#Morpheus finally meeting Hob for the first time

[just-french-me-up]

Harmonies

Dream of the Endless / Hob Gadling | Human AU | Writer Dream - Voice Actor Hob | Explicit | 2.2k Porn with some Plot | Masturbation | Literal voice porn | Dream doesn't quite know what to do with himself honestly

@hardly-an-escape recently had this FABULOUS idea of acclaimed writer Morpheus who secretly publishes popular romance novels under a pen name, who shamefully gets off while listening to voice actor Hob Gadling acting out an explicit scene from one of his romance stories. I would say my hand slipped but this was 100% planned and thought through.

Morpheus refreshed his inbox. Early afternoon, Lucienne had told him. He gave a quick glance at the clock. 5:42PM. Early afternoon was fading into late afternoon one second at a time, with nothing to show for it.

Morpheus refreshed his inbox. Again.

This is stupid, he thought, frustration seeping in. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Surely, they had not finished editing or formatting the whole thing yet, he shouldn't have gotten his hopes up. Perhaps they had forgotten. Morpheus didn't usually request to be sent the beta recordings. He was more than happy to let them do their job unencumbered, trusting Lucienne to green light everything once it was done. Truth be told, he was barely involved in the whole audiobook side of things, except for, well, writing the damn thing in the first place and having his pen name slapped on the cover. Lucienne had arched an eyebrow at him when he'd asked for the latest recordings out of the blue, but had not been overly curious. A good thing, really. Morpheus carefully avoided any occasion that required him to lie through his teeth. This, no doubt, would have been one of them.

His phone buzzed, startling him.

[6PM 09/05/2023 – The Kindly Ones – Edit Zoom Meeting]

Morpheus turned off the reminder. Too many fires at once. That was his problem, his sister had told him once. Stretching yourself thin until you're see-through, she had said. She was not wrong, of course, although Morpheus would not admit it to her face. She would be far too smug about it.

He refreshed his inbox.

Inbox (1)

Morpheus froze and stared at the screen. There it was. Finally. His pulse racing, he reached for his headphones, struggling to plug it in in his haste. The file was slow to download, the recordings accounting for more than half of the book. Morpheus' fingers tapped impatiently against his desk as he watched the bar crawl to the finish line.

5:51PM.

Surely he could allow himself a quick browse through the file. The meeting with his editor―his other editor―wouldn't start for five more minutes, if not more, should they run a little late on their side. Morpheus found himself wishing they would. Unprofessional, a little voice admonished him.

He opened the file. It had been divided into sections, each corresponding to a chapter. Skip. Skip. Skip. He knew what he was looking for. The book had come out a year ago or so. He still remembered the outline well enough. For a while, he heard nothing but the initial breath of the voice actor, one for each chapter, before he would skip ahead. When he finally let the recording play, the voice engulfed him in its warmth.

Although Morpheus had been the one initially weaving the words and sentences together, they found another dimension and depth in that voice. He was rediscovering his work on someone else's tongue, and the effect left him... intrigued. A few voice actors had given life to the words on the page over the years but this one... This one breathed a soul into the story like none had ever managed to before.

When Morpheus had learnt Robert Gadling would narrate another one of his books, he could not resist.

The beta recordings were rough, lacking the polish of the final product, leaving intakes of breath in and other little imperfections editors would cut out. Morpheus could hear every huff, every chuckle when Gadling would stumble over a word and correct himself, going back to the beginning of the sentence. He could picture the smile on his lips then, the playfully apologetic look at the tech team. He had looked up pictures of him online, once. His face matched his voice: warm, inviting, with a hint of mischief. Suave, even. Morpheus had then closed the tab, embarrassed at his own thoughts.

The scene he had skipped to was professionally relevant, or, at least, he tried to convince himself it was. He had always understood sex scenes to be a tricky thing, for actors. At least, when it came to traditional acting, it was a shared awkwardness, a simulacrum of pleasure played by multiple people who could find solace in the fact that they were all on the same vulnerable boat, camera crew included. Now, voice actors... Acting choices could either make or break a sex scene. It required a subtle mix of smoothness and confidence few could manage. The last thing he wanted was for his words to sound clumsy and awkward, when the goal was quite the opposite. It was Morpheus' authorial prerogative to check every aspect of the audiobook fit his vision, after all.

As the chapter began and Robert Gadling's voice filled his ears, Morpheus imagined him in his recording booth, alone. Some audiobooks had multiple actors playing different characters, but this one only had him credited. There were slight fluctuations of tones, accents and speech patterns, as he switched characters. Morpheus listened intently.

"Gabriel gave a fleeting look downward. Nathan's shirt was soaked, revealing hints of the skin underneath. He tried not to stare, but only managed to do so through conscious and continuous effort. 'You should change your shirt before you catch something,' he told Nathan, his tone as casual as he could manage. 'You could borrow one of mine.' "

The acting was good. There was tension in the words, in the tone. The characters sounded like different people, even though they were played by the same man. Morpheus continued. In the book, things heated up quickly after a long, tentative courtship. He braced himself for the following scene, replaying the words in his head from memory.

" 'It smells like you.' Gabriel stared at him, stunned, unable to look away as Nathan stood in front of him, his own t-shirt and boxers for only garments. 'What?' he managed, his throat dry. 'It smells like you,' Nathan repeated, lifting the fabric to his nose with a smile. 'I like it.' Gabriel's gaze trailed down Nathan's body, only now noticing the growing outline of his cock aga―"

Morpheus paused. He had written those words. He knew those words, from having read and reread them a few dozen times during the writing and editing process. Yet he had never heard them. Especially not in that voice. Even the narration was sensual, almost cheeky, dripping with lust like honey. Clumsy and awkward it was not. It was.... something else entirely. Shaking off the feeling, Morpheus hit the 'play' button again.

