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The concept of dreaming is weird when you think about it. It’s just you, laying unconscious, mind prancing elsewhere in the subconscious. It’s a lot of trust you have to put in the people you sleep with - to allow them close to you in that state of vulnerability. Maybe that’s one reason you haven’t BEEN with anyone in that way. Sure, you’ve been on some dates here and there, but nothing serious. You’ve yet to find someone you truly feel safe with. Someone you’re connected to.
You don’t usually dream. At least, you didn’t used to. But that was before. Now, you find yourself trapped in the same recurring dream every single night. Except, you’re not sure if you would really say you’re trapped. It’s more like an escape from reality, your own personal world that you happily live in between the hours of 12 and 8.
It started three months ago.
You always wake in a calm field where the sun is just rising. There's a cabin full of your comfort foods, soup and cookies and hot chocolate. Sometimes they’re waiting for you, other nights you find yourself whipping up a recipe for entertainment.
The air is warm on your skin, but not too hot, the scent of flowers surrounding your senses like a tender hug. There’s a stream with a beautiful waterfall in the distance, the hills green and lush. It feels more real than anything has ever felt when you’re awake.
You’ve never told anyone about the dreams. The space somehow feels spiritual to you. It’s hard to explain, but you feel such a connection to yourself, and to your own soul when you’re there. You never leave the field. There’s a strange part of you that knows you’re supposed to stay, supposed to allow yourself this moment of peace and lightness.
You’re always alone. Time passes in the same manner it does in your real life, so you truly have all night to reflect on things. Other dreams used to pass in a blur, lasting only moments in your waking memory, these dreams lasted hours.
Sometimes you’d pick flowers and build careful bouquets, leaving them on the cabin table even though no one else is there to see them. Other times you would swim in the stream or bake bread from scratch, the house filling with warmth and familiar smells that linger longer than they should. It’s nice having time like this. In the real world, you were always tied to something - always caught up with some kind of technology. Work and phone calls and managing a successful girl group.
Your free time didn’t exist - not in the normal sense at least. Sure, there were times when the girls were busy and you’d sit on the sidelines waiting until they needed their next meal, or a ride somewhere. You’d read books or scroll social media, answer emails or sit in on meetings that didn’t REALLY pertain to you, but you were there anyways, right?
But here, it was you and nature and not a phone in sight. It was so peaceful. The only thing you wished for was another soul to share it with.
___
One night, you wake up in the cabin.It’s a little strange, because you usually start the dream out in the field, grass cool beneath your palms and sunlight warming your face. Waking up indoors throws you off just enough that you pause, sitting on the edge of the bed for a moment and listening to the quiet. Everything looks the same — the wooden walls, the open window, the faint scent of bread and sugar lingering in the air — so you shrug it off as nothing more than your mind switching things up.
So you spend most of the evening inside, You curl up with a blanket by the fireplace and start a little puzzle. You sip on some wine and dance to the records in your collection. You rest in the bed, just daydreaming for a while before finally deciding to move outdoors.
You push the door open and step outside, expecting the same calm greeting you always get. The same soft warmth. The same easy peace. Instead, something feels… different. Not wrong. Just unsettled.
The air rests heavier against your skin, charged in a way you can’t quite name, like the seconds before a storm breaks. It makes the hair at the back of your neck prickle, your steps slowing as you scan the familiar landscape for some kind of explanation.
The field is still there. The hills are still green. The sun is still rising.
And yet.
Your gaze drifts instinctively toward the stream, drawn there without really knowing why. At first, you think the light is just catching the water strangely, the way it sometimes does when the sun hits it at just the right angle. You step a little closer, squinting, trying to make sense of it.
Then you see it.
The edges of the stream are lined with red.
Not splattered. Not dripping. It isn’t wet like blood, and it doesn’t feel violent or alarming. It almost looks like light - thin, glowing strands tracing the banks, soft and steady, as if someone carefully placed them there. They hum faintly, barely noticeable unless you’re paying attention, casting a warm glow against the moving water.
You stand there longer than you mean to, heart beating just a little faster, the sense of unease settling deeper in your chest. This place has never changed before. Never surprised you like this.
And for the first time since the dreams began, you have the distinct feeling that something has arrived.
Not something dangerous.
Just something new.
___
Joshua had these recurring nightmares a few times a week. They were absolutely horrible, but he couldn’t escape them. He was conscious in the dreams, knew they weren’t real, knew they would end, but he couldn’t wake up even if he tried. He was roommates with Dokyeom, and he begged him to help him wake up when they were happening, but it was complicated. When Dokeyom looked at his friend, there was no indication that he was experiencing this. From an outsider's perspective, he was sleeping soundly and uninterrupted.
On the inside of his own mind, however, he was panicking,waiting for the torture to end. It was always the same place. He was on stage, but alone. His group mates were nowhere to be seen, and the audience was full. Sometimes he started singing and no sound came out. Other times his voice would crack and the fans would laugh or boo him. Sometimes there were dancers surrounding him but he was the only one who didn’t know the routine, getting bounced around. The concert would end and he’d walk off stage only to be threatened by managers and execs.
They would say the most horrible things to him. This part was always worse than the booing and the heckling, worse than the laughter echoing from the crowd. That had hurt, sure - but this felt final. Permanent. Like something breaking that couldn’t be put back together.
“Joshua,” they’d say, with that tone. The one that meant we need to talk, right now. The one that made his stomach drop before they’d even finished saying his name.
“You gave it your best shot,” they’d tell him, voices cold and disappointed, “but you failed.”
Sometimes it was, “You don’t belong in this group. They’re carrying you.” Other times, “It’s been long enough. You should leave and go back to L.A.”
And his least favorite - the one that always lodged itself deep in his chest and refused to leave - “The members don’t want you here anymore.”
He’d watch his whole life as an idol dissipate in moments. Every. Single. Time.
When he woke up, the tears would flow. DK would hug him, reminding him that the group loves him and it was just a dream. He’d work harder than ever in practices and recordings to prove his worth, to prove he belonged. If anything, the dreams were putting a fire under his ass to become the best version of himself in real life.
The fans started noticing. He’d been hitting the gym and bulking up a bit. His skin was glowing and he had the most angelic voice, smooth like butter and beautiful enough to land any girl (or guy) in the entire country if he wanted. But idols can’t date, at least not unless it was their soulmate.
He hadn’t found his soulmate mark yet. The only brother that had his soulmate (so far) was Jihoon, but he had his mark from a younger age. There was a fear inside Joshua that maybe he just didn’t have another half at all. He didn’t see any red strings, didn’t feel any special pull towards anyone he met in his life. He felt alone.
It made no sense to feel that way, after all he did have 12 group members constantly in his ear, yapping and singing and joking. But it was different to feel loved by brothers, than he imagined it would feel to be loved by a partner. A wife. God he wanted that so bad. Maybe that’s where the dreams were coming from.
___
You wander towards the red lights with slow, cautious steps. In the three months you’ve spent in this dream world, you’ve never experienced any type of real change. Never felt…off like this. You wrap your arms around yourself for warmth against the sudden eeriness. Something is wrong. Or at least maybe wrong-adjacent.
The stream is still moving the way it always has, just quicker. The rapids are erratic, less predictable and almost dangerous. Rocks and sand make the once clear water look murky. For the first time, you find yourself wanting to wake up. You move to turn back towards the cozy cabin, only to stop in your tracks at the sound of a voice. It’s faint, and far away, in which direction you’re not sure. But you know you’re right when the word meets your ears. A faint “let me out.”
“Hello?” you call into the void. “Is someone else here?”
You wait, but hear nothing else. You sit by the bank and listen, and wait, and wait, but that’s all you get.
You wake up before you get the chance to hear it again.
