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bowieandqueen11 · 2 years

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Dream Confessing His Love To You Would Include...

Thank you so much for all of the sweet comments on my Dream falling in love with you headcanons!!! This is a follow up set to those, and then I’m going to do some dating headcanons once I finish the series to complete the set <3

If you enjoy, please let me know by commenting!!

(I do not own the Sandman or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @tennant.)

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

Hello again my pathetic paper towel mopey eyeliner fool whom I adore, I hope you’re ready to finally feel something in that stupid ass heart of yours ‘cause I sure am (all typed with affection.)

The rippled marble doors of the throne room slammed shut behind Morpheus, and he immediately felt lost. He didn’t know where to start. Didn’t understand where he could start. Not with the punch he felt in his gut, doubling him over with every step. The thundering in his ears, pounding into his skull as if the world were collapsing down on him in shattering shards of glass. The pain in his heart, as if Lucifer had pierced their arm through his chest and began squeezing their fist. He was so unused to the feeling, the ache, the desolation and despair and desire of love, that they hounded him as he walked through his empty halls like a shadowed ghost. Its footsteps were in rhythm with his, and yet as much a stranger to himself as the waking world defied dreams.

Before he had time to choke back down his heart; to file away such foolish, damning nonsense as the ideals of love into the abysses of his mind, the toes of his boots reached over the edge of his dock. He was lost in the cold mists that bit his face, for a moment, until the sight of a diamond tear dripping into the wallowing tides brought him back to himself. Although his stricken face would never give away the anguish he was feeling inside, a soft cough from a following Lucienne was all the note he needed to realise that she understood completely.

This was something he must do, unless he be torn apart from the inside out. Lest he be ravished and flurried into a whirlwind of sand and dust just by the mere thought of you.

The last thing he heard, as he reached slender fingers down into the murky depths and swept them away in search of you, was Lucienne’s concerned voice. ‘Take care, my Lord. The Realm may be able to manage two majesties... but it will not be able to manage without any. Take care. Don’t let yourself be swept away again.’

It was far too late for that. As Lucienne brushed down her tailcoat, and took one last peering look down at the water, she sighed to herself and wandered back to the palace. With each step, she became more and more resigned to the fact that she may face another lifetime or two here, with nothing but empty shelves and crumbled walls for company.

It takes Dream even less time to find you. He stalks through long stalks of wheat, black coat draped across his shoulders to save his pale face from the burning gold sun. Even though you don’t understand who he is yet, you can picture him clear as day in your mind. Even as you sit, watching over the rolling hills on a bough of an orange tree, the sight of Dream wandering over the land makes you laugh. He sticks out like a straw scarecrow, the birds following him and pecking at his feet as he glides over the mud. He seeks you, even though he can’t see you; a pull at his heart pulls him forward into the harsh burn of the daylight.

Then, like mist, he awkwardly begins the descent up the rough bark; it smarts the palms of his hands as he hauls himself up the branches, his coat becoming entwined with a few stubborn twigs and floating down to the rabbit burrow by the tree roots below, but he doesn’t give up. With a final grunt of effort, his hazy presence becomes known to you as he swings his lanky leg over the branch, and begins shuffling to rest by your side. You can’t see him yet, not fully, he’s still far too full of pride and lurking fear to allow that. You can, however, feel the weight dip beside you, turning you ever so slightly down towards the dew lined grass.

You give Dream a moment, putting the pieces together and realising that he’s the man who has been following you, plaguing your dreams and overpowering your subconscious for so, so long. It felt like an eternity, waiting to meet him, and it feels like even longer still as groans and hoarse huffs are the only things that vibrate through the shimmery air next to you. It’s like an autumn wind howling through a chimney, the way his chest trembles as you feel the weight of his hand that keeps hovering, before quickly withdrawing from your own. His fingers keep glancing over your palm, akin to a dragonfly skirting over the lily pads in the pond just on the edge of your vision, before quickly darting away again.

