#KNIGHT HOB

[quibvsposts]

Ser Robert Gadling

[joinmeinjoy]

knight hob knight hob knight hob

[alexxuun]

👑 King Morpheus and his knight🗡️

[delta-pavonis]

For the soft ask meme, how about 17 for 🗡️ Fantasy Knight!Hob/King Morpheus?

17. this is a very long hug now sort of hug

Nice! Thanks for the prompt! I think this fits nicely with elaborating a bit on their history prior to getting together. The original fic is here. Although I did approach it a little differently than I think the prompt intended. 😅

Hob wakes up to a room so dark it takes a moment for him to realize that his eyes are both open and working.

No moon, just the barest twinkle of stars comes in from the small open window. Other than that, the only source of illumination in the room is a candle that is almost burned down to its base, wax a puddle on the table beneath the holder.

But even with that little light Hob can see that he is not alone.

A person is sprawled in a simple wooden chair next to his bedside, legs stretched out in front of them, arms folded tight across their chest, chin tilted down so far that the person's profile is almost buried in said arms. But even with just that sliver of information, Hob knows who it is. Hob would know who it was in the pitch black of the depths of the underworld, just by the sound of his breathing.

"King Morpheus?" Hob whispers, unsure if they are actually alone.

His sworn sovereign is awake instantly, eyes finding Hob without error, as if they have memorized the path from being closed to looking down upon him on the bed. They stare at one another for a silent moment, the King's eyes startlingly bright given the lack of light, and then, suddenly, Hob finds himself enveloped in a hug. It is awkward - he is still laying down - but strong arms are around his shoulder and chest and there is rapid breathing in his ear.

Hob shivers. He is... he is in King Morpheus' arms.

The King is alive.

Hob succeeded.

The relief is palpable. It washes over him from head to toe, unclenching muscles he didn't even know could be tense. Except...

Oh fuck but does his shoulder hurt.

But he is being held by his King. Wrapped in arms he has dreamed about. Pressed into a warmth he dared not imagine.

Hob relaxes into it, bringing his hands up carefully to grip at King Morpheus' waist, and the King hums like he sounds happy about it and Hob might sublimate from the fierce joy that surges up in his chest.

"Sir Gadlen." King Morpheus whispers.

"Yes, my Lord?" And Hob thinks that this should end it and he even goes to pull away.

But the King does not. He holds firm, keeping Hob held to his chest, his chin on Hob's shoulder.

So Hob does the only thing he can think of to do, he closes his eyes and tries his damnedest to memorize every tiny dot of contact between them - how it moves when they breathe, how it feels in the stillness between breaths, how smooth King Morpheus' cheek is against his neck, how rough his own body feels from the battle.

Hob gets more time than he thinks he deserves in his King's embrace, but it does eventually end. King Morpheus grabs the sides of his shoulders and pulls away to look him right in the eyes to say, "Thank you. For saving my life."

His heart leaps into his throat, starts screaming: I would do it again in a heartbeat. Every day. From now until forever. If it would keep you safe. And happy.

Of course, he doesn't say any of that. Instead Hob just smiles, as bright as he can through the pain. "And I am very glad I am here to say you're welcome."

King Morpheus actually huffs a laugh at that. "As am I. And please, I think you have earned the right to call me Dream."

Hob cannot help but startle at the very idea. He... can't. How could he ever call his sovereign by a nickname? It is just... impossible. "I... that's generous of you, my Lord. But I do not think it proper for me to... I do not think it would reflect well on you to..." The light in the King's eyes dims ever so slightly and Hob just barely holds back from falling all over himself apologizing. Instead he blurts, "But you can call me Hob, if you'd like." And oh, Hob can feel the blush burn across his cheeks now and perhaps he can blame it on a fever?

But then King Morpheus smiles, a small, gentle thing, and Hob would take a hundred more bolts just to have that gift. "Alright... Hob." His hands slide from Hob's shoulders to hold his elbows. "How do you feel about joining the guards of my Inner Circle?"

[densewentz]

Unnecessarily Complex Fit Inktober Day 3 is for Hope!Hob who made the mistake of letting his ridiculous stranger pick his Hope threads rip (look its unnecessarily complex for Hob, and also me, because I am a tired worm)

[kydrogendragon]

His attempts to win over his beloved knights affections have gotten to the point that even his sibling, Desire, has begun to take pity upon him. He's seen the eyerolls and grimaced tosses his way after each failed attempt to make his love known. It does not dissuade him, of course. Nothing could from this path he is forging. Sir Hob will be his in due time. He knows this with the same certainty that the sky knows the sun. He just needs to be patient.

Desire, however, has gotten rather tired to watching the long game Dream is playing. At least, that is the only reason he can think as to why his sibling would assist him in such fashions. Or perhaps there was some attempt at sabotage that failed (quite spectacularly, if so).

Dream was tasked with negotiating new treaties with the neighboring lords, and given his leave of Endless territory, a small troop of guards was assigned to him. Now Sir Hob would not have normally been apart of this troop—as much as Dream would wish—but it seems that Sir Matthew, his usual personal guard, had fallen ill the night before and requested Sir Hob take his place.

