#but i see the same being said of hob | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cuubism · 10 months

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based on THIS shitpost. nsft below the cut. inexplicably 7k.

Dream had promised Hob, since reuniting, since agreeing to see each other more often, that he would let Hob introduce him properly to human experiences. "It'll do you good," Hob had said. Dream thinks Death would agree with this also. He is now wondering, however, if this had been folly.

"I think I've given you the general rundown now," Hob says, leaning back in his chair, swirling his bottle of beer—mostly empty—idly in one hand. "The highlights. We'll be here for ages if you want to hear all of it."

Dream is surprised to realize he is curious to hear the stories of all of Hob's lovers. But he does not feel it is quite appropriate to press, no matter how open Hob has been in speaking of it. Dream is most interested, after all, in people Hob has loved, not just those he's had carnal relations with—stories of love are of much more interest to him than stories simply of desire, and Hob has already relayed these stories to him, each a glimmering jewel on the long chain of his life.

Each sticks in Dream's mind now, glittering in his peripheral vision. He cannot tell precisely what they want of him—the corners of his being are blurred, his thoughts wavering, at points clear and ringing and at others indistinct. A consequence of allowing alcohol to affect him, at Hob's bidding. It is... pleasant. Loose. Warm. Though Dream thinks, anywhere outside of Hob's flat, it would feel disconcerting instead.

It's this folly in allowing Hob to ply him with wine, perhaps, that has him saying, "Do you wish to hear of my own?"

Hob's expression sharpens. He is, perhaps, less drunk than Dream is, despite being on his fourth beer, while Dream has only had— ah. That bottle of wine is three-quarters empty. Hmm. "You mean, you want to talk about it?"

"I believe it is customary for friendship to involve a mutual sharing of stories?"

"Sure, if you want to." Hob's gaze on him is intent, curious, but still fond, always fond. "Usually you're like this." He draws his fingers across his lips in a zipping motion. "So of course I'm curious."

"Am I so reticent?" Hob is right, though. Dream can acknowledge it. He would not usually care to speak of these things. He could blame the wine, today. But.

Hob laughs. "Took me six hundred thirty-three years to get a name. You are the king of reticence." He dips his head as if bowing to this "king." "I would be honored to hear your stories, my friend."

Dream tucks his nose into his glass. He should perhaps not drink any more, but the smell is still pleasant, rich and sharp. "They are not so happy."

"Still. If you want to tell."

Dream is not like Hob. He does not have casual dalliances. Each collision was as bright as a falling star. He doesn't know if he has the strength, now, to relay all that terrible history.

Instead, he shares with Hob the early days of burning. Each of those bright, glowing moments. And glosses over the fall.

He thinks Hob sees it, though. He considers him from under his brows as Dream speaks, understanding in his eyes. Doesn't ask him about it, perhaps sensing that Dream does not have the wherewithal for telling and asking in the same evening. "Thank you," he finally says.

"Why?"

"For sharing."

Dream looks back down at his glass. It's empty again. Perhaps that is for the best. It is not often that he... shares. Particularly about this. But Hob is generous in not prying. In wanting to listen, for the simple sake of, as far as Dream can tell, understanding Dream.

When he looks up again, Hob is tapping the mouth of his beer bottle against his lips in thought. "Can I ask you something? It'll probably be utter silliness to you, though. Being this... beyond human entity that you are."

Dream's shoulders tense where they'd gone relaxed with drink and Hob's company. "Go ahead."

"Were all of your lovers women?"

And Dream relaxes again. Ah. This is just... factual. Not... digging in to his many relational failures. "I suppose. Yes."

"Is that by design, or...?"

Dream frowns. "I do not... understand."

"Well, since we've established that I'm an indiscriminate slut—" always so crude, but something about the click of Hob's tongue makes Dream shift uncomfortably in his seat on the couch— “I was wondering whether you were the same way." Then he winces. "Not the slut part. The indiscriminate part."

"Do you mean to ask if I care about the gender or sex of my lovers?"

"Yep. Knew I should have just been straightforward with you."

Dream thinks about it. He has never made a pattern of his relationships, the way humans do. He simply... does what his foolhardy heart commands. Usually with poor results. "I suppose I do not. Care, that is. But. My lovers have been women, yes."

Hob tilts his head. There's a new gleam in his eyes, now. He goes to finish his beer, but it’s empty. Dream watches the drag of his lips over the mouth of the bottle.

"Does that surprise you, Hob Gadling?" he asks. "That my amorous pursuits have been so much narrower than yours?"

"Mmm. Little bit? It's just, even if I hadn’t—how can I put it politely—fucked my way across half of London already by the time we met, I can't imagine making it six hundred years without ever at least experimenting?" He grins. "I could be straight as a nail and curiosity alone would've got me in some bloke's bed at least once. Hmm. Maybe three times just to be sure."

"It is good that you cannot die, for I believe curiosity would have sounded your death knell twenty times over by now."

Hob raises his bottle in Dream's direction. "True, that." Then he leans forward on his knees, eyes bright with, of course, curiosity. "But weren't you ever curious?"

"I contain the collective memory," Dream reminds him. "All fantasies. And dreams. If I need to understand an experience, I can simply consult that breadth of knowledge. I do not need to 'wind up in some bloke's bed.'"

Hob's leaning so far forward now he might come toppling off his chair. "But do you wanna?"

Dream frowns. "I do not..."

"Do you want to experience it yourself, though?" Hob repeats. "Cuz I could watch porn—" Dream wrinkles his nose at this crude analogy for his relationship to his dreams, but the offense is swiftly banished as Hob continues— “but that's not the same as—” his hand lands on Dream's wrist, fingertips pressed to where he would have a pulse— "that."

Dream freezes. Under Hob's fingers, his heart jumps once, quick as a mouse.

"I've no doubt you understand it, Dream," continues Hob, and perhaps he had drunk less than Dream had thought, for he seems very lucid now, "but that's not the same as being there."

Dream fixates on where they are touching. His skin feels very hot, at that point. "And what. Is being there like?"

Hob's fingers slip a little higher, just under the sleeve of his coat. He is still wearing his coat, yes, why is that? He feels very warm. "Could find out?"

"Are you suggesting I should find some man to bed me?"

"Some man," Hob repeats, jaw working. His gaze is hovering somewhere around Dream's collar. "Some man who knows what he's doing, yeah."

"And..." an echo of a breath is frozen in Dream's lungs. Some instinct saying, be still. A pulse at his elbow, in his thigh, at his throat. Hob still has his wrist pinned. "Do you know what you are doing, Hob Gadling?"

"Never in my life," says Hob, and leans in and kisses him.

He has to get out of his chair to do it. Has to lean down over Dream, taking Dream's cheek in his hand. Has to tip Dream's head back, and sweep his tongue into his mouth from above, or perhaps Dream only tells himself that he has to rather than acknowledge that it is Dream himself baring his throat, opening his mouth to Hob's.

If he wished to know what it was like to be kissed by a man, now he knows: strong and lingering and hungry. Or perhaps that is just Hob Gadling. Hob's stubble brushes his cheeks. He can smell Hob's cologne, rich and sweet like whiskey. He wraps a hand around the back of Hob's neck so he can't pull away far.

Hob's eyes are heavy-lidded when he looks at him. Dream touches his own lips, and Hob follows the movement. "I'm not certain I understand," Dream says. "This is not enough data to make a determination."

"Definitely not," says Hob, and kisses him again, pushing him into the back of the couch. The strength of his hands sends fire racing all the way up Dream's spine, curling around his neck, burning in the tips of his ears. He bites experimentally at Hob's lower lip, and Hob groans low in his throat.

"We're not—" Hob pulls away, lips shiny and wet, "we're not doing this here. Come on."

He stands upright again, and Dream will deny to the end of the universe the dissatisfied sound he makes when Hob's warmth leaves him. Hob smiles, soft and fond now, and takes his hand. "Come on, love."

Love.

Some man, Dream thinks, as he lets Hob pull him up. Join some man in bed. As he follows Hob down the hall to his bedroom. For curiosity's sake. As Hob kneels to help pull off his boots. Just to understand. As Hob divests him of his coat.

Experimental.

"You're so buttoned up." Hob smoothes his hands over Dream's shoulders, his bare arms under his t-shirt. "Let me know if it's too much, okay?"

"Yes." Too much, yes, it is too much, to see Hob look at him like that, with care and with hunger, for Hob to touch him gently, it makes his skin prickle, his cheeks heat, his throat terribly dry. It is too much; he will not tell Hob to stop.

I want to understand, Dream thinks. I want—

Hob smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "Come on, then."

Hob is already barefoot, being less guarded than Dream, and he leads Dream up onto the bed. Dream follows, chasing his hands, and Hob does not deprive him. He leans against the headboard and lets Dream settle in his lap, immediately framing his face again between his palms. For the sake of learning, Dream pushes all the dreams of this aside, so that it is just him and Hob. New. Theirs.

He looks into Hob's eyes, very close now, and he feels light, floaty, good. Perhaps the wine was a bad idea. Perhaps it was right.

"What d'you want, darling?" Hob asks. Brushes his lips to the corner of Dream's mouth. "Tell me. This is for you, after all."

Yes. For Dream. A scientific exercise, he must remember. It will help him... understand. It will help him create more vivid dreams. That is all.

He can feel Hob's growing erection pressing against him. His own jeans growing tight. "I would like. The full experience."

Hob laughs, but it's a friendly laugh, not at his expense. Dream can recognize that, now. "There's no full experience. Sex counts as sex if you say it does. But if you're trying to say penetration, we can do that."

Dream shivers at the word penetration, sitting so matter-of-factly on Hob Gadling's tongue. "Yes. I believe that is what I meant."

"Alright." Hob may be matter-of-fact, but he does not sound unaffected. His voice has gone rough, his eyes dark, a flush along his cheeks. His hands fall from Dream's face to brace his hips, thumbs sweeping under the hem of Dream's shirt to touch his skin.

But he doesn't push Dream down into the mattress. Instead he pulls Dream closer by the hips, saying, "C'mere then," and Dream goes back to his mouth. Sinks into Hob's kiss, and the searing heat of his hands on Dream's hipbones. It's different. It's already different. But he can't yet determine if it's different because Hob is a man, or because he is Hob.

Hob, who has been a friend to him even when he couldn't recognize it. Who wants him to enjoy things. Wants to share with him.

Hob pushes Dream's shirt up over his head. Dream has not been bare in front of someone since his escape, but he doesn't think he minds, when it's Hob. When it means he gets Hob's broad, strong hands on his back, pulling him close, and Hob's lips on his shoulder, the crook of his neck, kissing and leaving marks.

"You know, once upon a time I thought you were above all this," Hob murmurs. He touches Dream's belly, his chest, his neck, holding lightly. "You were so... untouchable. Couldn't imagine you lowering yourself to engage in such—” he bites at Dream's earlobe— “such base activities."

"'Untouchable,' Hob Gadling?" Dream says. Hob's hands are cradling his throat now. Hob catches his point and flexes his fingers; Dream swallows under the grip.

"Always wanted to know," Hob murmurs, "if anyone'd touched you at all."

Not in a very long time, it is true. Dream burns with it, now, everywhere Hob touches him is alight. "What would you have done with an answer?"

"Dared," says Hob. "I expect."

"Always daring," Dream says. Indulges himself and slips his own hands under Hob's shirt, feels out his stomach, his hair, his back, all the strong lines of him. Hob's shoulders are pleasing, and his hips where Dream squeezes with his thighs, and these are not things Dream has thought of much, before. He wants to see more. To feel more. "Daring to be the first man to have me."

"Don't say things like that if you want me to keep my sanity." The words are rough like Dream has reached in and touched him instead of just spoken, and Hob's chest rises and falls heavily under Dream's hands.

"Maybe I don't."

This makes Hob chuckle, and Dream feels the rumble of it through his body. He wishes there was not the barrier of their clothes to dampen it; more than seeing Hob, he wants to feel Hob, his skin is prickling with it, his mouth is tacky and dry with it.

"How do you want me?" he asks, and whatever change Hob hears in his voice has him stiffening up, going serious. Dream doesn't know how he feels about it—he enjoys Hob's ease and laughter, but the intensity is... he feels it like a touch.

"How do you want to be had?" Hob counters, and before Dream can contemplate the myriad possible answers, adds, “Do you want to be? Is that what you meant? Only I would have thought— but then again—”

Dream does not interrogate the rambling path of Hob's assumptions. He says, "I would like to know. What I have not. Personally. Experienced, yes."

Daydreams poke at Dream's awareness as the image flashes through Hob's mind. Dream doesn't touch them, but the awareness of their existence alone has him shifting where he straddles Hob's lap. Hob's cheeks darken, and he says, "Strangest way anyone's ever asked me to fuck them. Yeah, alright. Budge up, love?"

Love. Again. Dream climbs off Hob's lap, kneeling beside him as Hob strips off his own shirt, flinging it somewhere--Dream doesn't see, for he is looking only at Hob. The solidness of him, where Dream often feels made of wind; the warmth of his belly, where Dream touches him, while Dream himself often feels cold. So made of earth, Hob Gadling.

Hob lays a hand on Dream's chest as if to push him down to the bed. No strength behind the touch, but the impression of it. "Need you to tell me if it starts going wrong. I'm serious, Dream."

Despite himself, Dream bristles. “You think me incapable of conveying my displeasure?”

Hob huffs. “I think you’re just prideful enough not to. Just be direct with me. You don’t have to prove anything.”