He shifts, and even you realise that he’s about to run away from this again. From you. From the deepest, truest parts of himself, that he’s too stubborn to open up and leave vulnerable to your world. He begins to come into view now, retreating inside himself, into the shell of his coat as if that would protect the oh so powerful, and oh so terrified Dream of the Endless from love.

You grab onto him, reaching through the last remaining shadows and latching onto the hand he has pulling on the lapel of his jacket. At first he winces, as if you’ve scarred his fingers at the touch. After a moment of just holding your hand out to him, though, his slender fingers begin to slowly move through the air and rest onto yours.

He looks awful: as if he hadn’t slept himself in near millennia. His hair is dishevelled, and you guess that he’s tried to flatten the tufts of fringe over his eyes to hide them. He keeps darting to look down at the ground, then a quick glance of confusion at the way you’re cradling his fingers against your palm, then looking up with tight lips to your eyes. Even though he hasn’t said anything, you understand deep within your stomach how much his just being here means to him, by the tears that line his tired eyes.

You just want to pull him down by the shoulders and rest his head against your neck, but you give him the dignity and the time he needs to say what he needs. To unblock the ache in his heart that has built up for so long, he’s afraid he’ll feel an empty husk if he lets any of it slip out.

‘I... I’m sorry’, he starts, his voice hoarse and hollow and remnant of someone who has been recently wracked with sobs. ‘I didn’t... I didn’t mean to scare you.’

‘You didn’t scare me. In fact, I think I’ve been expecting you for a long time now. I’m just amazed you even came at all, by the way you always stay at the fringes of my dreams.’

You squeeze his hand. He swallows drily, but he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he allows you to rest them down on your lap. ‘I always meant to show myself sooner. I’ve... I’ve been away, a long while. I’ve had a long time to think. It gave me time to reflect on my Realm. To contemplate myself in that orb of human glass.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘To... understand...’

There’s a moment of quiet calmness as his thought drifts off. His eyes glaze over the landscape, dreary and confused, as if he’s too busy trying to unclog the whirls of his brain. He blinks, eyelashes fluttering, as you lean closer to him. You’re so close, he can smell the soap on your skin, feel the warmth radiate off every inch of you. He’s so stoic, sitting straight like a bean pole, but he can’t help but let the sharp intake of air slip out as he stares down at you like a man possessed.

‘Understand what, Sandman....’

Before you have time to blink, he’s leant down until his thin frame has almost enveloped you under its inky cloak. He presses his lips against your cheek: hesitantly, tentatively, but the way he brushes his bottom lip against your skin as he starts to pull away leaves you breathless.

Before he manages to sit upright again and whisk himself away, you manage to use your free hand to fist the coat on his arm and stop him. Although he relents, he raises one eyebrow in shock. You only cup his cold cheek, leading his head back down until his forehead has bumped against your own. He follows your lead expectantly, without falter, as you tip your head up and wait to feel his lips touch properly against your own. It doesn’t take him very long to understand. It takes him even less time to press his top lip against your bottom one, its plushness caressing your mouth with each sweep against it. His hand shakes as it reaches round to rest gingerly by your waist, his tears beginning to run down the side of your nose, but his mouth never stops exploring your own.

Eventually, much to his exasperation, you have to pull away to replace him with air.

He stays for a moment longer, the sun beginning to set behind his head and throwing its melting honey rays over the dark contours of his face. They make his eyes gleam like a sky full of stars; magic sparks their glistening tails as he watches you. It nearly makes you lightheaded to realise that every stream of silver, every swirl of gold, every bright blue light in his eyes are there because of you. He smiles, a smile big enough to set the world alight with hope as he tilts his head to the side, deep in observation of your every move.

He understands in this moment, what this feeling within his heart truly is. He wants to see you. To touch you. To understand you. To feel you. To admire you. To adore you. To love you for all of creation.

He’s spent so long watching from the side-lines. So long, keeping within himself, resigned to the darkness. So long, so alone. He decides, in that moment, to tuck his arm around your shoulder and gently leads your head down onto his coat. He can indulge himself and stay here, in a dream that belongs to the two of you, for a little while longer.