___
It’s a weird day. Not bad, not particularly dramatic, just… long. You move through it like you’re slightly out of sync with everything around you, present in body but somewhere else entirely in your head. At work, you catch yourself staring at nothing, missing half of what people say to you until someone calls your name twice. At dinner, you poke at your food more than you eat it. Even at your monthly game night with friends - the one thing that usually pulls you out of your own head - you laugh a beat too late, your smile feeling faked and forced.
You can’t stop thinking about the voice, about the idea that someone else exists inside the world you’ve always escaped to for peace. For quiet. For being alone.
That space has always felt like yours. Something deeply personal, something you never questioned because questioning it might have ruined it. You’d told yourself it was just your mind’s way of coping - some kind of internal therapy you didn’t even realize you were doing.
You figured it may have been a gift from some benevolent god of sleep, maybe, smiling down and deciding you deserved lucid dreams or whatever the technical term was.
You were fine with that explanation. You liked it, even.
But if you were lucid dreaming - if you were the one in control - then there shouldn’t have been someone else there. There shouldn’t have been changes you didn’t make. You don’t dream in red. You don’t imagine violent water, or urgency worse than the kind you feel awake, or heat crawling up your spine like that.
That wasn’t you.
The thought sits heavy in your chest all day, a low hum of unease you can’t shake. By the time night comes, you’re exhausted in a way sleep doesn’t usually fix. You go to bed earlier than usual - 9:00 pm sharp - curling under the covers with a strange mix of nerves and anticipation.
Whatever that was… you need to understand it.
And if someone else is really there - you have to know why.
___
You wake in the field again, and everything is as it normally is. You run to the stream, along the grassy edges, and find nothing out of the ordinary. It’s as if the night before never existed. There are some birds chirping joyfully in the distance, and the waterfall is flowing, but other than that you hear no noise.
“Hello?” you call anyways. “Is anyone there?”
Nothing but silence, and the calm water greets your question with an unconscious tease. It’s as if to say, “you should have come when you had the chance.”
“Hmm..” you hum to yourself. “This is so odd.”
You resort to your usual activities, baking cookies with a fall candle and smooth jazz playing in the background from the old record player. The window is open to allow the soft breeze in.
You finish your baking and settle down with a book, curling into yourself as you open a well-loved novel you’ve already read at least a hundred times. It’s familiar in the same way this place is familiar - comforting, predictable, safe. You don’t really need to focus on the words. The act of sitting still, of existing without obligation, feels like enough. Time passes quietly like that, until something flashes at the edge of your vision, sharp and unmistakable.
Red.
Your attention snaps away from the page, heart skipping as you glance toward the window.
It’s back.
Outside, the stream looks exactly the way it had the night before, its edges faintly illuminated by that same red glow. It’s subtle, almost easy to miss if you weren’t already looking for it, but now that you’ve seen it, you can’t look away. You’re not sure what time it is. The sun hasn’t moved much, but if you had to guess, it’s somewhere between three and four in the morning. Late enough that your thoughts feel slower. Quiet enough that every movement feels louder.
You don’t waste time debating it. You set the book aside and head for the stream, the grass cool beneath your bare feet. You stop at the bank, listening closely, half-expecting to hear that voice again. The one from last night. But there’s nothing — just the sound of rushing water, louder and rougher than it has any right to be. Still, something tightens in your chest, an uneasy certainty that this moment matters. That if you hesitate now, you’ll regret it.
So you step forward.
The water curls around your ankles, warm in a way that startles you, and the change is instant. The violent rush of the stream softens, the dark murkiness lifting until the water runs clear again, calm and glassy like it’s always been. You freeze, staring down at it in disbelief, a breathless laugh slipping out before you can stop it.
“Huh?” you murmur. “I fixed it?”
The relief comes quickly, too quickly, and you chalk it up to your imagination — some strange trick of the dream, nothing more. You turn to step back onto the bank, but the second your foot leaves the water, the stream surges again. The current roars back to life, dark and wild, the red glow along the edges sharpening like it’s been waiting for this exact moment.
Your brow furrows as you crouch down, reaching out cautiously to dip your hand into the stream. Once again, the water settles, smoothing beneath your touch, clear and obedient. You pull your hand away, and just as quickly, it returns to chaos.
“Okay,” you mutter softly, your heart beginning to race, “That’s so not normal.”
This time, you step back in fully, the water rising to your knees as warmth spreads along your skin. There’s a subsequent chill slithering down your spine though.
The stream calms immediately, almost reverently, and around you the red light begins to lift from the banks. It drifts upward like mist, gathering slowly, deliberately, until it no longer clings to the ground at all. Instead, it stretches forward, threading through the air ahead of you, forming something unmistakable - a path. You feel a pull to follow. An indescribable desire to see where it goes.
Your breath catches as you gaze along the line with your eyes, watching as it leads away from the stream and toward the rolling hills beyond. The glow pulses softly, steady and insistent, like it’s waiting for you to understand what it’s asking.
You do. You know, deep in your bones and in your very soul that you have to follow.
The red light pulses, urging, insistent. Like it knows you understand.
You shake your head, heart pounding. “I don’t leave,” you tell the field. “I never explored over there. I’ve never… I’m scared to lose this.”
The air grows heavier, charged with static. The water doesn’t protest. It doesn’t urge you any further along.
It simply waits. Waits for you to gather up all of your courage to chase something that’s unknown. Something that strays from your usual, predictable, routine.
You swallow hard, fingers curling into the hem of your shirt. Every instinct tells you this is dangerous - not in the way that promises harm, but in the way that promises change. Once you cross that invisible line, something will be different forever. You could lose this dream world forever. And yet, you take one tentative step toward the light.
The misty water flares warmly at your feet, almost relieved.
“I’ll come back,” you whisper, unsure who you’re promising. “I always do. Please, let me come back.”
As your foot crosses the edge of the stream, and onto the other side, the world lurches.
___
Joshua opens his eyes quickly as the realization of where he is settles in with that familiar little shiver down his spine. No. no, no no, not this again. Not two nights in a row. He had this dream last night, it should be at least another night or two before it happens to him again. He’s tired, he wants to rest, there’s a concert tomorrow. This can’t be happening. WHY is this happening?
“No.” He cries out loud, into the microphone. The crowd before him doesn’t react, they simply stare, lifeless and silent. It’s scarier than it is most nights.
He’s used to the screaming and the cheers. Hell, he’s even grown accustomed (in the best way he can be) to the booing or the laughing. The heckles and the disappointing stares. But the strange silence… the faceless crowd looks like nothing more than a sea of lifeless bodies…It fills him with more dread than ever before.
The music starts up, and Joshua perks up with the realization that something is different. It’s never really different like this. He’s never felt this alive on the dream world’s stage before.
It’s Fortunate Change.
It hits him so hard it almost knocks the breath from his lungs. He’s never heard his own music in these nightmares. It’s always been an older group song, or something unfamiliar - a melody he doesn’t recognize, a choreography his body doesn’t know how to follow. Something designed to trip him up, to remind him he’s alone even when he isn’t supposed to be.
But this… this is his. His solo. The one song he knows how to carry on his own. The dream has never given him mercy like this before.
So he sings.
His voice is rough with emotion, threaded through with exhaustion and despair, tears sliding freely down his cheeks as he grips the microphone. But the sound comes out - steady, true. His voice doesn’t crack. There’s no choreography clawing at his memory, no wrong step waiting to happen. It’s just him and the music, just breathing and singing and surviving. He closes his eyes, chest rising and falling as he lets himself breathe properly for the first time since summer.
When he opens them again, the crowd is full of people holding phones, filming him. They’re still kind of eerie, quiet. But there’s more life there, it’s not quite as un-natural
for a fleeting moment it almost feels real. Like the concerts he knows. Like the nights that leave him exhausted but fulfilled, rather than hollow and afraid. He almost feels like his members are just below the stage, singing along quietly as they change into different outfits and poke jokes at each other to pass the time.
