- if ccs have expressed discomfort about x reader fanfiction, i will not be writing about them.
- as of right now, i only write for karl, quackity, wilbur, foolish, and dteam.
- i will not write nsfw works
- i do my best to write a gender neutral reader unless the story calls for something specific (mom!reader, dad!reader, prince!reader, princess!reader, etc)
personal boundaries:
- no trauma dumping in my inbox or messages.
- please do not send in asks about alcohol
- do not expect me to write something just because you requested it
(best friends to lovers, fake dating, bed sharing, idk how old dream’s siblings are pretend they are all older and married except for drista my beloved, dream is really sweet in a small gestures kind of way, way too many mentions of freckles, dream gets his nickelodeon hot tub kiss sans nickelodeon, writer want to kiss a boy so bad and it shows, gn!reader but it’s insinuated that they are wearing a bikini or swim top of some kind, dream is a thigh man, no real names)
listen to: summer daze by all time low, fine apple by nic d, 2002 by anne-marie
“I can’t imagine a worse idea,” you say, turning on your playlist before Dream can ask for the aux. “I mean, your parents are so sweet, and your siblings…”
“My siblings literally love you and even if you told them it was fake, they’d still love you,” Dream assures. He’s driving to the airport with relaxed ease, one hand on the gear shift and the other wrist hanging lazily over the steering wheel. “Look, my mom asked if I had a partner I wanted to bring and I panicked!”
“You could’ve just said you had a friend!” you hiss. Although, the truth is simple: you wish this wasn’t a fake thing. You’ve liked your best friend since freshman year of high school. Growing closer to him hasn’t made it better. And now, he’s acting so nonchalantly about “dating” you, your mind wonders whether or not he would mind if this was all real.
“Where’s the fun in that?” Dream retorts. He looks over and winks at you, eyelashes long and nearly brushing the freckles that span across his cheeks. You wonder what it would feel like to kiss each one.
Stupid brain. You look out the window, opting to pretend you're really interested in the music rather than his concerned gaze.
Sal is beautiful. The airport is small, and seemingly unimportant to the rest of the island. It’s a twenty minute drive to the coast, where the rented beach house is. You’re squished in a rental car between Dream and Drista, which isn’t as bad as it could be, since Drista is watching a YouTube video on her phone, and she offers you an earbud.
The beach house is a faded blue, nearing gray. White trim and skirting make it postcard ready, along with the many local plants hanging around.
The porch light flicks on, and you realize Dream’s brother must’ve already arrived with his partner.
Dream’s mom tells everyone to get their luggage and unpack. It’s nearing sundown, so there isn’t much to do except try and work off the jet lag that’s been creeping up on you since you left the airport.
“Dream and ___, you’re upstairs, last room on the right!” You lead the way, dragging your overpacked suitcase behind you. Dream lags behind, hugging his siblings and their partners.
The room has dark, hardwood floors. Over that is a large shag rug with aquamarine and white patterns. There’s a queen sized bed, made with precise care. Two nightstands with matching lamps, the lampshades are an ugly shade of beige with tacky seashells glued on.
There’s a large tv mounted to the wall just above the wooden dresser, and an en suite bathroom with your own shower. There is obnoxious wall art with quotes like “life’s a beach” and “this is my happy place” covering the walls. It’s absolutely atrocious in that tourist-y way.
It’s perfect.
You begin to unpack, taking all the drawers on the right of the dresser.
“Oh…” Dream widens the door with his elbow and tosses his duffel bag onto the ground. “Only one bed.”
You snort. “Afraid I’ll give you cooties?”
“No,” Dream retorts. His tanned neck grows red and he reaches to scratch his nape. “I mean, I just wasn’t expecting it.”
“Don’t people who date usually sleep in the same bed?” you tuck your suitcase between the dresser and the wall.
Dream begins to unpack his stuff, far neater than you had packed yours. “I know I just… I dunno, I forgot.”
His neck is red again, so you drop the subject.
You take a shower after Dream, and when you emerge, he’s dressed in nothing but a pair of basketball shorts and socks, lounging on the bed and scrolling through the free channels on the tv.
You’ve seen his torso before (when he’s at the pool, or when he’s playing soccer with you) but it always surprises you how many freckles he’s got splattered across his tanned chest. He scratches across his collarbone, and your eyes reluctantly follow the movement.
You wish your best friend was ugly. That would make all of this easier.
Or maybe he could be rude. Uptight. Boring. Anything, but the kind and playful boy he is.
Except he’s trying to find golf, of all things.
“Give me the remote,” you say, leaning over him to grab the remote. “We are not watching any kind of sport on vacation.”
