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Found 588 dreams containing press - Page 50


Explore a collection of the latest dreams shared by our community. Discover common themes, intriguing narratives, and unique symbolism. From vivid adventures to thought-provoking scenarios, these recent dreams offer a glimpse into the subconscious mind and may even spark insights into your own dream world. Browse the "Latest Dreams" to find inspiration, connect with others, and delve deeper into the fascinating realm of dreams.

I was on a flight in a very large plane with my sister and cousins. The pilot wasn't in the plane. I looked out of the window and saw that we've arrived to our destination, but the plane is still flying. I sat in the pilot's seat freaking out, I tried to land. At first, the plane was falling vertically down and I thought I'm going to die. Then I tried to adjust it back to its horizontal position. I looked down and there was a jungle, so I assumed we'd land softly. As we got closer to the ground, I pressed on a red button in the plane and we landed safely.

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I'm in a large room with my best friend for 20 years, we are looking for something or trying to stay away from something. All of a sudden chairs and desk begin to fall over around a doorway and out of the corners of our eye we see something but there is no one there. This invisible person grabs my friend and prevents him from moving. I grab a laptop nearby and hit something close to my friend. He then tells me that nothing is holding him now, and that's when I feel something pressed against my face breathing. I try to move it but the invisible skill just stretches.

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I was in an abandoned building with Mohammed Alsharif and this couple (whom I don't actually know but I seemed to know in the dream). The four of us were going to go somewhere and I ended up outside in the car (a yellow convertible) with the couple. The guy was driving and he started to drive off without Mohammed. I protested and the guy said something to the effect of 'screw him' and then said, 'He shouldn't lag behind.' I got highly offended and demanded we go back. The guy refused; I argued; he refused. So, I told him to let me out. He woudn't. So, we argued about that until I told him this was kidnapping and got my phone out to call the police. I was deposited on a dark, rain-slicked skid row street. It was very dark and I started to walk back to the apartment to find Mohammed. I got to the upstairs doorway - a kind of doorway without a door to a landing with cracked and abused plaster, the cement floors covered in dust and debris - and he was there. "I'm so sorry, I said. "No problem," he shrugged in classic Mohammed fashion. "No, it's terrible. They were going to leave without you." "It's okay." Again, quintessential Mohammed casual shrug. "They're assholes. I'm so sorry. What should we do now?" I asked, thinking we would make alternate plans for the night out. He smiled in a cute, coy way and blushed as he shrugged his shoulders. I got the hint and smiled and blushed and looked down at my shoes. As I looked back up, he put his arms around my neck - very gently, very shyly - and leaned over to kiss me. It was gentle at first, but as I became more receptive, he got bolder. At one point, I gave a little whimper while he was kissing me and lips still on mine, he smiled and repeated my whimper mockingly. In this torrent of polite and demure passion, the boldest I could force myself to be was to press a hand to his chest. His hands never ventured beyond the back of my neck.

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