“Thank you,” he whispers, though he knows the microphone won’t catch it.
The stage lights flicker.
Joshua glances down at his hands, already bracing himself for the familiar tremble - but it doesn’t come. Instead, there’s a warmth blooming beneath his skin, spreading slowly, deliberately, like something waking up.
He frowns.
It pulses once, gentle but insistent, like a heartbeat that isn’t his own. A faint glow flickers along his wrist, barely visible beneath the harsh white lights — red, but soft. Nothing like the sharp glare of the stage.
His breath stutters. “What…?”
The sound of the crowd begins to distort, warping into something distant and hollow, as though it’s being pulled underwater. The warmth travels up his arm, settling deep in his chest, and with it comes a feeling he doesn’t recognize in this place.
Calm.
Joshua looks up to notice that someone is standing at the edge of the stage. He expects a dancer. Or a staff member. Maybe a faceless manager waiting to drag him offstage, to remind him of everything he’s doing wrong. His heart lurches in preparation for the worst.
But it’s none of those things.
Instead, it’s you.
And you’re not faceless. He recognizes you immediately - a manager in the building, someone he’s passed in hallways and elevators, someone whose name he doesn’t know but whose face he remembers. Your features are soft in the dim light, unmistakably real.
You don’t belong here. He knows that instinctively… but despite being on the same stage, you aren’t caught in the harsh lighting the way he is. The glow around you is different - warmer, gentler, tinged with the same red now pulsing faintly at his wrist.
For a moment, neither of you move.
And then you start to sing.
Your voice is soothing, familiar in a way that makes his chest ache. It reminds him of quiet tea ceremonies with Minghao, of Christmas dinners at home where laughter lingers long after the plates are cleared. You don’t have a microphone, but you don’t need one because your voice carries effortlessly, weaving itself around his melody as you begin to walk toward him.
You’re different.
As you sing, something shifts in the crowd. A spark catches, spreading outward until the sea of eerie, lifeless bodies transforms into the fans he knows - the ones who smile and cry and sing along because they love him. They join in too, voices rising together, and suddenly the stage doesn’t feel like a trap anymore.
Joshua’s eyes burn with fresh tears. He feels the love pouring in, surrounding him, and for the first time tonight, maybe for the first time in a long time, he isn’t afraid. A smile breaks across his face, cheeks aching with it, and all he wants is to know your name.
But he can’t even find the words.He’s confused and grateful and terrified all at once, a small, irrational part of him wondering if this is just another sign that his mind is finally giving in to insanity.
The noise of the crowd fades as his ears start to ring, dulling to a low hum, as if the world itself is holding its breath. “You’re…” His voice cracks, raw and unguarded. “You’re not supposed to be here.”
You take a cautious step forward, eyes wide as you take in the stage, the lights, the audience that can’t seem to see you at all. “I think,” you say slowly, voice steady despite the chaos surrounding you, “neither are you.”
Something in his chest breaks at that. He does belong on the stage, just… not this one. Not like this.
The warmth at his wrist flares brighter, unmistakable now. Thin lines of red light trace themselves along his skin, not painful - grounding. Familiar in a way that makes his eyes burn. Joshua stares down at it, heart racing. He’s seen soulmate marks before. In movies. On fans brave enough to share their stories online. He’s just never seen one on himself.
His gaze snaps back to you. “Can you see this?” he asks quietly.
You nod, swallowing hard. “I think… I’ve been following it.”
The thin strands circle you in beautiful little lines. They play with your hair and brush against your skin as if to protect you, and your heart. You’re a vision of beauty, a goddess in his scary nightmare. He’s convinced you’re just another illusion.
He’s seen those before. Sometimes something seems fine in the dreams, until he blinks his eyes and watches it all crumble. This one will hurt the most, he thinks. Because it truly feels so real.
The lights above flicker violently. The stage trembles beneath your feet. From the corner of his vision, shadowy figures begin to form backstage - faceless, looming, waiting.
The nightmare is trying to pull him back under.
Joshua’s breath starts to come faster. “You should go,” he says urgently. “This place - it’s not safe.”
You don’t run. Instead, you step closer, onto the stage, the red glow beneath your feet flaring warmly in response. When you reach him, the noise finally dies completely.
You look at him - really look at him - and your expression softens. You know him too, Joshua Hong. The sweet boy from SEVENTEEN. Why he’s in your dream, you’re not sure, but you know that it pains your chest to see him in this state of anxiety and distress. In the waking world he’s such a picture of peace, of calmness and that cute little gentleman persona.
“You asked to be let out,” you say gently. “I heard you.”
The warmth in his chest surges, overwhelming.His vision blurs as more of his endless tears spill over, his knees threaten to buckle. “I didn’t think anyone could,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper.
You reach for his hand. “Do you come here every night?”
“Most nights…” He admits.
“Me too.” You soothe him. “But I think my dream is better than yours.”
The moment your fingers brush his skin, the lights circling you both flare brilliantly, light spilling between your joined hands. The stage begins to crack, the lights shattering like glass overhead.
The crowd dissolves into nothing and Joshua exhales a shaky breath, clutching your hand like a lifeline. For the first time in months - The nightmare lets him go.
___
The stage doesn’t disappear all at once. It changes, slowly at first, like the world can’t quite decide what it’s supposed to be anymore.
The lights above begin to crack, the harsh white splintering into softer pieces until they fade away like embers drifting through the air. The noise goes first - the crowd, the pressure, the unbearable feeling of being watched - all of it dissolving into nothing.
What’s left is quiet.
Just breathing. Yours, and his.
Joshua’s fingers are still wrapped tightly around your hand. Squeezing onto you like you’re a lifeline. And in some ways, you guess you are one.
You squeeze back without thinking, grounding yourself in the warmth of his skin as the floor beneath your feet softens, hardness and heat fading into cool earth. The air changes too - losing its sharp, metallic edge, and being replaced by that clean, familiar floral aroma.
When you open your eyes, green stretches endlessly before you.
Tall grass sways gently in the breeze, brushing against your calves as if welcoming you back. The sky glows with the soft gold of early morning, the sun hovering low and patient on the horizon. The stream glimmers nearby, calm once more. Home.
You exhale, relief flooding your chest so suddenly it almost knocks the breath from you. Joshua makes a sound beside you - a quiet, broken noise that could be a laugh or a sob. His knees buckle, and you go down with him instinctively, landing in the grass side by side.
For a long moment, neither of you moves. “I’m not… there anymore,” he whispers, staring up at the sky like he doesn’t quite trust it. “It stopped.”
“It always does,” you say softly. “No chaos of our normal lives can hurt you here. I think that's kind of the reason it’s in the middle of nature.”
He turns his head toward you, eyes red-rimmed but clear. The panic that had clung to him on the stage is gone, replaced by something fragile and raw. This place,” he murmurs. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“I think my mind made it up,” you admit. “It’s always been just me.”
You notice it then - the thin, luminous lines still tracing your skin, curling gently around your wrist and along your fingers. When you look at Joshua, you see the same glow mirrored on him, steady and warm where it wraps around his own wrist.Neither of you looks away.
On the stage, the red had felt urgent. Performative and protective. Here, it feels… settled. Like it finally knows where it belongs.
You shift closer without realizing it, grass bending beneath your weight. The glow brightens at the movement, reacting to proximity alone.
Joshua swallows. “I don’t have a mark,” he says quietly. “I never have.”
Your throat tightens. “Me neither.”
The field hums faintly, almost approving.
You lift your hand slowly, giving him time to pull away if he wants to. He doesn’t. When your fingers brush his again, the red light responds immediately - threads of warmth stretching, intertwining, pulsing in perfect rhythm.