Of course, Dream was concerned for Sir Matthew, but he would be lying if he was not eager for his beloved knight to step in. And as his personal guard, Dream would get to enjoy seeing the man in more close quarters than would normally be allowed.

Their travels had gone smoothly, for the most part, save a single robbery attempt that was quickly snuffed out by the trio of guard. Dream knew his own dreams that night would feature the strong arm of Sir Hob reaching out to stop one of the attackers, his sword coming down with refined strength to those who sought them harm. Had they been alone, Dream was uncertain he would have the strength within him to not kiss the knight silly, perhaps even sink to his knees to properly thank him for his service.

They arrived in a small town, a day away from the Endless family borders. They would reach the local Lord's home by supper tomorrow, but in the meantime, they would stay themselves at the inn nearby. Lady Jessamy and Sir Corin, the other two knights, took to settling in their horses as Sir Hob acquired rooms for them all.

The inn itself is rather small, and thus, the three rooms they had, they claimed. Lady Jessamy and Sir Corin each have a room for themselves, and Sir Hob was instructed to stay with Dream. It was a wise choice regardless of the inn's capacity as all sorts of harm could befall a prince as he sleeps, especially this close to foreign lands. And if Dream was not mistaken, Sir Hob almost looked happy about the arrangement.

Night settled over the land, her dark skies and silver stars painted the sky. The pale beams of moonlight trailed through the single window in the room, coating the rough woolen blankets of the single bed.

Dream stripped himself of his riding attire, allowing himself to luxuriate in the lightweight black cotton sleepclothes he had been packed. Sir Hob, as dutiful a knight as ever, remained posed beside the door with what Dream suspects is a flush upon his cheeks.

"Do you plan to stand there the entire night?" Dream asks, voice low as he pads across the wooden floor to stand in front of Sir Hob.

"Yes, my prince," he replies with a smile. "I can rest once we arrive at Lord Constantine's manor. I've stayed awake longer, you need not be worried. I'll protect you."

"I do not doubt your skill in protecting me, my good knight. I never have." Dream lifts his hand and rests it on Sir Hob's leather clad chest. "However, I would not have you weary upon our ride in the morn. Sleep this night. I am certain you can fulfill your duties well enough from a bed, given your sword is in reach, yes?"

"I—" Sir Hob swallows, his eyes darting down to Dream's hand. His brows pull together. "Yes, of course, my lord. But forgive me for saying that I do not quite understand. There's only the one bed and I would not claim it from you."

"Then it is a good thing that the bed has plenty of room for two, should you not mind sharing." Dream let's his hand trail down, resting briefly atop the knight's stomach before falling back to his side. He looks up at Sir Hob through his lashes, bats them once, then gestures towards the bed.

In all honesty, the bed is rather small. I will technically fit two people, but with very little room between. And with Sir Hob's naturally larger build, it was almost a guarantee they would need to touch quite a lot in order to comfortably fit.

It was perfect.

All Dream's other attempts have failed. Perhaps this, in its blatantcy, will force the knight to confront the idea that his prince wants him.

"Come. Ready yourself for the night. I will await you in bed," Dream says, his voice low in the quiet room. He turns and climbs into the bed. His sleepclothes rides up as he settles in and he does not bother adjusting where the bottom hem has slid up to his mid-thigh. Resting his head upon one of thr provided pillows, Dream closes his eyes.

He listens as the silence breaks. There's a shuffle of clothes, of leather and metal, as they fall onto the floor. There's some further shuffling before Dream hears the sound of heavy metal clank as it rests somewhere to the left of him. Then, another body slides into bed with him.

Dream turns his head and opens his eyes to the sight of his beautiful knight, long brown hair spayed across the pillow, as he stares up at the ceiling. His muscles are tense and his limbs are all folded into himself as if to appear smaller.

"Sir Hob?"

"Yes, m'lord?"

Dream reaches out and pulls the knight's arm away from Sir Hob's body and hugs it close to his own chest. He hears Sir Hob's breath hitch.

"I give you permission to touch me."

Sir Hob's earthen eyes are upon him in an instant. They are wide and much darker than he's ever seen them before. The hand in Dream's hold twitches before the knight turns on his side. He reaches out with his free hand, hovering just above Dream's cheek.

"Please," he whispers.

Hob's lips are on his, his large hand pressing down upon his cheek. It's warm. Hob is warm. And he is finally, finally being kissed. It's hesitant, at least on Hob's end, but as Dream presses closer, any fear his knight seems to have vanishes. His strong hands pull him impossibly closer, gripping at his bedclothes.

It was heaven.

"Have—" Hob pants as they part "—you been flirting with me this entire time?"

"I'm simply glad you finally realized. I did not know what else to do had tonight not worked."

His knight shakes his head, all the while grinning like a fool. Dream wishes he had his paints and charcoal as to capture this moment permanently.