“Well I’m not watching Friends,” Dream retorts, knowing you’re going to find a marathon somehow. You always do.
“At least it’s entertaining!” you grasp the remote, hip bumping against his thigh.
“You’re not getting your way, today!” Dream exclaims. He grabs you, thumbs against your ribs, and lifts you over him, onto the empty side of the bed. “Now sit here and enjoy this golf tournament with me.”
“No,” you argue again, face burning at his touch. “I’m just going to sleep if you’re going to watch something so boring.”
“Fine.” Dream turns the tv up, cocky smirk on his face knowing he got his way. “Gnite, sleepyhead.”
You grumble and wiggle the blanket out from under your body. You slip in, enjoying the cool scratchiness of the sheets. A sigh escapes you. You hadn’t realized just how tired you were.
“Wait, are you seriously going to sleep?” Dream's voice is softer this time.
“Yes,” you mumble, refusing to open your eyes now that you’ve finally given them some rest.
“Okay, I’ll turn it down.” He shuffles under the covers too, warm chest instantly heating you. His bicep is nearly pressed against your face, and in your drowsiness, you reach out and grab it, resting your forehead against his toned muscle as if it were a hot water bottle.
He tenses up, then relaxes, and you hear the volume shift to barely audible.
The beach is clear, and the sand is like crystal glass, cold and white. The water is nearly jade, a warm green that gets bluer as the sandy floor gives way.
Some people are already outside, despite it being early morning. You’re not sure anyone in the house is up yet, but you’ve slept the whole night through, and you want to get a glimpse of the ocean before everyone begins to crowd it.
You dig your bare feet in the cool sand. The sun hasn’t been up long enough to heat it. The rhythmic sound of the waves almost lulls you back to sleep. You hug your arms to your chest to brace against the ocean wind.
“There you are!” You turn around, and Dream is running down the steps of the beach house in his basketball shorts, this time without socks. His smile is bright enough to combat the sun.
“Here I am,” you mumble. “I’m just enjoying some alone time.”
“Oh,” Dream frowns. He reaches you, heavy breaths causing his chest to rise and fall. “Do you want me to leave?”
“No, it’s alright,” your voice is gentle, and it carries in the wind. “I was going to hunt for shells.” You hold up the netted bag you usually take to the grocery store for produce. “Would you like to join me?”
“Whoever finds the prettiest shell — as voted by my mother — wins!” Dream announces. He grabs your hand and pulls you closer to the surf, pointing at random things as the two of you pass.
He’s watching a pelican dive into the water for a fish just as you see a pretty twisted shell, light green in color. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen a shell that color, but it’s Dream’s favorite, so you pocket it before he notices.
The two of you stay out for hours, digging up clams and watching them race down beneath the surface.
It’s not until Dream’s mom texts him that the two of you walk back to the house, feet soaked by the sea and shoulders warm.
Everyone is seated at the table, eating a casual brunch of bagels and donuts that seem to have been bought from a nearby bakery. Dream nabs the last everything bagel before you can, poking his tongue out at your appalled expression.
“Mom, you have to check our shells to see who found the prettiest,” Dream says, mouth full of food.
You roll your eyes and grab a cinnamon raisin bagel, slipping onto the bench beside Drista, who is texting someone. “Let her eat first, Dream.”
He rolls his eyes, but agrees and sits across from you. His ankle bumps against yours and he reaches out to link them together, smiling innocently over the table.
“I’m glad he listens to you,” His mom says, rolling her eyes fondly as she ruffles her son's golden waves. “And I’m glad he finally has someone to take on our trips with him.”
Dream’s neck goes red again, but this time it spreads to his chest, and you focus on your bagel so you aren’t caught staring. “Mom, please.”
“What? It’s not like the two of you aren’t together.”
“Right,” Dream grits out, looking at you pointedly.
He wants you to get him out of this topic. But honestly, you’re having fun watching him become embarrassed. After all, it’s his fault the two of you have to pretend. He could’ve just asked to take you, but he decided to embellish the truth. “He’s so clingy,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.
Drista snorts.
Dream’s jaw drops. You’re beginning to love the color pink on him. “Like you weren’t clinging to me to get to sleep last night!” He retorts, pushing the narrative away from himself.
“You’re stupid.”
“You’re an idiot.”
You stick your tongue out at him.
He gives you half of his bagel in exchange for half of yours.
Dream’s mom sighs. “You two are impossible. You know, Dream, I thought when you finally made it official, you’d be more of a gentleman.”
