#The Dreaming | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

withoutyouimsaskia · 6 months

Text

Don't Stop (Sandman One-Shot)

GIF: Originally posted by @imironstark

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

Summary: One-shot. Reader self-insert. Smut. You and Morpheus are in the exploratory stages of your relationship. Morpheus asks to worship you, and all is going well. At least, that is, until you start to wake up...

Warnings: Minors DNI. Smut. Porn with plot. Kissing. Oral sex (AFAB receiving). Slight dominant Morpheus.

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: So I watched Sweetbitter. With my partner. Maybe not the best idea because suppressing the squeaks of excitement whenever Tom came on screen was tough and not always 100% effective! The hyper fixation is still going strong... Hope you enjoy this one. All my love, Saskia xxx

Sandman Masterlist

-------------------------------------------------

It is only when the violent spinning not only stops but holds for several minutes after, does Morpheus make steps in allowing his guard to drop.

He straightens elegantly out of his crouching position, withdrawing his hands from the scree smattered earth. He looks to his left, to Lucienne, who is warily regarding the ground and sky, wondering if they might start to rapidly switch places again.

She meets Morpheus' gaze and adjusts her round-framed spectacles with a steady hand.

"I might be speaking too soon, sir, but I truly think it is over now."

Morpheus takes one last steely appraisal of the horizon, almost daring it to misbehave.

He nods once. "I believe you are correct, Lucienne."

"Will you be requiring anything else from me, my lord?"

"Not at present."

"Very well," Lucienne replies with a warm smile. "I will return to the palace now."

She does a little incline of the head in deference and goes to start the winding walk back towards the glowing lights of the Dreaming's seat of power.

Morpheus calls to his friend.

"I thank you for your persistence in supporting me to resolve these issues. I suggest you take some extra hours to rest."

"I suggest you do the same, sir."

Though her reply is innocuous, the knowing gleam in Lucienne's brown eyes hints at an alternative interpretation, one that Morpheus cannot help but notice.

It was becoming generally well known that he was in the early stages of courtship with a dreamer, you, and there was no doubt that Lucienne was aware of how far the relationship with you had recently gone.

He raises an eyebrow in response, earning a grin from Lucienne and then he watches her walk away.

Once alone, Morpheus allows his eyes to flutter closed as he sifts through the myriad of dormant minds and tunes into the space occupied by yours. He takes a reading of your emotions, thankful to find that you are contented and have not been rendered feeling neglected by his absence.

There's a faint undercurrent lingering below the surface level of your emotions that he is also able to lock on to given the familiarity that you share.

Desire.

They are present, filling you with neediness and longing.

A longing to be touched, to be touched by him.

Morpheus is with you in seconds, appearing in the doorway of the room you have chosen to conceal yourself in.

You are curled up in a large armchair by a panoramic window that frames the mountainous vista beyond. The torches that mark equidistant points along the bridge leading to the palace project a soft gleaming warmth over your skin. You are gazing softly at the landscape, the fingertips of one hand combing through your hair, the others trailing up and down your inner thigh.

Such an innocent yet provocative display. It makes Morpheus' voice drop to an even deeper and more sultry register than usual as he calls to you.

You are out of the chair instantly, meeting him at the threshold of the room. Your heart pumps out an allegro drum beat, the sound of the blood rushing in your ears like a waterfall.

You are pulled into a searing kiss, arms encircle your waist to ensure you are flush against his hips and chest. It is a relief that he is holding you in such a way for your knees are threatening to give out within seconds.

The power he has, in his body, his actions, through his words, in a metaphysical sense; you are helpless against them all.

When Morpheus pulls away from the kiss, you follow him on instinct, aching for more. He smiles faintly at your eagerness but maintains the gap in order to explain his length of absence.

"I must apologise, Y/N. The issue was a little more complex than Lucienne and I had anticipated."

He's looking down with a tint of shame in his aquamarine eyes.

You slide your hands up his forearms, gripping tightly and angling your head so you can capture his gaze.

"There is nothing to be sorry for. Your work and the safety of your dreamers take priority."

He simply nods. Your unwavering understanding is always on the side of overwhelming for him.

You register this in his stance.

"You feel a little tense. I can help with that if you want. Like I did last night?"

You move a hand up to stroke the hair on the back of his head. It is a form of touch that never fails to release tension.

Morpheus indulges in your attentions for a bit, leaning into you and sighing deeply, before staring at you directly with sudden seriousness.

