Chapter 1: The Dreaming's Embrace: A Promise Beneath the Waterfall
The Dreaming welcomed you the moment your eyes closed. Soft starlight spilled across the marble floor like liquid glass, the air carrying that faint electric hum that always told you he was near.
And he was—standing at the top of the steps leading into the great hall, hands clasped behind his back, coat trailing in a whisper of shadow. The moment you appeared, his gaze found you. That quiet, intent look that always felt like being seen through and known in the same breath.
“You are late,” he said softly, though the words held no reproach.
You smiled, walking toward him. “Rehearsal ran long.”
He inclined his head slightly, but his expression didn’t shift. You knew that look—something was brewing behind it, some thought or feeling he hadn’t quite decided whether to reveal.
So you did what you always did: you disarmed him. You rose on your toes and pressed a kiss to his mouth—slow, warm, grounding. His lips met yours instantly, the stillness in him breaking just slightly as one hand came to rest at the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair.
When you drew back, your breath still brushed against his lips, and you murmured, “So… I knew about you manipulating my professor’s dreams, but Sven’s too?”
“Sven?” Dream repeated, his tone smooth, unreadable.
You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t play coy with me. I found out today you meddled in his dreams too—after he started arguing that the kiss scene should stay.”
Dream’s expression didn’t flicker. Not even slightly. “He was… persistent,” he said at last, as though this justified everything. “And misguided.”
You let out a laugh—half disbelief, half affection. “Persistent? Dream, you terrified him! He told me you appeared out of nowhere, quoted Shakespeare, and told him that ‘physical intimacy was unnecessary for the story.’”
His tone remained maddeningly calm. “It was unnecessary.”
You pinched the bridge of your nose. “You can’t just invade people’s subconscious because you don’t like their creative decisions!”
“I can,” he said simply. “It is my realm.”
You dropped your hand, staring at him. “Oh my god, you don’t even see how ridiculous that sounds, do you?”
He regarded you for a long, measured moment. “It was a flawed adaptation,” he said at last, “and he was dreaming of you.”
There it was.
You crossed your arms tighter. “Ah. There we go. The real reason.”
A shadow of confusion—or denial—passed through his eyes. “I fail to see your meaning.”
“You were jealous,” you said flatly.
The silence between you stretched—long, taut, full of the quiet thrum of his pride.
“Jealousy,” he said finally, each syllable deliberate, “is a mortal weakness.”
You arched a brow, taking a slow, deliberate step closer. “So you weren’t jealous,” you said, voice soft but teasing. “You just didn’t like him fake kissing me on stage and dreaming about me later.”
For a heartbeat, Dream said nothing. The stars embedded in his eyes flickered faintly—like distant lightning behind a cloud.
“He overstepped,” he said at last, his tone measured but low. “To dream of you with such intent—”
You couldn’t help it—the sound slipped out, soft and incredulous. A chuckle. You stepped close enough that your breath brushed his collar.
“Jealous,” you whispered teasingly, the word a smile against his mouth before you kissed him—light, playful, a deliberate provocation.
For an instant he didn’t move, as if caught between outrage and surrender. Then his hand found the back of your neck, drawing you closer with quiet inevitability, his reply barely a murmur against your lips.
“I am not jealous.”
You smiled against his mouth, your words brushing his skin. “Definitely jealous.”
He exhaled through his nose, quiet and unamused. “How does that amuse you?”
You drew back just enough to meet his eyes, mischief glinting in yours. “It doesn’t amuse me,” you said softly. “It turns me on.”
For the first time, Dream blinked, startled enough that his composure wavered. “…How does that turn you on?”
You bit your lip, grinning now. “Because you’re the King of Dreams—one of the most powerful beings in the universe—and yet you can’t stand the idea of someone else merely dreaming of me.”
His expression tightened, that faint flare of pride and possessiveness surfacing again despite himself.
“It is not envy,” he said carefully, voice like silk drawn over glass. “It is… instinct.”
You laughed softly, brushing your nose against his. “Oh, sure. Cosmic instinct.”
He gave the faintest sigh, his hand sliding to the back of your waist, his voice a low murmur. “You delight in provoking me.”
“Always,” you whispered, smiling. “Because you’re very easy to provoke.”
Dream’s eyes darkened, the faintest ripple of power moving through the air as he leaned closer. “Be careful,” he murmured, his tone dropping to something dark and velvety. “There are consequences to that.”