“Mom, I literally just gave them half of my very coveted bagel.” Dream winks at you from across the table. His ankle is still knocking against yours. You wonder what his mother meant by “finally making it official”.
“Just show me the shells so I can judge them and go get my tan.”
Dream shakes his head, causing wet droplets to hit your face. “Dream!”
“What?” He laughs and climbs out of the pool.
There’s a private pool and hot tub behind the house. You wonder how expensive this place is.
You’re sitting on a lawn chair in a shirt and shorts, refusing to take off your shirt in front of Dream. Because here’s the thing: you never swim around him. It’s not that you don’t trust him, or that you necessarily hate the way your body looks. But truthfully, Dream is fit, and you’re sure all his past partners were fit. And you feel a little inadequate. It’s easy to hide behind baggy clothes and pretend you have a body that you don’t.
Whatever. Maybe you’re just thinking too hard.
“It’s so boring here by myself!” Dream whines. His shoulders are even more tanned than usual. His freckles are nearly hidden. You want to trace all the sunspots on his chest.
“I’m–” You can’t very well tell him, now can you? That’s be embarrassing. Hey, Dream — my best friend since we were in diapers — I don’t want you to see me in my swimsuit because I’m afraid I won’t be sexy enough.
He’s always been good at reading your expressions. “Are you worried about what you look like?”
You nod, refusing to look at him. His voice is soft, which means he’s probably pitying you.
“Come on now,” he cooes. He walks up to you and grabs the hem of your shirt. Looking into your eyes, he blinks, “Do you trust me?”
You nod, still watching him because you do trust him. You trust him with every part of you.
Slowly, Dream pulls your t-shirt over your head, until you’re left in your shorts and swim top. His gaze drifts across your body, and he clears his throat pointedly. He turns back towards the pool water. “Yeah. Absolutely nothing to worry about.”
“Are you sure?” You frown.
His back tenses, and he slowly turns back around. His eyes are staring straight into yours, and you feel like maybe this was a bad idea. You’ve never felt so vulnerable. “I’m sure. Just get your ass in the pool.”
You snort. You shimmy out of your shorts and slip into the water. The surface is hot from the sun, but it’s cool underneath, immediately soothing you. “It feels so good in here,” you sigh.
Dream laughs. He swims over, just a few strides, and wraps his arms around your waist. “I’m going to throw you.”
“What? Wait, Dream!” You shriek when he throws you over his shoulder. Chlorine water fills your nose and you joke and splutter after breaking the surface.
“Did I hurt you?” Dream picks you up instantly, supporting your weight in the six foot deep water.
You wrap your legs around his torso, your arms around his neck, and enjoy the feeling of his hands splayed beneath your thighs. “You’re despicable.”
He laughs, lips against your ear, and you’ve never heard a sound so akin to the sun. “You love me,” he insists.
And you do. So surely, more than anyone else. But it’s in a way he might not reciprocate, and you don’t want to risk a friendship over feelings. “You wish!” You press your palms against his shoulders and shove him down, delighting in the way he grabs you even tighter.
“Our flights are all a day early,” Dream’s mom is saying, as you and Dream eat ice cream sandwiches with Drista.
“Lucky,” Drista mumbles. She’s wearing the crystal necklace you bought her while out. You’re wearing a matching one, because she insisted, and it makes you feel like part of the family.
You feel warm.
Dream shrugs nonchalantly. “We’ll just stay the extra night, right? We have the house until noon?”
“Yeah, just make sure the checklist is done. Dishes are clean, towels in the tub, trash bags in the bins outside…”
“Sounds good,” Dream says. “We’ll be home by Saturday night, Mom.”
“Come over,” She insists. “We’re closer to the airport and there’s a guest room.”
The two of you agree, since neither of you want to drive the extra hour back to you or Dream’s homes. And, selfishly, you want an entire day alone with Dream.
“We have one more carry-on bag we can take, so if you guys want to pack a bag real quick we’ll take it with us tomorrow.”
The two of you agree to just make a bag of all of the gifts and souvenirs you had bought, so they won’t take up room in your suitcases.
You’re sifting through all the stuff you collected when you find the bright green shell you had grabbed for Dream. In all the excitement of that day you forgot to give it to him.
“Dream.”
“What?” He comes out of the bathroom, his toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. He’s shirtless again. He leans against the door jam. “Do I need to take some of my stuff out?”
“No,” you say. You hold the shell out for Dream to see. “This is for you.”
He grins around the brush and pushes himself off the wall. He holds up a finger to you and goes back into the bathroom to spit out his toothpaste and set the toothbrush back in its travel case.
Then he shuffles out, a huge grin on his freckled face. “You found me a shell?”
