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11:59 p.m.

Just one more minute.

Alastor can wait one more minute without making a ruckus, lest he accidentally wakes you up. It’s important that he stay silent. Your soft breaths fill the darkness of the bedroom as you’re sound asleep next to him.

Only the light from the moon illuminates the space, but it’s enough to see the softness in your expression as you burrow deeper into the pillow, blanket curled around you.

12:00 a.m.

That smile of his widens immediately.

Alastor stiffens his entire body, and promptly decides to roll around like some kid until he’s pressing his entire weight on you. The words are at the tip of his tongue—

“Happy birthday!” You press a kiss on his cheek, and then another, and then another, and then . . . well, another. “That’s what you were going to say, right?”

Alastor slumps on top of you, rolling his eyes all the way to the side. “You’re awake.”

“Of course, I am,” you say, laughing at him a little. “You do this every year. It’s nothing new. I get woken up but your heavy body. Get off me already.”

“It’s important that I’m the first one to greet you.”

“Important to who exactly?”

“Important to me.” Alastor opens his arms wider, enveloping you with his entire body. It reminds him of those koala things at the zoo. “You ruined my surprise.”

“You ruined your own surprise.”

“Happy birthday, anyway,” Alastor says. “You’re one year closer to being an old lady.”

You push him away after that.

Pentagram City, XXXX. One year after Alastor’s disappearances.

11:57 p.m.

You curl the blanket around yourself, trying to ignore the silence of the room.

11:58 p.m.

There’s a part of you that’s cursing Alastor right now, angry at everything and anyone, but most of all, angry at him.

You tell yourself there’s no point in the anger. He’s not here either way.

11:5.8 p.m.

 It doesn’t work.

The evidence of his absence is just too much.

12:00 a.m.

“Happy birthday.”

Pentagram City, XXXX. Three years after Alastor’s disappearances.

11:57 p.m.

11:58 p.m.

11:59 p.m.

12:00 a.m.

12:01 a.m

Hazbin Hotel, XXXX. Eight years after Alastor's dissaperance.

11:57 p.m.

Alastor glares at the time as if the heat in his gaze could speed up time already. He’s missed seven of your birthdays, seven of this little ritual between you and him. How many more rituals has Alastor missed out on just because he foolishly died before he could fulfill his end of the deal?

It’s important that Alastor doesn’t miss it for the eighth time.

This had to be perfect.

11:58 p.m.

It’s difficult to tell if you were awake or not, but Alastor doesn’t dare to make a sound or any harsh movement just in case you actually were asleep.

Alastor is many things, and a coward just so happens to be one of them. There were things he’s yet to talk to you about, things that you definitely needed to know, things that he needs to explain but hasn’t yet found the courage to do so.

. . . It’s difficult to explain the reason for his absence.

How lucky he is that you agreed to take him back, not only that but to move you into this ridiculous hotel when he’s built a perfectly good home with you.

11:59 p.m.

“Are you going to roll on top of me?” Your voice comes out soft, muffled further by the blanket around you. “It’s my birthday tomorrow.”

Alastor glances at the clock, then back at you. “I know.”

“You missed the year before that, and the year before that as well,” you say. “You missed quite a lot.”

“I know,” he says, a little weaker this time. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“. . . That’s not something you can make up for.” You turn to face him, searching for this hand until you take it. “I’m scared you’ve forgotten about it.”

Alastor squeezes your hand. “I could never.”

12:00 a.m.

It’s still the same.

Alastor rolls on top of you like some mischievous child.

You shriek and try to push him away.

And those two words get uttered.

“Happy birthday.”

There’s this moment where you place a hand on Lord Morephus’ arm, and such a small movement catches her eye. Everything about you differs from Titania. You are pure starlight, something that her own queen could never fully replicate, no matter how much she tried. Looking at you now, Nuala knows that her queen tried then failed.

Nuala finds the courage to open her mouth. “We were charged to neither eat nor sleep before delivering you this message from our king and queen.”

Lord Morepheus allows her to deliver the message.

It’s pure starlight that watches her carefully. Every twitch. Every flicker.

“There are many visitors. They want many things.” Lord Morepheus returns the hold on his arm, placing his hand right above your own. Nuala decides to study the floor when his thumb brushes across the back of your hand. “When I have spoken with all of them, I will make my decision.”