" ―inst the taut fabric of his boxers. 'I like it,' Nathan repeated, slowly reaching for his cock through the thin fabric, his fingertips brushing the shape of it, well aware of Gabriel's undivided attention."

The rest of the scene followed, word for word Morpheus' work, yet somehow completely new to his ears. He sat there, enraptured, his eyes staring into nothingness while the rich, luscious voice surrounded him, filled him until it became his only focus.

A lewd, enthusiastic hum rose from the headphones, making Morpheus jump. Every word he had been anticipating thus far, but artistic license? It fitted with the narrative well. Too well. Not Gadling's first brush with erotica, he immediately guessed. He played it again for good measure. The sound was deeply erotic, with just enough warmth and breath. Real. It sounded real. It was followed by a breathy sigh Morpheus could almost feel at the back of his neck. God.

He played it again. He could feel the sound, the anticipation, the desire, the pleasure. Gadling conveyed it with such ease it felt genuinely intimate. Arousing, even. Morpheus ran his hand against the front of his own trousers, feeling the very real erection pushing against the hard fabric. This was ridiculous. Yet he could not stop. The scene kept playing, Robert Gadling's voice purring in his ears, words like caresses and gentle tugs, and he could not help but cup his cock through his jeans, seeking friction. He imagined him in the recording booth, leaning over the microphone, his features fitting the suggestive sounds, his lips wet from running his tongue over them. If he could just get a little further in the scene―

His Zoom alarm went off. Instantly, Morpheus removed his hand and his headphones, his back stiff as a board, a cold wave of panic rushing through him. Fuck! He gave himself a quick look through the camera of his phone. He was blushing slightly, to his utmost annoyance. Nothing he could not blame on bad webcam settings, he thought. The rest could be concealed easily enough. Especially when he was only visible from the waist up.

It was with a slight flush and a distracting, frustratingly hard erection that Morpheus answered his Zoom call, his mind scattered between book royalties, publishing dates, and Robert Gadling's voice still deeply embedded in his skull.

--

It was hours before Morpheus found a minute of free time. Night had fallen, the evening spent in front of a screen or on the phone, discussing the imminent release of his upcoming novel, one whose cover would feature his actual name, this time. Book releases were always exhausting affairs, between planning podcast appearances, book signings, press tours, and the likes. Morpheus disliked the fanfare of it all, the exposure, but could hardly complain. There were worse flip sides of the coin, out there.

At least writing under a pen name saved him the hassle, with the other half of his published work.

Lying on his bed, fresh out of the shower, Morpheus sighed, staring at the ceiling. He felt both exhausted and wide awake, his coffee-fueled brain refusing to quiet down. There were a few things the editor needed his input on in person, tomorrow, something to do with the cover art. He'd promised himself to write, too. Perhaps clean the flat a little. Too many fires at once, his sister's voice echoed in his mind.

His phone buzzed again. Incoming email from Lucienne.

Listened to it yet? Thoughts?

Plenty. Enough to know it was good. Enough to keep the reader listening. Enough for him to want to go back for more.

Going through his emails, Morpheus found the link to the beta recordings, and downloaded it onto his phone. He reached for old earbuds in his bedside table drawer. Where were we?

" 'Come here.' "

The latent desire in that voice was enough to get Morpheus right back where he had been, a few hours ago. Lying on his bed, he kept listening, swallowing hard at any well-placed sigh, any improvised grunt and whimpering sound. Was it even improvised? Did he plan on adding those? Did Gadling discuss it with the adaptation team beforehand? Marked the exact spots where he would do it in the printed script?

" 'You're so beautiful like this, love. Look at you.' "

God.

" 'I have thought about you like this. Hard under me. For me.' "

Hesitantly, Morpheus reached under the waistband of his pyjamas, finding himself hard already. He blushed at his own embarrassment, alone in his bedroom, his hand wrapped around his cock, his own words spilling in his ears. Vain, perhaps. Awfully self-absorbed. But deep down, he knew it was not that. Not really.

" 'Do you want me, Gabriel?' Can you feel I much I want you?' "

He hated himself for including so much narration in this passage, keeping him from the lascivious heat of Gadling's voice, waiting for the dialogue to return like a starving man begs for food. How could he do that? A wanton moan reverberated in his ears, quickly echoed by one of his own, harmonies of pleasure filling his head and his room.

" 'Fuck, you feel so good!' "

Why did his editor even let him publish that? Morpheus' mind was bridging the gaps between dialogue bits, ignoring the narration in favour of more pleasurable mental stimulation. He pictured Robert Gadling in his recording booth, focused over the microphone, his lips pressed into a sinful hum, his eyes closed. Gadling next to him, his mouth pressed against his ear, spewing new words, ones he did not write, ones of his own.

" 'Let me see those eyes.' "

Morpheus whined against his pillow, both from pleasure and frustration. He hated this. This was... mortifying, and yet he could not stop. He arched his back, chasing his pleasure.

" 'Fuck! I've waited for this for so long.' "

Morpheus came in his pyjamas in a muffled grunt, the release helping nothing with the shame spreading through him. It brought him some clarity, at least. Disgruntled, he yanked the earbuds out of his ears, Robert Gadling's voice reduced to a hushed whisper, the siren's song finally muffled. He looked down at himself, suddenly aware of the mess he'd made. Great. Fantastic.

His phone buzzed again. It was Lucienne.

Do you want the edited files once they are done? They would love your feedback before they start trimming it down.

Morpheus sighed, struggling against the brightness of the screen.

Yes, tell them I would like them.

[issylra]

DREAMLING AU↳ let me down easy by @valeriianz

“... 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.