It feels warm.
Joshua lets out a shaky breath. “You heard me,” he says, voice barely above a whisper.
You nod. “I should have come last night…but I woke up before I had the chance.”
His eyes close briefly, shoulders sagging as if something heavy has finally been set down. “Thank you,” he murmurs. “I thought I was alone.”
“You aren’t,” you say, squeezing his hand. “not anymore at least.”
The breeze carries the scent of flowers between you. Somewhere nearby, the stream murmurs quietly, content again.
For the first time since you started having these dreams, everything feels whole. It’s not just quiet, not a space for one. It’s full of life in a peaceful, quiet way. It’s a space for two.
You want to talk for hours. You want to get to know Joshua and figure out what this all means, if the soulmate mark is, in fact, what that was. But you don’t even know how to start a conversation like that. You don’t even know if this is real or if it truly is only in a dream, only in your head.
If it is just in your head though… Why is it conjuring up Joshua? You’ve never even really met. The closest thing you can think of was that one time when he stood two people behind you in line for a coffee in the staff cafeteria. You didn’t even speak that day.
For a while, you just sit there together, hands still loosely entwined like neither of you is brave enough to be the first to let go. The field hums around you, alive in that gentle way it always is - the grass whispering, the breeze warm against your skin, the sky stretched wide and forgiving above you.
Joshua shifts beside you, rolling onto his side so he can look at you properly. Not like he did on the stage, frantic and overwhelmed, but carefully now. Like he’s afraid you might vanish if he blinks too hard.
“You come here every night?” he asks again, softer this time.
You nod. “Every night. I bake. I read. Sometimes I do nothing at all.” You smile faintly. “I think my brain made this place because I needed somewhere that didn’t want anything from me.”
His lips curve into something small and fond, the kind of smile that feels private. “That sounds… really nice.”
“It is,” you say. Then, after a beat, “It’s better with you here. Even if I think you might be a figment of my imagination.”
The red light flickers in agreement, pulsing gently around your wrists like it’s pleased with itself.
Joshua exhales a quiet laugh, almost embarrassed. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a dream where I wasn’t trying to survive it. You’re the first person to save me from this… So If anything I think I'm the one who made you up in my sad, tired brain.”
“You don’t have to do that here,” you tell him. “Try to survive it, I mean. You can just exist.”
He lets that sink in, shoulders relaxing further into the grass. “I’d like that,” he admits. “If that’s… okay.”
You grin, warmth blooming in your chest. “You already crossed the river. I think you’re allowed.”
That earns you a real laugh this time - soft, airy, surprised, like he forgot he could make that sound without an audience. The field seems brighter for it.
He glances down at your joined hands again, thumb brushing over your knuckles absentmindedly. It’s such a simple touch, barely anything at all, but the red light responds immediately, glowing a little stronger. Neither of you misses it.
“So,” he says, clearing his throat, “what do you usually do first?”
You pretend to think about it. “Depends. Sometimes I make soup. Sometimes cookies. There’s a cabin over there,” you gesture vaguely, “and it’s kind of impossible to mess anything up. Everything tastes good.”
His eyes light up. “You’re telling me this place has food?”
You laugh. “You were just fighting for your life five minutes ago, and now the first thing you want is food?”
“I contain multitudes,” he deadpans, then winces playfully. “But also, yes. I’m starving.”
You push yourself up onto your feet and hold a hand out to him. He takes it without hesitation, letting you pull him up, steady and warm and very real beside you.
As you start walking toward the cabin, Joshua glances at you from the corner of his eye. “Hey,” he says quietly.
“Yeah?”
“If I… come back tomorrow,” he hesitates, cheeks faintly pink, “will you be here?”
You meet his gaze, something soft settling into place between you. “I always am.”
The red light pulses once, bright and sure.
It is then that he feels himself waking up, an alarm blaring faintly in the distance. But for the first time in a long while, Joshua has the urge to slam the snooze button. To beg for just a few more moments. He doesn’t want this to end.
___
The next day feels strange in the quietest way possible.
Nothing is wrong, exactly. Your girls rehearse, meetings drag, schedules shift the way they always do. You do your job the same way you always have - attentive, responsible, present - but there’s a softness lingering beneath everything, like you’re carrying a secret you’re not ready to say out loud.
You keep thinking about him. About the way Joshua’s voice had sounded when the nightmare finally let go. About the warmth of his hand in yours - about how real it seemed. You repeatedly see the image of the red light that had settled so calmly around your wrist, like it had always known where it belonged. It’s there every time you blink or close your eyes.
You tell yourself not to expect anything when you crawl into bed that night. Dreams aren’t promises. They don’t follow rules.
Still, when sleep finally takes you, you hope.
You wake to the familiar stretch of green beneath a soft, golden sky. Relief washes over you immediately, so strong it makes you laugh under your breath. The field is just as it always is - tall grass brushing against your calves, the stream glimmering peacefully in the distance, the air warm and welcoming like an old friend.
And then you see him. Joshua sits a few feet away, legs stretched out in front of him, palms pressed into the grass like he’s grounding himself there. He looks… peaceful. No panic. No fear. Just quiet wonder as he takes everything in.
“You came back,” you say before you can stop yourself.
His head snaps up, eyes bright when they land on you. “You’re here.”
The way he says it - certain, relieved - makes something warm bloom in your chest.
“I told you I would be,” you reply softly.
He smiles, slow and genuine, the kind you don’t often see under stage lights and online videos. “I hoped.”
You move closer and sit beside him, close enough that your shoulders almost brush. The red glow returns immediately, faint but unmistakable, curling lazily around your wrist and his like it’s pleased with the arrangement.
For a moment, neither of you speaks. You just exist together, listening to the breeze ripple through the grass and the quiet murmur of the stream.
“So,” he says eventually, glancing at you, “is this where you usually bake?”
You grin. “Not out here. Come on.”
You stand and hold your hand out to him. He takes it without hesitation this time, fingers warm and steady in yours. The touch feels natural now, easy in a way that makes your chest ache a little.
The cabin looks exactly the way it always does - cozy and inviting, sunlight spilling through the windows. Joshua steps inside like he’s afraid to break something, eyes wide as he takes it all in.
“This is your place?” he asks.
“I guess it is,” you say. “It’s always been waiting for me.”
“And now?” he prompts gently.
You glance at him, then smile. “Now it’s ours. At least here.”
Something soft flickers across his expression at that, like the words landed somewhere important.
You move around the kitchen, pulling ingredients from cupboards that always seem to be stocked. Joshua hovers nearby, leaning against the counter, watching you with an ease that feels intimate without being heavy.
“What are we making?” he asks.
“Cookies,” you answer immediately. “They’re kind of my thing.”
He laughs quietly. “Of course they are.”
At some point, your hands brush as you reach for the same bowl. The contact lingers just a second longer than necessary, warmth spreading up your arm as the red light pulses softly in response.
Neither of you pulls away.
You meet his gaze, something unspoken passing between you, gentle and full of possibility.
For the first time since these dreams began, the field doesn’t feel like an escape anymore.
It feels like a beginning.
___
The nights start to blur together after that.
Not in a bland way - more like a rhythm settling in. You stop waking up surprised when you see him there. Sometimes he’s already in the field when you arrive, sitting in the grass with his sleeves pushed up, humming quietly to himself like he’s afraid the silence might shatter if he doesn’t fill it. Other times, he appears a few moments after you, materializing with a quiet intake of breath and an immediate scan of the horizon until his eyes land on you.
Every time, the red light glows faintly, like it’s checking attendance.
You start doing things together without really discussing it. Baking becomes a given - cookies one night, bread the next, Ramen when the air feels cooler. Joshua insists on helping, even though he’s terrible at measuring and keeps getting flour on his clothes.