You tilted your head, lips parting just slightly. “Maybe that’s the point.”
And then he kissed you—slow, deliberate, the kind of kiss that felt like both a warning and a surrender. His mouth moved against yours with unhurried certainty, testing, deepening, claiming. You caught his lower lip between your teeth for a heartbeat, tugging lightly, and felt the soft rumble that escaped him—half a sigh, half something far darker.
Your fingers found the buttons of his shirt, tracing along the smooth line of each one just to feel him shiver beneath your touch. You didn’t undo them, not yet—just toyed with them, circling the topmost button with your thumb as you nipped at the corner of his mouth. The air between you pulsed faintly, charged with the hum of the Dreaming itself.
He drew back just enough to look at you—his eyes, dark as the space between stars, flickering with quiet restraint. Starlight haloed his cheekbones, his lips still parted, his breathing shallow but controlled.
“You said,” he murmured, voice a low tremor that curled through you, “that while you bled, there would be no coupling.”
The words were so carefully chosen, so Dream—formality wrapped around desire like armor—and it only made you smile.
You tilted your head, the corners of your mouth curving as you looked up at him through your lashes.
“What makes you think I want sex?” you asked softly, your tone feather-light, teasing.
For a moment he didn’t answer—his gaze wandered over your face, down the curve of your neck to the fingers still resting at the top of his buttons. His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth as if tracing the echo of your smile.
“Instinct,” Dream said finally. The word was quiet but resonant, like a note struck on a string that kept vibrating in the air.
You laughed under your breath, the sound low and warm. “Instinct, huh?” you murmured, running your thumb over the line of his throat.
He regarded you in silence, the faintest hint of amusement breaking through his restraint. The shadows of the hall shifted, breathing with him.
“They are rarely wrong,” he said at last, voice smooth as silk.
You grinned, leaning close enough that your lips brushed his ear. “I suppose they’re not,” you murmured. “Because I do want sex. And a lot of water to wash off… you know.”
You didn’t need to explain further. His gaze flickered briefly, understanding perfectly—and without a word, the Dreaming obeyed his unspoken will.
The marble beneath your feet shimmered, melting into pale stone slick with mist. The air warmed, fragrant with rain and crushed petals. A moment later, the world had changed.
You were standing ankle-deep in a shallow pool, the water clear as glass, light rippling across its surface in gold and blue. A soft rain fell from high above, not cold but warm—each drop glowing faintly as it struck your skin. Around you, stone walls rose in a vast circle, veined with moss and lilac vines that bloomed under the falling water.
From one side, a waterfall spilled down the rock face, silver and endless, breaking into fine mist before joining the pool. It was breathtaking—quiet, sacred, and utterly impossible.
The hem of your summer dress was already soaked, clinging to your thighs. You looked down, then back up at him, laughter breaking through the stunned silence. “I was more thinking about a shower,” you said, shaking your head, “but yeah… this will do.”
Dream stepped through the water toward you, the ripples fanning out from each silent step. Whatever he had been wearing before—the formal austerity of his coat, the dark weight of endlessness—was gone.
Now, the Dreaming had dressed him differently: in black, but barely. A thin, near-sheer shirt clung to his body, soaked through and almost translucent where it met the fall of rain. The fabric traced the sharp lines of his chest and the curve of his shoulders, revealing more pale skin than it hid. His hair hung damp against his temples, droplets running down the column of his throat, catching the faint light like stars sliding over marble.
He looked otherworldly—impossibly so—but also devastatingly human in that moment.
You swallowed hard, the words catching in your throat before dissolving into a laugh. “Oh god,” you breathed, shaking your head, “you look… unfair like this.”
The corner of his mouth curved faintly, the barest ghost of a smile. “Unfair?” he echoed, voice low, the sound of it threading through the rain.
“Yes,” you said, half-laughing, half-breathless. “Completely. It should be illegal to look like that in water.”
Dream tilted his head, the droplets sliding down his cheekbones like falling light. “And yet,” he murmured, stepping closer until you could feel the faint heat of him through the rain, “you wished for this.”
You met his gaze, heart pounding, the waterfall roaring softly behind you. “I did,” you whispered, smiling up at him. “But I didn’t think the Dreaming would be quite so… generous.”