Perhaps... Hob is not entirely wrong. “…I shall," Dream vows at length. Hob nods, and smiles at him again, that warm smile. Dream can’t help but feel pleased to have made him smile so. Hob pushes, and Dream goes, lies back against the pillows, and Hob kneels between his legs. Hands sliding again to his hips, to the waistband of his jeans. Dream watches with fixation, caught on Hob's fingertips.

Hob has apparently decided he does trust Dream to interrupt if he doesn't like something, for he doesn't ask again before unbuttoning Dream's jeans. But Dream can tell Hob is still paying close attention to his reactions, and it's heady to be attended to so.

He lifts his hips for Hob to pull off his jeans, and then gets to bask in a look he can only interpret as adoring. Hob looks upon him that way, and strokes up and down his thighs, over his hips and belly. Dream's skin jumps at the touch.

"You're so fucking gorgeous," Hob says, sounding wounded by it. "Everyone who sees you must go home wishing you were going with them, I refuse to believe otherwise."

Dream smiles, despite himself. "This may be a particular bias of yours, Hob."

"Yeah, maybe. I'm right, though." He leans down, hovers over Dream, kisses him. Dream pulls him down so their bodies are pressed together. Hob's skin is so warm, his hair softer than expected, the fabric of his jeans a rough counterpoint where it scratches Dream's inner thighs, rubs against his cock lying hard in the crook of his hip. A wealth of sensation. A pleased, wanting sound escapes him, before he can stop it—but Hob catches it, looking delighted to do so, kisses it right out of Dream's mouth. "You've left broken hearts in your wake. Still can't believe this is your first time doing this."

"Revel in that victory if you must."

"No victory," says Hob. "Only privilege."

And he kisses Dream again even as he works a hand between them, takes Dream in his grip. Dream gasps at the touch, breaking the kiss. Hob's hand is warm and rough and very sure, and Dream can't help the way his whole body tenses with that simple touch.

He feels Hob's smile against his cheek. His voice drips with satisfaction. "Are you sensitive?"

Dream does not get a chance to answer. Hob strokes him again, hums as Dream bucks up involuntarily into his grasp.

"Oh, I'm going to make you feel so good," Hob muses, his voice a warm rumble in Dream's ear. "I know I can. You deserve it."

"Hob—"

Hob kisses his own name out of Dream's mouth, a deep, biting kiss, and this confidence, rather than being offensive to Dream's station, is riveting. Dream feels spelled.

"Just let me take care of it," Hob says, and moves away, and Dream groans at the loss of his body heat.

"You will take what you want now?" Dream complains, knowing full well even as he says it that it is nonsense. But having Hob's touch and then losing it is making him insensate; truly, he had not thought he could fall so far. "Is that what this is, Hob Gadling?"

Hob chuckles. "Oh, no." He kisses Dream's sternum, and down along his abdominal muscles. Mouths at Dream's belly, where Dream shifts under him, ticklish and affected, skin jumping, and then Hob noses at the base of his cock, and Dream realizes what he's gotten himself into only right before it comes to light.

"No, Dream," Hob says, lips now brushing the head of his cock, and like that he looks up and meets Dream's eyes. "I serve at your pleasure."

He takes Dream in his mouth, strangling Dream's response before it can even reach his throat. Not that Dream knows what he would have said. It's whited out instantly in the rush of pleasure that is Hob's mouth, and tongue, the generosity of his body, the vision of him between Dream's legs.

He's voiceless as Hob bobs his head, takes Dream deep, laves his tongue over his slit, applies what Dream must concede is his considerably greater experience to breaking Dream's ability to speak entirely. He grasps mindlessly at Hob's hair, it slides soft between his fingers, head tipped back against the pillows and thighs jerking restlessly, and still he knows this is but a precursor to what Hob truly intends for him. What he's... asked for. Folly. What had he been thinking?

Hob lifts his head to look at him, a line of spit dragging from Dream's cock to his lower lip. "Dream, you with me?"

Dream nods. His hand is still in Hob's hair. He pets at Hob's forehead, his temple, and Hob smiles. Like Dream is the one being indulged.

"Good?" he says, and Dream nods again. Hob takes his hand from his hair, kisses his knuckles, and Dream does not think this is how casual experiments are meant to go. He does not know what he is learning, except that Hob's kiss is soft and reverent, and the look on his face even more so.

"Is this," Dream asks quietly, hyperaware of how he's laid out on his back, Hob between his legs, "how you want me?"

Hob releases his hand. Drags a fingertip maddeningly up and down the crook of Dream's thigh as he considers. "Probably be a bit easier for you on your belly, but I don't want to make you feel vulnerable."

Dream is not certain there is a version of this that would not feel vulnerable. That it does not already. "I defer to your better judgment."

"Stay there, then." He moves away, and Dream takes the moment to gather himself. He's not certain he succeeds. He's spinning pleasantly, buzzing with the echo of Hob's touch. He wonders what might happen if he gives up on trying to right himself.

Hob comes back with lubricant, situations himself between Dream's legs again. Runs his hands up and down Dream's thighs and Dream spreads them wider on instinct. Hob swallows hard, Dream watches the harsh bob of his throat. He's still wearing his jeans, and Dream wishes he would take them off, he wants to pet at Hob's thighs in turn, he wants to see.

"You're a holy vision," Hob says, still studying him with that look, raw and strangled. Find some man to bed you, Dream thinks, feverishly. Some man.

He plucks at the fabric of Hob's jeans. "Hob—“

Hob chuckles. "Sorry, sorry. Bit unfair of me, isn't it? Got too distracted looking at you." He unzips his jeans then, pulls them off, and then is sitting there only in his underwear—something which Dream does not bother to manifest for himself because his clothing is made already of dream stuff, but perhaps he will start because Hob bare before him, his cock heavy and hard in his boxer briefs but still obscured by the fabric is—

"Dream?" Hob asks, as Dream pushes himself up on his elbows and reaches for him, mesmerized, cups his hand around Hob through the fabric, feels the warmth and heft of him, "did I break y— ah fuck."

Hob pushes into his hand, bends down over him again to kiss him as if summoned to it, and it is thrilling, sparkles along every vein, to get such a reaction. To have Hob caving to him. "Fuck, Dream."

Dream indulges himself further, slips his hand under Hob's waistband, takes him in his grasp, and Hob jerks against him. Dream's mouth waters at the weight of him, he has to swallow thickly to clear his throat, his own cock is heavy and straining, and he parts his thighs further for Hob. Vulnerable. Yes. This is vulnerable, and especially so in the waking world, and he wants, he wants Hob in him. A new feeling.

"Hob. I want—"

"I know, darling. Fuck, you're beautiful. Your hands—" He shakes himself. "Right. Right."

Hob sits up again. Strips off his underwear properly. His hair is hanging loose and messy now, eyes ever so slightly glazed with pleasure, chest rising and falling, his prick hard and ruddy at the tip. He is arresting.

He pushes Dream's legs up so his knees are bent, finds the bottle of lube where it's fallen into the sheets, pours some out into his hand. Leans in to kiss Dream’s belly, pleasant and tickling, and in the same motion drags a finger over Dream’s entrance.

Dream catches his wrist, inhuman pulse peaking in his throat, like a burst of dream stuff. “You do not need to put in such effort. This body does not have these human limitations.”

Hob tsks and taps his hand away. “You said you wanted the full experience. And the full Hob Gadling experience includes proper prep and aftercare, even if you're made of whims and fantasies. Free of charge, by the way."

"Oh, indeed?" This comes out significantly less teasing, and significantly more affected, than Dream had intended. "And what will the rest cost me?”

Hob winks at him. "Only your pleasure, darling."

This time, he leans over Dream, takes Dream’s wrist and pins it to the bed by his head. Dream lets out a choked gasp. The sudden pressure of Hob’s grip makes something stand out sharply within him, and then collapse again in relief. Hob makes a considering noise, and holds him there as he presses a finger lightly to Dream’s entrance with his other hand.

Dream shudders as Hob pushes his finger in, one knuckle, two, as he works in and out of Dream’s body, stretching him— it is an odd sensation, one he half-feels he should shy away from, but Hob’s grip on his arm is grounding, and Hob kneeling between his spread legs is tickling something in him that wants very badly.

Then Hob crooks his finger and pleasure rushes through him like a windstorm. Dream arches off the bed, grabbing at the sheets, and Hob laughs. “Thought you might like that.”

“Hob.” Dream thinks he means this to come out admonishing but it’s far more strained. Hob doesn’t give him time to recover, he drags his finger over Dream’s prostate again and Dream bites down hard on his lower lip. Hob slips his finger out, returns with two, and now it’s a stretch. Dream grinds down on him, resists the urge to whine as Hob works him over on his fingers, rubbing over his prostate on every other stroke.

“You are unbelievably gorgeous,” Hob murmurs, watching where his fingers slip in and out of Dream’s body, and then back up at Dream’s face with awe and fixation.

“Even,” Dream struggles over the words as sensation washes through him, Hob’s fingers in him, filling him, so much and yet he wants more, “spread out, like so?”

“Especially then. The way you move on my fingers,” he twists his hand to emphasize the point, and Dream shudders, "the fact that you let me. D’you know how long I’ve looked at you and wondered?” Saying this, he kisses Dream, sliding his hand up Dream’s wrist to clasp their fingers together. “Passing Stranger, your body has become not yours only nor left my body mine only. Fuck, I wanted to see you like that.”

You give me the pleasure of your eyes, Dream thinks, but doesn’t quote the poem back to him— Hob reels him away again by the touch of his hands. He pushes a third finger into Dream, and now it is tight, it is so much, but Dream pushes himself back onto Hob’s hand. Hob’s fingers move gloriously within him, touching every part of him, and he starts speaking again in his low, honey voice, that’s it, darling, good, feels so good, yeah? and Dream needs Hob inside him. Hob has pulled him by the throat from inexperienced to grasping, and he is grasping.

Hob keeps fingering him, spiking his pleasure higher, his cock hanging heavy and teasing Dream with each move he makes. Dream himself is painfully hard, and it sharpens the feeling of Hob in him from maddening to agonizing. Hob kisses him, licks into Dream’s mouth, and Dream opens to his tongue. He opens to him. Like a yawning, cavernous thing.

Wanting Hob in him has shifted to needing Hob in him has shifted to lacking Hob in him, that Hob is a fundamental part of him and without him Dream is bereft. “Hob,” he whines, mortified by the sound of it but unable to drag himself back to that place of control he had surely—surely?—started the evening with. “Please—”

Hob’s head jerks up and he looks at Dream in shock. And. Oh.

Shame rushes through Dream’s body. Who has he become, begging a human to fuck him? Is he not the Lord of all Dreaming, is he not above this? Once, Dream was a skillful and assertive lover, he could bring the full power of the Dreaming to bear for his lovers’ pleasure, he could craft every moment exactly as needed— and now—

But Hob doesn’t draw away in disgust. Or gloat over the position he’s maneuvered Dream into. He smiles down at him, a soft look that goes just a bit pained at the edges as Dream tenses. Then he presses his lips to Dream’s cheek. Even that simple touch makes Dream shiver.

“It’s alright, darling,” Hob murmurs, so gentle but the heat of it still winds through Dream’s insides. “Don’t you know I’ll give you what you need? You don’t have to beg for it.” He slips his fingers out and back in, only two now, working them as deep as they’ll go. “But you sound so pretty when you do.”

“Please,” Dream says, the words again dragged from him unbidden, unspooled by the feeling of Hob inside him, there but not enough. Hob kisses him, swallows his plea like sweet wine, works him on his fingers, grinds his cock in tantalizing lines over Dream’s thigh. And gradually something unlocks in Dream’s ribcage, each piece turning itself open in realization. Hob likes when he asks, begs even. But he isn’t going to make him.

Asking, then, feels less like a wound rent in him, showing all his torn pieces, and more like a spell that will draw Hob to him. Speak, and he will come.

“Please,” Dream says again, and this time the words don’t tear. He speaks into Hob’s mouth, and the wet warmth of Hob’s lips and tongue soothe him where asking might start to chafe. “Hob, I need—”

“Do you need my cock, love?” Hob asks, rough low and rough and burning. “Feels empty, doesn’t it?” He slips his fingers free, and Dream whines. “I know. I know. You’re just starving for it, aren’t you?”

Starving, yes, Dream would like to take Hob in his mouth, but right now he’s feverish for something else. Hob is so close, every touch of his skin already has Dream singing, but he still wants more. He tangles his hand in Hob’s hair, wraps one leg around the back of Hob’s thighs to pull him closer, and Hob laughs, breathless.

“Fuck, Dream, you’re so—” Hob sounds spun around, now, and it’s gratifying to knock him askew in the way he’s done to Dream.

“Hob Gadling,” Dream says, putting the weight of sleeping desire into his voice, “I need you. I’m waiting.”

“Fucking hell,” Hob groans. “I’ve created something terrifying.” He doesn’t sound displeased about it. In fact, he kisses Dream again, lets Dream pull him close by the hair, smiling into his mouth. “Gonna make it so good for you, I promise.”

“I can plague your sleep with eternal nightmares if not,” Dream says, with no intention of doing so.

“See, I’m so confident in my ability to fuck you” —Dream's skin prickles at the word— “that I’m not even worried about it.”

He makes Dream lift up so he can push a pillow under his hips, takes Dream’s leg and maneuvers it over his shoulder, bending his body back. Dream shivers at the vulnerability of the position, the way he’s pinned. Hob kisses the bend of his knee with a little smile, and then Dream watches down the length of their bodies as Hob takes himself in hand. He’s so hard, glistening with pre at the tip, and Dream swallows jerkily.