“You do this on purpose,” you giggle at him one night, watching him dust his hands together far too enthusiastically.
He looks down at the mess he’s made, then back at you, unapologetic. “It tastes better when it’s chaotic.”
“That’s not how cooking works.”
“It is in dreams,” he counters, flashing you that infuriatingly sweet smile.
You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling too.
You sit together at the small wooden table afterward, knees brushing under it, talking about nothing and everything. He tells you about the members - about Jeonghan stealing things just to see how long it takes people to notice, about Mingyu breaking something new every week, about how Seungkwan somehow knows everything before anyone else does. You listen, chin resting in your palm, laughing softly like these aren’t stories you’ve half-heard before in passing, like this isn’t different because it’s him telling them.
You tell him about the girls you manage. About schedules and rehearsals and the way you pretend not to worry even when you do. He listens the same way - attentive, warm, asking questions that make it clear he actually cares about the answers.
Sometimes you walk the field after, barefoot in the grass. Sometimes you sit by the stream, feet dangling in the warm water, shoulders pressed close enough that it feels intentional. He starts bringing you flowers - not purchased, just gathered and braided together clumsily, like he’s still learning the rules of this place.
“These look familiar,” you tease one night, eyeing the bouquet.
He shrugs. “I had a good teacher.”
You start noticing the little things. The way he always waits for you to take the first bite. The way his laughter comes easier here, quieter but more genuine. The way his hand finds yours without thinking when something startles him - a sudden breeze, a flicker of light - and how neither of you ever comments on it.
The red light does comment though - every time. Soft. Steady. Almost smugly reacting with a little twinkle.
One night, as you’re lying in the grass staring up at the sky, he turns his head toward you and says, “I think this is my favorite place.”
You smile, eyes still on the stars. “You say that every night.”
“Yeah,” he agrees easily. “Because it keeps being true.”
There’s teasing, too. He starts calling the cabin your barbie house in a tone that suggests he knows exactly how flustered it makes you. You tell him he’s banned from the kitchen after he burns the bottoms of the cookies and insists they’re “caramelized.” They aren’t. Still, you eat them anyway.
The nights end the same way more often than not - sitting close, shoulders touching, conversation slowing until it fades into something comfortable and quiet. And when waking comes, it’s never abrupt. Just a gentle pull, like the dream is giving you time to say goodbye.
“Tomorrow?” he always asks, hopeful but careful.
“Tomorrow,” you promise.
And every night, you keep it.
___
The nights shift again.
You wake closer to the stream now, the sound of rushing water louder, fuller, like it’s calling you forward instead of simply existing in the background. The waterfall glimmers in the distance, mist rising where it crashes into the lake below, catching the light and scattering it into something almost unreal.
Joshua is already there tonight.
He’s standing near the edge of the water, shoes abandoned in the grass, sleeves rolled up like he’s been debating this choice for a while. When he notices you, relief flickers across his face before softening into something warm.
“You’re early,” you say, smiling as you approach.
He shrugs lightly. “Couldn’t wait to see you.”
You follow his gaze to the lake. Up close, the water looks impossibly clear, steam curling faintly from the surface. It feels inviting in the way only this place ever does.
“Is it cold?” you ask, avoiding the way his response makes you blush.
Joshua crouches and trails his fingers through it, eyes widening slightly. “It’s warm.”
That’s all the convincing you need.
You kick off your shoes and step in first, the water slipping easily around your ankles, then your calves. It’s soothing, familiar, like the stream — just deeper, heavier in a way that feels grounding. Joshua follows after you, pulling off his shirt and watching closely like he’s afraid you might vanish if he looks away.
You try not to stare too closely at how good his muscles look.
The water rises to your waist, then your ribs. Beneath the surface, the red light flickers to life, threading through the lake like ribbons of warmth, slow and steady.
“Do you think it’s always been like this?” he asks quietly. “Or do you think it changed… when we did?”
You glance at him. The faint glow curls around his wrist even here, unmistakable.
“I think it was waiting,” you say. “For something.”
“For someone,” he corrects gently.
You don’t argue.
You swim a little farther out, floating easily on your back, the sky mirrored beneath you. After a moment’s hesitation, Joshua joins you, moving with surprising ease. He laughs softly when water splashes against his shoulders, the sound light and unguarded.
“This is better than the stage,” he says.
“Low bar,” you tease.
He grins. “Still true.”
You drift closer without realizing it, arms brushing, fingers tangling briefly before slipping apart again. The red light flares faintly at the contact, then settles, patient now.
Near the waterfall, the sound grows louder, cocooning you in mist and motion. Joshua treads water a little closer, eyes searching your face with an intensity that makes your chest tighten.
“Can I ask you something?” he says.
“You always say that,” you reply softly.
“Because it keeps feeling important.”
You nod. “Okay.”
He takes a breath, steadying himself. “I think about you when I’m awake,” he admits. “In hotel rooms. In vans. Right before I fall asleep. And I don’t know how this works, or what it means, but…” His voice lowers. “It doesn’t feel like just a dream anymore.”
The red light brightens beneath the surface, warmth curling around your legs, your wrists, your heart.
“I think you’re my soulmate,” Joshua says.
The words land quietly, but they ripple through everything.
Your breath catches, chest tightening as the glow flares brighter, threads of warmth winding around you both. The lake hums faintly, almost pleased, like it’s been waiting for this exact moment.
You don’t laugh. You don’t question it. You just nod.
“I think so too,” you whisper. “But I'm afraid that I'm making it up. That in real life you don’t know me.”
Joshua exhales, long and shaky, like he’s been holding that breath for months. His shoulders finally relax, a soft, almost disbelieving smile tugging at his lips.
“I thought the same thing…but I am real. Please tell me this is real.”
“It’s real for me.”
“Okay,” he murmurs. “Okay.”
He moves closer, water rippling between you until there’s barely any space left. The glow wraps around you both now, no longer searching, no longer urgent.
Certain.
“I don’t know what happens when we wake up,” he says quietly. “But when I do… I’m going to look for you.”
Your heart skips. “I’ll be waiting.”
His forehead rests lightly against yours - not quite a kiss, but close enough that your breath mingles, close enough that it feels intimate in a way that makes your chest ache.The world begins to loosen then. Not tearing, not pulling - just softening at the edges. The sky lightens. The water shimmers.
Neither of you pulls away.
When you wake, the warmth lingers. Your wrist feels strangely heavy, like something has finally settled into place. And somewhere else in the world, Joshua wakes too, his hand already reaching for the same spot, a small smile tugging at his lips.
He remembers everything.
___
You don’t expect it to happen in the hallway between dressing rooms.
This stretch of the Inkigayo building is quieter than the rest, tucked away from the main traffic, the kind of place where staff cut through when they’re trying to save time. You’re walking fast, phone pressed to your ear, murmuring reassurances to one of the girls on the other end while mentally rearranging the rest of the night.
You turn the corner without looking and stop dead.
Joshua is there.
Not across the hall. Not half-hidden behind staff. Right in front of you, close enough that you almost run straight into his chest. He looks just as startled - eyes widening, breath catching - like the universe dropped you both here without warning.
For a second, neither of you moves, but then he says your name.
Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just… like he’s been holding it in all day, afraid of what would happen if he let himself say it out loud.
Your heart slams against your ribs.
The hallway doesn’t disappear, but something inside you does - the distance, the doubt, the last excuse you had for pretending this wasn’t real. Warmth floods your wrist instantly, spreading up your arm in a familiar, grounding wave.
Joshua’s gaze drops at the same time yours does.
Red. Brighter than it’s ever been.
He swallows hard, lifting his own sleeve, and there it is - the same glow, pulsing in time with yours like it’s been waiting all day for this exact moment. “I knew it,” he breathes, voice barely holding together. “I knew it wasn’t just a dream.”