"More the fool, I, then to have wasted as much time to hold you in my arms." He leans down, pressing another kiss to Dream's lips. It is a feeling he does not know he will ever be able to live without again. Not after knowing such touch. "Heir Desire had insisted I step in for Sir Matthew on this journey. They had ensured that I would not regret it. I hardly doubt this is what they meant, but . . . They were certainly not wrong." Hob chuckled.

"Do not speak of my sibling while you are in bed with my, my knight," Dream grumbles as he tucks his face into the crook of Hob's neck. He can feel the muscles underneath shake as the laugh laughs.

"Yes, My Prince." There is a different tone, now, to how Hob says that phrase. It is one he has heard uttered from the man's lips many times over, ranging from formal to friendly. Even teasing, occasionally. This is the first time it has ever sounded so soft. So loved.

"Call me Dream," he whispers into the warmth of Hob's body. "When we are alone and it is just us. Call me Dream."

A hand curls around the back of his head. "How about my Dream?"

Dream smiles. "Even better."

Prince Dream who is completely enamored with Knight Hob and always watches his training. It started out more subtle, watching from somewhere up high with a good view of the training grounds, making excuses to oversee the knights' training. Now he just overtly watches from a porch nearby and he looks disturbingly like a cat watching birds out a window. Dream wants to devour this man whole.

Everybody knows. Everybody knows how Prince Dream feels about the knight, even his siblings have stopped teasing him about it once he stopped being embarrassed. Everybody knows except Hob. Hob who is completely oblivious. Hob who thinks Dream is just his good buddy ol' pal, Hob who accidentally friendzones Dream in practically every conversation they have. Hob has not picked up on the intense staring at all and probably wouldn't have noticed how often Dream had started coming to training if someone else hadn't pointed it out.

The thing is, Dream is a prince and Hob is a knight, so anything happening between them is just so far out of the realm of possibility to Hob that it genuinely doesn't occur to him to interpret anything from Dream as romantic or sexual. And it's not a low self esteem thing or an "unworthy" thing, it's just that in Hob's mind, princes and knights don't fall in love, and Dream is a prince and Hob is a knight, ergo they can't fall in love. Hob has had this thought process entirely subconsciously and has never stopped to reexamine this. So yeah, Dream only sees him as a friend, a comrade. And of course, Hob sees Dream the same way.

...right? (Yes, according to Hob who just tends to go with the flow and rarely unpacks deeper more complex feelings, and no, according to literally everyone else.) Dream will get his hands on this man someday, he just needs to be patient.

The sooner that Dream understands that Hob is just a sweet little himbo who can't even comprehend being able to attract the love of a Prince, the better. Then Dream can get to work on proving that his humble knight is very worthy indeed!

I'm imagining Dream doing all the "courtly love" things to woo his Knight. Flirting with him, composing sonnets for him and leaving them on Hob’s pillow, asking him to dance whenever there's an opportunity at court. Hob initially interprets all this as more declarations of comradeship/just Dream being nice to him... but then Dream gets hold of a lute, and sings a love-song underneath Hob’s window, and Hob is like "wait a second. this doesn't feel very platonic." He jumps right down from the balcony (nearly rolls his ankle in the progress), throws himself at the Prince's feet and begs to know the truth. DOES Dream love him???

Dream pats him gently on the head, smiling fondly at his himbo Knight. He's so proud of Hob for finally working it out, bless him <3

[just-french-me-up]

dreamling 16 or 23 for the kiss prompts? 👀

23. "A kiss in relief" | Have some Prince!Dream / Knight!Hob as a treat because this concept tickles my brain divinely!

The battle was won.

Already the camp was filling up, some soldiers shedding their dirtied armours while others were being rushed to the healing tents. The chaos of battle clung to them still, brewing amongst them and would soon, no doubt, burst into the clamour of celebration. Regardless, all heads bowed as the prince exited the command post, guards following close behind.

Morpheus would celebrate with his men, as all good leaders must, in due time. He would be expected to give a speech, rousing words for those gathered under his command, and solemn ones for those who had fallen, but he could not focus on either now. He had to know first. He had to make sure.

A prince does not announce himself upon entry. It was with tight apprehension that he stepped into the Lord Commander's tent, his guards following suit. He braced himself for blood, gushing wounds and grunts of pain, but was met with a much more pleasant (and relieving) sight.

"My prince."

Hob would bow lower, Morpheus knew, but his movements were hindered by his squire, who was busy removing the various parts of his armour. A quick glance was enough to know the blood staining his shirt and skin was not his. Good. Morpheus suppressed a smile.

"Lord Commander."

Like the rest of his men, Hob looked spent, covered with the grime of the battlefield, his hair sticking to his forehead, but victorious nonetheless. He, too, ought to be with his men soon, share the glory together as brothers in arms. But not yet.

"We have much to discuss after today's victory," Morpheus said, before glancing back at his guards. "Leave us."