[seiya-starsniper]

Love at First Meow (Dreamling - AO3)

Rating: Explicit Status: Complete Chapters: 1/1 Words: 8,672 Archive Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human Meet-Cute, Secret Crush, Mutual Pining, Fluff and Humor, mostly towards the end, Animal Shelter Worker Hob Gadling, Audiobook Narrator Dream, Idiots in Love, First Time, pet death briefly mentioned

Summary: Hob Gadling has a rather embarrassing secret. He's obsessed with an audiobook narrator. A narrator of romance novels. What will he do when said narrator shows up at his job, looking to adopt a cat?

Morpheus Endless does not have a problem. He simply enjoys looking at cat videos from the White Horse Animal Shelter...even if he may enjoy the human featured in said videos a little bit more...

Very late contribution to Dreamling Bingo, but I did finally finish this one!

[dragon-kazansky]

When the raven calls

Morpheus x Female Reader

You, his raven, die protecting Jessamy while rescuing the Dream Lord. When Morpheus returns to his realm, he mourns your loss, only to find a stranger waiting for him in his throne room. The stranger claims to be you, now in human form. He doesn't understand, but his raven will always watch over him.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Chapter Eight - Friends through time

☆☆☆

1389

The first time Morpheus met Hob was a long, long time ago. Dream had longer hair back then. You had been there too, just not inside the tavern.

No, you had to wait outside. You waited on a wall, muttering to yourself about how unfair it was that birds weren't allowed inside. Then remembered you were among mortals and had to hush up. It would only be complicated to explain why a raven could talk.

You had agreed with Death that it would do him some good to spend time among them. Dream had disagreed, but he also didn't take much coaxing to get him out here.

Death was proud of him for tagging along. You were just there for moral support.

Death had come out first. She smiled at you and then went on her way. You waited patiently for your king to exit, too.

Soon, the door opened, and Dream came out. He looked amused. He walks over to you.

"I've just met the most curious human."

"That so?"

He chuckles softly and then gestures for you to follow him as he returns back to the Dreaming.

☆☆☆

1489

Once again, you're left outside. You can't see or hear anything that's going on. Dream said he wouldn't be too long. He didn't expect this meeting to go on for very long as he assumed the human would wish for death.

Dream had explained that a man by the name of Robert Gadling refused to die. Death made the man immortal. She would never come and take him the Sunless Lands unless he asked for it.

A hundred years had passed and Hob still wanted to live.

Dream thought this was fascinating. He told Hob to be there in another hundred years.

As Dream left the tavern, you followed.

"Well?"

"He wishes to live. Another hundred years it is then."

"Who is he?" You ask, flapping your wings gently.

Dream doesn't reply. He just smiles.

☆☆☆

1589

You had requested Dream sit by the window when he came to see Hob this time. He said he would try for your sake. However, when Dream arrived, Hob already had a table set up in waiting for him. You sigh and decide to hide in the trees.

Hob Gadling had apparently become rich. He had made some gold and was living life to the fullest. He was knighted and everything. He was happy.

So, of course, he wanted to live.

When Dream came out of the tavern, he was with a young man. You heard him refer to the man as 'Will'. You flew off after them, keeping a distance, furious as to why he had left Hob. Surely their meeting wasn't over already?

Dream would later tell you he met a curious man. One who wishes to write the most wonderful plays to inspire men.

You weren't surprised Dream took an interest in him.

☆☆☆

1689

You finally got to see Hob Gadling. Dream was there first and sat as close to the window as he possibly could. You perched on the window sill outside and peered in. No one paid you any mind, except your king who checked of you were there.

A man is trying to get into the tavern. He is being held back and told he can't come in.

"Let him be. He is my guest."

You look at the man who had come in. This can't possibly be the same Robert Gadling you had heard about. Last you heard, he was rich and doing well for himself.

Then again, a lot can happen in a hundred years.

Hob sits at the table and shoves food in his mouth. He was starving. You watch curiously. Humanity was so fascinating, and he, especially so.

Dream listens as Hob regails the story of how he lost everything. Even his wife and son. You know Dream has felt loss too.

Yet, Hob Gadling still wanted to live.

You were amazed. He was so resilient. Humanity really was something special. You almost wished to experience it for yourself.

Unfortunately, someone spots you outside the window and shoos you away.

Dream hears you fly away.

☆☆☆

1789

To say you were obsessed with the way Dream looked was an understatement. You always admired how your king looked, but he certainly looked regal now.

You were sat by the open window listening to Hob tell Dream of all that had happened since they met last. Hob was confused by why Dream insisted on sitting near an open window.

Other than Hob getting into slave trading, the conversation was going smoothly. You had been listening with great interest in how the world worked. That's when she walked in.

Constantine.

With her were two henchmen she had paid. Their services apparently involved harming others. You were not too happy to see Dream being threatened.

She puts a drawing on the table. Dated last century. This woman knows there's something strange about these two.

While Hob makes jokes and messes with her, Dream remains quiet and firm.

The need to protect your king takes over, and you do not hesitate to fly through the window as Hob fights the thugs. You fly right for Constantine and distract her. While she tries to swat you away, Dream stands up and takes a handful of sand into his palm. He blows it into her face, and you land on the tables.

Constantine is plagued by her past.

Hob looks confused. "That bird came out of nowhere."

"So it did," Dream says, smile tugging at his lips.

Hob looks down at you as you look up at him. You caw. He looks back at Dream.

"You need not have come to my defence."

Hob has a suspicion he was talking to the raven and not him. Yet, he answers regardless. "Clearly. Still, I didn't want to be drinking alone here in a hundred years' time."

You look up at Dream who merely smiles.

They part ways. You fly back out the window to meet Dream outside.

He is still smiling when he returns to you.

☆☆☆

1889

Dream walks down the street in his cloak and top hat. You have taken to sitting atop the hat, determined not to let him meet Hob alone in case something happens this time.

"You need not come with me."

You scoff and look down at him. "Um, yes, I do! What if you run into trouble again? I'm telling you, sir, you're kind of hopeless without me."