Nuala frowns a little. “But my lord—”

“Do not make us repeat ourselves.” You say those words with such a gentleness, but it’s as scorching as the light that comes from the stars themselves. “We have given you a courtesy that is not deserved.”

“You have delivered your message, and hear my response,” Lord Morpheus says, squeezing your hand. “Your obligation is fulfilled.”

Nuala . . . Well, Nuala tenses just a little bit more after that. There’s something automatic about the way Cluracan bumps into her, prompting her to get him drunk. Perhaps, it wasn’t too bad that her brother accompanied her to The Dreaming.

There’s something soothing about the way your fingers brush across Griffin, allowing those smooth feathers to tickle you.

Griffin leans into your touch as if he was a pet, and not one of the Gatekeepers that keep The Dreaming’s doors protected. It’s all too convenient to forget to mention this fact, scratching underneath his chin instead.

The breeze outside the castle chills you, painfully so, but the Gatekeepers bundle around you just a little closer when another shiver runs up your spine, and settles deep into your bones.

There were duties that needed to be fulfilled, guests that needed your attention, for you are Queen of The Dreaming.

Instead, you’re hiding outside the castle, the Gatekeepers bundle around you like kittens. Once in a while, it’s good to spend time with those outside The Dreaming’s inner court.

“Thank you for guarding the entrance to our home.” You brush a hand against Pegasus, stroking the silky hairs on his mane. There’s something simple about the way you press your forehead to him, connecting yourself to such a loyal subject. “All of you—Thank you.”

Wyvern nudges at your leg, then bravely drops his chin on your lap. It takes a puff of his breath for you to comply with his silent request, and stroke the scales around his face. “Do not thank us, my lady.”

“It is merely our duty,” Griffin says. “There’s no need to thank us.”

There’s this moment where Pegasus leans even closer towards you, folding his legs closer to his body. It’s simple to rest your back on him, and what a life you’re leading.

There aren’t many who can use Dream of The Endless’ Gatekeeper as a backrest.

“Just because it is your duty, it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be thanked,” you say, laughing a little. “Your queen is thanking you, yet you dare to refuse it.”

Pegasus lowers his head further, followed by Wyvern and Griffin. “Our deepest apologies, my lady.”

It’s a laugh that comes out of your lips. “My dutiful Gatekeepers,” you say, staring up into The Dreaming’s night sky. “Just accept my gratitude already.”

The doors to the castle creak open.

You don’t have to look to know who steps into The Dreaming’s night. The brush of dreams and nightmares across your skin tell you everything you already need to know.

There’s something simple in the way you lean into Dream when he settles next to you, pressing a small kiss on his shoulder as you’re huddled between the Gatekeepers of The Dreaming.

For a moment, you could almost believe that all could be right again, for the breeze of The Dreaming lulls you with contentment.

Dream brushes a thumb over your eyes. “It’s just me,” he says, voice so soft it’s barely a whisper. “Let me see you.”

You flutter your eyes open, allowing the stars in your eyes to shine as bright as they naturally are. Few could handle the weight of your gaze, and only one welcomes it this lovingly.

Dream presses a kiss on the crease of your eye. “So, this is where you went.”

There’s this moment where you glance into his eyes, and the whole weight of dreams and nightmares descend into the stars in your gaze.

It’s just as beautiful as ever.

The darkness found within his eyes could merge with the light found in yours until you and Dream could become a living universe together—always together.

It’s time like this where you remember to fall in love again and again and again.

“Where else would I be,” you say, voice as soft as his, “if not here?”

“Tonight . . . You have been the only one to ask me something simple.” Dream presses a kiss between your fingers, brushing his lips over your rings. “By my side.”

Those three simple words pull a small laugh from your lips, even if there was nothing truly simple about them.

Dream of The Endless.

Lord Morpheus.

King of The Dreaming.

So many titles, each bearing its own weight, each known throughout the universe for his unyielding solitude.

Yet here is your husband, telling you that there’s space for you in his life, that a being who was never meant to find a home can rest within the wall he’s created.

You press a kiss on the edge of his lips, letting it linger far longer than necessary. “Your guests—"

“Our.”