“Alright, love?” Hob asks, meeting his eyes. He has always had the brightest, loveliest eyes. Dream holds his gaze and nods. He is not certain that he is, in fact, all right, he feels strange and spun about and immersed in the waking dream of Hob’s bed and Hob’s touch, but he does not want Hob to stop, he wants Hob to fuck him.

Hob presses into him, slowly, pausing when just the head of his cock is sheathed. And Dream— Dream was not prepared, Hob’s fingers did not prepare him for the all around pressure of Hob’s cock, the way it would fill him. It dances on the edge of pain, but he wants more. Already, more.

“More,” he finds himself saying, and Hob chuckles, bracing a hand around the back of Dream’s neck as he complies. This time, he pushes all the way in, not stopping until he bottoms out, groaning at the feeling. Dream clutches at his shoulders, no doubt leaving indents in his skin, body clenching convulsively as he gets used to the feeling of Hob in him.

Hob is inside him. Hob is inside him.

“Dream, you alright? You’re… breathing,” Hob says, petting through his hair. He sounds awed.

Breathing. He is breathing. And he hadn't commanded it so. Hadn't even meant it. Normally Dream forgets to affect such human mannerisms, even when it might be advisable to do so. But now he is breathing. Each one is choppy, three steps up three steps down, somewhere between a breath and a sob.

“I am fine,” he says, and Hob shushes him, kissing his cheek.

“I know you are. It’s alright to get a bit overwhelmed, yeah?” Hob is still in him, Dream can still feel every centimeter of him everywhere, but he doesn’t move. Simply lets Dream settle.

Dream tries to stop the wretched breathing, it makes him feel human and mortal and out of control, but he can’t, this temporary body affixed to this plane by Hob’s weight, his touch. Hob kisses his cheek again, nuzzles at his ear, and gradually Dream finds himself subsiding, relaxing in increments. It occurs to him, through the distant knowledge of the Dreaming, that this softness would not be characteristic of a temporary, experimental experience with a stranger, should Dream have simply wanted to know what it was like. It occurs to him through his own knowledge that this vulnerability he feels, this ability to ease him, is characteristic only of Hob.

He does not yet know what to do with that, but he turns to find Hob’s lips. Hob meets him easily, smiling into the kiss. “With me?” he asks, and Dream nods.

“Yes.”

Then Hob starts to move, slow measured thrusts at first. Dream breathes through each, and perhaps breathing is not so bad, after all, for it settles him, and settling lets him take Hob in, and he wants to take Hob in. It is so good, the slide of him sends sparks all along Dream’s limbs, builds inexorable and tantalizing heat through his body, none of his many dreams conveyed to him just how good it would be, when brought from dreams to reality. From memory to the body. More, even, than this is the sense of Hob’s body over him, the heat of him, and the strength, the breadth of his shoulders, the drag of Hob’s belly over Dream’s prick, the way he moves, expertly pushing Dream higher and oh-so-much faster with each thrust, tapping against that edge of pain-and-too-much without ever letting him fall over it.

Dream is starting to think that, in addition to his general experience, Hob has become quite an expert in knowing what Dream, specifically, might like.

“Good, darling?” Hob asks against his jaw, and Dream means to respond but all that comes out is a whine. He feels Hob’s smile against his skin. “More, then?”

Dream evidently doesn’t have to respond. Hob braces himself more firmly over him, and then he’s moving much faster, and then Dream really loses his senses. Hob bears down on him, levering Dream’s leg back further and deepening the angle, and each thrust hits before Dream has recovered from the last, and Hob’s mouth is on his throat, right over his pulse, which is also hammering—

Hob hits his prostate, and Dream keens as lightning arcs through him. Hob is talking to him now as he does it again and again, saying through panting breaths something like, you’re so good, does that feel good? is’at good for you? fuck you’re gorgeous, but Dream can’t parse much detail. He feels he should be participating more actively, but the wherewithal to do so has slipped away from him, all he can do is take what Hob is giving to him.

Probably that is what Hob wants. Perhaps he has fantasized over their long acquaintance about having Dream bent in just this position. Many might wish to have the Dream Lord at their mercy. Hob’s mercy, however, is a burst of pure heat straight to the soul.

“Hob,” he’s saying when he comes back to himself enough to notice, “Hob, Hob—”

“You’re beautiful like that,” Hob says, voice rough. “Dreamed of it— ha. You make the most beautiful noises.”

They are, in fact, wholly undignified noises, but Dream can’t seem to bring himself to stop; Hob punches each sound of pleasure out of him. He floats. Holds onto Hob’s shoulders. Presses his face to Hob’s and feels the scratch of his stubble. The rough calluses of his hands. The rhythm of Hob’s body is sublime. The kiss that he presses to the corner of Dream’s eye is more so. He is… crying there. Tears spilling over and down his cheeks. Dream has crafted the heights of euphoria within the Dreaming. But. Has any of it ever been as good as this?

He has Hob close to him, around him, in him, and still he wants more. Never again will Dream be able to disdain the office of Desire, not without looking away in shame at the lie.

His release washes over him in a wave that he doesn’t even notice until it peaks, so great is the rest of his pleasure. He gasps as he comes, not even needing Hob’s hand on him, tips his head back on the pillow, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open. Chest heaving. Hob slows, cups Dream’s cheek—until Dream urges him on with an ankle hooked around the back of his thigh, do not stop do not stop do not—

“Alright.” Hob nips at his lower lip in admonishment but he does start fucking him again, clearly chasing his own release now rather than pushing for Dream’s. That edge of pleasure-pain now tips closer to pain but Dream relishes in it. Each stuttered motion of Hob in him is blessed.

“I want,” he manages, throat dry, voice scraped rough from his cries, “to feel you come. In me.”

“Oh fuck,” Hob swears. “Dream.” And that apparently is enough. Hob’s hips stutter quick and he comes, hot spurts in Dream’s body, he can feel it. When Hob's tension eases, when his breath catches up to him, he moves to pull out—but Dream drags him back in. He wants— wants to keep Hob inside him, belly spine lungs throat, bring Hob in and in and hold him there, wants that warmth with him always. He could live like that, with Hob close to him.

Hob helps him lower his leg from his shoulder, stretch out sore muscles, and then lets Dream pull him in close, hold him there, in him, even as he’s going soft. He turns them on their sides, tucks his face in against Dream’s shoulder. Breathes the same air.

“So,” Hob says, after several, very long moments where they’ve been lying quietly together, tacky with sweat, Dream’s limbs all wrapped around Hob and Hob running his hands up and down his back, “how was that?”

“Mm?” Dream is still floating. It’s very pleasant.

He can feel Hob grinning against his shoulder. “You wanted to know what it was like to sleep with a man.”

What it was like. Dream is not certain he knows. He knows that Hob’s arms around him are strong, the touch of his skin pleasant even with the combined heat of their bodies. That he smells of sex and sweat and Dream wants to mire himself in it. He knows that, as Hob does finally, carefully pull out, he can feel Hob’s come dripping sticky over his thighs and rather than being discomforting, it only reminds him how he was wanted. His own come is smeared over Hob’s belly in disorganized lines, and Hob’s hair is ravaged by his fingers. There are still tears drying on Dream’s face. He knows that Hob has had him, now, and is still holding him. That the force of his lovemaking annihilated Dream’s dignity. That Hob wants to kiss him during sex. That at his prolonged silence, Hob looks up, finds his gaze, questioning.

“I am not certain that’s what I studied,” Dream admits. “Or. Learned.”

“Oh? What’d you learn, then?” Hob touches his cheek, as if even parted for a second, he wants to be close to Dream again. “Least tell me if you enjoyed it.”

“I did.” Dream must look ruined, and still Hob must confirm he enjoyed it? “What I learned is not what it is like to be with 'a man'. But rather.” He brushes his thumb over Hob’s lower lip, and Hob’s mouth opens at the movement. “What it is like. To be loved. By a very good friend.”

Hob’s expression crinkles into the softest smile at loved. “Oh, a very good friend, hm?”

“Very good,” Dream says. Presses his hand flat to Hob’s heart. “Uniquely so. Uniquely good to me among friends.” Not that Dream has… friends, plural. Better, then, that Hob is so singular. Singular enough to have nestled somewhere within him, between one meeting, one drink, one kiss and the next, and Dream would no longer be without him. His heart is surrounded by a hazy warmth much softer than the sharp pang of desire, and Hob's bed, Hob's touch, is soothing to him, a blanket he has finally pulled over his shoulders after trying to brave the lingering cold. Like so much this evening, it feels strange, and like so much this evening, it feels too good to shy away.

Hob leans in to kiss him, a soft drag of lips over his. “Good. Can I convince my friend to go in for a shower? Tea, maybe? Can I convince him to stay the night and keep exploring that friendship?”

Hob has taken care of him this evening, has not yet lead him astray, and so Dream lets him pull him out of bed and to his feet. In the shower, under the rushing hot water, Hob kisses him, kisses him, kisses him, rough, inelegant, consumed by feeling, hands curled around Dream’s hips. Dream will not make dreams out of this night, after all, he thinks. Selfishly, he wants to keep it to himself.

Peerless among friends, Hob Gadling, he thinks, as Hob makes him tea. As Hob tugs him back over the threshold, into the bedroom, into the mess they’ve made of the sheets. Peerless among friends.

Among lovers, too, perhaps.

#tfw ur having casual sex with ur homie to learn what its like to get dicked down then oh no youre having a gay awakening oh NO youre having #a romantic awakening about your homie too. we've all been there #my writing #dreamling #dreamling fic #dream of the endless #hob gadling #dream x hob #you best believe 'i serve at your pleasure' plays over and over and over and over in dream's mind for weeks after #btw the poem hob quotes is 'to a stranger'#nsft

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coryosmin · 3 months

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being commander hoff’s daughter and flirting w sej and coryo 😩😩 especially while they’re doing push-ups or something and they’re all sweaty. and then one night when your dad is out you sneak them into your house and you fuck… ughhh

nsfw | mdni | fem!reader

okayokayokay so it definitely would’ve started with you visiting your dad at work one day when he was training the new cadets. you kinda just visited him just so you can look at sweaty men but your dad didn’t need to know that. and that’s when you met sejanus and coriolanus. your father introduced you to the two of them, thinking they’re the most respectful cadets out of all of the others because they’re from the capitol.

you couldn’t help almost gasping at the sight of them. they’re so handsome. with their beautiful facial features and their nice builds. they were just so hot and sexy, you had to have them.

being the commander’s daughter, it wasn’t surprising when you began visiting more frequently. in fact, your father liked being able to see you as it allowed him to be sure that his daughter was safe and not getting into trouble, though you rarely got into trouble. as you visited more frequently, you got to talk to coryo and sej more frequently.

one night, when you were at the hob, watching the covey perform, you bumped into sejanus and coriolanus. and one thing led to another where you were bringing them home. your father was out getting drunk with some friends and wouldn’t be home likely until tomorrow morning. so you had your house free.

which ultimately led you being railed by coriolanus on your hands and knees on your bed while you sucked sejanus off. you moaned around sejanus’s cock, looking up at him with glimmering and pretty eyes. sejanus smiled looking down at you, grunting. “look at you, angel.” sejanus said, caressing your cheek with his hand. “swallowing my cock so good while coryo fucks you.”

coryo was pounding into you so hard and you were absolutely loving it. he was breathing harshly as he thrusted into your pussy. “she’s such a slut, sej. needing two cocks at the same time? what a whore.” he said harshly, smacking your ass as he said so.

you moaned, sucking sej’s cock. coryo’s harsh words mixed with sej’s sweet words really did wonders for you. you were so wet, absolutely in heaven with the feeling of coryo’s cock buried so deep inside of you while sej fucked your mouth. “be nice, coryo,” sej chastised. “she’s doing so well taking us both.”

coryo leaned forward, pressing his front against your back as he grips your hair. “i think she’s quite enjoying my harsh words, sej, with the way she’s clenchin around me.” he groaned, thrusting his hips. you moaned at the deeper angle. you took sejanus’s cock deeper into your mouth.

sejanus moaned as he bucked his hips, his cock hitting your throat. he thrusted his cock inside your mouth, careful to not make you gag. and within a few minutes, he was groaning, cumming down your throat. you swallowed his cum like a good girl, not spilling any of it. sejanus smiled as he pulled out of your mouth. “such a good girl,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss you.

coriolanus continued to pound you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “you gonna cum for me, darling?” he asked, his breathing uneven. you were just so tight around his cock, he didn’t know how much longer he could last.

you nodded your head, pulling away from sej’s lips. “so close, coryo. so so close.” you whined.

“fuck,” coryo said. after a few more powerful thrusts, you were cumming and gushing on his cock as he came inside of you, moaning.

and as you guys came down from your highs, you three collapsed on the bed. it was silent for a few minutes until sejanus broke the silence. “we should do that again,” he murmured.

which ultimately led to you having sex with them at least two more times that night.

#the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #minsasks #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow x reader #thg tbosas #thg #tbosas #sejanus plinth #sejanus plinth x reader #coriolanus x you x sejanus #coriolanus x sejanus x reader #snowjanus smut #snowjanus x reader

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just-j-really · 7 months

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Concept that grabbed me and wouldn't let me go:

Dreamling soulmate AU, only they're not soulmates.

I have ideas for the canon timeline, but for the sake of argument, let's go with a modern AU. Dream and Hob aren't friends, exactly, but they're in the same friend circle, so they see each other fairly often. And one night, Dream's been dragged out drinking with some friends, and he overhears a very drunk Hob saying that soulmates are stupid, HE'S not going to go along with it, he'll fall in love with whoever he wants! So Dream (a hopeless romantic) makes some sort of bet with him, that when he finds his soulmate he'll be blissfully happy with her.