You think you hear him chuckle, but you're not entirely sure.

He's accosted by a woman singing outside the pub before you can even ask him. You sigh as she tries to flirt with him, knowing full well it won't work. The woman is soon dismissed by Hob, who appears behind her.

"Sorry about Lushing Lou."

Dream steps into the pub. Hob takes note of you on his hat.

"You, uh... you have a raven nesting on your hat."

"I'm aware." Dream replies.

"That bird... it can't be, can it?" Hob takes a closer look at you. "That was the bird that from last time with Constantine."

"Sure is," you say, cawing at him.

Hob looks absolutely flabbergasted. "It talks!"

"She does," Dream confirms. "She is my raven."

You caw again.

Dream removes his hat from his head, and you sit on his shoulder instead. They two sit down, though Hob can't stop looking at you.

"Lushing Lou. Is that what they call her?" Dream decides to change the subject.

Hob takes a moment to answer him back, still trying to grasp the talking bird.

"Well, in here, they call her "the hospital.""

"Why?"

"Because she's in 'em a great deal, and because she's sent so many men into 'em. No idea what her real name is."

"Louise Baldwin," Dream tells him. "Her father was in the British army. Her cousin raped, impregnated, and deserted her when she was just a child."

"How do you know all that?" Hob asks.

Dream has never once told this man who he is. He never explained anything.

Dream still does not answer him.

"Your cup is empty. You need more wine."

You chuckle. Hob glances between the two of you.

"You knew Lady Johanna. You know Lushing Lou. You know everyone, don't you?" Hob asks.

"I saw her again, you know."

"Who? Lady Johanna?"

"She undertook a task for me and succeeded admirably, I might add."

"That might be the only thing I've learned after 500 years." Hob smiles. "People are almost always better than you think they are. Not me, though. Still the same as ever."

"I think perhaps you've changed."

"Well, I may have learnt a bit from my mistakes. But, uh... doesn't seem to stop me from making them."

They both smile.

"I think it's you that's changed." Hob says to him. You look at Dream curiously.

"How so?"

"I think I know why we still meet here, century after century. It's not because you want to see whether or not I'm ready to seek death. I don't think I'll ever seek death. By now, you know that about me. So, I think you're here for something else."

The silence from Dream made you uncomfortable. He was generally a quiet person, but this... this was something else. He didn't look pleased.

"Dream?" You called softly.

He doesn't look at you. He keeps his eyes trained on Hob.

"And what might that be?"

"Friendship. I think you're lonely."

"You dare..."

"No, look, I'm not saying-"

"You... dare suggest one such as I might need your companionship."

"Yes. Yes, I do."

Dream stands. You remain seated on his shoulder.

"Then I shall take my leave of you and prove you wrong."

Hob stands.

Dream marches out of the pub. You take flight, soaring above him once you're outside. It's raining, but you don't mind.

Hob chases after him.

You hear him say that if they meet again in a hundred years, it will be because they're friends.

Dream doesn't not answer him.

☆☆☆

By 1989, Dream is locked up in the basement of the Burgess house, and you are dead. Well, as far as Dream knows you're dead.

You're actually back in the Dreaming getting used to your new human form.

Hob isn't even a thought after everything that's gone on.

Hob Gadling sits in the bar alone.

Dream did not come.

☆☆☆

You stand with your arm still looped with Dream's standing at a fence. The pub had shut down. You turn and look at Morpheus.

"I'm sorry."

"What for?" He asks, his voice as gentle as always.

"About this."

"It is not your fault. This place wasn't going to last forever."

"I suppose not..."

Dream looks at the fence and sees the red paint. The New Inn. He looks at the line, which goes along the fence and around the corner.

He starts to lead you down that way.

"Where are we going?" You ask, following him. Your arm was still looped with his, so you had no choice.

"For a drink."

Dream leads you to another building. The New Inn. You smile as you realise what that sign meant. It was a message.

Morpheus leads you inside.

There he sits. Hob Gadling is marking some papers in front of him. Slowly, he lifts his head, and his eyes meet Dream's. He smiles.

"You're late."

Morpheus smiles, too. "It seems I owe you an apology. I've always heard it impolite to keep one's friends waiting."

They smile at each other still.

Morpheus pulls up a chair for you, holding it until you're sat, and then sits beside you. You look between him and Hob, who is staring at you.

"And who's this beautiful soul?" Hob asks, smiling at you.

You feel shy again.

"This is my raven." Dream says, smiling.

"Your... raven?" Hob is suddenly struck with the memory of the talking bird. "So I did not dream the raven."

You chuckle. "Hello, Hob."

"You're not a bird."

"I am sometimes. Not today."

Hob chuckles and then glances at Dream. "I hope he's looking after you."

"It's me who looks after him." You say.

"Oh, that I believe." Hob laughs.

"Hey." Dream looks at you. He is amused, you can tell.

You laugh. Hob laughs. Dream gives in and chuckles.

Hob orders you a drink, but you dare not touch it. Human things are still new to you. However, you listen to his stories.

And you feel Dream hold your hand.

☆☆☆

@missdreamofendless - @kpopgirlbtssvt - @sitkafay - @snowsatsu - @ladyofdreaming - @thoughtsfromlayla - @modest-irish-goddess - @mystic-mara -

[unpredictable-probabilities]

The Pleasures of Dreaming and Waking

Summary:

Hob spends time with Dream after a long week at work. As they chat over their usual table, they grow more comfortable in expressing their fantasies and endeavour to explore them.

Notes:

Inspired by this fic written by @delta-pavonis <3

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 4,716

Square/Prompt: B3 - Somnophilia |  @dreamlingbingo

Ship(s): Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling

Additional Tags: Established Relationship, Kissing, Neck Kissing, Making Out, Nipple Play, Smut, Eldritch Sex, Light Bondage, Consensual Somnophilia, Blow Jobs, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Orgasm Edging, Multiple Orgasms, Sweet, Sweet/Hot, Cuddling & Snuggling, Naked Cuddling, Post-Coital Cuddling, Porn Without Plot, Porn With Feelings

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/59931001

———

The sounds of conversations combined with the clinking of cutlery and soft footsteps is making Hob sleepy.