Your throat tightens. “I tried to tell myself it was.”
He steps closer without asking, close enough now that you can see the exhaustion etched into his face, the vulnerability he never shows on stage. “You always leave before I can say everything,” he says quietly. “I wake up with it stuck in my chest.”
Something in you breaks at that. “I wake up missing you,” you admit. “All the fucking time, I miss you.”
The red light flares.
Joshua exhales sharply, like the last piece of resistance finally giving way. His hand comes up, hesitant for half a second before resting against your waist - warm, real, and grounding in a way the dream never quite was.
“You’re real,” he says again, firmer now. “You’re actually here.”
You nod, blinking fast. “So are you. My Joshua.” a small laugh/sob chokes out of you.
The world chooses that moment to intrude.Footsteps echo from down the hall. Laughter. Voices. Reality pressing back in.
Joshua doesn’t move away.
Instead, he leans in, forehead resting against yours, eyes closed like he’s steadying himself. “If this is real,” he murmurs, “I don’t want to pretend it isn’t.”
You don’t either. You kiss him before you can overthink it.
It’s not neat or slow - it’s months of half-said things and stolen moments collapsing into a single, undeniable truth. His hand tightens at your waist, like he’s anchoring himself, and when the red light flares brighter than ever between you, you swear you can feel it settling into place right smack dab in your heart.
When you pull back, he’s smiling - small, stunned, breathless. “So,” he says softly, thumb brushing over your wrist where the glow still lingers. “I guess this means I’m not losing my mind.”
You smile back, heart pounding but happy. “If you are, then I am too.”
From the end of the hall, someone clears their throat loudly. Seungkwan is staring. So is DK. Jeonghan looks suspiciously pleased. Joshua groans, dropping his head against your shoulder. “We didn’t even try to be subtle.”
You laugh quietly, still holding onto him. You brush a piece of hair from his eyes. “You were never very good at hiding Mr. Celebrity.”
He looks at you again, eyes warm, certain. “I don’t want to hide with you.”
Neither do you.
And for the first time, the dream didn’t end when you woke up.
____
The thing that surprises you most isn’t the way Joshua stays close.
It’s how careful he is about it.
Backstage eventually settles into something calmer, the adrenaline of performances fading as schedules are wrapped up and staff start packing away equipment. Somewhere between congratulatory hugs and whispered gossip, you and Joshua end up tucked into a quieter corner of the hallway, not touching - but not not touching either. His shoulder brushes yours when he shifts. Your sleeve catches against his wrist when you move your clipboard. Each contact sends a small, electric awareness through you, like your body has suddenly learned a new language and won’t stop translating.
Neither of you mentions the glow again. You don’t need to. It’s still there, faint but present, warmth coiled under your skin like it’s listening.
“You always wake up before sunrise,” he says softly, after a moment. It’s not a question.
You glance at him, heart stuttering. “You noticed.”
He smiles - not the bright stage smile, but something quieter, something that feels just for you. “You always disappear right when the light hits the water.”
You swallow. There are a hundred things you want to say, confessions piled on top of one another, but none of them feel safe enough to release yet. Instead, you offer him something smaller. “You hum in your sleep.”
Joshua laughs under his breath, ears turning pink. “That’s embarrassing.”
“It’s comforting,” you counter. “It makes the dreams feel… lived in.”
The word hangs between you, heavy with implication.
You walk together when it’s time to leave, steps unconsciously matching pace. Outside, the night air is cool, grounding. The city hums around you, bright and alive, but it feels distant - like the two of you are moving through a pocket of stillness carved out just for this moment.
When you stop beside your car, neither of you reaches for the door.
Joshua hesitates, then speaks, voice lower now. “I don’t want to rush this,” he says. “Whatever this is. I’ve spent so long feeling like something was missing that… I want to do it right.”
Something soft unfurls in your chest.
“I do too,” you admit. “But I think it’s already started. Whether we’re ready or not.”
His gaze drops to your lips. Just for a second. Long enough for your breath to hitch. “Can I-” He stops himself, exhales slowly, then meets your eyes again. “Can I kiss you again?”
You nod.
This kiss is different.
It’s slower, exploratory - less about proof and more about promise. His hand settles at your waist, warm and steady, thumb brushing absent-mindedly against your side like he’s memorizing the shape of you. You tilt closer without thinking, drawn in by the quiet reverence in the way he holds you, like he’s afraid of crossing an invisible line even as he aches to.
When you pull back, your foreheads rest together, breaths mingling.
“If you come back tonight,” he murmurs, voice rough with restraint, “I’ll be there.”
You smile, fingers curling lightly into the front of his jacket. “You always are.”
___
The dreams change after that. They become slower. Softer.
There’s more laughter - inside jokes about how he always loses track of time in the water, how you pretend not to notice when he braids flowers into your hair. There are moments where you lie side by side in the grass, shoulders pressed together, talking about nothing and everything until waking feels like an intrusion.
But the yearning grows too.
Waking becomes harder. Staying apart while your groups are busy feels wrong in a way you can’t ignore. His touches linger longer in the dream, hands resting at your hips, your back, your thigh - never crossing the line, but always hovering close enough to make your pulse race. Almost-confessions slip out only to be interrupted by the world pulling you both away again.
One night, by the waterfall, he finally says it.
“I’m falling in love with you.”
The words land gently, but they stay.
And when you wake up the next morning, heart racing, you realize something terrifying and wonderful all at once: Soon, restraint won’t be enough. Soon, you’re going to need more than dreams in the same way you need oxygen to breathe.
___
The café is small and warm, the kind of place that feels intentionally hidden. Low music hums softly from somewhere near the counter, something jazzy and slow that bleeds into the background without demanding attention. You chose it on purpose - close to home, quiet enough to talk, familiar enough to feel safe. Still, you hadn’t expected your pulse to be doing this the entire time.
Joshua sits across from you, elbows resting lightly on the table, fingers wrapped around a mug he hasn’t touched in a while. He looks relaxed in a way that feels earned - hoodie pushed up slightly at the sleeves, hair soft and unstyled, eyes warm when they meet yours. Not stage Joshua. Not dream Joshua. Just him.
Conversation comes easily again, like it always does. You talk about schedules, about the way your girls are gearing up for their next comeback, about how exhausted he’s been lately and how strange it feels to admit that out loud. He listens like every word matters, nodding, smiling, asking quiet follow-up questions that make you feel seen instead of studied.
But beneath all of it, there’s something else.
It’s in the way his gaze lingers a second too long when you laugh. In the way your knees brush under the table and neither of you pulls away. In the way the air seems to tighten every time the subject drifts too close to the dreams - not avoiding it, exactly, just circling it carefully.
“You feel different awake,” he says eventually, almost to himself.
You raise an eyebrow. “Different how?”
He considers it, eyes flicking briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes. “Heavier,” he says. “In a good way. Like… like you’re more real than I expected.”
Your chest warms at that, slow and deep. “You don’t feel that different,” you admit. “Just quieter. Less afraid.”
His smile softens. “That’s because you’re here.”
The words sit between you, charged.
When the mugs are empty and the sky outside has deepened into evening, neither of you rushes to leave. You gather your things slowly, deliberately, aware of every small movement. When you stand, Joshua does too, close enough that you catch the faint scent of his cologne - clean, familiar, grounding in a way that makes your stomach flip. You smell it every night, but it is better here. Better when it’s real.
Outside, the air is cool. You walk side by side, arms occasionally brushing, the silence between you comfortable but humming with unspoken things. Eventually he grasps your hand in his, surrounding you with warmth and a sense of loving security. It’s only when you reach your building that you stop, fingers tightening slightly around his.
Joshua does too.
“Well,” he says softly, free hand sliding into his pocket again like it’s the only thing keeping him in place. “I should probably-”
You turn to face him fully.