"I cannot deny that what you did for me yesterday was beyond exquisite," He leans in to speak by your ear. "But it is my turn to worship you."

"Oh," you swallow down your surprise. "Okay."

Morpheus wastes no time in guiding you back towards the armchair and sits you on the very edge of the seat pad.

He carefully removes his long sweeping coat and then drops to his knees before you.

His rosy lips are parted, eyes dark pools, both standing out against his beautifully pale skin.

"Where can I touch you?" He asks urgently.

"Everywhere," you reply as the flutterings in your stomach warble your voice.

He begins by trailing his hands up your legs. The patterns he draws are intricate and intoxicating.

"May I have the honour of tasting you?"

"Yes," you consent, breathless already.

You remove your trousers and underwear in the same movement and allow Morpheus to adjust your position.

The image of him looking up at you with lust and intent as he parts your legs is immediately imprinted deep within your memories.

He trails innocent kisses up your left calf to your knee. A long-fingered hand is hooked under it and once Morpheus slips your leg over his shoulder, he continues his path along your inner thigh.

Wisps of his midnight hair tickle your skin and make you squirm in the most delicious way. You whimper when you feel his cool breath hit your pulsing core.

Morpheus speaks your name reverently, a taster of what was about to come.

He leans in the last few inches and kisses your vulva. You melt with an ecstasy-filled exhale. His tongue gently licks at your labia, encouraging them to part and expose your clit. He laps at you with precise strokes before sealing his mouth over the nub.

It's like a direct current has been shot into your body; you jolt into him, moaning his name with abandon.

He hums against you, lips curling into a naughty smirk. You are completely at his mercy and he knows it all too well.

He manipulates your clit between his plush lips and the pleasure reaches a higher ground.

"Whatever you do, please don't stop," you beg.

Morpheus obeys, slowly increasing and decreasing the pressure of his suckling until you are almost unable to think clearly anymore.

Then, suddenly, you are distracted by a strange feeling radiating through your body. You recognise it with immediacy. It's like you are being dragged upwards by a marionette string. You are waking up.

You stiffen, falling silent, hoping above all hope that if you stay still, you can stave off the pull back to consciousness.

Morpheus, noticing your change in demeanour, stops his attentions and pulls away.

He speaks your name in a caring tone, "Are you alright?"

You grab the arm rests in a further attempt to keep yourself in the Dreaming. The sensation isn't letting up.

You respond with haste, "I think I'm waking up. I don't think I can stop it."

Waking had been the cause of cutting short your time with Morpheus many times before. It was to be expected; you were a human being with things like sunlight and birdsong and routines to contend with. The worst had been mid-way through a conversation, one that you were able to pick up again the next time you passed the Dreaming threshold.

Right here while Morpheus was working on you so perfectly, however left you with one thought: Why did it have to be now?

Your surroundings flicker and all sound becomes warped. The support of Morpheus' body and the chair vanish.

"I'm sorry." They are the last words you speak before you disappear.

You come to in the semi-darkness of your bedroom. Your chest is heaving and wetness has spilled onto your pyjamas from the dream of Morpheus lavishing your aroused core.

Your phone is blasting out a morning alarm, its shrillness the clear root of you disappearing on him.

It turns out though, initially unknown to you, that Morpheus was having none of this separation business. That is until you notice him sitting between your splayed legs.

"Morpheus?! What are you -"

"You asked me not to stop, my dearest dreamer," he interrupts, pouring every ounce of seductive energy into the words as he can muster.

Morpheus' eyes bore into yours as he climbs up to fully straddle your body. He reaches over you to turn off the alarm with a precise tap on the screen of your phone. He takes a deep breath.

"Much better," he purrs. The pitch of his voice is pleasure enough on its own, even without the fact that his hips are subtly grinding against yours.

"Now, would you like to resume with what we were doing before we were so rudely interrupted by that repugnant tone?"

You nod.

"Verbal consent, please."

It's suddenly so hard to speak now he is in your bedroom, your domain. You hope that a clear display will be an acceptable alternative. You reach your hands down to rid yourself of your pyjamas only to have each wrist pinned either side of your head.

You gasp.

"I need to hear you say it out loud, Y/N."

Another wave of hot, stifling arousal is released between your legs. You shiver in reaction to it, to his dominance.

Your mouth is open but no coherent words leave it, just the starts of failed sentences. Morpheus comes to your aid:

"Will you allow me to taste you here, in the waking world, just as I did in my own realm?"