After that, whenever they run into each other at other's friends' events Dream will ask Hob if he's met his soulmate (Eleanor, according to the messy handwriting on Hob's arm), and Hob will be like "Nope! But I've got a job at this weird startup!" and then talk at him for three hours. The bet goes from a bet they're taking seriously to an excuse to talk to each other to a Weird Bit that's an essential part of their friendship.

And they are, genuinely, friends at this point, which is why it's such a betrayal for Dream when Hob answers his joking "found your soulmate yet?" with a quiet, "I think I might have. He's been asking me that question for like a year now."

Dream does not take this well. He believes in soulmates, wholeheartedly. He can't figure out a single interpretation of Hob's declaration that doesn't leave him feeling used: best-case scenario Hob legit believes what he's saying (but is still using Dream in this obviously doomed experiment of his), worst-case scenario Hob's noticed that Dream is attracted to him (even if that will never ever go any further than meaningless attraction because they are not soulmates) and is deliberately trying to take advantage of him to prove his point.

They argue. Dream storms off.

Somewhere in here, Dream has a relationship with his Actual Literal Soulmate, Alianora. It is extremely Messy, and she breaks it off because they may be soulmates but clearly this is not working. She's not the first person ever to end things with their soulmate, but it's extremely rare, and the fallout is shit-awful for both of them because everyone in their lives is trying to figure out whose fault it was, never mind that the answer was "nobody's- they met under really awful circumstances and the specific cocktail of that and the pressure, both internal and external, they were under to Be Perfectly Happy Together Forever just. Poisoned their relationship and they didn't deal with it until it exploded and by then it was too late."

Eventually, Dream and Hob resolve their argument, complete with an inn-building-equivalent Big Gesture from Hob. Their relationship goes back to the way it was, mostly, except that Dream is undeniably aware that Hob is sad and pining after Dream and trying to hide it from him. And Hob being sad is Basically the Worst Thing That Could Possibly Happen.

Dream is... more aware of the implications of that thought than he'd like to be.

And once he's noticed that it's really, really hard not to notice how gorgeous Hob is when he smiles, the way his heart flutters whenever Hob calls him a nickname or makes sure to grab Dream a coffee when he gets one for himself, the fact that he'd be perfectly happy sitting and listening to Hob talk for hours...

And things are different now. Dream's soulmate doesn't want him, he's not betraying her if he starts a doomed relationship with someone else. Hob will be happy. The only person getting hurt here will be Dream, when Hob inevitably meets his soulmate. He's setting himself up to get hurt, yes, but at least he'll get to be happy with Hob before that.

So one night he very tentatively asks if Hob still meant what he said, about Dream being his soulmate. Hob's like "Crap I thought I was hiding it I'm so sorry I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

Dream's like "You are not actually that subtle. But I'm. Glad. You still feel that way."

It takes Hob a few seconds and a fairly terrible emotional rollercoaster to figure out what Dream meant by that, and Dream is not good about clarifying. But when he does he asks Dream on a date, and Dream agrees, and before he knows what's hit him Hob's moved in with him and is very cautiously hinting around about engagement rings and he can't possibly be in love with Hob, right? Whatever's between them is too easy, too natural, too much like they added romance to their existing friendship and somehow it worked perfectly and-

Oh. Shit.

And just when Dream realizes he's invested- not just invested, committed, this was Absolutely Not how the story's supposed to go and it's terrifying but he desperately wants it anyway- just when he's got something to lose-

Hob meets Eleanor.

And almost immediately asks if Dream would mind him explaining things to her one-on-one, since he thinks it would go more smoothly that way. Dream says he doesn't, and braces himself. It's not that he thinks Hob is lying to him. He 100% trusts that Hob has made this meeting to turn Eleanor down.

He's just also 100% certain that the moment Hob has a conversation with his soulmate he'll realize just how important a soulmate is, that Dream was right and that next to the person he's destined for, Dream means nothing to him.

When Hob gets back from the meeting he's happier than Dream's seen him in months, maybe ever, and Dream braces himself.

But the first thing Hob does after closing the door is kiss Dream, for several minutes.

And the second thing he does is excitedly tell Dream, "It went really well! She said I'm not worth it!"

And Dream's like "...what."

And Hob explains that he'd told Eleanor that he was very sorry, but he already had a soulmate, and she'd been upset but essentially told him "Yeah fine, if you're this adamant about not wanting a soulmate it is not at all worth it for me to pursue anything," with a grudging sort of understanding.

And Dream's like "...what."

And they go back and forth for a bit until finally Dream's like "But she's your SOULMATE. You're not even going to TRY to have something with your soulmate in order to stay with a man who is so bad at romance his soulmate left him."

And Hob's like "I've been saying for years now that you're my perfect other half, soulmates and destiny be damned, and I meant it. You're perfect, and I'm not letting you go for anything."

And Dream... still can't entirely believe in an undying non-soulmate romance the way Hob does. But he wants to, and he trusts Hob enough to try. And several years later they're married, maybe talking about kids, and in some mundane little domestic moment Dream realizes he does entirely believe in this now, in a way that snuck up on him gradually.

And he tells Hob he's won the bet.

#dreamling #the anti-soulmate au #the follow up to this is Eleanor and Alianora doing an enemies-to-lovers thing #with dreamling being obnoxiously domestic in the background #my fic #unsoulmates au

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honeybeezgobzzzzz · 4 months

Text

𓅨 Eros: Chapter One

Eros: Married to Dream of the Endless, you find yourself sent back in time to Ancient Greece where you, unfortunately, meet Oneiros. Fresh off a divorce and drowning the sorrows of his son’s death by indulging in the Panathenaia, you find yourself trapped beneath the lustful gaze of your future husband. In your defense, he seduced you first…

Warnings: Language, Time Travel.

To Note: Morpheus x Wife!Reader, Time Travel, Oneiros is used for AncientGreek!Morpheus.

Word Count: ~2.9k

Masterlist | Next

You spent a lot of time staring at the throne adjacent to the intricately carved marble one depicting the helm of Dream of the Endless. It was more feminine, carved out of the same marble as the Morpheus’, but designed with a softer touch. It was a marble forest, twisting branches and flowers that were inspired by Fiddler’s Green, your fingers always ended up tracing little grooves and bumps absentmindedly.

“Hey boss lady,” You turned your head in time to see Matthew fluttering his way up to your shoulder. His feet clutched the fabric of your sweater and shuffled his wings, looking at the two thrones. “You know you’ve been married for like, two months… right?”

“Distinctly,” You answered dryly, having very vivid memories of your wedding night. You hadn’t left the bed for three days, and then couldn’t walk right for three weeks. Morpheus had been very smug with the way you hobbled around, while you felt like crawling into a hole in embarrassment. You’d married a voracious Endless that aspired to paint every millimeter of your body with his love, and ensure that everyone knew it. “But it’s not like I was born knowing I was going to marry an Endless and become the queen of a realm.”

“True, true,” Matthew echoed with a bob of his head. “But ma’am, has anything actually changed in your life? Ignoring the fact that you live here now…”

You thought about Matthew’s words. Not much had changed in your life save your happiness. You had only ever really felt happy when visiting the Dreaming, so there wasn’t much you missed in the Waking. The people in the Dreaming themselves had always gone to you for advice now that you thought about it. They felt confident speaking to you about their problems… so you had been their queen long before you became their official one.

“No, nothings really changed… and it’s just a title,” You mused softly walking towards your throne and running your fingers along the warm marble. Warm and cool, just like you and Morpheus. You were an unusual pairing and not one that you’d think would work in the first place. “Alright, I’ve stared at the thrones for long enough, it’s time to go outside and touch some grass.”

“Ya know I think Lord Dream could touch some grass time to time,” Matthew muttered from your shoulder. “He’s been kinda uptight lately.”

“Probably cause of all the changes, you know he likes things certain ways,” You said dryly, thinking back to all the arguments you’d gotten into with him just because he was being a giant dunderhead who didn’t want to listen to you and pretended that your opinion and decision didn’t matter.

“Yeah you might be onto something,” Matthew chirped in agreement. Exiting the palace, you wandered through the gardens while letting your fingers brush along the flowers and bushes of the garden. “But at least he’s trying!” Matthew added, trying to be positive about his boss.

“He got pissy with me because I wanted to take a walk in London by myself after we had lunch with Hob,” You couldn’t help but point out. “It was London, in the middle of the day when families were having picnics!”

“And we both know humans can be assholes,” Matthew reminded you. “The boss doesn’t have a lot of good experience with mortals to go off of.”

“Pretty sure I have more experience in the human department than he does?”

“Point,” The raven agreed, taking off and swooping through the limp branches of the weeping willow in front of you. You passed beneath the little tunnel of gnarled branches carefully grown and kicked out your foot. You’d been feeling antsy lately, cooped up and in need of stretching your limbs. Maybe you’d go for a swim? Morpheus didn’t exactly like you swimming in the Ocean of Dreams, but you and the entity had a pretty good relationship and she didn’t try to drown you when you went swimming. “He’s still gonna throw a tantrum.”

“And I dare you to say that to his face,”

“I’ll pass I like having feathers… and living in general...” Matthew shuddered to think what Morpheus’ reaction would be of learning he’d said that.

“It would be funny though,” You giggled to yourself, imaging the initial confusion that would cross Morpheus’ face… then perhaps just a hint of an eye tick, then the whole: you dare… Your husband was entirely too predictable at times and you found it very amusing. You were deaf to Matthew’s disgruntled grumbles and continued walking, not realizing that your feet were carrying you towards the beaches of the Ocean of Dreams.

“Holy shit,” Matthew’s curse behind you jarred you from your thoughts. It wasn’t hard to figure out what had caused him to curse, the Ocean of Dreams was churning in unhappiness. High above violent waters were storm clouds, flickering with lightning and letting out echoed of thunder. “Uh, you ever seen this before ma’am?”

“No,” You informed the raven, trying to see if you could feel what was wrong to have the Ocean of Dreams so agitated. “Matthew return to Lucienne, speak with her about this matter. Surely she has a clue.”

“Right on it, boss lady,” Matthew called before surging into the air and flying back to the palace as fast as he could. While Matthew was doing as you asked, you quickly hurried up to the waters edge. Oh yes, something had agitated the Ocean of Dreams, she was not happy. Without hesitation, you strode into the cold water, determined to figure this out. Morpheus was away on business, you could handle this, you could handle this.

When you were waist deep, you dove deeper, fully submerging yourself. The water, while a usual chilly cold, seemed to be colder than normal. Even the currents were stronger, more aggressive. You tried to look around for the physical manifestation of the Ocean in the form of your shadow figure, but you couldn’t see her anywhere. A smattering of bubbles escaped your lips as you sighed in frustration and swam further towards the depths. In your efforts to hunt down the physical manifestation of the Ocean of Dreams, you failed to notice that the currents were getting far too strong for you to swim through.

Now, you didn’t need to breathe oxygen thank to Morpheus making you immortal… but it wasn’t exactly comfortable holding your breath, or accidentally inhaling the salty water. So when your body began getting tossed and turned like you were in a hamster ball and it was being shaken, you started panicking. Floundering, the water around you began shifting from chilly cold to warm… and then back again. Cold. Warm. Cold. Warm. Cold. Warm. Your arms cartwheeled through the salt water until the temperature stayed warm and a bright light appeared. The storm must have finally disappeared!

You kicked your way towards the surface, hoping that Lucienne would know why the Ocean of Dreams had gotten so upset and the weather so irritable. The moment your face broke the surface you knew that something was very wrong.

First, it was way to hot for you to be in the dreaming. Second, it didn’t sound like you were in the dreaming. Third? When you opened your eyes you were most definitely not in the Dreaming!

“Ah shit,”

You spent a solid five minutes panicking about the fact that you were most definitely not in the Dreaming anymore. Morpheus was going to go ballistic when he found out. Then your panic increased because you didn’t know where you were, and you were in the middle of an ocean! At least you could see land, but it was a distance away from you. Still coming to grips with what you were dealing with because hello, some magic fuckery had just occurred and you were not kosher with it, you paddled towards a weird looking boat in the distance.

As you grew closer, you could hear shouting in a language you didn’t quite understand, and the sounds of screaming. Focusing on the words, the power Morpheus imbued within you shifted the strange words until you could understand them. Greek. A child had fallen overboard. Your eyes dropped to the water and you spotted a dark haired child splashing around violently. You didn’t think twice about quickly swimming towards the child as they disappeared beneath the surface of the water.

Dipping back below the oceans surface, you swam your way over to the squirming child, a girl. She was wrapped up in a beautiful white cloth that was currently hindering her ability to swim. You made to her and wrapped your arms around her thin body before looking up and kicking your way back to the surface. When your head broke the surface, you made sure you pulled the child up so her head too, was above the choppy waters.

She was clutching your forearm in a death grip, nails digging into your flesh. You were glad that she wasn’t trying to claw her way on top of you. Spitting out ocean water you’d accidentally swallowed, you began carefully side stroking your way over to the odd boat. You weren’t sure what was going to happen, given that people didn’t just appear it the middle of the ocean. As it turned out, luck was on your side and the greeks who hauled you and the little girl up onto the ship were entirely convinced that you were some lost noble… all because of of the clothes you wore.

Apparently only the rich and noble people of Greece could afford to wear purple clothing.

The boat was taking the little girl, a daughter of one of the nobles in Athens (how the hell did you end up in Ancient Greece?), home after visiting her aunt in Crete. She’d accidentally tumbled over the side and now refused to let you go for fear of a repeated event. So you were awkwardly standing around in your ‘strange clothes’ while the little girl held onto you like a baby monkey. At least when the boat docked at the harbor of the ancient city of Athens, in all its blazing glory, you were offered a cloak to cover your strange clothing.

