It was late—long after Soma had drifted off. The little one was curled up in his small bed, breathing soft and even, his tiny hands tucked beneath his chin. The dream world outside your home was quiet, the air thick with that slow, endless calm that only existed in this place. Shadows moved like waves across the floor, carrying the faint hum of Nightmare’s power as he watched you tuck the blanket around your son.

You turned to find him leaning against the doorway, his dark eyes glinting with something that looked half-devotion, half-hunger. He didn’t say anything at first, only watching as you brushed a lock of hair from Soma’s face. Then, once you stood, he moved.

In one smooth step, he was there—hands at your waist, pulling you flush against him before you even had the chance to breathe. You felt the familiar chill of his aura press against your skin, a contrast to the warmth of your body.

“You spoil him,” Nightmare murmured against your ear, his voice a low rumble that made your stomach twist. “Every night, you give him all your tenderness… and then leave me starving.”

You let out a quiet laugh. “Starving? You? The eternal shadow that devours nightmares?”

He hummed, lips dragging over your throat. “Even shadows have their cravings.” His tone was teasing, but there was a faint roughness beneath it—an edge that spoke of something deeper.

Before you could respond, he kissed you. Once, slow and deliberate. Then again, harder. And again—until the rhythm of it blurred together like a fever. His hands traced the length of your back, fingers splayed, possessive. You could feel his breath hitch each time you whispered his name.

He kissed your jaw, your neck, your shoulder—his movements increasingly desperate, like a man trying to memorize what he already owned. “You keep giving yourself to the day,” he muttered against your skin, voice fraying at the edges. “But the night—your dreams—belong to me.”

You smiled softly, threading your fingers through his hair. “Then take what’s yours.”

That was all it took.