“Our guests wish to speak to you—not me.” You say the words with a quiet laugh, exhaling into his arm. “It isn’t I who holds the key they are so desperate for, and I grew tired of them asking for it.”

“Our guests have retired to their chambers,” Dream says. “Cain and Abel were disappointed you missed their show.”

“Oh dear,” you say, laughing into that small space that connects his shoulder and neck. “Once Abel has been brought to life once more, I will ask them to perform just for me.”

“Will I be invited?” Dream says, whispering the words across your temple. Each brush of his lips lulls you deeper into him. “Or do you dare to keep your husband away from your plans?”

The opportunity to answer vanishes the moment Dream presses a finger underneath your chin, brushing your skin with his thumbs, and pulls you into a kiss that tastes like him, like dreams and nightmares.

It tastes like a kiss that forgets all titles, all statuses, until you are simply a wife parting your lips for your husband.

It’s a comfortable silence that rises, broken only by the breaths of the Gatekeepers.

Wyvern flutters his eyes to a close when you scratch across his scales. Dream says that the Gatekeepers were not pets, but looking at them now, you would never guess.

A quiet laugh spills out of you when Dream presses a tense hand across Griffin, unsure how to stroke a beast that was not made to be petted.

There’s this moment that Dream takes, looking to the false stars above, one created by his hand rather than yours. It’s a little insulting to see his gaze linger above as if the real one wasn’t burrowing into his hold. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Neither do I, but know that I have absolute faith in the decisions you make.” You admit the words softly. Things would be so much easier if you had all the answers. “Shall I kill them all for you instead?”

“You are displeased by our guests, then.”

The stars in your eyes blaze. “They dared to step into our home, demanding things from you.”

Dream presses a kiss on your eyelids, tickling it a little with the brush of his lips.  “What if I make a mistake?” he says, a little soft. “It would not be the first time.”

“An Endless is above many, but even they cannot be above consequences,” you say, pushing on his lips to force even the smallest smile. “When a star explodes and dies, a new one takes its place, but that explosion will be felt anyway.”

Dream snatches your wrists, pulling it away from his lips to frown. “You are being vague, my queen.”

“All actions have their consequences, my king.” You connect your forehead with his, and steal a quick kiss from his lips. There’s something simple about the way you cheekily lean away as he presses to deepen the kiss. “You will find an answer, and whether it is the correct one or not, there will be consequences. But I will stand by whatever you decide, whatever will happen.”

“Come with me, then,” he says, voice still impossibly soft, still impossibly like a sweet dream. “Lord Azazel wishes for an audience, and I would like you with me.”

The heat of the very stars themselves sizzles underneath your skin, digging its cruel claws into you.

It’s sweat that beads across your skin, and it clashes with the chilling air of The Dreaming, brought by the furry of the Dream Lord. What a perfect pair the two of you make.

There’s this part of you that begs for calmness, for if you allow the heat to drown you in its waves, the consequences will only lead to death.

Yet every light in this room surges then dampens in repeated cycles, as if you aren’t sure whether to drown or survive. The throne room throbs with the weight of your power anyway.

A surge of heat.

A surge of light.

A surge of jealousy comes when Dream’s voice hitches the moment that woman’s name leaves his lips.

Nada.                                           

You keep hearing that woman’s name, even when you’ve tried so hard to avoid it. How absolutely annoying.

Azazel finds the audacity to glance at your thrones, watching the way you’ve seated yourself next to Dream of the Endless.

The whispers . . . The criticism . . . There was nothing new about it, and you’ve never put much thought about it, for it was Dream of the Endless himself who sculpted your throne next to his.

The full weight of a Celestial’s gaze settles on Azazel. There’s something quite impressive in the way he refuses to be frightened into submission.

“Tomorrow you will make your announcement, and give me the key,” Azazel says.  “Then I will quit this place, and leave you with your mistress. Agreed?”

It’s all so . . . annoying.

There’s something automatic about the way your smile softens at the edges, even as your teeth bare out. “You would dare to hold an innocent woman hostage, and in my presence as well.”

You reach across that tiny, tiny, gap that separates your thrones, and brush the edge of your hand across Dream.

Despite the overhead heat that burns your skin, there’s still enough rationality left in you to notice the way he trembles with anger. There’s a part of you that wonders who he trembles for, but you are afraid of the answer.