Clearly the little girl you’d rescued came from a very rich family, because the carriage that you’d been herded into was lavish. You sat inside it while warriors on horses surrounded you, and spent a good twenty minutes trying to think of what the hell you were going to do, let alone say, because this was way out of your realm of expertise.

“What is your name?” Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. Well, they already thought you were some lost noble or princess… might as well play it off as some greek god blessing or something… hopefully the gods wouldn’t be too upset with you. Not that they would be able to raise hand towards an Endless’ wife…

“You may call me Elpis,” You told the little girl. “What is yours?”

“Kynna, are you the great spirit Elpis mama told me about?” Soft brown eyes gazed at you with such reverence, you wanted to say yes and make her dreams come true. But you couldn’t exactly claim to be someone you were not. You stroked your hand over her still damp hair.

“I’m afraid it is only a name sake,” You replied, lifting your gaze to see several grand buildings pass by as the carriage rattled and shook. “I was lost at sea but the gods brought me to you.”

“Well if you’re lost… you can just live with us while we find your family!” Kynna exclaimed with a wide beaming smile. “Panathenaia is starting tomorrow, they’ll be lots of parties and pretty dresses, and we get to give a new peplos to Athena!”

“I don’t think that will be up to me,” Your words didn’t hinder the excited babbles of Kynna, and while she continued to talk animatedly, you mulled over what you were going to say when you got to your destination.

You didn’t have to say much, the greek noble woman of Kynna’s family, along with the other aristocratic women from surrounding families living in the housing surrounding the communal living space and baths, were entirely convinced you were an aristocrat who had some how fallen overboard and lost most of her memory. You were fine playing amnesiac as it meant less questions. You just had to get used to a different lifestyle while you tried to figure out what the hell had happened to you.

A circle of woman around your age, Merope, Agapia, and Helike, had taken you under their wing while servants scurried about in preparation for the Panathenaia. Your modern clothes had been ditched for a silk peplum that draped around your body and showed skin in several places, and you’d been adorned with a multitude of jewelry by Kynna’s father for saving his little girl. In essence, you looked exactly like the woman everyone thought you to be: Elpis, a greek aristocrat with amnesia.

You’d spent the first couple of days hiding out in Kynna’s household, not sure of yourself and not wanting to make trouble for the family, but your trio of new friends had convinced you to come out to the communal space on the promise of seeing several handsome men and enjoyable drink and food. Eye candy and snacks, you were down for that. So you were walking with your gaggle of friends and contributing to the objectification of several fine greek men who had arrived home for the Panathenaia, when Merope had wanted to visit the sun room to see what special guests had arrived.

“Oh I heard Theos returned from Sparta looking for a wife.” Agapia gushed as she combed her fingers through her hair.

“Forgive me for not immediately fawning over this Theos… who is he?” You asked as Merope and Helike giggled.

“He’s Athen’s most prized warrior, competed in the last Olympic Games and won several events.” Agapia explained to you as your group walked beneath a trellis tunnel of roses. She went on to explain, in detail, every millimeter of the specimen known as Theos and by the time Helike was telling Agapia to stop drooling, you were very interested in seeing if this Greek was as handsome and strong as he sounded.

“Oh don’t stop now, you’ve gotten me interested,” You mused with a soft laugh while passing a group of men who eyed each and everyone one of you. Your laugh was like a gentle bell softly ringing and easily drew eyes. Helike rolled her eyes, Agapia was oblivious (far too busy drooling), and Merope fluttered her eyelashes but stayed silent.

“I am sure there shall be a man at the festival who willwin your hand, Elpis,” Agapia said while holding her hands to her chest. “Because while we all know that you’ve got heads turning, you appear to have very little interest in those we have crossed paths with so far. Mark my words, you shall find someone you desire by the end of Panathenaia.”

You rolled your eyes, you’d humor the women. They’d been so kind and generous to you despite you being a total stranger… but it wasn’t like you could admit that you were already married, and didn’t even belong in this era.

“As you say, Pia,”

“Oh, I can’t believe it!” Merope gasped quietly the moment you entered a large room with many lounging chairs and dozens of greeks laying about. You hummed in question and looked at her. “Lord Oneiros has decided to be in attendance!”

Something perked up within you at the mention of Oneiros, and your head snapped to the dark haired beauty in confusion.

“Sorry, did you say Oneiros?” You asked, your voice coming out in an odd tone. You’d heard that name before, when Morpheus had assisted Calliope upon hearing her call. She referred to him as Oneiros. Morpheus was Oneiros. How could he be here? The girls gathered around you and gestured to a corner of the room. Your eyes followed and you felt your heart freeze your chest. This wasn’t possible, was it?

How could it be that your dark and broody husband, was sitting in the corner of the room dressed in robes of black, complete with a laurel crown perched upon his midnight curls? You trembled in place, fighting against the urge to charge forwards and throw yourself at him because you really missed your husband and just wanted to go home. But as you gazed at the Dream Lord, you began picking up on his mood, his temperament. He was surrounded by a cloud of pain that you could feel in your heart, deep within his beautiful blue eyes was a raw hurt that nearly pulsated from his being. Oh. Oh fuck. Ancient Greece… Calliope the Muse… Orpheus. As if feeling your stare, sharp blue eyes shifted and met yours. No recognition could be found within their depths. He didn’t know you. But he was intrigued.

“I wonder who the lucky women will be this year,” Agapia softly wondered, the other two agreeing with her sentiments. “They say he is a voracious lover, indulging in the delights of many before finally picking the ones he desires.”

A dark eyebrow rose ever so slightly accompanied by the smallest of smirks, and something within you cracked. He was Morpheus, but he wasn’t yours. You felt like you couldn’t breathe and quickly tore your eyes away from those of the Dream Lord.

“We should fill our bellies before the rest of the men arrive, the gods know they’ll eat it all,” You rushed out, your heart pounding in your chest painfully. Herding your friends in the opposite direction of Oneiros, you were desperate to get away from the being that you, one day, would call yours.

Date Published: 12/30/23

Last Edit: 12/30/23

Masterlist | Next

#dream the endless #morpheus x reader #sandman x reader #dream of the endless x reader #dream the endless x reader #morpheus #the sandman #dream of the endless #the sandman netflix #lord morpheus

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landwriter · 1 year

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hob gadling being so goddamn normal compared to his anthropomorphic husband, in-laws, and husband's social circle that he circles right back around to being the more sus/shady one OR hob gadling keeps accidentally derailing dream's attempts to be King of Nightmares by horny vibes/going "joke's on you, i'm into it"/"promise?" to any and all threats

Hob isn't normal, is the thing. He's not. He never was. He was smouldering with strangeness and hunger long before his future sister-in-law took one look at him and decided he'd be good for her little brother.

He asked her, once, bit drunk, if that was why she chose him: if she'd heard him forswearing her in the White Horse and looked at him, peered into the contents of his soul, and thought: well, there's one at least as stubborn as my brother - maybe they'll be good for each other. She'd just smiled and waited for Hob to take another sip before saying, "Good? I just thought it would be interesting," and twinkled at him when he sputtered. Hob said older sisters were terrors, and they'd toasted to that.

Whether she'd intended or not, they were good for each other, him and Dream. It took them a little bit to realize, a small handful of centuries holding one another at arm's length for fear of what would be seen any closer. Then they'd crashed together anyways, and it had turned out they were matched not just in that bloody-minded stubbornness to keep a decent thing going, but also in all the intensity they'd tried to smother to do so, the roaring hunger and devotion and need; the both of them strange creatures capable of giving so much and greedy enough to take just as much in kind.

On the outside, though, others see Dream, his distance, his power, the thunder of his voice, and don't see it as the armour it is, the necessary carapace protecting the sort of tender feelings that could scorch the entire earth, because he is a vessel for human emotions that are strong enough to live on in stories and dreams, because he is, in that respect, - and Hob gets choked up about this, if he allows himself to think about it too much - fundamentally more human than him, than all of them, the embodiment of every fantasy and fear and tall tale of men, tending to them each night, taking no rest for himself.

On the outside, others see Hob, his banal humanness, and other humans assume the rest of him is the same, and so do most non-humans, except they're baffled by it, baffled by why he is Dream's husband. So he plays it up, because it's funny, and if they're too incurious or gullible to figure out what lays beneath, then that's alright, because his husband figured it out, and loves him for it, and that's all he needs.

Dream didn't understand at first why Hob acted extra human whenever they mingled with other capital-e Entities and inhuman sorts, but now he finds it so amusing as well that Hob wonders how the gig isn't up from the moment anyone sees his twitching smirk. His husband has a terrible poker face, Hob thinks.

He's much better at pretending. In fact, he's so good at performing the petty normality expected of him that it goes full circle and becomes, somehow, magnetically strange to all the fantastical creatures in his husband's social circle.

He had not realized the heady effect of normal human upon non-humans until the time he had gone to a Samhain 'do in the Underhill, in his formal role as Prince Consort to the Lord Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, first of his name, et cetera, and, rather comfortable with those sort of events by then, which were really not that dissimilar to interdepartmental faculty parties, with all the posturing and alcohol, only far better outfits, had, a bit soused on the fantastic elphin mead, accidentally started talking with a member of the faerie delegation about the football tables. At first he thought he'd committed a faux pas when the faerie just stared at him, slack-jawed, but later that night, he'd found himself surrounded by a cluster of wide-eyed dryads and undine and fae, gratifyingly holding court on why Billy Wright had been such a shite Arsenal manager. Apparently, it was the highlight of the evening.

It also helps grease the wheels of immortal statecraft, which Hob thinks of as something of a secondary benefit to making his husband smile. He would be a fierce bodyguard and soldier for Dream, in a heartbeat, he would curry favour on his behalf with pretty words and eager gladhanding, but what works out best, he's realized, is when important folk approach them to talk shop with Dream, to head it off with warm conversation about things like Tube construction, ABBA, and sausage rolls, until they look thoroughly disconcerted, before gracefully handing them off to his husband.

Whenever the occasion allows it, he'll skip on the finery too (another thing, he thinks, that he only cares about his husband seeing). Once, a baku ambassador, himself arrayed in glorious golden robes that matched his sharp gilt claws, had been so baffled by Hob's appearance on the arm of Dream, in his ratty old jeans and a United jersey he got as a gag gift once (and, on principle, refuses to wear in the Waking) that the chimera had absently agreed with Dream's suggestion for revised quotas on devouring nightmares.

Dream had been so delighted by that victory that he'd pressed Hob up against the front door of their flat in Islington, the moment they got back in, and laid kisses all over the hideous jersey, murmuring that Hob was a fearsome diplomat, and Hob had laughed and said he was only a distraction, then let Dream drag him to the bedroom anyways to thank him for his contribution.

Some see what's underneath, of course, and Hob's just as glad for that too.

The second time they'd had dinner with Crowley and Aziraphale, well past the food and making excellent headway on the rest of the wine, Dream had been called away on urgent business. Hob thought the night would end there, but the moment Dream left, Crowley had leveled an unsober finger of accusation at Hob and said, "Don't think I can't tell what you're doing."

Hob hadn't needed to try and look confused, but then Crowley leaned in and said, conspiratorially and only accidentally hissing a little, "This 'regular bloke' thing, but you're worssse than him, aren't you? Bet you are. Bet anything," and Aziraphale had genuinely emitted a tiny gasp of affront on Hob's behalf, and Hob was too busy laughing to say that he wasn't wrong at all, while Crowley gleefully swiveled around and said "I told you so, angel. S'obvious. Humansss. Not a normal one among 'em."

It was a lovely thing to say, actually, and all too easy for Hob to forget sometimes, being a particularly abnormal human leading a particularly abnormal life. But Crowley knew what he was talking about. He spent far more time with humanity compared to most of the inhuman lot. When Hob had made him promise to keep his secret from the rest of them - humanity's secret, really - and explained why, Crowley had laughed and laughed and laughed. He thinks it's the moment they became proper friends.

Hob isn't normal, is the thing.

But it's fun to don it like ceremonial garb and be an ambassador of humanity twice over: in truth and performance both. It's fun to be exactly what's expected and still disconcert.

And most of all, it's fun to go back home with his husband, to their terribly normal human flat, and curl up together in their terribly normal human bed, and watch Dream's face flush with pride or amusement as he debriefs Hob on what chaos he's wrought this time, intentionally or otherwise, with his terribly normal human presence, and Hob just laughs, then smiles until his face hurts, because Dream is his husband, wholly apart from humanity and still the most human creature Hob has met, and he knows all the ways that Hob feels like both, too.

#dreamling #the sandman #asks #hob gadling #dream of the endless #my writing #prompt fill #he IS normal in a lot of ways too but you know unreliable narrator #weaponizing ur banality against the eldritch and fantastical #mostly bc ur husband finds it funny #new headcanon: crowley and hob are absolutely best mates #little feral creatures who understand the horrors and delights of humankind alike #hedonists who love modern inventions and distrust large bureaucracies #whose luddite partners are very lovely but fundamentally would rather be in a library reading old books

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dailydreamling · 4 months

Text

Canon Divergence

My Stranger, My Dream by SigniorBenedickofPadua (Words: 67,154)

Warning: Non-Graphic Violence

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Roderick Burgess' spell does not summon Death, but someone who has been touched by Death. Hob Gadling ends up in his cellar instead of Dream.

Canon Divergence

your body is an anchor by Ark (Words: 6,792 )

Warning: None

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

"The love of your life," Dream says softly. "That is quite a declaration to make, Hob Gadling, when one considers how many lives you've lived, and how many still await you."