The soldiers stepped out without a word, although Morpheus knew they wouldn't stray far. Hob gave a quick nod to his squire to dismiss him, and as the boy left, they stood alone. Hob had not drawn another breath that Morpheus pulled him close, tasting the battle on his lips, blood, salt and dirt, and something else, something distinctly, comfortingly Hob's. Hob sighed into his mouth, hot breath tickling his cheek, bringing him closer still. By the time he let go, Morpheus had gone almost dizzy, holding on to a still armoured shoulder.

"Careful, I may get a taste for winning you battles," Hob smiled against his lips, "if this is the thanks I get."

"Are you hurt?"

"Bruised, at most. It will probably look worse than it feels."

Morpheus furrowed his brow, suspicious. Hob was hardly reliable when it came to pain. He would suffer agony and wave it off as nothing more than a scratch. Morpheus would have to wait for the whole armour to come off to see the extent of the damage.

"You know," he said as he started undoing the laces of Hob's vambrace. "Lord Commanders usually stay at the commanding post to oversee the battle."

"Well, I guess your Lord Commanders are usually pretty shit, then."

Morpheus shot him a disapproving look, the piece of metal falling on the floor with a dull "clank".

"I do not want you hurt."

"You should have made me Lord Jester then," Hob chuckled. "Master of the Drapes and Napkins. No chance for bruises there."

He cupped Morpheus' cheek, his thumb tracing the line of his cheekbone. He did like to jest, that one. Unfortunately his true talents lay in the sword, which inevitably placed him at the end of another. Perhaps that would be another reason to seek peace during his reign, Morpheus told himself. A selfish reason, but a motivating one nonetheless.

"I always come back to you, don't I?"

"Only because I order you to."

"And I wouldn't dream of disobeying my prince."

"Good."

Send me a kissing prompt?

[embroiderling]

Square/Prompt: Knight!Hob Rating: General Audiences Ship: dreamling

Original artwork by @teejaystumbles The braid is bigger than I intended, but I like my knight Rapunzel.

[designtheendless]

Assassins Creed au requested by @aralezinspace ! ⚔️

[samsalami66]

And I'm back again with an addition to my Knight!Hob Prince!Dream au (I've decided to go with royal au for shortness' sake lmao) which you can find the first part of here.

Once again all the love and thanks to my wonderful @im-not-corrupted , who provided me with motivation and screams as I wrote this little drabble and is the #1 fan of this au.

-----

Dream hated audiences. 

Audiences meant spending an awful amount of time in his parents' presence, and even if nobody paid much attention to the third royal child in a line of seven, it was still painful to spend even a minute longer than necessary in the King's and Queen's presence. Dream could feel his father's disapproving gaze drift towards him every time his eyes would droop a bit too low, whenever his elbow would slip from where he had it propped on the armrest of his throne to hold his head upright, which felt heavier with every word the current Lord or Duke let spill from his lips. 

Lord Burgess, the man currently grazing the family with his abnormally boring presence, looked about ready to explode as the King once again denied his request for an addition to his land, which would allow him to hunt in the forest neighboring his crops. But the forests were strictly royal territory, and Dream could have told Lord Burgess in much fewer sentences than his father that they would never give up on ancestral lands, not in this lifetime or any other. 

But just as Dream's eyes were about to close to allow him another few moments of respite from this whole ordeal, sounds echoed through the halls outside the throne room. Voices got louder in volume and increasingly more frustrated the closer they got. It was a blessing, an escape from these confines of literal hell, and Dream perked up curiously to figure out what the tumult was about. 

Between the shouts and hisses he could make out a hysterical You can't just waltz in there! and a very joyful Watch me, mate! and Dream decided that this was bound to become a much more interesting audience than he had anticipated. And, true to the small exclamation Dream overheard, a man did just waltz into the room, a smile on his face that would cause even the strongest hearts to faint in charm. Dream didn't quite know how he managed not to, when bright brown eyes caught his over the entirety of the room in an instant, familiar mischief hidden somewhere behind the obvious amusement. 

Christ, those eyes had brought ruin upon Dream once already, years ago, when they had both been young and stupid. Though, by the looks of it, Hob Gadling had not cast that particular trait aside, if his entrance was anything to go by. Guards were hot on his heels, panic written all over their faces as they didn't manage to keep this man from interrupting a private audience with the royal family, which would surely end in them being excused from their service. 

But Hob Gadling seemed to care little for their steps behind him or the guards eventual fate, his stride purposeful, a clear destination in his step. Dream realised much too late what that destination was, too distracted by the way Hob's shirt clung to muscles that had not been there when they had last met, hair that was longer and curlier than he remembered and that framed a bearded jaw so beautifully Dream almost swooned. There was no time for that though, not when those eyes finally left his and were cast towards the ground, not ten meters away from Dream. 

Hob Gadling was kneeling, his head tilted in a bow that was entirely unnecessary for the position he was already in, in front of Dream. 

Not in front of the family, or the King himself, but before Dream's throne, an unmistakable message to everyone present, a showcasing of ultimate loyalty.

