dream x reader smut, fluff, and oneshots

bar fight (oneshot)

It finally happened. 

After weeks of watching the two men grow angrier with each other, he finally punched him. 

For context, you had been working at a small bar to make ends meet while you were in college. You took long shifts on Fridays and Sundays, which happened to be some of the busiest and most brutal days of the week. 

Working at a bar, it was natural that you saw your fair share of assholes. Men that flirted with you incessantly, men that made comments about how your boobs looked in a particular shirt, and even some women who whispered behind your back about what a slut you were. 

You had seen it all. 

But, nobody had ever come close to this particular asshole man. 

He started by irritating you: talking about politics, breathing in your face intentionally because he knew you hated the smell of beer, being blatantly misogynistic.

Every time you just had to bite your tongue and remind yourself that you needed this job. You couldn't fight back no matter what. 

It felt hopeless, quite frankly. You secretly wished that somebody would put him in his place. 

Despite this hope in the back of your head, you knew it wouldn't happen. Nobody was going to stand up to the raging conservative with an awful case of halitosis. You always thought of it as a distant fantasy. 

That is, until it actually happened. Someone actually stood up to him. 

The man was blonde, his eyes a dark green. He stopped by occasionally to play darts, but he almost never drank. He met up with his friends, ate a side of fries, and left. You had grown to recognize him, but you really didn't know him. 

He came in, hair falling in front of his face, clearly disgruntled. You had just finished wiping the counters when he sat down in a huff. 

He glared at you through the stray strands of hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. You smiled in the interest of top notch public service. 

He eventually cracked a grin, brushing the hair out of his face. He looked at you as you were cleaning a used glass. 

"Hi."

That was unexpected. You glanced in his direction. "Hey."

The man looked behind him, as if he was expecting somebody. He turned back to face you. "Does this place have anything against-well, against violence?"

You shook your head no. "We don't encourage it though."

"Great, because I've had my eye on that guy this entire week."

He pointed over his shoulder to the man you loathed with every fiber of your being. You smiled knowingly and leaned in closer to the man. "I say go for it."

He smirked back at you. "Thank you for the encouragement..."

His eyes roamed your chest, searching for a nametag. 

"...y/n" 

"No problem."

You didn't have any customers so you put the glass away and craned your neck so that you could see what you had been so eagerly waiting for. 

The blonde man strode up to the asshole, for lack of a better word. 

The blonde already had the advantage as he was standing and the other man was sitting. The blonde threw a quick but decisive punch that had the other man reeling, grabbing his jaw in pain. 

At this point, the injured man was standing up. He looked angry that the blonde had gotten the first punch and was determined to make him pay. 

The blonde stepped back in mock surrender, which only further angered the other man. Soon, the blonde was on the floor, his chin bleeding. 

You examined the other man's hand from afar, wondering what could've possibly caused the other man to shed blood with just one punch. 

That was when you saw it-a large and tacky wedding wing. The stone from the ring must've cut the blonde. 

Now the asshole had the advantage, something that was never favorable. In the interest of not watching a bloodbath, you scurried over, making it look like you were just seeing the fight. 

You chastised both parties, but went easy on the blonde. You demanded that the other man get out of the bar. 

After that outburst, a lot of people seemed to be disinterested and a bit scared. People started leaving quickly, but the blonde stayed behind, sulking at the bar. 

You smirked at him. "What about him got you so angry?"

He sighed. "You see how he treats people, right? He's just such a piece of shit. I'm glad I punched him."

"You are probably my personal hero for that and I don't even know your name."

He extended his hand and you noticed that his knuckles were a bit bruised. "Clay, but everyone calls me Dream."

"I wonder why," you said sarcastically, rolling your eyes. 

You shook his hand but he almost instantly recoiled, wincing in pain. "Sorry, punching hand."

You looked at him sympathetically. "Let me get you some ice for that. Stay here."

He nodded and you disappeared to get a bag to fill with ice. You came back with a makeshift ice pack. 

He sighed in relief when you placed it on his hand. You dabbed at the blood dripping down his face with your thumb. 

"Let me fix that as well." 

He thanked you, lifting his shirt up to wipe away some of the blood himself. You came back with a cloth and started to wipe the blood off, and he thanked you as graciously as he could with a towel in his face.

His cut was pretty deep, so you opted for a more thorough solution. You disappeared into the back, trying to find the first aid kit. 

Soon after you returned, you apologetically dabbed at his wound using an alcohol wipe. He winced, but then threw his head back in relief when you were done and when the blood stopped. 

He smiled at you, grateful that you helped him feel so much better.  He leaned in and whispered in your ear. 

"For the record, I punched him because of how rude he is to the women here, especially you. Don't think people like me don't notice these things."

He got up to leave, blood spots near the bottom hem of his shirt and holding an ice pack to his right fist. You called after him. 

"Thank you Dream. Thank you for noticing and thank your for standing up to him."

"No problem, y/n."