Canon Divergence

in my mind's eye (i create someone i could love endlessly) by youcanseethecosmos (Words: 21,740)

Warning: None

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Because home isn’t a place – not for Hob Gadling. It’s quiet conversations and purple and pink galaxies within starlit eyes. It’s glow-in-the-dark stickers and running around barefoot in the rain. It’s stubborn excuses, heated arguments, and the dip in the mattress with whispers of "I’m sorry" through the old creaky bed springs. It’s lifting the blanket and feeling a grounding warmth curl into your chest and letting it stay there long after the morning sun has risen.

It’s jet black hair, gangly limbs, and pale skin. Home is the person who’s holding onto him like a lifeline. Because Hob likes to think Dream sees this as home too – sees Hob as home.

Canon Divergence

A Waking Nightmare by KydrogenDragon (Words: 17,303)

Warning: Implied/Referenced Drug Use

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Hob has started hallucinating his Stranger for the past seventy-odd years. When his Stranger actually turns up, he thinks it's another hallucination. Shenanigans ensue to get the pair on the same page.

Canon Divergence

fly me to the moon by apocryphal (Words: 11,857)

Warning: Ambiguous Slash, Panic Attacks, PTSD

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Dream discovers that after being locked in a cage for a century, it turns out he's contracted the mortal affliction known as claustrophobia. Inconvenient. He enlists Hob to help him resolve this issue ASAP. Obviously, that goes well.

See below for more recommendations!

Canon Divergence

Metaphysics by Quilling (Words: 3,199)

Warning: Dubious Morality, Canon and Historically Typical Violence

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

In order to perfect humanity’s own dark mirror, one needs not look for evil or greed. In the true heart of darkness lies a sort of ambiguity. Hob taught him that.

Canon Divergence

In Waking Dreams by cuubism (Words: 49,309)

Warning: None

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

In 1389, Hob married a man in his dreams, a lover conjured only by his imagination -- or so he thought. Five hundred years later, a mysterious ransom letter has Hob questioning everything he knew about his dream husband, who coincidentally disappeared from his dreams seventy years ago.

Several miles away, trapped in a glass bowl, said husband is really regretting letting his marriage be only a story in dreams.

Canon Divergence

the shape this light could take by bacondoughnut (Words: 12,617)

Warning: PTSD, Emotional Baggage, Trauma

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

In Hob's defense, he doesn't think anyone in the history of people keeping fish as pets has ever been so offended by a standard glass fishbowl.

Canon Divergence

Dream of a thousand kisses by fellshish (Words: 6,335)

Warning: None

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Dream wants his reunion with Hob to go perfectly after their big fight so he visits Hob’s dreams to rehearse the moment. During one of those practice dreams, Hob suddenly kisses him.

Alternate Universe - Post The Kindly Ones

Beautiful, Strange and New by Moorishflower (Words: 223,030)

Warning: References to The Kindly Ones, Suicidal Thoughts

Pairings: Dream of the Endless | Daniel/Hob Gadling/Dream of the Endless | Morpheus

On a bright and unforgiving Sunday morning, Hob Gadling, having attended the Wake of his best friend, opens his kitchen door to find...his best friend. Changed. Alive. Human, and carried in the arms of the being intended to replace him. Given one month to decide if life is worth living, Hob and Daniel attempt to convince Morpheus of his worth at the same time as all three of them navigate their feelings for each other.

Alternate Universe - Overture

Forgotten Preludes by Astrophel_Hireath (Words: 6,438)

Warning: Bittersweet, Memory Loss

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

“Fuck it,” Hob mutters, a series of complex emotions tumbling across his face in quick succession to each other - too fast for Dream to log. Fingers tap compulsively at Hob’s side, fidgeting in deep conflict. “I definitely won’t remember any of this?”

Dream’s brows slant. “No.”

"Perfect.” Hob says, only somewhat hysterically, before closing the distance between them in three purposeful steps.

Hob’s Students Fics

WTF is Gadling's Deal, Anyway? (Assorted Theories) by JustJReally (Words: 13,915)

Warning: None

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Five theories Professor Gadling's students came up with to explain His Whole Deal (and one time he told them the truth). In which Morpheus is mistaken for a student, Hob is mistaken for many things, and no one is good at spying.

Hob’s Students Fics

Quarantine Debacles by Picture_Yourself (Words: 3,964)

Warning: None

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

An examination of what exactly would occur if one were to take an oblivious anthropomorphic personification of dreams, a rant-prone history teacher and a Zoom call filled with queer students and toss them all into one metaphorical room.

Canon Divergence

A Dream interrupted by ColorMeHappy (Words: 30,763)

Warning: None

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Meeting Dream had gone from once a century occurrence to every six months, to just every month, then to around once a week, a change of pace Hob would be eternally grateful for, if only people stopped bloody interrupting them.

(Five times someone in Hob's life interrupts him and Dream's meetings (dates) and one time it's someone Dream knows.)

Human AU

would you let me know?/ I could make some time if you wanted by BeatnikFreak (Words: 150,934)

Warning: None

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Dr Hob Gadling's been assigned a new colleague to co-teach his second year class, Dr Dream Oneiros, who is both utterly beautiful and completely unable to act like, y'know, a human being. But Hob's nothing if not indefatigable, especially when faced with a fascinating man who probably needs to talk about his feelings more, and who listens to every stupid thing he says like it's the most profound poetry.

Human AU

On Broken Wings by Konstadt (Words: 57,191)

Warning: Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

An AU where they meet on the university campus and Hob gets more than he bargained for when he decides to be a good person

Human AU

Let Me Down Easy by sanyumi (Words: 21,747)

Warning: None

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

“... Mr. Gadling will be your photographer today.” Hob hears Morpheus’ shoes scuff and halt on the wooden floor before he turns around, taking a deep breath and holding it as he finally meets Morpheus’ eyes for the first time in five years. Christ, Morpheus looks at him like he’s staring at a ghost. It almost makes Hob laugh.

“Hello,” Hob croaks. He knows this is the part he usually shakes hands with his model, but he doesn’t move his hand. He doesn’t want to touch Morpheus.

Canon Divergence

wouldn't you like to see something strange? by rainbow_shine (Words: 3,629)

Warning: None

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Dream looked exactly the same as always. Yes, his coat was longer and his eyes were darker, but that was it. There was absolutely nothing that would indicate that his friend was disguised as something even remotely scary. Hob would even go as far as to say that Dream looked cute. He didn't know why no one else seemed to share his opinion.

Soulmate AU

Passing Stranger! (You Do Not Know How Longingly I Look Upon You) by WyvernQuill (Words: 25,112)

Warning: None

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Hob has known that Dream is his mildly star-crossed soulmate since their first meeting in 1389, but believes they have a mutual understanding not to acknowledge it; Dream, meanwhile, was under the impression that the Endless have no soulmates whatsoever, up until their sixth meeting in 1889. Finding out they're wrong comes as a bit of a shock to both of them.

Retire Dream AU

Next to Nothing by Cheshyr (Words: 6,056)

Warning: Angst with a Happy Ending, Insecurity, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Dream knew that retiring from Endlessness to live a human life with Hob Gading wouldn't be easy. He wasn't expecting Hob to laugh at him so much though. (In which there are misunderstandings, Dream hides things he shouldn't, and being human is hard.)

Omega Verse AU

lover, be good to me by CinnamonCake (Words: 100,265)

Warning: Past Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Abortion, Hurt/Comfort

Pairings: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Dream de Endless was suppose to be his family’s most prized jewel, but when he is taken, he loses the last thing the world considered valuable about him. Broken down to his core, he does not expect anyone to want him again. Until Robert Gadling walks into his life

#dreamling fic #dreamling fanfic #hob gadling #dream of the endless #dailydreamling #masterpost #ao3 fanfic #hobmurphy #fic rec #DailyDreamling Fic Recs #dream x hob #dream of the endless x hob gadling

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gabessquishytum · 4 months

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Saw an old Ballet AU ask and just... I'm melting.

I love my clichés, so ex-dancer Dream who is a single father to Orpheus. Dream is very bitter about not being able to dance anymore due to an injury + not having time for physical therapy. So it takes some courage for Orpheus to ask him to teach him to dance. Dream refuses but signs Orpheus up to a dance class, somewhere where he can dance and Dream doesn't have to think about dancing.

Enter ballet teacher Hob, who just wants his young students to have fun. Dream is a little surprised that Orpheus doesn't come home exhausted and miserable like he used to. He decides to check the class out, just to make sure he's not paying crazy money for a scam.

Hob is not a scammer for sure. What the kids are doing is learning ballet. But Hob does not scream at them when they mess up, doesn't make them do something over and over again until they collapse. He gently motivates them and lets them set their own pace.

Dream tells himself he will not visit the class ever again after he made sure it's legit. It made his heart ache to see Orpheus, who is his little clone, dance like he used to. But then there is this event where the kids are supposed to bring their parents and Death was supposed to fill in for Dream but she [insert excuse] at the last minute and he has to go because Orpheus would be heartbroken if he didn't attend. Nothing can be done; Dream will just explain that he's had a serious injury and can't dance. Hopefully, they will still let Orpheus participate.

But Hob assures him that he will not make him do anything difficult, he should at least try, for Orpheus, and when Dream is exhausted, Hob will gladly fill in for him, but please try... Dream is easily swayed by Hob's doe eyes and agrees. And he absolutely regrets telling Hob about the injury because Hob remains close by his side, supporting him through movements that should be difficult to an amateur that Dream would still manage in his sleep. He is basically dancing with Hob as Hob keeps his hands on Dream, and for a moment even Orpheus is forgotten, though he doesn't mind because he's finally seeing his dad smile! Probably for the first time ever.

I'll cut it off here before it becomes an entire ficlet. XD You all know how the story goes, anyway.

- 🚒

Am crying softly. I bet Dream was so torn up when Orpheus said he wanted to do ballet. Of course Dream would do anything for his son, but with his past, its so painful to see this little mini version of himself following the same path that he once took. His relief in knowing that Orpheus is being treated with kindness and is actually enjoying himself almost makes him burst into tears.

Hob actually recognises Dream from his previous career, but he doesn't go all fanboy on him when they first meet. Hob is gentle, kind, and just a tiny bit pushy - the perfect combination of things to persuade Dream that maybe he can dance. This one time.

And Hob gets to watch as Dream’s body wakes up from its long dormancy. Its the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Orpheus is grinning and twirling around with pure joy, and Dream is absolutely beaming - and oh dear, Hob might be just a tiny bit in love.

At the end of the event when Hob offers Dream an hour each week in the studio to practice some gentle dance, he promises that he'll be around to support him both physically and emotionally. He doesn't quite anticipate that Dream will lean in and kiss him on the cheek. Or that Orpheus will hug him so tightly.

And oh, he's not just a little bit in love. He's head over heels!

#🚒 anon #the sandman #dreamling

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mirai-e-jump · 15 days

Text

TV Guide Dan Vol.51, April 2024 Issue ft. Bakuage Sentai Boonboomger Cast Members Iuchi Haruhi x Hayama Yuki Interview (translations below)

Publication: April 5, 2024

PARTNER

"Please tell us about the other person's role in Bakuage Sentai Boonboomger."

Iuchi: Ishiro Meita, played by Yuki-kun, may look cool at first glance, but that's just him hiding his true character. Whenever I play the role of Taiya Hando, he's a character that makes me think, "Ishiro trusts Taiya." Going forward, we'll gradually get to see his cute side.

Hayama: It's true that Ishiro has a wide range of emotions (laughs). My impression of Taiya is that he values his intuition. So far, there aren't that many scenes in the show where the two of them talk together, so we don't know what led to their relationship of trusting each other, but I have a vague idea of what part of Taiya made Ishiro fall for him.

"Can you name some similarities between your roles and each other?"

Hayama: This isn't just me, as other cast members and Director Nakazawa Shojiro have also mentioned it, but Haruhi's personality is getting closer to Taiya's day after day. At first I thought I was the only one who thought that way, but when I told everyone, it seems like they think so too. I feel like he was chosen because he was the one meant to be Taiya.

Iuchi: That makes me happy (he's embarrassed). I didn't know you were talking about that.

Hayama: Taiya's a character who works quietly by himself, and Haruhi's the same way on set. During break time or when he's with the cast, he's always in a talkative mood, but before filming, he reads the script quietly by himself.

Iuchi: Now that you mention it, I think I may be like that. I like to spend time with others, but I'm also the type of person who values alone time. Yuki-kun is…

Hayama: (leaning towards him) I'm cool, just like Ishiro, right?

Iuchi: Uh, y-yeah (laughs). But, to tell you the truth, I feel that both Ishiro and Yuki-kun have a gap. They look cool at first glance, but in reality, they're cute…

Hayama: Isn't that just gap moe?! (*being attracted to the gap between one's appearance and personality)

Iuchi: That's right (laughs). In particular, I was amused by the fact that Yuki-kun recently won a figure and tote bag in a lottery for his favorite anime, and he's been carrying the tote bag with him all the time. He even takes it when moving from the waiting room, where you normally don't have to take anything with you. Seeing him do things like that, even though he's older, I think Yuki-kun is so cute that it's unfair.

"How did you become friends?"

Hayama: My hobbies are to go ramen hopping and going to saunas. When I mentioned this, Haruhi said, "I'm interested!" From there, we started going together for awhile.

Iuchi: Right! I was interested in both and wanted to get into them, but I had just moved to Tokyo and didn't know the city at all…Now, I've started to follow Yuki-kun's example, and made a photo folder with just ramen.

"What kind of ramen do you like?"