To his left Dream could hear Lord Burgess hiss in annoyance at the interruption, the words You dare to interrupt my audience, commoner? falling from his lips like venom-infused blood. Dream did not care for boneless threats. 

He merely cared for the smile stretched over rosy lips before him, the cheeks that stretched with unconcealed amusement. Two guards reached Hob Gadling's side, prepared to force the uninvited guest out the room, and it took all of Dream's years of carefully trained composure to not jump from his throne in a sudden surge of panic. 

"Leave him be!" he demanded, voice overshadowing any and all conversation as he slowly rose from his throne. Hob's grin turned victorious at the exclamation, his posture more relaxed where he knelt on the black carpet to Dream's feet. "I want to know what he has to say." 

There were eyes on him, Dream knew, those of his parents, those of Lord Burgess, those of his guards. He knew his eldest sister was hiding a smile somewhere to his left, fully aware of his and Hob Gadling's relationship, and the only person in this world aware of Dream's feelings towards this infuriating, obviously insane man. 

All the attention Dream had held with his command shifted towards Hob Gadling when he opened his mouth to speak, determination colouring his voice with self-confidence that vibrated through Dream's body like the pleasant rumble of a cat's purr. 

"I come to pledge myself to you, my Lord," Hob started, almost causing Dream to choke on thin air. "In body and in mind, I swear to protect you with my blade and life. Make me your knight, Dream of the Endless, so that I might serve under your name until I take my last breath, until my body betrays my desire to keep you from harm." 

There was no sound filtering through the pounding of Dream's heart in his throat. This – This, Hob's declaration, his offering of complete and utter submission – it was insane, completely crazy, simply not done, not in royal families, not in any politics around the world. One pledged themselves to the King and thereby the country, not to a prince who would never be king, an outcast from his own folk, from his own family. 

This wasn't done, had never been done before, and yet Dream found he didn't care. He didn't care for one single moment about propriety, not when all he had ever wanted kneeled before his feet and offered him Heaven. 

"I do not know who you believe yourself to be, but I will not allow-" The King started off, but Dream cut his reply short, his voice purposefully overpowering that of his father. 

"I accept your request." 

The answer wasn't grand or eloquent, entirely false in its deliverance, unofficial without the ritualistic knighting. But Dream was in a trance, his hand not his own as he stepped down the stairs to stand before Hob, one hand reaching to the hilt of the sword that was hidden beneath his robes. 

When Dream pulled the sword from its sheath and held it to Hob's head, all those eyes reflected back at him was trust, even when faced with total submission, with surrendering himself entirely to Dream, his office and his personal whims. All of this, when Dream had left him behind at the mere notion of friendship, knowing he could not be friends with a commoner. He could be friends with his personal guardian, with a Knight who stood entirely under his protection, and the fact that Hob had been willing to go to such lengths to find a way to be in Dream's presence… 

Well, if Dream felt tears build in his eyes as he allowed his sword to rest on Hob's shoulders, once on each, then that was between him and his Knight. And when his voice trembled slightly as he spoke next, then that was just between them too. 

"Rise, Sir Robert Gadling." 

Dream huffed a silent laugh into the hug he was pulled in next, the excitement bubbling in his chest enough to chase away every ill thought of his parents' opinion as he burrowed his face in Hob's neck. 

The sense of safety he felt in the arms of his oldest friend was almost too much to bear. 

[akumastrife]

Knightmare Of Your Dreams // Dreamling

Rating: Explicit (Just All Smut) Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Word Count: 3k I have no excuse for this. I wanted to write weird and kinky Dreamling with a side of shapeshifting, the thinnest King and His Knight vibes, weird anatomy, some claws and shadow tentacles, and self-indulgence. Written for the "Eldritch" square on last year's Monsterfucktober Bingo that I never finished in time.

{Also on AO3} Shout out to "Violently (slowed) by Mira" that I listened to roughly 200 times while writing this bc its soooo Dreamling to me. also to Zomsaurus for the funniest line in any of my writing ever

It was never supposed to be like this. Death was for everyone else, never Hob. She’d promised.

But the Endless did not abide by such rules; drifted uncaring outside them. If Death could make such a thing, it could be assumed that one of the others could unmake it.

And now that the imminent danger is gone, now that Hob’s safe and remade under Dream’s protection, he can at least admit Hob looks wonderful on his knees.

Dream’s always thought so, and now he gives himself over to leisure to look his fill. He’s well and truly his now, shouldn’t he be allowed?

The visage Hob’s chosen for himself is fitting; muscle encapsulated in shining armor, a sword at his side and the helmet with haloed spikes set reverently beside him. The insignia, mirrored on cloak and shield, is Dream’s favorite part.

A burst of stars across a sea of black, glittering as it moves just as Dream’s coat does. It is the same, after all; a claim that makes primal satisfaction simmer low under his skin.

Dream’s remade him, and Hob has chosen to be his, still. Always.

Everything the Corinthian was supposed to be. Every iteration a pale imitation of the man Dream has followed through time.