Dream closes that tiny, tiny, gap that separates you from him, and places your hand into his hold. It didn’t seem to matter that Azazel glances at it for the briefest of moments, for Dream never let go of you.

“That will be up to your husband.” Azazel mocks a low bow. “Unless of course—“

“Do not presume that your status as a guest in The Dreaming will protect you if you dare to insult my wife.” Dream says the words softly, even as it contradicts the hardness of his gaze and the trembling in his hands. “I will take the matter under consideration.”

“Under consideration?”

“Yes.”

“You want the woman, don’t you?” Azazel stomps up the stairs. “You went to Hell for her. You are risking the displeasure of The Dreaming’s beloved queen. Surely, you’ll trade her for a key. Cost you nothing. You don’t even want—”

“You will hear my decision tomorrow.” Dream waves a hand. “Now, go.”

There’s this moment where Azazel hardens his gaze, but he dissolves into sand anyway, leaving you with Dream.

There’s a suffocating silence that rises into the air, lacking the comfort that’s supposed to be there, for your egos clash and blaze against each other.

It seems both the king and queen of The Dreaming are more than displeased.

You could only ignore this problem for so long, and everyone is determined to spit it at your face.

Why?

Why weren’t you allowed to live in peace?

In the end, it’s Dream who breaks the tension.

There’s softness in the way he brings your hand to his face, pressing it against his cheek. He refuses to yield his hold around your hand, even when you try to pull it away.

It’s useless to try to fight him when he’s being like this, and you tire of fighting with him.

You brush a thumb across his cheek, and stand to step between his legs. It's simple to push his thighs apart, making room for yourself. You take Hell’s key from him, smiling when Dream allows it to slip between his fingers and into yours.

“How careless of you to allow me to take it so easily.” You press the tip against his chin, angling his head until he’s looking at you. “I could make a run with this in my possession.”

Dream settles his hands on your waist, pulling you a step deeper between his legs. “You would dare to run from me?” he says, brushing a thumb across. “By all means, try to do so, but know that I will chase after you should you leave me.”

It’s a laugh that spills out, and as tempting as that sounds, you tuck the key inside his coat instead. You lean closer enough to meet his eyes, breath mixing with his. “You are tense, my king.”

Dream clenches his jaw. “I am not.”

“What a lie, my king.” You kneel between his legs. “You are in a mood.”

“I am not.”

“How you offend me with your lies,” you say, mumbling the words into his leg. “But I too am in a mood.”

There’s this moment where the weight of the world, the weight of the dreamers and the universe, comes to a standstill.

It’s just you.

It’s just Dream.

It’s just you and Dream, . . . and the opening doors at the end of the hallway. Footsteps echo around the walls, disrupting the stillness that was only beginning to settle.

There’s time to jump away, to pretend or hide, but you stay kneeled between Dream’s legs anyway.

Lucienne looks up, trailing her eyes from the stairs and into the thrones of her monarchs. “Oh! I . . . will return—”

“Speak your piece, Lucienne. I trust you would not have dared to come here if it wasn’t important.” You press your chin onto Dream’s thighs, resting on him a little. “But make it quick, lest I run out of patience, and I am running out of it.”

Lucienne takes a moment to consider, but a deep sigh escapes her anyway. “. . . Very well.”

Lucienne speaks of concerns that you don’t bother yourself with.

There’s something simple about the way you trace the seams on Dream’s pants, skirting around the outside, never fully touching the inside of his thighs.

You press your lips onto his leg, giving it a small kiss before opening your mouth just enough for your teeth to gnaw on him.

It’s quite insulting that Dream keeps his gaze on Lucienne, denying you a gaze that rightfully belongs to you. There’s that same neutral expression on him when you bite down just a little harder, enough to leave a mark.

Lucienne receives the answers to her problem, and turns to walk away.

There’s something about the way you glance back at her from the corner of your eye. “Lucienne.”

“Yes, my lady?”

“Should another problem arise,” you say, smiling a little, “I trust that you are capable enough to handle it on your own, if only for a while.”

“Of course,” she says. “I will . . . be in the library.”

“You may leave.” You lean into Dream, fluttering your eyes to a close. “A little faster than that if it’s all the same to you.”