He reaches out, and his voice is so soft that you get a little shy. “Well… yeah. I found it the other day and forgot to give it to you.”
The shell looks so small in Dream’s hand. He slides it in his pajama pocket and leans down to cup your face between his palms. “You’re so cute,” he mumbles.
You’re nose to nose, and Dream’s breath is warm against your face. You want to kiss him right now, but you’re scared he won’t reciprocate.
So you back up. “I’m glad you like it.”
The night before your flight, Dream is in the hot tub. He’s listening to a Frank Ocean playlist. It’s booming through his phone speaker, and it’s so loud you aren’t sure he hears you approach him at first. But then, over the dulcet tones of Pretty Sweet, he peaks one eye open and calls for you. “___! Join me, please!”
He's resting his head on the ledge, cushioned atop a folded towel. It’s nearly sunset, and the orange-pink light casts itself over his cheeks.
You’re already in your swimsuit, courtesy of sunbathing earlier, so you sit on the edge and dip your legs into the bubbling water. “I don’t believe we’ve been in the hot tub all week.”
Dream snorts. His eyes are closed again. He smells like sunscreen. He smells like home. “That’s because my parents have been hogging it.”
“Ah, they deserve it,” you mumble, nudging Dream’s bicep with your toe.
“So do we,” Dream grabs your shin and tugs gently, just enough for you to stumble momentarily. “Would you get in?”
You slip in at his coaxing. The water warms your skin. You sit shoulder to shoulder with Dream, and listen to the music. “Thanks for inviting me. This has been really nice.”
Beneath the water, Dream spreads his palm across your thigh and squeezes. “You made it better. You make everything better.”
His honest words startle you, but then he’s bending down just slightly, and you can feel his soft lips against your shoulder. “D-Dream,” you say, and you’re terrified your voice betrays you.
Because Dream is warmth and sunshine and sea salt air. And when he murmurs a confident, “C’mere,” and pulls you into his lap, your hands find their place against his shoulder, in his hair. Golden curls tapered to his neck by the heat of the evening, the heat of the tub, the heat of this moment.
His mouth tastes of cherry candy, it’s sour and addicting and it emits a laugh between the two of you when you push against him far too eagerly. The jet timer finishes and the only sound that fills your ears is Frank Ocean and Dream’s contented sighs.
“I don’t want us to be just friends,” he gasps. He presses his forehead to yours, chest heaving as he tries to regain his breath.
You don’t want to regain your breath. Your heart is racing as you press your lips beneath Dream’s ear, into the junction of his neck, then against every single freckle on his shoulder.
He lets you. And you hope he’ll let you forever.
“Let's be something more, then.”
summer daze series tag list: @tinyegg @yikes-buddy @sofiehonk @savingpluto @wtfdudewhydidyoutakemyusername @angelicaschuyler-church @torpedo--belly @strychninebowie @vampnarr @infinitelycharmed23 @ems-alexandra @valoinnit (if you would like to be added/removed, let me know!)
hi, you don’t have to answer this ask, but i just thought it would be worth to mention that writing that the reader gets sunburned can be less inclusive since a lot of people with darker skin, because of the melanin, don’t usually get sunburned. our skin can of course still get sun damaged, but it’s less likely to occur in the way it does for people with less melanin in their skin. i understand if you don’t know how to change the parts out in your story, but i thought it was worth mentioning for future works and in terms of if you want to be more inclusive with your writing!
hey!! i genuinely did not know this thank you so much for letting me know!! i will edit cherry sour and make sure my other works avoid it as well moving forward! thanks for being so kind i really appreciate it <3
(best friends to lovers, fake dating, bed sharing, idk how old dream’s siblings are pretend they are all older and married except for drista my beloved, dream is really sweet in a small gestures kind of way, way too many mentions of freckles, dream gets his nickelodeon hot tub kiss sans nickelodeon, writer want to kiss a boy so bad and it shows, gn!reader but it’s insinuated that they are wearing a bikini or swim top of some kind, dream is a thigh man, no real names)
listen to: summer daze by all time low, fine apple by nic d, 2002 by anne-marie
“I can’t imagine a worse idea,” you say, turning on your playlist before Dream can ask for the aux. “I mean, your parents are so sweet, and your siblings…”
“My siblings literally love you and even if you told them it was fake, they’d still love you,” Dream assures. He’s driving to the airport with relaxed ease, one hand on the gear shift and the other wrist hanging lazily over the steering wheel. “Look, my mom asked if I had a partner I wanted to bring and I panicked!”