 “You do not have to kneel,” Dream says. Near purrs. Can tell the low timber is pleasing by the way exposed skin shivers in answer. But Hob himself does not move. Not even an inch to have his armor creaking.

“Perhaps,” Hob says, looking up quickly and the corners of his mouth flicking up similarly. “But you like it. And I owe you, don’t I?”

Hob owes him nothing. The centuries of give and take sprawl behind them, and Dream is almost certain the scales are still tilted in Hob’s favor.

And yet.

That is not what Hob is asking.

Now that he’s part of the dreaming, now that he’s part of Dream—intertwined irrevocably—there is little Dream cannot know about him. His feelings, his mind, his desires.

It is a game Hob’s wanting.

Dream hums, leaning back in his high-backed throne, crossing one leg over the other. Considers Hob, all his pieces, the laughing light in his soft eyes. Gestures wide and airy with one hand. “And what would you offer? To me, an Endless, who has need of nothing.”

Hob does shift then. “My lord,” said with all the impudence of a knight who ought to be taught to heel like a dog. His eyes drop, hungry and dark, down Dream’s front—

Dream finds himself wearing a velvet robe in the darkest shades of plum and night-sky blue, open to expose the moonlight of his torso. Plays fingers along the sweeping sleeve hems with half an eye on Hob, considering him and the outfit he’s put Dream in with sheer want alone.

“I see,” he murmurs. Watches Hob swallow. Extends his lifted foot, now encased in a soft stocking that runs the length of his leg under the edges of the robe, and slides it slow between Hob’s legs. Presses up, idly, like he is a curiosity and nothing more.

Hob shudders, eyes fluttering closed as he swallows again, jaw clenching against the sigh Dream can almost taste.

“You would like to serve me, then? You, who are now a Nightmare under my hand, and think yourself clever as a knight. All the centuries you’ve lived, and still, you crave a king to kneel before.”

When Hob doesn’t answer, Dream arches up his foot again, a smooth slide that pushes speech out of Hob.

“No,” Hob gasps.

“This says otherwise.”

“No. Not a king.” Hob grits his teeth, every part of his body (tight, honed and singing like a weapon begging to be asked to strike) shivering in an effort to stay still. “Just you.”

Warmth blooms and oozes under Dream’s skin. He lets the satisfaction radiate out as something tangible until Hob’s blinking up at him, expression bare in its awe.

“You are an impossibility,” Dream praises, softly. “I should’ve offered to keep you long ago.”

“I would’ve happily,” Hob says. “Let me now?”

“Be kept? Oh, Robert Gadling,” Dream says, leaning towards him. Takes Hob’s cheek in his hand, cradling gently before shifting to catch his chin in an unrelenting grip. “I am never letting you go, even if you beg.”

Hot hands land on his knees as Hob surges closer and leans up on knees still to catch his mouth in a kiss.

Dream lets himself be kissed. Let’s Hob direct it as hot and slick as he likes, lets himself be lulled under the rhythm like a boat bobbing gently on calm waters. It is at odds with the desire boiling under Hob’s hands, thrashing and teaming to get out. Barely contained in this body Dream has fashioned lovingly for him.

“What do you have for me?” Hob asks against Dream’s mouth, hoarse already with the want like it’s choking him. His hands slide reverently down Dream’s chest, toying with his nipples before following the edges of the robe to his lap. Kisses him gently as he finds Dream’s hips and holds on, thumbs rubbing back and forth.

“What would you like?”

Hob’s hands squeeze, breath catching audible in something too close to a whimper. Freezes, startled by the overwhelming realization and the world that’s been opened to him. Offered to him on a platter.

Dream slips into his mind easily, eyebrows raising at the dozens of images that flip through him. Hob’s brain working overtime with all his wonderings and filthy dreams.

Hob certainly isn’t lacking in imagination. It seems like he’s traded any shame he might’ve had for more of it.

If Hob is spoiled for choice, then he shouldn’t have to choose.

Dream selects a few of them, plucking them out of the mire with newly sharp claws, as precise as a spider traversing its own web. He feeds that thought to Hob while he has him, and smiles at the shudder it gets him.

“Are you that easy?” he asks. He runs his black-tipped claws through Hob’s hair, scratching gently at his scalp.

“For anything, as long as it’s you,” Hob assures him, nipping at his lip.

“I might scare you.”

“You can’t,” Hob says.

Something dark and dangerous flares low in Dream, and he grips the back of Hob’s neck, dragging him back into a kiss. He has to taste him, has to steal his breath until he doesn’t breathe at all without Dream doing it for him.

Hob fumbles to strip his thin gloves off and find the opening of the robe with bare hands. “Please,” Hob groans. “I will be so good for you.”

His hands slip greedy to skin, wrapping around Dream’s cock. Strokes him slow to learn the new shape of him, to thumb all the fluted edges like a tall flower closed.

Hob bows his head to take him into his mouth immediately, groaning softly as his tongue dips into the slit.