He reached out then, his fingers brushing your cheek, cool from the rain. “The Dreaming reflects its dreamer,” he said, his tone dark velvet. “If this place is beautiful—it is because you are.”
Your breath caught, laughter fading into something warmer, quieter. The rain fell harder, glimmering between you, and you could feel it—the gravity of him, the way the world itself seemed to bend around his presence.
God, he looked sexy—drenched, bare, and yet still impossibly composed, as though even passion obeyed him.
His fingertips brushed your cheekbone—cool silk against rain-warmed skin. A shiver skated down your spine, chased by warmth pooling low in your belly. The roaring splash of the waterfall seemed to dim, narrowing its focus to the space where his touch lingered. That single point of contact hummed with a quiet, potent energy, more intimate than the cascade soaking your thin dress to transparency.
You let out a shaky breath, your own hand rising to his chest, pressing against the fabric clinging to his skin. His heartbeat pulsed beneath your touch, strong and steady, grounding you in the deluge of sensation.
"You're trembling," he noted, his thumb brushing gently over the apple of your cheek. His voice was low, barely audible above the waterfall's roar, yet it resonated through you like a bass note.
"It's... cold," you lied, your eyes flicking up to his, half-challenge, half-promise.
One corner of his mouth quirked up, a knowing smirk.
"It is not the cold."
You swallowed hard, your heart pounding in your chest like a drum. "Okay, not the cold."
He stepped closer, his free hand coming up to cup your other cheek, his thumbs brushing away the rain from your skin. The world around you narrowed, the roar of the waterfall fading to a distant hum as you stared up into his eyes—dark pools of infinite depth, pulling you in.
"You asked for this," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through your very being. "And now you tremble."
You pressed your lips together, forcing a half-smile. "Guess I'm just... excited."
He watched you, his gaze intent, the shadows of the waterfall playing over his features. Then, without warning, he lifted you—one arm sweeping beneath your knees, the other cradling your back, his fingers splaying against the wet dress clinging to your skin.
The movement caught you off guard, a startled gasp escaping your lips as your arms instinctively wrapped around his neck. His grip was strong, sure—a stark contrast to the delicate touch of his thumbs tracing the line of your jaw.
"What are you doing?" you whispered, laughter bubbling up despite the suddenness of it all.
"Making love to you," he replied simply, his voice rumbling through your body as he carried you toward the waterfall.
You clung to him, rain-slick skin against rain-slick skin, the world around you a blur of motion and water and the soft glow of the ever-present starlight. The waterfall was close now, roaring like a beast aroused, the mist clinging to your skin like a second layer, a promise.
Dream lowered you gently, his body shielding yours as he guided you to the wall of cool, slick rock. His hands slid down your arms, his fingers grasping yours and pressing them against the stone above your head.
The cool rock was a stark contrast to the heat of his body, the arousal that radiated from him in waves. You could feel his chest rising and falling with his breath, could see the pulse in his throat quicken as his gaze flicked down to your lips.
"You want this," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the roar of the waterfall. It wasn't a question.
You nodded, licking your lips. "Yes," you whispered back, your voice barely more than a breath.
"I want this."
Dream's eyes darkened, the shadows in their depths swirling like ink in water. He leaned in, his lips brushing yours with the barest hint of pressure. "Say it," he demanded, his voice a low growl. "Tell me what you want."
Your heart was pounding in your chest, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps. But you met his gaze, your voice steady despite the chaos inside you. "I want you," you said.
Your voice was raw, honest, and it echoed in the small space between you both. "I want you to fuck me. Right here. Right now."
Dream's eyes flashed with a primal hunger that sent a shiver down your spine. He leaned into you, his body pressing against yours, pinning you to the wall. His hands released yours, sliding down to your hips, gripping them firmly.
You gasped as he pushed your dress up, the wet fabric bunching around your waist, exposing your thighs to the cool air and the warm mist of the waterfall. The sensation of the rough stone against your bare skin sent a jolt of excitement through you, your body arching involuntarily against him.
"Dream," you breathed, your voice barely a whisper as you looked up at him, your eyes wide with anticipation and a touch of fear.
He leaned in, his mouth capturing yours in a fierce, demanding kiss, silencing any further protests. His hands slipped beneath the hem of your dress, his fingers digging into the curve of your ass, lifting you until you were wrapped around him, your legs locked tight around his waist.