He had a long week at work and only managed to catch a break now that it's Friday; he stifles a yawn behind his hand and mumbles thanks to the waiter that just brought their order to their table.

“Are you well, my love? You seem exhausted.” A frown creases Dream’s forehead, and Hob still marvels at how Dream is more comfortable with expressing his emotions now, especially since they started dating three months ago; a fact that Hob still has trouble believing if he thinks about it too hard.

Hob nods and straightens up in his seat, trying to blink the fatigue out of his eyes. “I'm alright, love, don't worry. Just pretty knackered with finals week coming up. Been up late catching up on grading papers and all that.”

“You should have informed me sooner. We could always meet in my realm while your physical body rests.”

“Yeah, but I'm quite fond of this place,” Hob admits. “This table is where I was sitting when you first came back. I like talking with you here.”

“You are stubbornly sentimental,” Dream chides, though there's an unmistakable smile on his lips.

“You love it,” Hob says pointedly, taking some chips from the basket.

Dream makes a sound that might have been a chuckle. “Very well. What woes did you experience in the world of academia today? I have heard it is part of unwinding to talk about how one’s day has gone.”

“You learned that in one of those relationship books you read in your library?” He walked in on Dream reading that sort of book once in the Dreaming during their first month of dating. Dream vanished the book in an instant when he saw Hob, but Hob had been so endeared that he had pushed Dream against the shelf and kissed him senseless.

“Perhaps.” Dream drinks from his mug of hot chocolate to hide his face, but not before Hob sees the subtle pink on his cheeks.

Hob grins and reaches for Dream’s hand resting on the table, fiddling idly with the cuff of his sleeve. “Nothing remarkable happened, at this point even the students were just waiting for the weekend so classes were rather quiet. Then afterwards I went with some of my colleagues to that pub near the university, and we just traded mindless gossip to purge our brains of essays and staff meetings.”

Dream turns his hand so his palm is facing up, and he brushes his thumb back and forth on Hob's wrist as he speaks. “I am sure the other patrons enjoyed hearing gossip from academics.”

“I'm not so sure I did, honestly. My mate Nick runs his mouth after a few pints, and I didn't need to hear that he had a wet dream about our colleague from the Arts department. Does that fall under your jurisdiction, by the way? You just know whenever someone's fantasising in their dream?” Hob has already asked a lot of questions about Dream and his function, which Dream always answers with some degree of amusement, but Hob still feels like there's so much more to learn.

“I am able to see into someone's dreams should I wish, but unless a nightmare is crossing a line in troubling them or other similar concerns, I have no obligation nor desire to do so. And any fantasies they might have are created by their own minds.” Dream pauses and tilts his head slightly to the side. “Do you wish for us to do the same? To share such intimacies in my realm?”

Hob feels his face warm and he chuckles. He still gets caught off-guard by how direct Dream can be nowadays. “I thought you said you can't read minds?”

“I can sense daydreams. And yours are often loud.” The corner of his lips tilts up in a smirk.

“Well, can you blame me? People dream about that kind of stuff all the time, but for you and me, it would be real. It would actually be you.”

Dream’s smile disappears and he seems to hesitate, his face becoming guarded.

“Hey,” Hob says gently, stroking Dream’s arm with his fingers. “We don't have to, okay? All the sex we have here in the Waking is already perfectly amazing.”

“Crude.” Dream's eyes twinkle in amusement and he seems to relax. He pauses for a moment before continuing. “You have seen my form in my realm. How… different. I look.”

Hob raises an eyebrow. “You mean being paler and taller than an average human and having galaxies for eyes? And wearing that sinful robe that would be considered indecent in the streets of London?”

Dream lowers his gaze and is obviously trying to suppress a smile. “I am trying to be serious, Hob.”

“Oh I'm perfectly serious. I'm surprised you didn't sense my daydreams whenever we walked around your realm with you wearing that thing.”

“I… did. But.” Dream trails off, his fingers tapping restlessly on the inside of Hob’s arm.

“What's wrong?” Hob rarely sees Dream be so hesitant.

“I am… afraid. To hurt you, in my realm. If we engage in physical intimacy.”

Hob’s eyebrows lift in surprise. “Hurt me? You could never hurt me, love.”

“I might.” Dream’s voice sounds strained with worry. “In my realm I am… more. In the throes of passion I might lose control of my humanoid form.” He looks right at Hob. “You inspire such greed in me, Hob Gadling. I will have you for as long as it takes until I am sated.”

Hob swallows, his mouth suddenly dry. If Dream intends to discourage him by what he just said, he's spectacularly failing. “So exactly as we always do it, then?” he manages to say lightly.

Dream huffs out a chuckle. “You are not daunted at all.” He sounds almost impressed.

“‘Course not,” Hob says easily. “Is it something that you want, though?”

Dream nods slowly. “I have thought of it. More than once. I should like to have you in my bed, at the heart of my palace. So the very essence of our ardour seeps into each fibre of my realm, that none may doubt my affections for you.”

Hob takes a shaky breath, unable to look away from Dream. They should probably be talking about this somewhere more private, but right now the most prominent thought in Hob's mind is if Dream wants it just as much as he does then why haven't they done it yet.

“Okay, okay,” Hob says mainly to calm himself. “Since we both want the same thing, is there any way I can make you more comfortable with the idea? We can use safe words, and I bet you can sense anyway if I feel like something’s too much for me.”

“I am uncertain about that. I have never been able to sense your discomfort in any of our couplings.”