Another deep, deep, sigh escapes Lucienne, but the pace of her footsteps quickens anyway. The entrance to the throne hall disappears the moment the doors close.

Finally.

The gaze that has always rightfully belonged to you descends on your presence, and until you are kicked out or replaced, the dreams and nightmares swirling in his eyes still belong to you.

Dream stays silent, a quiet expression on his face, even as your fingers trace the inside of his thigh, and pulls his cock free.

It remains soft between your fingers.

“Do not glance at me like that,” he says, an annoying smile on his lips. “I am content where I am.”

“My king, does the sight of me on my knees no longer excite you?” You follow the path of one of his veins, tracing it with the tips of your fingers. “What a shame, but if I must . . . .”

The tip of your tongue wets your lips. It’s an absentminded action, but your tongue sticks out a little as you take his soft cock into your mouth. The taste of him immediately floods you, tingling every cell that presses against him.

There’s something quite annoying about the way drool pools between the spaces of your mouth, tracing a wet line around your lips before it drops below.

Still, you do not move.

You stay on your knees, tucked between Dream’s legs with an open mouth and a soft cock.

It’s simple to take him deeper into you, swallowing him until the tip pushes against the back of your throat. It’s less simple to kill the gag that threatens to spill out, but you do so anyway.

It’s quite difficult to tell just how long you stay like this, but your jaw begins to ache, and those small drips of drool slipping down your chin have formed a puddle now.

Dream tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “You are warmer than usual, my queen.”

You flutter your eyes at him instead, and widen your lips into a smile.

A twitch.

That is the response you receive. You reward Dream with that small lick from your tongue, brushing underneath him. The taste of him fills you even more, and it’s one you’re entirely familiar with.

The more you think about it—the more you sit here between his legs, mouth stuffed with his cock—the more you realize that only a short amount of time has passed since Dream remodeled that castle.

You would like it very much if you could desecrate every room in this castle again, letting him take you against every surface.

Let it be that every time he walks into the room, the memory of your bodies will fill his mind.

This current face of yours has always been good when it came to matters like patience, but even it had its limits.

You swallow around his tip, sucking him deeper down your throat until he hardens inside your mouth.

There’s something exhilarating about the way he expands, the spaces between your mouth disappearing as he takes them from you with just his cock.

It’s simple to breathe through your nose, and still around his erection. There’s a battle of pride and ego taking place, and if Dream wants to find release, then he would have to take it for himself.

“I refuse to make it easy for you.” Dream reaches down to press on your lips with his thumb, swiping away that small line of drool. “If it’s my pleasure you wish for, then you will have to give me a reason to take it. Why should I fuck myself into your mouth?”

Booo.

How unfair.

You laugh around him instead, letting the vibrations brush against him.

Dream breathes through his nose when you swallow around the tip of his cock, but you don’t go any further than that. It would be simple to stay kneeled between his legs, mouth full of his cock, and wait.

You were willing to wait until the end of time himself.

A battle of wills.

A battle of egos.

A battle to see who would break from the pleasure first, and it’s his cock that’s snugged inside your mouth.

That is until . . .

Dream says your name.

The way your name spills out of his mouth is different from the way he said that woman’s name. Yours leaves his lips much easier, much softer, much more like a prayer rather than a name. There’s familiarity. There’s reverence. There’s everything in the way it tumbles out of his lips and into your ears.

It’s difficult to remember what happens next, for you are lost in the buzz of your actions. You lose this battle of wills and ego.

There’s something automatic about the way you tighten your lips around his cock, suckling from him to milk every drip of come he’s capable of giving you, and then perhaps a little more after that.

You fill King of Dream and Nightmares into your mouth, tasting and licking until only your name spills out of his lips, until he cannot think of anything else beside you and only you.

Dream comes inside your mouth, gripping your hair to still you.

It does not work.

You are too lost in your own pleasure.

What a shame, really. You wanted your king to take his pleasure from you, to use you to fulfill whatever desire that festers within him, but here you are, still on your knees as you are lost in that warm bitter taste of his come, lost in the way the simple brush of his cock against your lips pulls the most intoxicating buzz.

And you do not stop, not until you’re taking him across every surface of this room. Not even the forming bruises on your knees could have stopped the way you rode him across the stairs.

One room desecrated.

Only a thousand more rooms to go.