“You could’ve just said you had a friend!” you hiss. Although, the truth is simple: you wish this wasn’t a fake thing. You’ve liked your best friend since freshman year of high school. Growing closer to him hasn’t made it better. And now, he’s acting so nonchalantly about “dating” you, your mind wonders whether or not he would mind if this was all real.
“Where’s the fun in that?” Dream retorts. He looks over and winks at you, eyelashes long and nearly brushing the freckles that span across his cheeks. You wonder what it would feel like to kiss each one.
Stupid brain. You look out the window, opting to pretend you're really interested in the music rather than his concerned gaze.
Sal is beautiful. The airport is small, and seemingly unimportant to the rest of the island. It’s a twenty minute drive to the coast, where the rented beach house is. You’re squished in a rental car between Dream and Drista, which isn’t as bad as it could be, since Drista is watching a YouTube video on her phone, and she offers you an earbud.
The beach house is a faded blue, nearing gray. White trim and skirting make it postcard ready, along with the many local plants hanging around.
The porch light flicks on, and you realize Dream’s brother must’ve already arrived with his partner.
Dream’s mom tells everyone to get their luggage and unpack. It’s nearing sundown, so there isn’t much to do except try and work off the jet lag that’s been creeping up on you since you left the airport.
“Dream and ___, you’re upstairs, last room on the right!” You lead the way, dragging your overpacked suitcase behind you. Dream lags behind, hugging his siblings and their partners.
The room has dark, hardwood floors. Over that is a large shag rug with aquamarine and white patterns. There’s a queen sized bed, made with precise care. Two nightstands with matching lamps, the lampshades are an ugly shade of beige with tacky seashells glued on.
There’s a large tv mounted to the wall just above the wooden dresser, and an en suite bathroom with your own shower. There is obnoxious wall art with quotes like “life’s a beach” and “this is my happy place” covering the walls. It’s absolutely atrocious in that tourist-y way.
It’s perfect.
You begin to unpack, taking all the drawers on the right of the dresser.
“Oh…” Dream widens the door with his elbow and tosses his duffel bag onto the ground. “Only one bed.”
You snort. “Afraid I’ll give you cooties?”
“No,” Dream retorts. His tanned neck grows red and he reaches to scratch his nape. “I mean, I just wasn’t expecting it.”
“Don’t people who date usually sleep in the same bed?” you tuck your suitcase between the dresser and the wall.
Dream begins to unpack his stuff, far neater than you had packed yours. “I know I just… I dunno, I forgot.”
His neck is red again, so you drop the subject.
You take a shower after Dream, and when you emerge, he’s dressed in nothing but a pair of basketball shorts and socks, lounging on the bed and scrolling through the free channels on the tv.
You’ve seen his torso before (when he’s at the pool, or when he’s playing soccer with you) but it always surprises you how many freckles he’s got splattered across his tanned chest. He scratches across his collarbone, and your eyes reluctantly follow the movement.
You wish your best friend was ugly. That would make all of this easier.
Or maybe he could be rude. Uptight. Boring. Anything, but the kind and playful boy he is.
Except he’s trying to find golf, of all things.
“Give me the remote,” you say, leaning over him to grab the remote. “We are not watching any kind of sport on vacation.”
“Well I’m not watching Friends,” Dream retorts, knowing you’re going to find a marathon somehow. You always do.
“At least it’s entertaining!” you grasp the remote, hip bumping against his thigh.
“You’re not getting your way, today!” Dream exclaims. He grabs you, thumbs against your ribs, and lifts you over him, onto the empty side of the bed. “Now sit here and enjoy this golf tournament with me.”
“No,” you argue again, face burning at his touch. “I’m just going to sleep if you’re going to watch something so boring.”
“Fine.” Dream turns the tv up, cocky smirk on his face knowing he got his way. “Gnite, sleepyhead.”
You grumble and wiggle the blanket out from under your body. You slip in, enjoying the cool scratchiness of the sheets. A sigh escapes you. You hadn’t realized just how tired you were.
“Wait, are you seriously going to sleep?” Dream's voice is softer this time.
“Yes,” you mumble, refusing to open your eyes now that you’ve finally given them some rest.
“Okay, I’ll turn it down.” He shuffles under the covers too, warm chest instantly heating you. His bicep is nearly pressed against your face, and in your drowsiness, you reach out and grab it, resting your forehead against his toned muscle as if it were a hot water bottle.
He tenses up, then relaxes, and you hear the volume shift to barely audible.
The beach is clear, and the sand is like crystal glass, cold and white. The water is nearly jade, a warm green that gets bluer as the sandy floor gives way.