Dream sighs, letting his hands wander of their own accord. The armor is mostly in his way, but he is not bound by mortal conventions and can slip beneath them. “You have only ever been perfect.”

Hob’s tongue is heavenly and cruel at once; a rolling softness that deftly coaxes at every place that sparks pleasure like Hob is singularly attuned to it.

The plush give of his mouth is enough that Dream distantly wonders if he had reshaped it to only accept him.

He wants to devour Hob whole, if only he might also feel this all-consuming pleasure.

Hob groans softly like he agrees.

“Easy,” Dream praises again, deftly flicking at every buckle and clasp of Hob’s armor with his claws. It all falls away under his whim, clattering indecent to the floor and echoing through the hall. Leaves Hob in just a soft tunic and breeches, and available to his hands and the shadows that ripple around them in pleasure. They shift and pulse in time with his own heartbeat. Grow larger and darker, building up on their own and teaming hungrily around Hob.

The hunger is its own entity, awakening from disuse in his body and ravenous for it.

Shadows pull together, wriggling into tendrils that wrap and caress Hob like a lover.

Dream can feel him shiver and shake, can feel his breathing stutter and deepen. Feels everything his shadows do, awareness split to watch Hob’s head move sinuous and also in the tendrils slipping under fabric and along tacky skin.

Exhales heavy and inexorable as he tips his head back and watches through the shadows that explore the length of Hob’s body, licking in every crease and curl against the tight heat of him.

“Hard for me?” Dream breathes. “Just from being on your knees, just from having your mouth full? Easy.”

“Merely rigor mortis, my lord,” Hob teases, tracing his tongue down.

Dream tightens his fingers in Hob’s hair, pulling warningly. “I gave you life, and I can take it away.”

“Don’t threaten me, I’m into that.”

Dream laughs despite himself, startled, and just as quickly it twists into a moan at the savage spear of tongue against his slit, the way Hob takes him so deep into his mouth he can feel the squeeze of his greedy throat.

“Do you wish to consume me?”

Hob whines, nails digging into his sides, swallowing again.

“Do you wish to take me inside all of you? Or shall I open myself up so your tongue may taste me at my core?”

Images fly fast and desperate behind Hob’s bruised eyelids, saliva pooling and dripping, knees twinging against stone as shadows finger lovingly along the inside of his thighs. Debauchery, and a spine-tingling notion of Dream splitting his cock open so Hob can lap his tongue down the center of it, giving pleasure from inside-out.

“Steady, love,” Dream eases. His claws betray him, digging into the back of straining shoulder blades. Trace slow paths that almost draw blood. “We have eternity yet.”

Dark tendrils tease up to Hob’s hole, laving attention and worming inside.

“Fucking terror,” Hob gasps, pulling back and jamming his face in the crease of Dream’s thigh.

“Just that? They are so small, just curious,” Dream muses, curling fingers through his hair, soothing. “You have taken more. This should be nothing.” Tightens and pulls, yanking Hob’s head back and savoring the electric groan.

“It’s well and truly different, and you know that.” Hob’s already panting. Shifts on his knees, hips hitching into empty air and then back on the mime of fingers. “More?”

Dream lets him have as much as he can take, humming a soft ballad from the thirteenth century as he feeds more to Hob, stretching inside him; another to wrap and squeeze his balls, preventing him from rocking himself to any sort of satisfying end. Savors the choked moan.

He would play with him like this for a century, like a cat does a mouse, toyed with on just the edge of some finality but never letting him have the satisfaction.

“Please,” Hob begs. “Please, anything you like, I will do anything, just—just more. I want to feel you. I need to feel you.”

He’s very lucky that it’s exactly what Dream himself wants. Lucky to be so handsome, to have caught Dream’s affection like the golden-limned muse he is. Lucky that Dream will happily bend time and reality for him.

Will happily help him up from the floor to kneel over Dream’s lap instead, and hold his hands firm for stability as Hob sinks down onto his length with a groan so obscene Dream’s sure it would put a whorehouse to shame.

“Look at you,” Dream purrs, watching every inch of Hob’s face tipped back in rapture. “You take me beautifully, my love.”

Hob laughs, something breathy and aborted, tight around all his edges as he squeezes Dream’s hands in a dozen things unsaid. Squeezes his eyes shut; squeezes around Dream himself, sweat dotting his skin as he takes a blessed moment to get used to the new shape of him remade for Dream’s pleasure.

Or maybe it the other way around, maybe it is Dream who’s been reshaped for Hob, to be used and enjoyed.

Dream continues to watch him, enjoying every detail and shift, as Hob takes his time. Runs sharp claws only somewhat careful up and down Hob’s heaving ribs, keeping his own hips still as Hob begins to rock small circles onto him. Keeps him deep inside, but chasing the little shocks of friction.

“Everything you wanted?”

“More,” Hob says. His thighs flex in an effort to lift and sink back down, building to some rhythm only he knows. It is heaven and hell both to feel him—better than, when he’s experienced both. Would rebuke both for this here, and does with his teeth to Hob’s throat, tasting the pounding of his heart as Hob works himself a little faster.