“You don’t have to,” you say.
His eyes search your face, careful, earnest. “I don’t want to assume.”
“I know,” you reply. You take a breath, heart steady but fast. “I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t sure.”
The glow stirs faintly under your skin, warm and patient.
“My place is just upstairs,” you add, voice quieter now. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I just… don’t want tonight to end yet.”
Joshua exhales slowly, something like relief passing over his features. “I was hoping you’d say that,” he admits.
He follows you inside, steps measured, respectful - but the tension builds with every floor you climb, every shared glance, every squeeze between your connected hands. By the time you unlock your door, it feels like something completely electric is balancing between you.
Inside, the space is dim and familiar, soft lighting and quiet wrapping around you both. You set your bag down, turn - and Joshua is already there, close but not crowding, eyes dark with something he’s clearly trying to keep contained.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he says, voice low.
You don’t answer with words.
When his hands settle at your hips, it’s gentle at first, like he’s reminding himself you’re real. He pulls you tightly against his firm body and stares into your eyes with an expression you’ve never seen on him before.
The kiss that follows is slower than the before, deeper and passionate. His thumb brushes lightly at your side, your breath catching at the contact, heat pooling low and steady. You can sense him still holding back though.
You pull back just enough to rest your forehead against his, smiling softly. “You’re my cute gentleman.”
He laughs under his breath, breath warm against your skin. “I’m trying to be.”
Your fingers curl into his hoodie, tugging him even closer. “You don’t have to try so hard tonight.”
His breath stutters - just once.
And when the door clicks shut behind you, the city disappears, leaving only warmth, anticipation, and the quiet certainty that this is exactly where you’re supposed to be.
He kisses you like he’s been thinking about it. Like he knows exactly how you’ll respond.
Your fingers slide up into his soft hair without thinking, tangling there as his mouth moves against yours, slow and burning. Tongues dancing to a tune only you two know. There’s a restraint in him you can still feel - despite your words. a tension in the way he holds you close without pressing too far, like he’s giving himself one last chance to pull back.
You don’t give it to him.
Your body tilts into his, hips brushing, mouth moaning into his kiss - and the effect is immediate. His grip shifts upwards, thumbs pressing in on that little space between your ribs and your breasts. breath hitching against your lips. When he pulls back, it’s only far enough to rest his forehead against yours, eyes closed like he’s steadying himself.
“God,” he exhales, voice low and rough in a way you’ve never heard before. “You don’t know how hard it is not to fuck you stupid right now.”
Your brain completely short circuits. You’ve never heard him speak in such a vulgar way, but it turns you on immensely. Your pretty little gentleman who turns into a monster in the bedroom.
“Then do it,” you whisper.
The control fractures - and suddenly he’s kissing you again, deeper, hungrier, needier. His hands roam now, sliding along your back, your waist, your ass, learning the shape of you with reverent urgency. Every touch feels deliberate, like he’s memorizing you, like he’s afraid this might disappear if he doesn’t hold onto it hard enough.
You tug him forward, guiding without thinking, and he follows easily, letting you lead him further into your space. The room feels warmer now, smaller, like the walls are leaning in. He backs you gently until you feel the edge of something solid behind your knees, one hand braced beside you as he leans in, mouth trailing from your lips to your jaw, lingering there just long enough to make your vision blurry.
You fall backwards onto your mattress as he crawls over you.
“Say the word,” he murmurs against your skin. “I need to hear it.”
You don’t hesitate. You don’t soften it. Rather, you whine at him. “Yes. Joshua. Please.”
“Anything for you, baby.”
And then your clothes are being ripped off of you. He starts with your shirt and your pants, your bra and your socks - stripping and pulling each piece until you’re lying in nothing but your barely-there panties.
They’re soaked. Sticking to your body in a sticky, creamy mess. Much to Joshua’s Pleasure. He runs two fingers through your fabric covered slit, bringing them up to his mouth. His eyes flutter at your taste, and open up to show you that same hunger, the desire.
“Shua?” you mumble
“Yes?”
“Can you take off your clothes too?”
“Hmm… I have a better idea.” He grins, leaning down so his face is lined up properly with your cunt. “I’ll take off an item of clothing for each time you cum for me, deal?”
“But I want to see you!” you pout. “Let me at least see something!”
“I can’t say no to you.” He chuckles, pulling off his sweater to reveal a toned chest. His skin is absolutely glowing, a thin lined cross tattoo on his arm, abs curving out a delicious V into the line of his pants. You can see the line of his boxers just poking out above his jeans. “But if you want more…” he pushes your thighs open, regaining his spot between them. “You know what to do.”
You don’t even have a chance to recover from the sight before he’s licking a stripe up your panties, pressure sending your head back into the pillows. He’s teasing you relentlessly with the undies. Pulling them tight through the lips of your pussy, sliding it from side to side but never fully removing them. His fingers rub you in little circles until you’re almost there, before he pulls away to kiss at your inner thighs. Leaving little love bites that you’re sure may turn into bruises over night. This goes on for what feels like ages.
You decide that you simply must take matters into your own hands. You push him away from your cunt with just enough pressure that he lifts up, dazed eyes. “What..” he can’t finish his sentence before you’re pulling the thong off yourself and throwing it as far as you can. You grab his head and shove it back into your pussy, this time bare and swollen and begging for an orgasm.
“I need you this way.” You moan, tugging at his hair. “Enough teasing. Make me cum, daddy.”
His brain overloads at that. He didn’t think he had a daddy kink, not ever. That didn’t really scream “hey ladies! I’m a gentleman!” but hearing it from your lips? God he’s straining against his pants with a hard on the size of an entire country.
“Daddy, huh?” he leans into your cunt with a deep groan, sucking hard on the nub of your clit.
“Need you so…ugh!” you practically scream at the harsh suck, just what you needed. Your hands push him into you, hips bucking at the pleasure. His fingers join in, two at once pushing into your hole with such a divine stretch. They find your little bundle of nerves within moments and slide into them again and again and again with a rapid pace, sending you into orbit.
You’re leaking, white dribbling down his fingers and his wrist, chin covered in your juices but he can’t stop. He loves this. Loves the way you’re babbling nonsense under his command, the way he’s making you feel this way. It has him bucking his own hips into the mattress, straining against his boxers painfully and pleasurably at the same time.
You’re begging. Tears leaking from your eyes, whining, babbling, pleading for release. He edged you too much for anything less than complete and utter desperation.
It finally hits you, the orgasm of your life. Your chest rises from the bed, your mouth screeching “yes, yes, yes, coming, yes!” repeatedly and wildly. Your toes curl, your fingers push him harder into you, your hips tense, your legs lock, you lose control of your sanity. Your brain floats away into the air, and for a moment you feel like you’re dreaming again. This can’t be real. But your eyes open, and he’s there, smirking down at you and you’re in your real room - not the cabin. This is real - and he’s real - and you genuinely cannot wait for another one of those before you get him inside you.
“That’s one, baby.” He laughs, leaning up to pull his jeans off. You see it then, the precum stained boxers, the way his length is damn near about to burst through the fabric.
“One that was plenty devastating enough for those too” You bite your lip, neck lolling back, still trying to regain composure. Your fingers pull at the band of his underwear, but he grabs at your wrists and shoves them above your head.
“Not so fast. He clicks his tongue. “We had a deal. I even gave you a freebie with the shirt.” He whispers right into your ear, sending a little pathetic noise slithering out of your lips. It’s like he has you in a trance.
“What belongs in here? Hm?” He wonders, pulling open your bedside table drawer with one hand, the other still pinning your wrists. “Ooh. Bingo.” He smiles, pulling out your pink vibrator.
“Joshua no.” you whine. “I can’t wait! I need you now!!” You smack lightly at the muscles of his back as he releases you to admire the toy.