"Yes," you breathe. "Yes, Morpheus. Please. Put your mouth on me."

He hums his approval before lowering your shorts and beginning to feast on you once more.

---------------------------------------------------

Tag List: @herfantasyworldd @shadowqueen1318

485 notes · View notes

issylra · 1 year

Text

the dreaming + inside the castle

#the sandman #netflix sandman #dream of the endless #sandmanedit #dcedit #the dreaming #lucienne #more references #*mine: gifs

2K notes · View notes

gewdmorning · 2 years

Text

Corinthian literally found himself babysitting a kid he had kidnapped who was the baby brother of a dream vortex that was about to collapse in on itself and take the whole world with it just so he could be all dad notice me i’m edgy

#Corinthian has daddy issues #the sandman #sandman #lord morpheus #morpheus #the corinthian #neil gaiman #the dreaming #the endless

5K notes · View notes

disease · 2 years

Audio

KATE BUSH // GET OUT OF MY HOUSE [THE DREAMING, 1982]

#audio #kate bush #art rock #progressive pop #80s #the dreaming #get out of my house #music #u

3K notes · View notes

its-jamie-ok · 8 days

Text

I went down a different Gaiman rabbit hole and now I have a sketchbook page for Sandman, oops.

#sandman #morpheus #the dreaming #dream of the endless #sketchbook #sketchbook page #traditional artist #traditional fanart

157 notes · View notes

amones · 10 months

Text

…and those who pass by see only smoke.

#dream of the endless #the dreaming #the sandman #vertigo comics #morpheus #my artwork #painting #fan art

1K notes · View notes

daddyjackfrost · 2 years

Text

darling ; dream x f!reader

sandman masterlist

read my sandman series stay with me here

The Dreaming, a realm of dreams and nightmares, was the home to many, including Dream of the Endless and his wife, Lady of The Dreaming.

In contrast to her husband, Lady of The Dreaming was a soft and gentle soul. The light to his dark. The dream to his nightmare. While Dream managed everything that occurred in the night, the nightmares and creatures, His Lady managed The Dreaming in the day, the more mundane of dreamers. Those who drifted in and out of their realm; the children, the elderly, and the night owls.

It was a good life. A happy, loving, joyful life. One that Morpheus and his Lady wouldn’t have traded for anything. They were content, and so in love.

Until the King of Dreams and Nightmares was captured. For over a century.

80 years later…

Lucienne, the head librarian of The Dreaming, paced in front of the crumbling library doors. The library was one of the only places in The Dreaming that remained upright. As the rest of the realm withered away, Lucienne and the Lady tried their best to keep the Library—Morpheus’s favourite place—as intact as they could. All their belief and love was channeled towards the tower filled with books as old as time.

With a hesitant knock, the librarian waited for an invitation.

“Come in, Lucienne.”

Pushing the door open, Lucienne’s eyes landed on the slumped figure of her Ladyship. As she had been doing for years now, the Lady of the Dreaming stared out of the Library’s grand window. She watched her realm, the one she had loved and taken care of for thousands of years, deteriorate into rubble.

Lucienne threaded her fingers together. Not only had she watched her home turn into nothing, she watched her Queen, once lively and the heart of the Dreaming, turn into an empty shell of the God she once was.

“Can I make you some tea, my Ladyship? Perhaps a meal?”

The Lady turned her head and smiled at her old friend. Without Lucienne, the Dreaming would have crumbled completely long ago. She patted the empty space next to her. “Come sit, Lucienne. I could use the company of a friend.”

Lucienne smiled and sat next to her Lady. Together, they both travelled deep within their minds, recalling old memories of their home, when it was once beautiful and filled with imagination.

“I wonder what Morpheus thinks about, trapped in that glass. I have not seen him since Corinthian made Burgess place a shielding spell. Do you think he knows we have not abandoned him?”

Lucienne hesitated. Ever since Jessamy was killed, there had been no news about the King of Dreams. Shifting her eyes to the Lady, Lucienne took in her sullen eyes, her glazed skin, and the slight tremble of her hands.

“Lord Morpheus is smart. That being said, I’m sure he does not know that his absence has resulted in… this.” Lucienne wanted to console her Ladyship, but there was little to offer. “He thinks about you, I’m sure.”

The Lady of The Dreaming clapped her hands and stood, smoothing out her long black dress. “Yes, he must. Let’s make our rounds, Lucienne. Perhaps we shall find something unusual today.”