#the sandman #dream of the endless #the sandman imagine #dream of the endless imagine #sandman #neil gaiman #morpheus #dream #dream imagine #sandman imagine #the sandman x reader #dream of the endless x reader #sandman x reader #dream x reader #morpheus imagine #morpheus x reader #tom sturridge #literally sitting in a tree k-i-s-s-i-n-g

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teejaystumbles · 1 year

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yeah I'm not done with this yet *flails* (the earlier moment)

#aah guys it #s so rare for me to go crazy over my own stuff #but I loved writing this #so have some more art #1889 drabble #own art #the sandman fanart #dreamling #dream x hob #nightmare king #dream of the endless #hob gadling #teejaystumbles

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officialrailscales · 1 month

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Terra Bronze/TerraCore Tuesday

Karve-P | FDE

QTR Stop | Terra Bronze

TerraCore 3-Slot G10 RailScales | Honeycomb Texture

TerraCore 2-Slot G10 RailScales | Honeycomb Texture

QDX Sling Mount | Terra Bronze

- RS

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gabessquishytum · 1 month

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I read that fabulous centennial husbands big bang story about Hob marking the years between his meetings with his stranger by tying knots in a piece of string and it gave me a though -- instead of knots in string Hob cuts hash marks into his skin to count the years btw meeting with his stranger. Scarification to mark the time until he gets to see his stranger again.

Yes, Hob is fantasticly immortal and wounds don't stay, but Hob has found if he makes the mark or intends for the mark to stay, then it does. So he starts marking himself to count his hundred years:

1489 - left arm;

1589 - right arm;

1689 - left foot to knee;

1789 - right foot to knee;

1889 - left knee to upper thigh/groin;

1989 - right knee to upper thigh/groin; and

2089 - starting up his left side (groin to armpit)

His marks are the only thing he's sure will stay. He's developed a ritual for it - he cuts with special knife specifically for that purpose; and as he travels the world he's found that if he gets his scars tattooed in the old school way - with sharp rock and ink, that stays too.

So that when Dream and Hob finally get together, Hob's body is a sensory feast for Dream - the braille of Hob's devotion.

Trigger Warning for the act of cutting the body - could be potentially triggering for self harm survivors.

So I'm going to freely admit that I know absolutely nothing about scarification, and I'm one of those annoying people who can genuinely pass out at the mere mention of blood or injuries. BUT I am fascinated by body modification and the impact it would have on an immortal body. So let's give this a go!

At first, the marks are not very pretty to look at. Hob doesn't know what he's doing. There's no real pattern or consistency to the marks. But as the decades, then the centuries pass, Hob becomes a proper artist. He makes intricate designs on his skin. Each mark becomes part of a bigger picture, which is growing across his body with every passing year. There are flowers and leaves, stars and shapes and waves. He generally covers up the art on his body - he has, after all, made himself extremely unique and identifiable. But despite the risk, he sometimes sits in the sun with his body on display. It's like a message to his stranger, wherever he is. That Hob is still patiently waiting.

And after more than a hundred years with no stimulus at all, when he finally comes back, Dream is obsessed with the texture of Hob’s body. He touches it constantly when they're together, like a reassurance that the world is no longer cold, smooth glass. It's warm flesh, indented with promises. It's proof that somebody thought of him and forgave him. It's love, really. Love that Hob is proud to wear on his skin for every day of his very, very long life.

He can't wait for Dream to be beside him, when they make the next mark together.

#please note trigger warning #the sandman #dreamling #nsft #cw s/h #cw injury #cw gore #cw scarification

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griombrioch · 1 year

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Soft Dom Hob Hours

“What do you want?”

“Hob.”

“You have to use your words, my love.”