Hayama: Basically, I like everything, but I especially love Chinese soba with a soy sauce base. What kind of flavor do you like Haruhi?

Iuchi: Originally I was a soy sauce person, and liked thin, hard noodles, but recently, Yuki-kun took me to a restaurant similar to "Jiro" and I became addicted.

Hayama: It might've been a bad thing that I told you about it (laughs). The next time we have a day off from filming, us four guys, including Saito Ryu-kun and Soma Satoru-kun, should go together.

Iuchi: Yeah! It can be like alittle treat for us.

"To begin with, are you two outdoor or indoor people?"

Hayama: I'm a total indoor person. My hobbies are watching anime and reading manga.

Iuchi: We're the same. I also watch anime, movies, dramas, and have recently gotten into reading, I also play the guitar as a hobby.

Hayama: Well, if we were going to spend time together indoors, Haruhi should play the guitar as background music while I read manga. That way we can enjoy each other's hobbies.

Iuchi: Ah~ I see. But, if we were to spend time together, I'd like to go to Akihabara. I don't really go out if I'm alone, so I'd like to look around at the things we share a similar interest in.

Hayama: Alright! Come to think of it, it might be fun since we have so many things we like in common. The other three main cast members of Boonboomger are outdoor people, so it's good to have people like that by our side!

"What's something you'd like to ask each other?"

Iuchi: Ummm…when you were a student, were you smart?

Hayama: So suddenly?! why?

Iuchi: Yuki-kun, you seem like a smart guy. However, when I thought you were cool, you turned out to be surprisingly different.

Hayama: I see (laughs). I think my grade level was above half? It was alittle above the average score, but it wasn't really that high…wait, Haruhi! Are you trying to ruin my image with this interview?!

Iuchi: No, no! I'm not! (laughs).

Hayama: (laughs). This is going to be a serious question, but as I mentioned earlier, I feel that in a very short period of time, Haruhi has become more and more like Taiya, and that everyone views him as such. I read the script and make a certain plan before going to the set, but once I saw the way that Haruhi played Taiya after I got there, I changed my plans. When acting, do you do anything in addition to reading the script?

Iuchi: Hmmm…If I had to say so, I'd say that at random moments during my daily life, I think to myself, "Taiya would make a move like this right now." For example, I've always been the type of person who looks down while walking fast, but I think that Taiya would straighten his posture and walk slowly, so I've been trying to do that.

Hayama: Heh~. So, Taiya's character is taken from daily life?

Iuchi: Yeah. Otherwise, even though I'm playing the role of Taiya, I feel like I'd inadvertently come off as Iuchi Haruhi…As an extension of that, from the moment I read the script, I try to read it while keeping in mind that, "I'm Taiya Hando."

Hayama: Amazing. I'd love to learn from you!

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avelera · 5 months

Text

Thinking about the lovely “New Inn Through the Ages” post by @virgo-dream in terms of alternatives to the popular “Hob built the New Inn for Dream after the missed 1989 meeting” headcanon.

- Quick disclaimer, this headcanon always mildly (and irrationally, this is fandom after all) irked me because to my pedantic, archaeology-obsessed ass, the New Inn was obviously visually at least 200 years old just based on the brick work so “built” never really worked, at most Hob could have purchased or renovated it if it was in response to 1989. To some that’s splitting hairs but what can I say, I never pretended to be rational about dumb history stuff.

- THAT SAID, it would be kind of interesting if Hob does own the New Inn but not necessarily since 1989, but even earlier. It could even be interesting for him to have built the New Inn in truth but back in the 1700s when the building was actually built.

- Hob appears not just comfortable at the White Horse in its 1889 but at the very least a regular. He recognizes Lou on sight and names her immediately, he knows her nickname at the establishment. This familiarity doesn’t track if this is his first time at the White Horse since 1789.

- After 1689, Hob appears to have opted to buy out a private room for them for their discussion, perhaps in response to his return in fortunes but also perhaps based on the memory of being nearly thrown out in 1689 and interrupted by Shaxberd in 1589. The guy is learning how to better manage their encounters. So it stands to reason that after they were interrupted by Constantine in 1789 as a result of her paying off the proprietor, that Hob would simply buy out the inn for 1889.

- Hob owning the White Horse in 1889 actually rather tracks with his familiarity with Lushing Lou and the fact that he’s so at ease there and clearly arrived well before Dream. He speaks to Lou with authority and is dressed with signs of at least middle class prosperity. Being the owner of the White Horse tracks with that level of prosperity shown, nothing flashy, after all it’s in a bad part of town these days.

- Thing is, Hob has a mind for business as we see in numerous instances at the centennial meetings. As a result, to me, it wholly tracks that he wouldn’t stop at buying the White Horse, he’d also purchase a few neighboring taverns and inns once he got a hang of the business. (Consolidation of neighborhood pubs under mega corporation ownership in the 1990s is its own interesting side note on this because again, I’m a history nerd.) The New Inn is presented as so close to the White Horse that a graffiti arrow is enough to point it out. That’s very close indeed.

- SO, I think from this it’s reasonable to say that Hob could very well have owned the New Inn as part of one of his business ventures since the 19th century or earlier, perhaps even as a result of the 1789 meeting and “Finding another pub”, perhaps even building the New Inn then in truth either before or after the meeting as an alternative in case another lunatic Constantine shows up. It’s so close by he might have hoped he could persuade Dream with its proximity.

- Right then, if that’s true, why can’t Hob save the White Horse?

- Perhaps after 1889 he simply sold his ownership stake in it. Heartbroken and angry at himself, especially if he’d provided all these contingencies like the New Inn in case of interruptions or other disasters, he might have just felt as much like a fool as in 1589 when he tried to provide a fine meal. Probably best to just give up and stop trying to control matters, since look where that got him.

- So he sells the White Horse. But the other inns don’t have the same emotional stake and business is business, so he sets those up with a “family trust” to keep running, lending the building out to different managers, etc. and simply carries on.

- Cue his look of devastation in 1989 upon learning the White Horse is going to shut down. If he once owned it, it might be a particular gut punch to know he could have prevented this if he hadn’t let his bitterness get the better of him. Despite his best efforts, he can’t prevent it from being condemned.

- LUCKILY he still had his own business interests nearby in the form of those pubs he built or bought centuries ago. He dusts off his paperwork around the New Inn and reassumes direct management (or at least, his nephew does in a few years). The 1789 “nearby pub” contingency might just pay off in the 21st century, who knows? And it worked!

And there you have it. My take on how Hob could have built the New Inn starting from its actual original construction. Very fun to consider too when you check out Virgo’s post and discover that a Mr. Hobert did indeed own it at one point ;)

#the sandman #hob gadling #the new inn #sandman meta

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ecoamerica · 25 days

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seiya-starsniper · 5 months

Note

hello hello i see you're open to prompts 👀

how about #20"I'm just going to lie right here" for dreamling (or any ship you prefer 👀)

happy writing, my dear 💜✨️

HEY SO REMEMBER THIS PROMPT YOU SENT ME FIVE MONTHS AGO??? Apparently it took me getting another prompt to finally come up with an idea for it, so I've gone and combined the two 😄💖 Gentle Prompts Here and Soft Prompts Here (I'll still accept prompts from both because I am a fluff machine)

-------------

Hob knows something is wrong as soon as his roommate enters their shared apartment and slams the door behind him.

“Morph? You all right?” Hob calls out, pausing his movie and turning to the entryway where Morpheus is angrily pulling off his shoes and shoving his coat onto the hooks. He also practically slams his keys down into the tray on the side table by the door, and Hob winces at the loud clang that echoes through the apartment. He considers asking Morpheus again if he’s all right, but decides to let his moody roommate come to him instead.

Something is definitely very wrong if his roommate is making this much noise. Morpheus Endless is normally so quiet of a roommate that Hob doesn’t always notice when the other man is even in the apartment at the same time as him. Morpheus was so silent and unassuming that Hob had felt like he was being haunted by a ghost rather than living with a real person the first few months they started living together. Hob would be jump-scared in his own kitchen simply by turning around and finding Morpheus there right behind him. He had no idea another person could walk so quietly. The worst time had been in the bathroom, when Hob had accidentally squirted half a tube of toothpaste all over the other man’s black shirt. From that point forward, Morpheus had started knocking along the walls wherever he walked, so that Hob would know where he was at any given moment.

Still, the pale man was an ideal roommate otherwise, if not a little socially awkward at times. On top of his eerily quiet nature, it had taken months for Hob to get Morpheus to even say more than five words to him whenever they were in the same room together. Hob had first thought Morpheus was just disinterested in being friendly all together, but then one night, like a cat, his roommate peeked his head out of his room to the smell of Hob cooking dinner. Hob has since learned to let Morpheus come to him, instead of trying to impress on the man himself.

Hob’s efforts seem to now be paying off, for instead of stomping off to his bedroom to sulk about whatever it is, Morpheus instead makes his way over to the couch and plants himself directly in front of Hob’s line of vision. Hob tries to give his best reassuring smile as he stares up at the pale man.

“Bad day?” Hob asks gently. “I’m happy to listen, if you’d like. Looks like you could use a hug too.”

Morpheus doesn’t answer, he simply sways somewhat unsteadily for a few moments, before he practically collapses onto the couch. The only problem is, Hob is still very much sitting on said couch, and instead of aiming for the empty spot next to him, Hob instead finds himself with an armful of gangly limbs and untamed hair.

“Oof,” Hob grunts as he takes on the unexpected weight. Hug it is, then. Morpheus isn’t heavy by any means, but it still takes a moment for Hob to adjust to having what is effectively an oversized cat suddenly in his lap. Hob eventually manages to wiggle his arms out from under Morpheus, before wrapping them around the pale man and pulling him against his chest. Morpheus immediately takes the cue and buries his face in Hob’s shoulder, shaking like a leaf and failing to keep his breathing even.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay, it’s all right,” Hob soothes, rubbing at Morpheus’s back. His roommate is freezing from the cold weather outside, but he’s quickly warming up the longer Hob holds him.

Hob doesn’t know what it is that’s upset Morpheus so much, but whatever it is, he’s glad that his roommate isn’t trying to deal with it alone, that they’ve come far enough in their friendship (though Morpheus has yet to call him a friend at this point) for him to show Hob this vulnerable side of him.

The only downside to this is that this newfound vulnerability is doing absolutely nothing to help Hob’s teeny tiny, absolutely miniscule crush on his roommate. But that’s neither here nor there. Hob tucks the yearning feelings that arise from their newfound intimacy quietly behind his ribs and focuses all his energy into comforting Morpheus instead.

“Do you…want to talk about it?” Hob asks Morpheus.

A soft inhale. Then a shake of the head against his shoulder. The motion alerts Hob to the fact that his shoulder is damp, and the realization makes his heart lurch up into his throat. He wants to go out and find whoever or whatever it is that’s upset Morpheus so much and give them an introduction to his fists.

“Okay…” Hob continues, taking a deep breath and trying to calm himself down. He’s here for comfort, not to be a white knight. “That’s fine, we don’t need to get into it. Uhm…can I readjust though? This position’s a bit uncomfortable.”

There’s a short pause, and then eventually, Hob feels Morpheus nod against his shoulder.

Moving Morpheus is a fairly easy task. If Hob didn’t know any better, he’d think his roommate had been replaced by some sort of mannequin from the way he lets Hob manhandle him so easily. He seems to be mostly aware of what’s happening, which is good, but it’s clear he’s no in any sort of headspace for conversation just yet.

Eventually, Hob is able to rearrange them so that he’s lying with his back resting on the arm of the couch, and Morpheus is sprawled on top of him. Their legs are tangled together and Hob’s also thrown the large throw blanket over them for good measure. Morpheus, of course, reburies his head in Hob’s shoulder, and Hob takes the opportunity to wrap his arms around his roommate’s shoulders once more, rubbing soothing circle’s into the other man’s back.

“See, that’s better now, isn’t it?” Hob asks gently. “Nothing beats a good hug and a cuddle on the couch when you’ve had a bad day.”

Morpheus hums, but otherwise doesn’t offer any other sort of verbal reply. It’s a start.

“You can stay as long as you like,” Hob adds. “I’m just going to lay right here until you decide you want to move.”

“Then you’ll be here until tomorrow,” Morpheus croaks, his voice clearly cracked from crying.

Hob laughs and moves his hand up from Morpheus’s back to ruffle the man’s messy black hair. Morpheus groans in annoyance and bats his hand away, but otherwise does not move from his chin perch on Hob’s shoulder. Somehow, Morpheus's hair looks exactly the same.

“There you are,” Hob says, his voice fond. “Was starting to worry you’d gone mute on me.”

“No,” Morpheus says. “...I still don’t want to talk about it.”

“That’s fine,” Hob replies, then adds, “and we can stay here until tomorrow, really, if you like. But I will need to pee at some point.”

Morpheus huffs. “I suppose that is acceptable.”

“Can I tempt you with some food too?” Hob asks. “I’ll even feed it to you if you’d like.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Morpheus replies. “I can feed myself.”

“All right,” Hob says, shrugging and shifting himself into a more comfortable lying position. “Need anything else? Want to take a nap?”

Morpheus doesn’t answer for some time, and Hob almost thinks the man fell asleep on him already, but then his roommate readjusts his limbs as well and moves his body downwards until his head is resting on Hob’s chest. Hob wants to cry at how adorable he looks, at how right it feels that their bodies fit together so perfectly, like they were made for each other.

“A nap sounds nice,” Morpheus finally replies, mumbling quietly into Hob’s chest. “And perhaps food when we wake up.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Hob agrees. He already knows he’s going to be ordering take-out for tonight, but come tomorrow, he’s going to make all of Morpheus’s favorite foods for the rest of his week. For the rest of his life, if he’d let him.