Together, a librarian and a God in love walked the planes of their home, hand in hand, welcoming the warmth and comfort they offered the other, knowing they had little time left.

100 years later…

Dark, silver and blue eyes watched as Alex Burgess’s wheelchair wiped away the containment spell that had kept Dream, King of the Dreaming, captive for over a century.

Paul, Alex’s lover, turned back to look at the strange and powerful man. With the slightest nod, he pushed Alex’s wheelchair towards the door. This was the last time either man would come to the basement. They had hoped that this final offering would spare them.

Dream let out the softest of breaths, he could feel the freedom that awaited him. With the slightest stretch of his muscles, Dream stood. The hum around him grew louder, and settled deep within his heart.

With what remaining power he had, Dream broke free from his prison. Putting the guards to sleep, Dream rolled his shoulders. Before he reunited with his love, his wife, he had someone else he needed to take care of.

Alex Burgess had to pay for his crime. And the crimes of his father.

An unfortunate becoming, Dream thought. To pay for a father’s crime.

With a deep breath, Dream travelled to Alex Burgess’s dreams.

“Hello,” Dream spoke slowly. His voice carried through Alex’s mind, wrapping around his subconscious and drowning him.

Alex Burgess's eyes widened into a look Dream had come to familiarize with.

Fear.

“It’s you. You’re… you’re free.”

Dream stood, in all his dark glory. “I am. Do you have any idea what it was like? Confined in a cage for a century?” There was malice in his voice, running deeper than Dream’s thirst for vengeance. “Do you understand the damage you’ve done to your world?”

Alex shook his head, trying to back away from the very entity that had haunted his waking hours for years. “I’m sorry,” the man cried, “I didn’t know. Please.”

Dream stepped closer to the frightened man and leaned down. His eyes glowed and his anger simmered. “Your punishment, then, shall be a gift.” Dream had not missed the wince that came from Alex Burgess. After all, it was his father’s selfish need for a gift that had killed him.

“I give you this, the gift… of eternal… sleep.”

With a blow of sand, Alex Burgess was put to sleep for eternity.

Morpheus, now completely free of human control, thought of home. His realm. His love.

With no time wasted, Dream opened a gateway to The Dreaming. He was going home, back to his sweet lover.

Dark grains of sand prickled Dream’s face. With power he seemed to lack, Morpheus had gracefully landed in his realm on his side, weak.

“Sir? Sir!”

A familiar, feminine voice called out to Dream, and for just a human second, he imagined it to be his lover. Footsteps ran closer, and Dream tried to open his eyes.

“Oh, my goodness. It’s me.” Lucienne crouched beside her Lord. “It’s Lucienne.”

With a soft gasp, Morpheus opened his eyes. A burst of something warm washed over him, seeing his librarian. His loyal, forever liable librarian.

“Lucienne,” Morpheus said weakly.

Lucienne's lips pulled into a smile, her eyes glazed. “You’re home, my Lord.” She put her hand out.

Reaching for her hand, Morpheus’s eyes twinkled. “I am.”

Pulling her Master up, Lucienne and Morpheus stared at each other. Unspoken words, apologies, and questions hovered in the air between them. But Lucienne just smiles, and Morpheus nodded once.

They both begin the trek back to the palace, and Lucienne watches as her Lord takes in the outskirts of The Dreaming. How dull and unkept it has become.

Once they reached the doors to The Dreaming, Lucienne cleared her throat. “Forgive me, sir, but the realm… the palace… they are not as you left them.”

Morpheus pushed open the large doors. His eyes scanned the view before him. A piece of his heart broke, seeing his creation, his realm, in this state.

With a deeper, emotional undertone, Morpheus asked, “What happened here? Who did this?”

Lucienne threaded her fingers together. Her eyes on the tower, where she knew her Lady was residing.

“My lord, you are The Dreaming, The Dreaming is you. With you gone for as long as you were, everything began to crumble and decay.”

“What of the residents? The palace staff?”

Lucienne did not miss his true intention. What of my Queen? Where is she?

“Gone, sir. Most are gone.”

Morpheus' eyes lit with a dull fire. “Had they so little faith in me? That I would return?”

Lucienne wishes she could have been honest with him. Tell him just how his absence had affected the realm, the residents. She wished she could have reminded him of the Endless that had abandoned their realm. But she held her tongue. Like the loyal servant she was.