Some people are already outside, despite it being early morning. You’re not sure anyone in the house is up yet, but you’ve slept the whole night through, and you want to get a glimpse of the ocean before everyone begins to crowd it.
You dig your bare feet in the cool sand. The sun hasn’t been up long enough to heat it. The rhythmic sound of the waves almost lulls you back to sleep. You hug your arms to your chest to brace against the ocean wind.
“There you are!” You turn around, and Dream is running down the steps of the beach house in his basketball shorts, this time without socks. His smile is bright enough to combat the sun.
“Here I am,” you mumble. “I’m just enjoying some alone time.”
“Oh,” Dream frowns. He reaches you, heavy breaths causing his chest to rise and fall. “Do you want me to leave?”
“No, it’s alright,” your voice is gentle, and it carries in the wind. “I was going to hunt for shells.” You hold up the netted bag you usually take to the grocery store for produce. “Would you like to join me?”
“Whoever finds the prettiest shell — as voted by my mother — wins!” Dream announces. He grabs your hand and pulls you closer to the surf, pointing at random things as the two of you pass.
He’s watching a pelican dive into the water for a fish just as you see a pretty twisted shell, light green in color. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen a shell that color, but it’s Dream’s favorite, so you pocket it before he notices.
The two of you stay out for hours, digging up clams and watching them race down beneath the surface.
It’s not until Dream’s mom texts him that the two of you walk back to the house, feet soaked by the sea and shoulders warm.
Everyone is seated at the table, eating a casual brunch of bagels and donuts that seem to have been bought from a nearby bakery. Dream nabs the last everything bagel before you can, poking his tongue out at your appalled expression.
“Mom, you have to check our shells to see who found the prettiest,” Dream says, mouth full of food.
You roll your eyes and grab a cinnamon raisin bagel, slipping onto the bench beside Drista, who is texting someone. “Let her eat first, Dream.”
He rolls his eyes, but agrees and sits across from you. His ankle bumps against yours and he reaches out to link them together, smiling innocently over the table.
“I’m glad he listens to you,” His mom says, rolling her eyes fondly as she ruffles her son's golden waves. “And I’m glad he finally has someone to take on our trips with him.”
Dream’s neck goes red again, but this time it spreads to his chest, and you focus on your bagel so you aren’t caught staring. “Mom, please.”
“What? It’s not like the two of you aren’t together.”
“Right,” Dream grits out, looking at you pointedly.
He wants you to get him out of this topic. But honestly, you’re having fun watching him become embarrassed. After all, it’s his fault the two of you have to pretend. He could’ve just asked to take you, but he decided to embellish the truth. “He’s so clingy,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself.
Drista snorts.
Dream’s jaw drops. You’re beginning to love the color pink on him. “Like you weren’t clinging to me to get to sleep last night!” He retorts, pushing the narrative away from himself.
“You’re stupid.”
“You’re an idiot.”
You stick your tongue out at him.
He gives you half of his bagel in exchange for half of yours.
Dream’s mom sighs. “You two are impossible. You know, Dream, I thought when you finally made it official, you’d be more of a gentleman.”
“Mom, I literally just gave them half of my very coveted bagel.” Dream winks at you from across the table. His ankle is still knocking against yours. You wonder what his mother meant by “finally making it official”.
“Just show me the shells so I can judge them and go get my tan.”
Dream shakes his head, causing wet droplets to hit your face. “Dream!”
“What?” He laughs and climbs out of the pool.
There’s a private pool and hot tub behind the house. You wonder how expensive this place is.
You’re sitting on a lawn chair in a shirt and shorts, refusing to take off your shirt in front of Dream. Because here’s the thing: you never swim around him. It’s not that you don’t trust him, or that you necessarily hate the way your body looks. But truthfully, Dream is fit, and you’re sure all his past partners were fit. And you feel a little inadequate. It’s easy to hide behind baggy clothes and pretend you have a body that you don’t.
Whatever. Maybe you’re just thinking too hard.
“It’s so boring here by myself!” Dream whines. His shoulders are even more tanned than usual. His freckles are nearly hidden. You want to trace all the sunspots on his chest.
“I’m–” You can’t very well tell him, now can you? That’s be embarrassing. Hey, Dream — my best friend since we were in diapers — I don’t want you to see me in my swimsuit because I’m afraid I won’t be sexy enough.
He’s always been good at reading your expressions. “Are you worried about what you look like?”
You nod, refusing to look at him. His voice is soft, which means he’s probably pitying you.
“Come on now,” he cooes. He walks up to you and grabs the hem of your shirt. Looking into your eyes, he blinks, “Do you trust me?”