“That's because I've never felt any discomfort, love. Like I said, everything we've done has been amazing, and I think you know by now that you're not the only one who can get greedy,” Hob says cheekily.

A smile curves Dream’s lips. “That is a fair point.”

“I know. So then. Um…” Hob looks around at the pub. “D’you wanna go upstairs and talk about it?”

“You are not too tired?”

“Oh believe me, I'm more awake now than I've been all week.” Hob calls over one of the waiters and tells him that they're taking their food to go.

“Eager, beloved?” Dream raises an eyebrow playfully after the waiter leaves.

“No more than you, Your Majesty.”

Dream makes a low humming noise in his chest that might have been a purr or a growl. Either way, it's definitely a sound of approval and that's all Hob needs to practically drag Dream upstairs as soon as they get their takeout bag.

Hob takes a shower first because he's not sleeping with his boyfriend while carrying the grime of public transport, nevermind that it's the quickest shower he's ever taken in his life.

When he gets out of the bathroom wearing a fresh shirt and sweatpants, he sees Dream on his bed wearing black silk pyjamas, sitting up against a pillow and reading Lord of the Rings. The whole image is so soft that it makes Hob’s chest ache.

“I like seeing you like this,” Hob says as he sits next to Dream.

“On your bed?”

“Relaxed.” Hob kisses the tip of Dream's nose. “Do you still want to talk about it?”

Dream nods. “Do you?”

“Yeah. Thanks for waiting while I showered.”

“You were not gone long. I had not even finished the chapter I was reading.” Dream closes the book and puts it on the nightstand. “I still do not know what happens after Frodo and Sam meet Merry and Pippin.”

“Oh, should I shower for longer then so you can continue reading?”

“If you step in that shower again I should be inclined to join you.”

“Talk first,” Hob says firmly, rather proud of himself for declining such a tempting offer. Granted, he declined in favour of a much more tempting one. “How'd you feel about safe words?” he turns to his side to more comfortably face Dream, folding a knee under him.

“They could prove to be useful, yes. What words do you recommend?”

“We can use the traffic light system. Green means continue, yellow means slow down, red means stop immediately.”

Dream considers for a moment. “And you promise to use them with no hesitation?”

“Yeah,” Hob nods. “And you should too.”

Dream slowly blinks at him, looking surprised.

“You can use them too,” Hob clarifies. “You're allowed to say if you're uncomfortable, yeah?”

Dream is silent for a few moments, forehead creased in thought. Then he slowly nods. “Alright. And I should like to give you control to shape the Dreaming.”

“What?” Now it's Hob's turn to be surprised.

“My realm is tied to my temperament. I may cause a storm without meaning to. Or an earthquake. While you might not be powerful enough to stop these things entirely, you will have the ability to shape the environment to conjure whatever shelter best suits your comfort.”

The first thought in Hob's mind is how utterly sweet Dream is to even think of granting him that much power over his realm; Hob is aware that that much trust given to him is not to be taken lightly.

The second thought following closely after is that Hob wants to see just how much he can make Dream lose control while sharing his bed. He wonders if he can pleasure Dream enough for him to make actual fireworks appear.

Dream chuckles and rests his forehead against Hob’s. “Your priorities continue to fascinate me, Hob Gadling.”

“Shall I show you how fascinating I can be, then?” Hob reaches up to run his fingers along the collar of Dream's silk shirt.

Dream purrs low in his chest and holds the back of Hob’s neck to slot their lips together.

Hob groans softly and clenches his fist into the fabric of Dream's shirt, pulling him down to lie on top of him.

“I thought you wished to do this in my realm,” Dream says playfully against his lips, pupils already blown.

“Still do. Take me there then, my lord.”

There’s sand and the familiar feeling of drifting off to sleep, and then all at once Hob feels a different bed under him, smooth as satin and softer than goosefeathers.

Dream is looming over him, his black robe nearly slipping off a pale shoulder. His blue eyes flicker down to Hob’s clothes, running over them with a curious gaze.

Hob looks down and realises that he’s wearing a bottle-green robe, loosely tied at the waist and with nothing else underneath. “I owned something like this back then,” he recalls. “In the 1500s, I think. It was always comfortable.”

Dream nods in approval and noses along the line of Hob’s jaw. “Good. Here you shall have every comfort.” He sinks his teeth in the skin beneath Hob’s ear with just enough pressure to make him shiver.

“I wish I could carry your marks with me to the Waking,” Hob says breathlessly.

Dream pulls back to meet his eyes, and for a second Hob wonders if had said something wrong.

“If you truly wish it, I can extend my consciousness to my physical form currently sleeping beside yours. I will make love to you in the Waking as I do here. And you will have my marks until your body heals them away.”

Hob feels his eyes widen, his heart thumping in his chest. And once again he wonders why they’d never done this before. “Will I be able to feel what you do to my physical body? Even here?”

Dream considers it. “I can put your consciousness in the liminal space between sleeping and waking, just enough for you to feel my touch in your realm. Is this what you wish?”

“Yes,” Hob whispers, absently realising that he has his hands clenched into fists on Dream’s robe.

“Very well.”

Dream closes his eyes, and suddenly Hob feels smooth hands trail slowly up his thighs, even when Dream hasn’t moved at all. Cool fingers wrap around his cock and he gasps, hips jerking up against Dream’s thigh.

“Did you vanish my clothes?”

“I did not think you would need them.” There’s an edge to Dream’s smile, and when he opens his eyes the blue has vanished too, replaced by pools of black with brilliant stars at the center.

Hob pulls him down for a kiss, and Dream opens up immediately. Hob loses himself in the feeling of their tongues against each other and Dream’s body undulating above him. They both still have their robes on, but Hob can feel a hand slowly stroking his cock, a mouth around his nipple. He hears a whimper that might have been his but never felt it leave his throat.