“What of my Queen, Lucienne? Where is she?” Morpheus wished he sounded less fearful.

Lucienne hesitated, and then she sighed. “She is here, my Lord.” Stepping next to Dream, Lucienne pointed at the palace tower, the library. “She is there. Waiting for you.”

Without hesitation, Morpheus began walking towards the palace. Once he reunited with his love, held her in his arms, he could think about his realm and the damage he had yet to repair.

Lucienne followed her Lord quickly behind him. As they reached the palace, Lucienne opened her mouth. “Sir… If I may?”

The hesitation in Lucienne’s voice put Morpheus on edge. Turning his head slightly back, he raised his eyebrow at Lucienne. “Speak, Lucienne.”

“In your absence, The Dreaming began to fall apart. The only reason it is still standing, is because her Ladyship has commanded it to. She is powerful, sir, but not as strong as you. For a century she has used power she does not hold, and it has taken a toll on her.”

Lucienne watched as Morpheus' back became rigid, how he flexed his fingers just to clench them.

“Like The Dreaming, I’m afraid she’s dying, my Lord. She’s carrying the weight of The Dreaming, and it was not meant for her.”

Morpheus stopped in front of the Library doors. He stood stiller than Lucienne had ever seen him. Power and anger rolled off him, and Lucienne squeezed her hands together harder. With a tone she had yet to hear, Morpheus spoke.

“Thank you, Lucienne. Leave me to mend the heart and strength of my Queen.”

Lucienne nodded, bowing. “Of course, my Lord.”

Before Lucienne could walk away, in a smaller voice, Dream asked her the one question that had haunted him for a century.

“Does she hate me, Lucienne?”

With no hesitation, Lucienne answered. “No, sir. She loves you just as much as you love her. If not more.”

Morpheus waited until Lucienne’s became a faint whisper. With a newfound fear, he brought his pale, slightly trembling hand to the door and knocked, once.

“Come in, Lucienne.”

Morpheus’s eyes fluttered. With a deep breath, he pushed open the library doors. Morpheus’s eyes landed on his Queen, sitting on a simple seat that looked like a throne. Morpheus’s dark eyes travelled the length of his lover, taking in her weaker body and sullen eyes.

“Darling,” Morpheus whispered.

With speed that had long died, Lady of The Dreaming turned her head to face her husband. Her eyes met his, glazed and remorseful, and she stood.

With parted lips, the Lady whispered, “Morpheus?”

As magnets do, or souls bounded by fate, Morpheus and his lover pulled towards each other. Arms and bodies tangled together, and they both took their first breath. Scents of the other filled their bodies and their hearts beat as one.

Morpheus tightened his arms around his lover, and let out a sigh at the feeling of her hands in his hair. Their bodies fused together as one, unknown to them where one started and the other ended.

His Queen pulled away, just enough to rest her forehead against his. “Am I dreaming, Morpheus? Please say no, I cannot handle it. Are you really here?”

Morpheus’s voice, thick with emotion, came from deep within his body. “I am here, my love. I am here.” At the sound of a quiet, broken sob, Morpheus pressed a kiss to his Queen’s forehead. “Oh, my darling. My love. My Queen. I am here.”

Fragile hands tightened their grip on his robes. Morpheus lifted his hand from his lover’s waist and placed it on her cheek. “You’ll never be alone again, I promise.”

Lady of The Dreaming nodded, believing her King. She could feel his trembling fingers. “It was horrible without you, my love. I…” She lifted her eyes to meet Morpheus’s. His eyes were screaming at her. Tell me everything. Be honest with me. I’m sorry. I love you.

“I am tired.”

Morpheus shut his eyes. When he spoke, his breath tickled her cheeks. “I know, darling. I’m sorry.”

Then, Lady of The Dreaming asked her husband for the thing she had wanted–needed– for over a century.

“Kiss me, Morpheus. Please.”

Knowing he owed her much more, Morpheus brought his lips to hers. Her lips were soft, almost silken, and untouched against his. Morpheus could feel the soft tickle of her breath beneath his nose, fingers carding through his hair and he breathed her in.

Pulling each other closer, the King and Queen of The Dreaming used their bodies to convey all their words, the apologies and confessions that had gone long unsaid.

Their reunion pleased The Dreaming, and as the King and Queen mended their relationship, The Dreaming began to mend itself.

5K notes · View notes

aerial-tal · 1 year

Text

Kate Bush in her Red Shoes - The Line, the Cross and the Curve, 1993.