“And you?” Hob manages to ask.

Dream does not bother with words, just in the tightness of his hands and claws as he drags Hob closer into him, both of them gasping as talons pierce skin.

The dark tendrils are as hungry as ever, sliding around Hob’s skin and covering every inch Dream cannot. Teaming against them both like a desperate creature, jealous for attention. Needy still, despite having tasted Hob already. Maybe wants more for having done so already.

They are part of Dream, after all, and Dream does not think he will ever tire of tasting Hob. Tastes him again in an open kiss, slow and indulgent in contrast to the fast and brutal way Hob fucks himself on him. Tastes every breath and keen that escapes Hob. Tastes Hob’s skin and nipples and cock through the wriggling passes of darkness.

Hob is tight and hot and slick, and Dream buries his face into Hob’s neck, breathing deep and fast, grazing with very sharp teeth. Each press gets closer to breaking skin, and each one makes Hob shake harder.

“Will you give it to me?” Dream rumbles. Teeth and claws dig in so slowly, pressing wrenching gasps from Hob. Shadows build and creep around Hob’s cock, gripping him tight, squeezing in time with his own frantic rocking.

Hob sobs, body tense and face utterly slack in ecstasy. “I’d give you anything.” 

“Just you then,” Dream says. Drags nails down to sink into the writhing dark mass to take Hob’s cock in hand. “Everything. You are everything.”

The smallest, weakest whine escapes Hob. As does a tear, tracking slow down his cheek.

Dream stretches to lick it up, saliva turning sticky as arousal swells. He grips Hob tight all over, free hand gripping his hip to yank him down into a frantic rhythm. Feels his pulse follow suit in the desperation—hears Hob’s do the same—thoughts swirling with the desire to fold Hob over something and well and truly claim him. The desire to hold Hob down and use him as much as Hob himself wants.

Wants most, ridiculously, to make Hob happy. And that is to stay right here and let desire fan the flames of his power until he is growing in size and energy, and still letting Hob curl over top of him as he shouts in painful sharp release.

Dream groans with him, drawing it out of him like spinning yarn, a gentle and thready tug-and-give, taking every shake, every pulse, all the suffusing warmth Hob has in him. Wishes to draw every ounce of damp completion out of him until he is as empty and cold as the armor he likes to wear. The armor still scattered on the floor of the throne’s dais. The sight of it over Hob’s shoulder (scratched, bitten, bleeding) is nearly as loose and erotic as the man still fucking himself on him is.

“Won’t you join me?” Hob gasps. His voice grates and fails him, near hoarse. Keens as he forces himself to tighten around Dream’s cock, trying to milk pleasure out of him. Hob is so tired. Dream can feel it. His exhaustion. His pleasure. His satisfaction. His greediness as his muscles spasm and twitch with continued stimulation. “You’ve made me feel so good, love. Won’t you let me do the same? Please.”

It wobbles. The word or Hob’s voice, or maybe Hob’s grasp on rationality.

Dream only hums. Loosens his grip on hip and cock both, softening to hold and stroke featherlight. “You are tired.”

Hob shakes his head. Resumes languid rolling of his hips.

“You might hurt yourself, continuing like this.”

“You will fix me,” Hob argues. Stubborn in life and death both.

“You are charming.”

Hob manages a breathy laugh. His expression tightens, eyes squeezed shut in focus. “If you don’t come inside me right now—”

Dream bites his lip, cutting it off neatly. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t. Just…” Rolls words around in his mouth, leaning back against the throne, watching Hob refuse to still.

The dark tendrils, pesky things, help him. Wrap around his waist and curl at his back, stabilizing him, keeping him from tumbling either direction.

“Not yet,” Dream decides.

Hob chokes on a whine, posture shooting ramrod straight as the layers of ridges on Dream’s cock expand outward. Just enough to keep him locked in place.

“You wanted something new to play with,” Dream reminds him, running claws through sweat-soaked hair. “Who am I to cut your fun short?”

[si-siwrites]

Redo of an old piece with new line work and colors!!! Also has alt images for reference under the cut!

Y'all the amount of time I spent working out the colors on this was ridiculous. Mostly took colors from the godseeker palates, because while I definitely don't have a perfect idea of how I would incorporate him and Hua Cheng into a Hollow Knight au, I know that it will definitely have something to do with them. Also, you know, the golden mask.

[darkvolt]

Gobtober 2023 - Day. 06 Knight

[nathanwonderwolf]

There is no logic in fact that Hob Knight of the Dreaming/Hope in a military peacoat instead of armor, only my wishes :>

Sorry, Reply still no working TзT

p.s. inspired by Pinterest

[quibvsposts]

dreamling… but make it star wars

[tryan-a-bex]

Just read a few knight!hob dreamling ones, so here’s a fic rec list!

Hellknight by @delta-pavonis

Knight of Cups by @softest-punk

Ecdysis by @moorishflower

And the modern day Knight I love

Fuckboi Hob by @dancinbutterfly