he immediately melts into every hug, only forcing himself to pull away when he remembers the prying eyes staring at them. The way he wants to lean in against Dream, pull him into his arms, and never let go.

Too many things, George nearly whispers.

“They’ll notice that I like it when you hug me,” he says instead, praying it gets the message across.

It doesn’t.

Dream shakes his head, hurt written over his face.

“But-but you’re fine hugging other people?” He asks. George shakes his head hurriedly, panic overtaking him at the misunderstanding.

“No, no, Dream, you’re getting it wrong,” he says, waving his hands frantically in the air. “It’s different with you.”

Dream stares at him.

“Why?”

“Because you’re different,” George hisses through his teeth, before he quiets down. “B-because you’re-you feel like home.” He looks away when Dream doesn’t respond, dread gnawing at the edges of his heart. Dream shifts next to him, and he braces for rejection.

Arms wrap tightly around him instead, and shock quickly turns into elation. And this time, George lets himself melt into Dream.

He settles against the crook of Dream’s neck, and smiles when the blond rests his chin on top of his head.

“You feel like home, too,” Dream whispers quietly.

George gasps, heart stuttering when he feels a kiss pressed against the top of his head. It’s a silent declaration, one that has George pulling him in even closer. Dream wheezes, the sound cut off by an oxygen-deprived choke, and tightens the hug.

“You realize I’m not gonna let myou push me away anymore, right?” Dream whispers. George giggles quietly.

“Wouldn’t expect any less,” he whispers.