You nod, still watching him because you do trust him. You trust him with every part of you.
Slowly, Dream pulls your t-shirt over your head, until you’re left in your shorts and swim top. His gaze drifts across your body, and he clears his throat pointedly. He turns back towards the pool water. “Yeah. Absolutely nothing to worry about.”
“Are you sure?” You frown.
His back tenses, and he slowly turns back around. His eyes are staring straight into yours, and you feel like maybe this was a bad idea. You’ve never felt so vulnerable. “I’m sure. Just get your ass in the pool.”
You snort. You shimmy out of your shorts and slip into the water. The surface is hot from the sun, but it’s cool underneath, immediately soothing you. “It feels so good in here,” you sigh.
Dream laughs. He swims over, just a few strides, and wraps his arms around your waist. “I’m going to throw you.”
“What? Wait, Dream!” You shriek when he throws you over his shoulder. Chlorine water fills your nose and you joke and splutter after breaking the surface.
“Did I hurt you?” Dream picks you up instantly, supporting your weight in the six foot deep water.
You wrap your legs around his torso, your arms around his neck, and enjoy the feeling of his hands splayed beneath your thighs. “You’re despicable.”
He laughs, lips against your ear, and you’ve never heard a sound so akin to the sun. “You love me,” he insists.
And you do. So surely, more than anyone else. But it’s in a way he might not reciprocate, and you don’t want to risk a friendship over feelings. “You wish!” You press your palms against his shoulders and shove him down, delighting in the way he grabs you even tighter.
“Our flights are all a day early,” Dream’s mom is saying, as you and Dream eat ice cream sandwiches with Drista.
“Lucky,” Drista mumbles. She’s wearing the crystal necklace you bought her while out. You’re wearing a matching one, because she insisted, and it makes you feel like part of the family.
You feel warm.
Dream shrugs nonchalantly. “We’ll just stay the extra night, right? We have the house until noon?”
“Yeah, just make sure the checklist is done. Dishes are clean, towels in the tub, trash bags in the bins outside…”
“Sounds good,” Dream says. “We’ll be home by Saturday night, Mom.”
“Come over,” She insists. “We’re closer to the airport and there’s a guest room.”
The two of you agree, since neither of you want to drive the extra hour back to you or Dream’s homes. And, selfishly, you want an entire day alone with Dream.
“We have one more carry-on bag we can take, so if you guys want to pack a bag real quick we’ll take it with us tomorrow.”
The two of you agree to just make a bag of all of the gifts and souvenirs you had bought, so they won’t take up room in your suitcases.
You’re sifting through all the stuff you collected when you find the bright green shell you had grabbed for Dream. In all the excitement of that day you forgot to give it to him.
“Dream.”
“What?” He comes out of the bathroom, his toothbrush sticking out of his mouth. He’s shirtless again. He leans against the door jam. “Do I need to take some of my stuff out?”
“No,” you say. You hold the shell out for Dream to see. “This is for you.”
He grins around the brush and pushes himself off the wall. He holds up a finger to you and goes back into the bathroom to spit out his toothpaste and set the toothbrush back in its travel case.
Then he shuffles out, a huge grin on his freckled face. “You found me a shell?”
He reaches out, and his voice is so soft that you get a little shy. “Well… yeah. I found it the other day and forgot to give it to you.”
The shell looks so small in Dream’s hand. He slides it in his pajama pocket and leans down to cup your face between his palms. “You’re so cute,” he mumbles.
You’re nose to nose, and Dream’s breath is warm against your face. You want to kiss him right now, but you’re scared he won’t reciprocate.
So you back up. “I’m glad you like it.”
The night before your flight, Dream is in the hot tub. He’s listening to a Frank Ocean playlist. It’s booming through his phone speaker, and it’s so loud you aren’t sure he hears you approach him at first. But then, over the dulcet tones of Pretty Sweet, he peaks one eye open and calls for you. “___! Join me, please!”
He's resting his head on the ledge, cushioned atop a folded towel. It’s nearly sunset, and the orange-pink light casts itself over his cheeks.
You’re already in your swimsuit, courtesy of sunbathing earlier, so you sit on the edge and dip your legs into the bubbling water. “I don’t believe we’ve been in the hot tub all week.”
Dream snorts. His eyes are closed again. He smells like sunscreen. He smells like home. “That’s because my parents have been hogging it.”
“Ah, they deserve it,” you mumble, nudging Dream’s bicep with your toe.
“So do we,” Dream grabs your shin and tugs gently, just enough for you to stumble momentarily. “Would you get in?”