4K notes · View notes

magical-ely · 2 months

Text

Finally had time to draw again after my exams so... here you go, have a dream ^^

#artists on tumblr #digital art #dream of the endless #morpheus #netflix the sandman #the sandman #the dreaming #fanart #experimenting with brushes

310 notes · View notes

welcomewithmetonight-thechaos · 2 years

Text

Matthew dragging a moping Dream to his date with Hob

or: Matthew is sick of the pining

reference is this

#Matthew just wants nice weather in the dreaming #Matthew and Lucienne singlehanded/wingedly carrying the dreaming on their shoulders #matthew the raven #matthew sandman #dreamling #the dreaming #i can't draw backgrounds for shit so this one is a little bit stolen #fanart #hob x morpheus #hob x dream #dream of the endless

2K notes · View notes

withoutyouimsaskia · 2 months

Text

Sometimes It's Fated (Sandman Short Story Part 2)

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4

GIF: Originally posted by @harleytudinous

Pairing: Morpheus/Dream of the Endless x AFAB reader

Summary: Reader Self-Insert. After restoring the Dreaming and locating the missing dreams and nightmares, Morpheus turns his attention to finding you, the human he believes fate has chosen for him. (Title inspired by Placebo's "This Picture".)

Warnings: Minors DNI. Dark!Morpheus. Soulmates. Angst. Obsessive and possessive behaviour. Tension. Threat. Dream manipulation. Masturbation. Voyeurism. Plot related cigarette use. Dubious consent.

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: So I know I initially billed this as a two shot but the story has run away with me in the most lovely way. Part 3 will be coming soon. Thank you for all your kind responses to part 1, it honestly means so much to me. Hope you enjoy this one too. All my love, Saskia xx

Sandman Masterlist

---------------------------------------------

The veil of sleep comes down upon your weary body with a feather-light touch, trying to coax your mind back into the world of dreams.

Dreamscapes have been a whole new experience for you in the past month of your life. Before, you would wake with no recollection of what had played out. Not even the slightest inkling. Now, you remember everything.

They are staggering; bursting with details and ideas beyond your most outlandish daytime imaginings. The emotions that are conjured by them, both when asleep and also awake are just as bold.

And even though it's been 23 nights since it started you are still finding them predominantly jarring and disorientating. You are baffled by how other people cope with the sheer vividness. The unpredictability. Maybe they have become desensitised. You can only hope that the same will happen for you in time.

One thing you tell yourself with each sunrise:

Thank goodness they weren't nightmares.

At least, you don't think they are. There's no resemblance between yours and what you have heard others describe over the years, nor to those outlined in a dream decoding book you had checked out of the library last week. There's no obvious threat or fear. No re-living of traumatic events. Just weird subtext.

The first dream found you standing barefoot on a beach. A mirage distorted the particulars of the scene making it impossible to see further than half a meter in front of you. The temperature of the sand under your soles was verging on painful and as such, it forced you to walk into the unknown before you.

A groaning wind started to brew and lifted the sand into sparkling flurries. You shielded your eyes from the abrasive particles.

The sun was at its apex when you heard the ear splitting bangs. Unmistakably gun shots; you didn't last much longer in the dream and woke with a start.

For the next week, your dreams had been like a series of video clips edited into a supercut.

Raven wings. Black cats. Hellfire. Ruby red glow. Sprawling library shelves. Landscapes hewn by earthquake fissures. Hotel corridors. A handsome, blond haired man wearing sunglasses, holding a blood covered knife.

If you didn't know any better, you would begin to suspect that your new box of tea bags had been laced with a psychedelic. Alas, no. Your hypothesis was unequivocally disproved when you friends had been completely unaffected after stopping by for a Sunday afternoon catch up.

This quick fire of snapshots eventually stopped, transforming into lucid long form dreams. You often think back to the first one where it happened.

Standing in the the empty room, and the appearance of the figure dressed in black. The colour that had flashed in their midnight eyes had the quality of liquid silver. Sometimes you wonder if you see the same image in other dreams, standing in amongst a crowd.

From that point on, regardless of what dream you are in, you cannot shake the intuitive prickle down your spine that tells you someone is watching you.

You reason that it is nothing to be concerned about. Humans dream, and you cannot deny that some of them - swimming in a sea of clouds, re-visiting childhood haunts, trying out superpowers - have been quite fun.

You roll over on to your left side and close your eyes.

You dream.