“What?” Dream spits out, about a hair’s breadth away from baring his teeth like a weapon. Is it not enough that he’s shown up uninvited in his friend’s home? That he’s disrobed for Hob, despite the discomfort his bare skin brings? That he’s dropped himself into this human’s lap as a desperate, scrabbling thing? He’s made himself most desirable for Robert Gadling and yet the man is staring at him, inquisitive, hands settled steady on Dream’s waist but moving no farther.

“I’m the Lord of Dreams. And Nightmares. And you need me to tell you?” Dream knows he’s being cruel to belittle Hob’s intelligence, but the self reflection does nothing to calm the clawing emptiness inside of him. He somehow feels too much and also nothing at all. The dreamers are screaming inside of his head but they still feel so far away. Like he’s cut off from himself but he still knows that he’s bleeding out.

It is agony.

“My subjects know me better than you, clearly,” he sneers, “Perhaps I should return then. Take from them what you will not give to me.”

“That’s nice,” Hob says, passive as ever, like they’re having a conversation about one of his students or the objectively correct way to brew Irish Breakfast. But he’s leaning in close so that Dream can smell the toothpaste off his breath. It is infuriating. “But we are not in The Dreaming, and I am not your subject. Use your words. What do you want?”

He doesn’t have to tell his subjects what he wants, what he needs. They are part of him. His needs are simply met. Dream is not accustomed to needing to explain himself. Having to do so is crude and basic and primitive.

Dreams glares and opens his mouth and is suddenly very, very concerned that he doesn’t actually know what it is that he wants. He doesn’t have the words. He just knows that he needs. He needs something to fill the empty hole that Roderick and Alex Burgess left behind when they took and took and took from him.

He needs Hob to do it. It has to be him.

“I want…” Dream trails off, and suddenly breathing feels like too laborious of a task, but his chest heaves anyway. He’s starting to lose control of this chosen physical form. His edges are blurring. What does he want? He is the Prince of Stories. Where are the words to describe what he needs from this human? “I…I want..I-”

“Easy, easy, love,” he hears Hob say, impossibly gentle in his ear. “You’re okay. You’re doing so well, see?”

Hob is not one of his subjects. Hob is human and imperfect and so, so infuriatingly patient. Why can he not be as other humans and take what he pleases?

“You can have anything you want, sweetheart.” Hob presses a kiss to the shell of his ear and Dream tells himself that the keening sound between them is not coming from his own mouth. “Anything at all. That isn’t the problem here.”

He wants. So much. Too much. He can’t possibly ask it of Hob. He can’t. He needs to go. Leave now before he makes more mistakes and ruins this man-

“You are not stealing anything, Dream. Stop punishing yourself,” the touch of lips is replaced with just the barest hint of teeth. “Have you forgotten? This is mine and mine alone to give you freely. But you must tell me what it is you need.”

“I need…” Dream takes a stuttering, ragged breath that he doesn’t need for life preservation but rather to calm down. “You. To touch me.”

“Good. And?” Hob fingers run across the plane of Dream’s ribs, teasing the sensitive troughs and valleys of his bones.

“I need you to hold me down. Make me. Make me work for it.”

“That’s it, love.” Dream shivers and his skin heats up at the praise. It is humiliating to be praised by this human and yet, he craves more of it. Oh, how he craves. “And you’re going to tell me when it’s too much, yes?”

He nods.

Hob drops his hands and pulls away. “Your words, Dream.”

“Yes,” Dreams gasps out then, and it comes easier this time, his mind slipping to an undefined somewhere - where Roderick Burgess is nothing but a distant memory and he doesn’t hurt because Hob is here and Hob will not hurt him. This he knows to be true. “I will tell you. I promise.”

“Good boy.”

“Please, I-”

“Hush,” Hob cuts him off with a rough kiss, a complete contrast to the murmur he’s still speaking with. When they part, Dream feels the calluses of his fingers where they grip his chin. “You need not beg, my King. Not for this. Never for this.”

#the sandman #dreamling #dream x hob #soft dom hob #my writing #i didn't like this enough to turn it into an actual fic so it gets banished to tumblr instead #fanfic #hob gadling #dream of the endless #d/s dynamics #gentle dom hob

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