You slip in at his coaxing. The water warms your skin. You sit shoulder to shoulder with Dream, and listen to the music. “Thanks for inviting me. This has been really nice.”
Beneath the water, Dream spreads his palm across your thigh and squeezes. “You made it better. You make everything better.”
His honest words startle you, but then he’s bending down just slightly, and you can feel his soft lips against your shoulder. “D-Dream,” you say, and you’re terrified your voice betrays you.
Because Dream is warmth and sunshine and sea salt air. And when he murmurs a confident, “C’mere,” and pulls you into his lap, your hands find their place against his shoulder, in his hair. Golden curls tapered to his neck by the heat of the evening, the heat of the tub, the heat of this moment.
His mouth tastes of cherry candy, it’s sour and addicting and it emits a laugh between the two of you when you push against him far too eagerly. The jet timer finishes and the only sound that fills your ears is Frank Ocean and Dream’s contented sighs.
“I don’t want us to be just friends,” he gasps. He presses his forehead to yours, chest heaving as he tries to regain his breath.
You don’t want to regain your breath. Your heart is racing as you press your lips beneath Dream’s ear, into the junction of his neck, then against every single freckle on his shoulder.
He lets you. And you hope he’ll let you forever.
“Let's be something more, then.”
summer daze series tag list: @tinyegg @yikes-buddy @sofiehonk @savingpluto @wtfdudewhydidyoutakemyusername @angelicaschuyler-church @torpedo--belly @strychninebowie @vampnarr @infinitelycharmed23 @ems-alexandra @valoinnit (if you would like to be added/removed, let me know!)
[welcome to sal, an independent island off the coast of europe. it’s loved by locals and tourists alike. here are a few stories directly from the island.]
dreamwastaken: your best friend, dream, invites you to come with him on vacation with his family. the only catch: you have to pretend you’re dating. [best friends to lovers, fake dating, bed sharing]
karl jacobs: you’re at sal for the summer, helping your grandmother get around. there’s a friendly lifeguard at the beach you can’t stop thinking about. [strangers to lovers, sneaking out, midnight talks]
quackity: someone moves into the house next to yours. he’s loud, he’s incredibly funny, and sweet. he’s caught the eye of everyone around him. you wonder if you could get him to notice you. [neighbors, secret admirer, bonfires]
sapnap: you’ve known sapnap since the two of you were little kids. he’s the best surfer on the island, and he’s cocky about it. he’s in your friend group, but you’re the only one he makes fun of. [enemies to lovers, midnight swim, star gazing]
let me know if you’d like me to make a tag list and if you’d like to be on it !!
thinking about c!quackity feeling so betrayed by his fiancés that he plans to destroy kinoko kingdom. but the thought of karl and sapnap still together without him makes him bitter as well. so he gets into a fight with sapnap while karl is away,,, gets him angry until flames pour out of his hands. with no one to help cool him down (because didn’t dream, quackity, and karl used to do that?) the flames keep coming.
thinking about quackity hiding in the shadows, watching everything his fiancés loved and worked for burn to the ground. watching karl come home to see sap in a pile of ash, sobbing bc he can’t even begin to explain what just happened. he says it’s quackity but karl’s memory problems have been getting worse, and he has no idea who quackity is. all he can think is that sap might’ve found his library, might’ve decided they were done, might’ve realized that karl has been lying this entire time even though he doesn’t want to.
thinking about quackity ruining everything good he ever had because he’s so sure that one needs to leave before they get left.
prince wilbur who misses his lessons ALL of the time,,, who leans against the ballroom balcony smoking pipe weed while the nobles dance just inside,,,,, who plays the guitar, and the lute, and the mandalin, and dabbles in the harmonica, flute, and kalimba,,,,,,, never misses a geography or music theory lessons,,,,,spends his days off in bed or in the village,,,,, wears gold and purple during ceremonies, prefers brown-toned clothes elsewhere,,,, who loves dueling esp for a prize,,, loves the competition,,,,,,,, CAPES ,,,,,,, likes weaving crowns out of vines and berry branches and fitting them atop his curls,,,,,,, favorite desert is lingonberry pie,,,,, loathes the idea of a political marriage despite it being his fate,,,,, good at strategy and negotiation ,,,,, protects his little brothers from as much as he can,,,,, hard on himself when he fails,,,,, who talks in his sleep, with furrowed brows and pursed lips,,,,,,, struggles with self worth and tries to get it through winning duels and debates,,,,,,, spends more time in the village than in the castle,,,,,,,, knows more pub songs than ballroom dances,,,,,,, wary of power but intrigued by it as well,,,,,,,,