The heat of him seared through the thin fabric of your underwear, his arousal hard and insistent against your core.
You moaned into his mouth, the sound swallowed by his kiss, as he pushed your dress up further while you unbuckled his belt, your hands fumbling with the impatience of desire.
The air was thick with the scent of rain and arousal—his and yours, mingling together in a heady perfume that filled your senses. Dream's hands shifted, moving to the hem of your underwear, his fingers brushing against your skin, sending waves of heat and anticipation coursing through you.
In a single, purposeful motion, he slid your underwear aside, not caring that the blood stained the fabric, a tangible reminder of your body's natural rhythm. He pressed the length of him against you, the heat and hardness of his arousal a stark contrast to the cool stone behind your back and the cascading water before you. You felt him, hot and insistent, pushing against your entrance, and you gasped, breaking the kiss as you looked up at him, your eyes wide with surprise and wonder.
"Dream," you breathed, a plea and a promise all at once. He met your gaze, his eyes dark and fierce, his jaw set in a line of determination. And then, with a single, powerful thrust, he was inside you, filling you completely, the heat and the hardness and the sheer force of him overwhelming every sense you had. You cried out, the sound lost in the roar of the waterfall, your back arching against the stone as you clung to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders. He groaned, a low, primal sound that seemed to come from the very depths of him, and you felt it—the vibration of it, the raw power of it—deep within you, echoing through your very core.
Then, he began to move, slow and deep, each thrust deliberate and controlled, a capitulation to the inevitability of surrender. His eyes never left yours, holding your gaze with an intensity that was almost painful, as if trying to imprint every nuance of your reaction onto his own soul.
You clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The sensation of him—hot and hard and consuming—was overwhelming, every cell in your body singing with the sheer rightness of it. The waterfall roared around you, the mist clinging to your skin, the cool droplets a stark contrast to the heat of his body. Your back arched, your hips moving in time with his, meeting each thrust with a hunger that matched his own.
The sound of the waterfall filled your ears, but it was the rhythm of your bodies that guided you—the wet slap of skin against skin, the low growl in his throat, the way your moans mingled with the roar of the falling water. You cried out his name, the sound resonating beneath the waterfall, bouncing off the stone walls, merging with the water's endless song. The vibration of your voice seemed to echo through him, his movements faltering briefly before he thrust deeper, harder, as if driven by the intensity of your cry. His breath was ragged, his face a mask of both restraint and desire, his eyes never leaving yours. "God," he groaned, the word a raw, primal sound, "you feel so good, my love." The words were a balm, a fuel, sparking a fresh wave of heat and need within you.
"Don't stop! Oh god, I am so close ," you gasped, your voice raw with desperation as you clung to Dream, your heart pounding in your chest like a wild drum. You didn't care that your blood was running down your thighs, streaking the water and the stone. All that mattered was the heat of him, the hardness of him, the sheer power of him as he thrust into you, over and over again, each movement driving you closer to the edge of ecstasy.
"I... I can't... I can't hold on..." you gasped, your body tensing as the waves of pleasure built higher and higher, threatening to crash down and sweep you away. Dream's eyes were on you, his gaze intense and focused, his expression a study of concentration and need.
"Then come undone for me, my love," he growled, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through your very being, "Let go..." The words were a command, a plea, a promise all at once, and you felt it—the permission, the release, the inevitable surge of pleasure that exploded through you like a supernova. You cried out, the sound lost in the roar of the waterfall, your body arching against his as the orgasm tore through you, the world spinning into a kaleidoscope of light and color and sensation.
Dream groaned, his grip on your hips tightening, his thrusts becoming faster, more urgent, as if driven by the force of your pleasure. The sensation of him—hard and hot and impossibly deep inside you—was overwhelming, consuming every sense, every thought, every breath.
And then, you felt it. His release . A sudden, powerful surge that sent a fresh wave of pleasure crashing through you, drawing out your own climax until you were both gasping, clinging to each other, your bodies slick with sweat and water, your hearts pounding in tandem.
Dream leaned his forehead against yours, his breath ragged, his body shaking with the force of his own release. His arms were like bands of steel around you, holding you up, supporting you as your legs trembled.
"That was," he muttered, the word a ragged sigh against your lips. "Incredible."
You laughed breathlessly, your hands tangling in his hair, holding him close.
"Yeah," you whispered, your mouth brushing against his. "It was."