“Dream,” Hob gasps, hips stuttering against Dream’s thigh. The sensations in the Waking haven’t stopped, but with most of his consciousness here in the Dreaming they all feel distant, like a vivid memory that can never live up to the real thing. “Touch me. Here.”

“As my love commands.” Dream unties Hob’s robe with one hand before pressing their lips together again.

Hob sighs against the kiss as he feels Dream’s hand caress his torso, gliding lower and kneading the flesh of his thigh. He wraps his arms around Dream’s neck, runs his fingers through soft midnight hair that seems constantly ruffled by wind despite the lack of any breeze.

The sensations in the Waking stop abruptly, and before Hob could begin to wonder why, he feels teeth sink into the inside of his thigh.

“Ah!” Hob arches his back, breaking the kiss and pulling Dream’s hair. His cock twitches and he feels the heat of Dream’s mouth wrap around him—in the Waking. Hob moans in frustration, his cock hanging heavy and neglected in the open air. “Do you even have plans to fuck me here?”

“I am marking you in the Waking. That is what you wish, is it not?” Dream rakes his nails lightly across Hob’s chest, scraping a nipple and making Hob twitch.

“Just in the Waking? What happened to being greedy?” Hob quickly bunches up Dream’s robes, thrilled to find that there’s not a stitch of clothing underneath. He grabs Dream’s bare arse and pulls him flush against his groin.

Dream throws his head back with a shaky gasp, his eyes fluttering close.

Hob pulls him down and mouths at pale clavicles, licks at Dream’s icy throat and nips at his jawline.

Dream surges down to kiss him, and at the same time Hob feels his thighs being spread open in the Waking.

Dream's tongue reaches into him from both ends, soft and slick and far longer than any human tongue should be.

Hob squirms as he feels Dream’s tongue move inside him in the Waking, feeling full and empty all at once. He grips the back of Dream's neck, ruts against his cock.

Dream makes a wounded noise and returns the enthusiasm, grinding down hard until Hob’s sure they're carving a dent into the plush cushions.

Hob feels precome on his belly, and he needs Dream inside him now but he also needs him to never stop moving.

And then Dream does stop, even his movements in the Waking.

Hob opens his eyes, mind clouded in a haze of confusion and lust. He sees Dream looking around their surroundings and blinking.

Hob begins to realise that even though they're still on the same cushions, they're no longer in Dream’s bedroom.

The ceiling made of a starry night sky is replaced with an elaborate mosaic of figures that might be deities, and the marble walls are now stained glass windows letting in colorful sunlight that dapples on the steps leading down from where he and Dream are.

Dream shifts to his side to give Hob room to sit up and look around. He realises that they're on a raised platform overlooking a great hall with long tables and tall double doors at the far end. They're the only ones here, and the vastness of the place has a solemn quiet to it.

“Where are we?” Hob’s voice echoes softly.

“You brought us here, beloved.”

“What?” Hob frowns and looks around again, paying more attention to the details.

The wall behind them is painted with doves and bells so intricately that Hob can almost hear them, and he suddenly recognises that the deities depicted on the ceiling are who the townspeople considered the gods of marriage from about six centuries ago.

“This is a wedding hall,” Hob breathes. I brought us here to shag on the altar.

Dream blinks at him slowly. “Why did you choose this place?”

“I didn't mean to,” Hob scratches the back of his head sheepishly. “I guess, um…” he feels his face warm up. He looks down and fidgets with the sheets. “I'm not proposing or anything, I don't even know what that would mean for you but… I s’pose I liked the symbolism of it. Us getting married…” He trails off and hesitantly meets Dream’s gaze again.

Dream is looking at him in bewilderment, and Hob feels panic rise in his throat, images of a rainy night and a black figure storming off flashing in his mind.

“Look, I can't control what my brain thinks,” he hurriedly says. “You can whisk us back to your room—”

Dream moves and pins him down on the cushions, claiming his lips with teeth and tongue and the intensity of the birth of a star.

Hob’s body quickly gets back with the program, whatever he was feeling before they got interrupted by the location change has come back in full force, and then some.

He grunts when he feels Dream slip a finger inside him, the sensation so vivid that it takes him a second to realise that it's happening in the Waking. Dream adds another finger, slick with the lube that Hob keeps in his nightstand drawer, or possibly dreamstuff, Hob doesn't really care. He grinds down on empty air here in the Dreaming, a moan of pleasure and need escaping him.

“You wish to be united with me in this manner?” Dream is actually breathless, and his form is starting to blur at the edges like a freshly made oil painting hanging on a lord’s wall.

He has a subtle glow about him, and Hob can believe that it's coming from the stars in his eyes that seem to burn brighter now. His dark hair ripples softly as if underwater. It's as if one of the gods from the mosaic came to life just to loom over Hob and look at him with utter adoration, as if Hob is the one worthy of worship.

“Of course I do.” Hob threads his fingers through Dream’s hair, caresses his face, his shoulders. Marvelling at how he's allowed to touch a being such as this. “I'll have you in all the ways you would allow,” he says quietly, reverently.

Dream presses their foreheads together. “Hob.” The syllable drops from his lips like a prayer and then he's kissing Hob again, their robes vanishing in an instant.

Hob cups Dream’s face in his hands, his eyes falling close as he inhales the scent of rain and ozone and fresh ink on paper.

He feels Dream's fingers pull out of him in the Waking, and his stomach clenches in anticipation.

The familiar shape of Dream's cock teases at his rim, and Hob realises with a gasp that it's here in the Dreaming. 

Dream tenderly takes his hands and pins them beside his head on the pillow, their fingers lacing together.

Hob is already slick and soft and open, and his eyes roll back in his head when Dream slips in, filling him up inch by delicious inch as Dream’s lips move down to his neck. Their fingers remain intertwined, but Hob feels soft touches up and down his body, becoming more insistent as Dream thrusts deeper into him.