The room you see is expansive in breadth and depth. Impressive windows bring brilliant light into the space which bounces off the ivory stone of the floors and walls. There are statues positioned at equidistant intervals, implying that the chamber is a gallery of sorts.

One effigy, fashioned from bronze, and rich in colour draws your attention. The lines and curves of its form intrigue you, despite not knowing the creature it was portraying.

You are about to move on when the feeling of being watched sparks through your skeleton.

Everything changes.

Clarity gives way to haze. Sun is swapped for moon.

You see a man across the room. He stands with a perfect posture. Graceful, powerful. His elbows are bent, fingers interlaced, palms facing upwards. Sheer black fabric floats around his frame. It moves languidly, giving glimpses of his bare body beneath.

The man's face is imperceptible. The distance between you too great but somehow you know you are the focus of his attention.

His robes fall to the floor with a gossamer sigh. The pale, unmarked skin of his slight form glows beautifully in the moonlight. You look down in embarrassment as arousal flushes through you, and you see that you are suddenly as naked as he is.

You gasp, and snap your gaze back up.

The sight you see is rather unexpected. The man is intimately touching himself.

You feel compelled to mirror him. You immediately reach between your legs. The man groans as you make contact.

All it takes is a little bit of attention on your clit before you are ready to slide two fingers into your core. The noise you make at the feeling of the stretch is salacious. The man echoes you with a sound that is just as dirty.

It spurs you on and you burrow deeper.

You curl your fingers until your legs are weak and quivering. You long to sink to your knees so you can finish in a more comfortable position yet you can't. An invisible force is preventing you.

It keeps you on display.

Just like the statues to your left.

You wonder if it is for the man's benefit.

You try to focus on him but it is impossible to do so through the trembling glaze over your eyes. All you are able to sense from him now is the sound of the rhythmic pump of his palm around his cock and his panting breaths.

Desperate whines escape your lips. You are teetering on the edge of an orgasm but you can't seem to lose your balance and fall into the abyss. The unsteadiness in your legs is too much of a distraction. You rub at your clit again in the hope that it will bring the satisfaction you need.

It does nothing.

You are so frustrated by your body's disobedience that it is almost painful.

"Please. Please. Please," you mutter under your breath.

A voice suddenly speaks next to you ear. A velvet voice with the timbre of a thunder rumble. It pours like a soothing syrup into your brain and commands you to do exactly as it bids.

"Let go."

You climax intensely, crying out in relief, squirting all over your fingers and onto your hand as you legs finally give way.

The fall jolts you back into consciousness and you wake with a barely contained scream of pleasure in your throat and adrenaline lighting up your nervous system.

Daylight is peeking through a little gap in the curtains. You take a deep, grounding breath.

That was obscene.

The context, the actions, the sounds. That sultry voice at the end. From the throbbing in your vulva and the twitching of your legs it seems like you didn't just finish in the dream.

There is really no point in looking it up in the dream decoding book.

You were clearly horny on a subconscious level. Or craving attention, hence the exhibitionist behaviour. The latter is not usually in your nature to seek out but if it is the reason, you might not have to wait long before the desire is fulfilled. There is a work event happening this evening that may require you to accept an award and address the crowd.

You love this time of year where community projects get recognition; a nomination alone is a sure-fire way of garnering publicity which in turn helps the charity's outreach.

But first, a normal day at the office. You throw back the covers and go straight to the bathroom to rinse off the evidence of your wet dream.

---------------------------------------------

Your right hand connects with the metal push plate of the function space's front door. The heels of your boots click and clack as you cross the threshold, moving from floor board to paving slab.

It's fortuitous that you brought a long, thick coat with you this evening for the wind is wintery and unforgiving. You stay close to the wall of the building to try and shelter from it as much as possible.

The pavements are slick with recent precipitation, streetlamps bouncing off of the water with caustic white light.

Then you see him; a figure cut from shadow.

He's breathing in such a laboured way that you wonder if he is sick.

Your phone is still inside the venue, currently being guarded by a colleague along with your bag but it wouldn't take long to retrieve it and call for medical assistance.

"You okay?" Concern colours the simple question.

His reply comes quickly and assertively, "I am well, thank you."

You nod, not entirely convinced for the stranger's response was as stiff as his posture, and reach inside the pocket of your coat for the box of cigarettes and lighter stashed within.