“You’ll have me, darling.” he coos, "but you’ve got to earn it first, hmm?”
___
You don’t have it in you to fight again when the vibrator is rubbing against your clit. You hardly even remember how you ended up in this position, but somehow Joshua is sitting against the headboard with your back against his chest. You’re sitting in between his legs and they’re twisted around yours, holding them open while the toy is abusing your poor cunt. Your head is leaning on his shoulder as more nonsense flies past your lips. He kisses you passionately and deeply as his free hand pinches at your nipple and plays with the skin of your breast. Before long you’re convulsing in his hold, shaking and sobbing while another white hot orgasm rips through you with a zing like lightning. He smiles at the sight and only moves away when you pull at him with a cry.
“And that’s two.”
“Finally!” you cry as he pulls his boxers off. “I’ve been waiting for five years!”
“It’s only been 30 minutes, baby.” He laughs, cock appearing from the band with a hard spring towards his abdomen. “And I had to wear you down somehow. I don’t know how long I'll last with your pretty pussy squeezing me. and your pretty voice with your pretty moaning and your pretty fingers and your pretty lips and your pretty face and your pretty-.” you cut him off with another deep kiss, blushing at the compliments. You’ve lifted onto your knees, bodies pressed together as you lick into his mouth, tasting the aftermath of your essence from before - but you don’t care.
“I’ll tell you what’s pretty.” you giggle into his lips, using your free hand to grab at his length. God, even the skin on his fucking DICK is perfectly smooth and soft and sexy as hell. You only make it a few strokes before he’s pushing you back again and you have to catch yourself behind you.
“I’m not letting you brush past this.” he kisses a trail down your jaw, marking a bruise along your collarbone. “You’re the prettiest girl in the whole universe. And I’ll tell you that every day.”
His hands slide along your sides, rubbing up and down as he kisses more spots on your neck, and on your chest and your jaw. You settle back into the pillows as he worships your skin, sinking in like you’re on a cloud or a bed of cotton candy.
“Shua.” you sigh into a particularly pleasurable spot. “Please take me. Properly. Make me yours.”
“I love you.” He sighs, finally lining up and entering you with a slow, painful stretch. He’s so big, much bigger than anyone (or any toy) you’ve felt before. He allows you time to adjust, rubbing comforting circles on your hips and mumbling sweet nothings into your ear. “I love you, and I’m yours.”
Your hands are connected, red light glowing in time with your synced up hearts beating. It’s the most beautiful sex you could imagine. His movements are slow, powerful, calculated. Designed to pleasure you perfectly, to stretch you to your limit and leave you dazed and happily tired. He cares so deeply about how good it feels. He asks you repeatedly to tell him it feels good, he wants to know when you’re close and what you need.
“I love you.” you cry in the exact moment that you finally shatter. The red light shatters too, almost exploding with you in a burst of adrenaline and endorphins. Joshua follows in the same moment, collapsing on top of you with broken breaths and a dazed, lazy smile.
“I’m gonna make you my wife one day.” He giggles as you fade into sleep together, wrapped limb in limb, under your soft blue duvet that will surely end up in his house if he has any say about it.
___
You wake to the sound of the ocean.
Not loud - not even crashing - just the slow, rhythmic hush of waves rolling into the shore and retreating again, like the tide is breathing with you. The sand beneath you is warm and fine, soft enough to cradle your weight without sinking. A faint breeze drifts in from the water, carrying the clean, salty scent of the sea and the quiet promise of calm.
Above you, the night sky is absolutely breathtaking.
Constellations sprawl endlessly overhead, brighter and sharper than anything you’ve ever seen awake. Dreamy stars are dusted across the dark like they were hand-placed there by the creator’s hand. Some of them shimmer faintly, reflecting off the water in broken silver lines. The moon hangs low and luminous, casting a gentle glow that turns the shoreline pale gold. If you were an artist you would paint this picture and keep it forever. It was truly a piece of art to admire.
For a moment, you just stare.
“This is… different,” you whisper, almost afraid to disturb it.
Beside you, Joshua exhales softly, the sound content and unguarded. He’s stretched out in the sand, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting close enough that his fingers brush yours when the tide shifts. The moonlight kisses his features. It softens the angles of his face, catches on his lashes, makes him look impossibly serene.
“I know,” he says. “I fell asleep first tonight.”
You turn your head toward him. “You did this?”
He glances at you, that shy, fond smile tugging at his lips. “I think I figured out how to change things. Just a little. I wanted to show you something that feels like my safe place. Somewhere I come when I need to breathe.”
Your gaze drifts back to the water, to the endless horizon melting into starlight. “It feels like you,” you murmur. “Quiet. Steady…Pretty.”
His ears pink faintly, but his smile deepens. “I wanted us to have something that’s ours.”
You shift closer without thinking, rolling onto your side. “I love it.”
He responds immediately, turning toward you, his arm slipping around your waist with an ease that makes it feel like second nature. You tuck yourself against his chest, head resting just beneath his collarbone, listening to the slow, even beat of his heart beneath your ear.
The red light hums faintly under your skin - warm, settled, like it’s finally found where it belongs for eternity.
The waves continue their gentle rhythm, the sound wrapping around you like a lullaby. Joshua’s fingers trace lazy patterns along your arm, absentminded and affectionate, as if he can’t quite stop touching you now that he doesn’t have to let go.
After a while, you tilt your head back to look up at him. “Joshua?”
“Yeah?” His voice is low, soft with sleep and something deeper.
“I’m looking out at the water, and it reminds me of us.” you mutter. There’s the sand, and then a little bit of space to wade out there, and then from there it’s just big, and deep and un-ending.”
“Yeah?” He responds, a slight question and a bit of understanding laced in.
“I love you.” you breathe. “Like a giant, endless, ocean sized love. Even though it’s only been a few weeks of this” - you touch his cheek. “It kind of feels like we skipped the shallow end,” you say with a small smile. “Does that scare you at all?”
He doesn’t pull away. He doesn’t even pause.
Instead, he tightens his hold just a little, forehead resting against yours, eyes steady and sure as they search your face.
“I’ve never felt more sure of anyone in my life,” he says. “You’re the other half of my soul. The one God and fate and the universe placed in front of me to save me from myself - from my scariest fears and my greatest stressors. You’re the love I can come home to every night, in my waking body and in my dreams. You’re it for me. I don’t care how long we’ve been sharing this dream. It could have been a day or a year and I’d still be sure. There’s a buzzing underneath my skin that tells me you’re my person. You’re mine and I’m yours and I love you with every molecule that makes up my very being. I want us to take this and run with it and swim through the waves until we’re old and grey. And even then I hope we still come here every night. To the flowers and the beaches, and gosh, maybe even other places too. I love you too, Y/N. from the deepest part of me. And I know it’s fast. I know it’s skipping a few steps in the logical sense, so no. I’m not scared. But if you are, I'll wait in the shallow end until you want to jump in.”
Your breath catches - and then you laugh softly, overwhelmed and warm and completely undone by him.
“You know,” you say, brushing your thumb over his jaw, “you really don’t do anything halfway.”
He smiles - slow, devastating. “Not with you.”
You nuzzle closer, fitting against him perfectly. “Good,” you murmur. “Because I don’t want halfway. I want you. All of you. Every version.”
He presses a kiss into your hair, lingering there like he’s committing the moment to memory. “You have me,” he whispers. “Everywhere.”
The red light doesn’t flare. It doesn’t glow brighter. It simply rests - deep, steady, complete.
As the tide rolls in and out beneath the starlit sky, you drift together into something softer than sleep, wrapped in warmth, certainty, and the quiet knowledge that this love doesn’t end when the dream does.
It carries you forward.
Always.
ubuttercup Thu 08 Jan 2026 03:08AM UTC
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