It doesn’t take terribly long for Morpheus to fall asleep on him, and Hob resists the urge to plant a kiss in the man’s hair, settling instead for gently rubbing at Morpheus’s back. Hob falls asleep not too long after his roommate, and when he dreams, he dreams of a home filled with warmth and joy and love.

#the sandman #dreamling #dream x hob #hob x morpheus #hob x dream #seiya writes dreamling #seiya write #this is what I'm doing instead of writing my big bang fic oopsies #gotta love the fluff though #thanks for the prompt friend 💖💖💖#sorry I'm 8 million years late with the one prompt tho 😅😅😅

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darthstitch · 2 years

Text

Matthew has Feelings about his Boss.

Not like THAT, you goddamn pervs. He has Feelings for his Boss the same way that chick in that Brooklyn 99 meme had about that puppy. Like, "I've only had Dream of the Endless as my Boss for about two minutes but if any of you motherfuckers hurt him, I have a very particular set of skills that will make me a nightmare for people like you."

Yeah, he's mashing up his references, but Matthew doesn't care. His Nibbly Darkness, the Lord of Dreams and Nightmares has had a shit time this past century, no thanks to his bastard bitch of a sibling and seriously, Matthew thinks it's seventeen thousand kinds of fucked up that their idea of teaching their brother a "lesson" involves imprisonment, innocents caught in the crossfire and potential murder.

So yeah, Matthew is perfectly willing to throw down for his Boss if he has to.

Except his Boss still has nightmares about poor Jessamy and it's manifesting itself in being oddly protective over Matthew in the absolute worst way. Like, he's the Raven for Dream of the Endless now - he's got a job to do and maybe sometimes that has an element of risk to it but those are the breaks right? Dream can't keep Matthew from attending to his duties and he's gonna do them, come hell or high water.

And the perks are like, super amazing, because flying, woo to the hoo! There's some magic stuff and some secret raven tricks that Lucienne has been teaching him, because she used to be Dream's Raven too.

He's also got nesting privileges now, because it's nice to get some shut-eye in the Boss' coat. It's hilarious because Dream will be all exasperated and say, "Matthew" in this long-suffering tone, but he accompanies that with gentle pets along Matthew's feathers and there's a tiny sweet smile playing about his lips. Dream reserves those smiles just for a very select few - which currently includes the boyfriend that Matthew thoroughly approves of - and Matthew's proud to be one of them.

Matthew remembers the first time he got a proper hug from the Boss, which had scared off several years of his life. And that was mostly because he felt real tears soak through his feathers and it was kind of awkward to manage a "there, there" with a wing but Matthew made it work somehow.

He was a little proud that he did manage to coax his sad wet cat of a Boss out of whatever melancholic funk that Dream found himself in but yeah, that made Matthew nervous, because he knows all the signs of depression when he sees them and this is not a task one single Raven can undertake alone.

Well, Lucienne actually said that first, when she first recruited Matthew. He's taken them to heart.

Mervyn was another one they'd nabbed along, because while Mervyn might have a mouth on him and tact wasn't exactly a word in his dictionary, but Mervyn was good people in the end. The next was Abel, with Goldie peeping along. Then, thank the Creator, they'd finally managed to grab Hob Gadling who was a goddamn gift to them all, even if they had to put up with the occasional flower showers or the inadvertent appearance of blooms in every nook and cranny of the Castle.

There was this one time, where they were all in the Dreaming's version of the New Inn, where Lucienne had finally gotten drunk enough to reveal one very important secret about the Boss.

There was a lot of swearing, and Matthew had to appreciate Hob Gadling for the colorful Middle English swearwords, which kinda had a weird harmony with Mervyn's cussing. But basically, it all amounted to a collective NOPE from everyone in this conspiracy. This wasn't going to happen. Not to their Morpheus. Not on their watch.

Dreams don't fucking die, Matthew had once said to his Boss, down deep in the bowels of literal Hell, with the Morningstar Herself about to move in for the kill. He's gonna make good and goddamn sure that Dream of the Endless will stay alive. He'll always have his Raven to guard his back for him.

-end-

#matthew the raven #dream of the endless #dreamling #lucienne #hob gadling #dream and his ravens #matthew has all the fight me vibes #matthew is ride or die for da Boss okay #this is a matthew appreciation blog

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cuubism · 1 year

Text

fem!dream has me by the THROAT

----

This is… a revelation.

Hob really thought he'd passed his "learning about his sexuality" phase a good six hundred years ago. But he just might be having another sexual awakening right now.

It's because it's Dream. This kind of thing always happens with Dream. Hob supposes it's the inevitable result of being with someone whose form doesn't follow the bounds of material reality.

"Do you like what you see, Hob Gadling?" Dream asks, a smirk dancing on his lips. Same smirk as always, slightly different lips.

"I always like when I see you," Hob says. Dream props his– her?-- ah fuck it doesn't matter– arm on the back of the couch, head in her hand. Clearly pleased. Flattery always works in these situations, always. Bloody vain creature.

There's none of the hesitation Hob had seen when Dream had revealed her more… nightmarish, her more otherworldly forms. There's only confidence here, utter assurance of her glory. As well she should.

"You're gorgeous," Hob tells her. "You're glorious. You always are."

She's different like this. Subtly. Hob would have still been able to pick her out of a crowd at a hundred meters, but she's… fluid. Her angles are softened. Her legs seem even longer than usual where they're pulled up on the couch, delicate ankles crossed. Thin, familiar fingers press against a plusher lower lip. Cheekbones that cut even sharper. Strong jaw that pulls more narrow. Glinting galaxy eyes with long, fine lashes.

Hob is getting lost in the details. The point is that Dream is a vision, the bodily equivalent of draped silk, and Hob has never in his life been more grateful to be bisexual.

"This is very distracting to you," Dream murmurs, and Hob realizes Dream had said something else to him before and he hadn't even heard it.

"Are you surprised?" Hob asks, leaning his head on his arm against the back of the couch so their eyes meet. "Wasn't that your intention?"

"I was curious," says Dream.

Famous last words for Hob’s sanity. "By which you mean you wanted to knock me on my ass, metaphorically speaking."

"I did wish to have you on your back," Dream agrees. Her voice is higher, like this, more alto than baritone, but still with that hazy, hypnotic melody to it.

Fucking hell.

"You know you'll get what you want, you always do." Hob brushes his ankle against Dream's. It's the only place they're touching, which is agony but Hob can't say he's not enjoying the tension. Or the view.

Dream runs a hand through her hair, twisting the long strands around her fingers. Her hair is a mess, sex-mussed and chaotic even though they’ve done nothing more than sit opposite each other here on the couch while Hob drinks Dream in with his eyes. It's… upsetting, in the daydreams it creates.

“You know, it’s still mental to me that you can do this sort of thing in the real–” Hob cuts himself off and holds up an appeasing hand before Dream can object– “the waking world. Like, dreams, sure, anything can happen in dreams, right? But then you show up here one day and you have actual flesh-and-blood honest to God tits, you can’t just do that to me.”

Hob half-expects Dream to automatically rejoin with my tits are also real in the Dreaming, so used is she to correcting Hob on the nature of dreams and their reality. The fact that she restrains herself is a tragedy, as that would possibly have been the funniest line Hob had ever heard come out of her mouth.

“I can choose how I wish my physical form to manifest,” Dream says, heavy-lidded gaze locked on Hob’s, “as you well know.”

“Do I ever,” Hob mutters.

“I have grown used to one shape but that does not mean that it is fixed.”

“Can you manifest yourself as anything?” Hob asks.

“Anything that dreams,” Dream says.

“So you aren’t going to show up in my flat as a neutron star or something.”

“Do you think that stars dream, Hob?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never asked one.”

Dream just keeps looking at him with the slightest raise of her eyebrow, and Hob leans forward.

“Wait, can they–?”

“Hob Gadling,” Dream interrupts, “I am here before you, scarcely clothed, wearing a form that I know you are pleased by, and what you want to discuss is the finer points of my personal metaphysics?”

“Your personal metaphysics are very important to me, actually,” Hob teases, and gets a frustrated huff in return.

“We have plenty of time,” Hob continues. “And you know I like learning about you.” He winks. “Like looking at you, too.”

Dream rolls her eyes and says, sounding put out, “You can look from closer up.”

Hob holds out a hand. “Alright, come here, then.”

Dream unfolds herself from the corner of the couch, so very like fabric indeed, and drapes herself onto Hob’s lap, settling on him weightless as always. Hob holds her by her waist, feels the familiar sharp bones of her hips.

She’s wearing some sort of robe of soft velvet, fur lining the collar. It looks simultaneously two hundred years old and like it could have walked off the rack of a boutique lingerie shop yesterday evening. Is she wearing anything under it? No, Hob thinks, of course not.

Hob rubs his fingers over the hem. “Where did you even get this? Pull it from someone’s dream?”

“Of course.” Dream lays her arms over his shoulders. The velvet brushes his skin; it’s ridiculously soft. “They were dreaming of an old film, I believe.”

This sort of luxurious, revealing garment is something Hob would not have batted an eye at her wearing in the Dreaming, but to see it here, in the waking world, where Dream is usually so buttoned up… it makes him feel some kind of way, and that way is mostly sad.

“So, what, you stick with your usual body most of the time because you like it best, or you’re just used to it, or what?” he asks. Hob has found that if he wants to ask Dream about something touchy, it is best to ease in and do so in a roundabout way. Dream operates in dreams, fantasy, story, metaphor and allusion – she will find her way to what he’s really asking if she so wishes.

And once again, Hob’s decision to turn the doorknob but not force open the door is rewarded.

“It is comfortable to me,” Dream says. “To the extent that any physical form is. However I confess that I…” she hesitates, and Dream rarely struggles to find words so it must be something she isn’t sure she wants to say. “I am finding… relief… in this form that has not been brutalized so by this world.”

Hob kisses the corner of her mouth, heart aching, and Dream leans her cheek against his. Her wild hair brushes his nose. Dream’s hair is always sticking up all over the place, but it strikes Hob suddenly that that wasn’t the case across all of their meetings – not until recently. He has seen Dream’s hair long and short, tied back and left loose, hardly controlled, always dramatic, but this level of utter dishevelment, that’s new.

He doesn’t know how much he should read into that; Dream is simultaneously the most intentional person he knows and also the literal personification of unconscious decision-making, so. Who’s to say, really.

“It is, of course, still I who has suffered,” Dream continues, “but this skin has not touched glass.”

Hob hurts for her, always, always hurts for her, but he’s relieved, also, to see her finding even momentary peace. And if he can provide it, even better.

“I understand, love.” He thumbs over her lower lip, then holds her face in his hand. “The self is more than skin deep, but the skin is still part of it.”

Dream tilts her head. “Unusually poetic, Hob.”

“Unusually?” Hob protests. “Hey, I can manage it sometimes!”

A familiar smile touches Dream’s lips. “Perhaps.”

“Perhaps. I see you are as usually rude as always.”

“Did you think this form would temper me?” Dream raises an eyebrow, haughty glimmer in her eyes.

“Nothing could temper you.” Hob fits his hands under the sharp angles of her jaw. “You are the hard edges and brilliance and artistry of stained glass and don’t you know I love it?”

Dream kisses him, just a press of her lips against his, and hums, “Poetic. You do manage it. But I shall not ascribe to you an adjective; you have held too many to be so easily defined.”

“By which–” Hob runs his fingers through the hair at the nape of her neck; God, it’s nice when it's long “--you mean I am really old and have seen too much shit.”

“You have lived many lives,” Dream agrees. “Sculpted and resculpted again.”

“And we’re back to the art metaphors. Dream, did it hurt when you were thrown out the window of the National Gallery?”

For all the teasing, though, Hob is touched, always, by Dream’s regard for him.

“They did not want me at the gallery?” Dream asks. It’s always so easy to rope her into this weird sort of banter; Hob thinks it’s her natural language more so than direct communication is.

She asks this while kissing him, though, so it takes a moment for Hob to respond. He considers not responding at all in favor of drinking in her lips for longer. “They wanted your beauty, they just couldn’t manage you.”

“And you can, Hob Gadling?” Challenging now, eyebrow raised, fingertips pressing into the back of Hob’s neck.

Hob laughs. “God, no. How dare I.”

Dream’s mouth cuts into a sharp, satisfied smile. Hob hadn’t thought she could possibly be a sharper-edged person than she already is in her usual, masculine body, but somehow, despite the softer curves of her here, she’s managing it. It’s devastating.

Hob has never claimed to be a strong man where Dream is concerned, which is fortunate, because that notion would have been decimated so thoroughly by now as to be embarrassing.

“I do like to try to hold you, though,” he says. “If one can hold a dream.”

“You’ve held on to life when you weren’t supposed to,” Dream points out. “That seems to have worked out well.”

“Hmmm.” Hob pulls her close, wraps his arms around the warm vibrancy of her. “So I’ll be rewarded for my hubris, again?”

“Perhaps.” Again, that crafty smile.

“I’m not going to keep you,” Hob tells her. There’s no keeping Dream; hell, Dream can’t even be kept in one body. Dream isn’t simple, and Hob wouldn’t want her to be. “But I’m not letting you go, either.”

“No.” Dream kisses the corner of his eye, right over the smile lines that have settled there, deeper, Hob thinks, in the year since their reunion than in all the centuries before. “I shouldn’t think so.”

#and then they explored each other's bodies #content warning extremely weird flirting #fem dream #fem dreamling #dreamling #this is literally just. no thoughts just dream #dream of the endless #hob gadling #my writing

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