You settle one of the sticks between your lips and use your thumb to bring forth a flame. The crackle of smouldering paper and tobacco perforates the damp air and you take a needy drag. The nicotine taints and tantalises in equal measure, filling you with guilt and relief. You've been trying to give up but the little voice inside your head had won this evening. You close your eyes and focus on the pleasure it brings before flicking some ash into the tray mounted to the wall.

Your attention now back on your surroundings, the stranger steps into the scope of the streetlight. The angles of his cheekbones, jaw and nose are accentuated to an incredible extent in the gleam. His dark hair is being buffeted about the wind, locks of it very close to falling in the blue eyes that are unwaveringly trained on you. He begins to talk again, showcasing his deep baritone.

"I'm afraid I wasn't entirely honest with you just now. It is not how I envisaged our first interaction transpiring. I hope that you can forgive me for my deception."

You laugh nervously and take another quick drag. "It makes no difference if you're honest with me or not. I don't know you."

"You are correct. You don't know me. Not yet -"

"Oh," you cut in quickly. "I'm not looking for a hook up."

While you cannot deny that he is arrestingly beautiful, you are technically working and have never been one for one-night stands.

"You mistake my meaning. I have been searching for you for so long. I oftentimes doubted your existence however I was wrong and I find myself humbled to be in your presence at last."

The grandiose declaration is one of the stranger things you have heard in your life and you used to deal with drunken patrons when you worked at a university bar. Maybe he was intoxicated; it would explain a lot.

"Look, this might work on other people but I just came out here to have a cigarette -"

It is his turn to interrupt you now. "You will have no need of those going forward. Your addiction to them will be replaced by me."

"Excuse me?"

You are trying to sound incredulous, however, inside you are rather frightened by the turn the conversation has taken. His gaze is not helping either.

The crystalline eyes are embodying every part of the descriptor; a hard, chill inducing blue. Ash drops from the smouldering cigarette as a tremble of fear rattles through you. The man sees this and the ice suddenly melts to a warmer hue.

His tone turns soft and gentle. "We are supposed to be together. Our union is fated."

He's staring at you expectantly even after your two attempts at rejection. You swiftly stub out the part-finished cigarette and take ownership in ending the interaction.

"I've had enough of this. I'm going back inside now. If you try and follow me, I will speak to the venue's management. If you are still here when I leave later, I will call the police."

You turn towards the door.

He calls your name. Your full name. Middle name too.

Despite your brain chanting at you to go inside, you can't stop yourself from looking back at him. "H-how do you know my full name?"

The profound rumble of his voice resonates deep in your ears. "I know everything about you, Y/N."

He's right in front of you now. His posture is bordering between desperate and predatory. Like he can't quite decide if he is seeking comfort from you, or if he wants to consume you.

You are fumbling behind you to find the door handle. "Please get away from me," you say hoarsely.

He reaches for your hand.

You jump back and struggle to get out of his grip but his strength is inhumanly strong. His skin of his palm is glacial against yours and yet somehow, the touch makes heat snake up your arm and settle in your chest.

You become aware of an internal feeling that you've always had, like that of chapped lips. Low level but something that constantly nags. Something that existed every minute of your life until the moment he touched you.

You grip his hand and look up at his face in astonishment.

"Good. That's it. Look into my eyes. See what you know is there."

You do as he says, totally stunned by the depths that seem to reside within them. It's as if there are universes suspended inside. Maybe there are. Perhaps you could float among the celestial bodies if you asked him to show you how.

You feel so alive and overstimulated that you welcome the delirious thoughts taking over your mind.

You welcome him.

It's like there is a cord connected between your heart and his that is shortening in length. The intensity scares you.

You obey, feet moving of their own accord and then you are standing before him, just centimetres apart.

"Give into the pull," he urges darkly, sensing your anxiety.

He smiles triumphantly and presses you flush against his body.

His free hand comes up to cup your jaw, fingers brushing the sensitive skin of your neck. More heat sears through you from the additional skin-on-skin contact.

Your peripheral vision closes tighter and tighter with every passing moment. The outside world is gone.

He leans in further and you wonder hazily if he is going to kiss you or break your neck. Both options are equally viable given the behaviour he has exhibited. You keep staring at him regardless.

His irises flash silver as he intones his next sentence. "Y/N, I claim you as my soulmate."

-------------------------------------

Taglist: @herfantasyworldd @kpopgirlbtssvt

"Am I your dream girl? You think of me in bed. But you could never hold me. You like me better in your head."

179 notes · View notes