Hob’s eyes flutter open to see that shadows seem to be bleeding from Dream’s form, shaping into tendrils that act as his limbs. Hob doesn't even bother to try counting them, especially not when one tendril touches his nipple, flicking and rolling the hard nub until Hob is squirming and jerking his hips up to meet Dream’s thrusts.

The teeth that scrape and nip at his neck are definitely sharper than usual, and a shiver runs down Hob’s spine, prickling his skin with goosebumps and making his toes curl.

Dream tightens his grip on Hob's hands and slowly pulls out before slamming into him in both realms.

“AH–!” Hob arches his back, or tries to, but finds that the shadow tendrils are pinning him to the bed; wrapped around his waist, his arms, holding his thighs open as Dream continues to thrust into him.

Dream's face is pressed in the crook of Hob’s neck, making growling noises that could never come from a human throat.

Hob’s weeping cock twitches from what little friction Dream’s body is giving, unable to get any more of it no matter how much he strains against the tendrils. Dream slams into his prostate and Hob cries out a sob, tears forming in his eyes.

Dream slows down and pulls back to look at him, the tendrils loosening their hold. “Colour, my love?” His voice sounds wrecked.

“Green,” Hob whines, taking advantage of his mobility to raise his hips and take Dream deeper into him. “Green— Fuck, Please…”

Dream captures his lips in a searing kiss. The tendrils wrap around Hob once more, but this time they help him move, raising his hips to meet Dream each time, faster than what Hob would have been capable of on his own.

He can feel Dream's teeth on him in the Waking while he's being fucked into his own mattress; on his chest, his jawline, his neck, oh his neck, Dream is making good on his promise to mark him, sucking bruises onto the skin and soothing them with his tongue. When that tongue moves down to his nipples, Hob feels so keyed up that he can almost feel it in the Dreaming as well.

A tendril wraps around Hob’s cock and strokes him quickly while another one teases at the slit, and it's all too much and not nearly enough. Hob doesn't quite remember how to breathe, and he tightens his grip on Dream's hands as the tendrils manhandle him to buck and rut against his lover.

The air feels charged, like the moment before a lightning strike, and Dream is panting in Hob's ear as a sudden wind whistles through the wedding hall, the light from the stained glass windows changing colours rapidly as if the sun is moving erratically outside.

Seeing Dream so affected is what hurls Hob over the edge, and he comes with a roar that might have broken the windows but he can't hear anything else above his own voice and the pleasure lighting up his spine.

Dream speaks against his ear, soft lips almost caressing. “This dream is over.”

Hob slams back into the Waking with a strangled cry, frustration crashing over him when he realises that Dream has a hand wrapped around the base of his cock, stopping his release even as Dream repeatedly fucks into him, his other hand bracing himself on the bed for leverage.

The whiplash of going from a mind-shattering orgasm to his cock heavy with wanting has Hob going half-mad.

“Dream–!” he digs his nails into Dream’s back, squirming as he tries to get free of Dream's iron grip, only succeeding in deepening the angle of Dream inside him.

“Shall I fuck you into unconsciousness, my lover?” Dream is in his human form again but his blue eyes are no less piercing. “I can take you here, and in my realm, going back and forth until you can no longer distinguish between Dreaming and Waking. Giving you endless pleasure in my realm where you will not tire, and holding back your release here until I decide that I am done with you.”

A full-body shiver runs through Hob; Dream's voice only stokes the fire already burning Hob from the inside, his words making Hob’s cock ache and twitch in desperation.

“You are mine, Hob Gadling,” Dream's hips stutter out of rhythm before speeding up. “Not to capture nor possess. But to adore and—ah—cherish. Mine to care for. Mine to love.” His eyelids flutter and his breaths are coming in pants. “Just as I am yours. To do with as you please.”

He thrusts deep and Hob cries out, his nails raking red lines across Dream's back.

A flash of concern appears on Dream's face as he looks down at him.

“Green, green!” Hob screams before Dream could even think to slow down. “Dream, my love, please…” he whimpers.

“Yes,” Dream says breathlessly, leaning down to kiss him. “Your love. Yours,” he says against Hob’s lips. He deepens the kiss as he strokes Hob’s cock in time with his thrusts.

Hob clenches his hands into Dream's hair, moaning wantonly in his mouth as his hips buck up and down of their own accord.

“With me, my love,” Dream gasps. He slams into Hob’s prostate and twists his hand.

Hob's vision goes white and he screams, his body thrashing under Dream as he spills and spills between them. He hears Dream’s guttural cry in his ear and it only flings him higher into his peak, where nothing else exists except the two of them and Dream’s spend filling him up more than he thought possible.

Their embrace tightens as they shake and tremble, listening to the sound of each other’s breaths as they begin to calm down, their chests heaving.

Dream gently slips out of him and they both groan at the sensation. “Have I fulfilled your expectations, my love?” he asks quietly, brushing away a lock of hair that had stuck to the sweat on Hob’s forehead.

Hob’s brain takes a few moments to understand the question. “Have… What…” he tries to form a coherent sentence while still catching his breath. “I only ever expect for both of us to feel good, and I think we'd been pretty vocal about that just now.”

Dream smiles, a soft thing that brightens up his face. “Indeed. And now, you must sleep,” he brushes a thumb across Hob's cheekbone. “You have been exhausted this week, and even immortal bodies need rest.”

Hob just hums. Given how his eyelids are already feeling heavy, he doesn't have much room to argue.

“Cuddle?” he manages, sleepily running his fingers through Dream's hair.

Dream leans into his touch. “Both here and in the Dreaming.”

Hob vaguely registers Dream waving his hand to clean them up, and then Dream is lying down beside him and snuggling close, tucking his head under Hob’s chin.

Hob wraps his arms around Dream, drifting off to sleep and smiling at what a lucky bastard he is.

———

(Dreamling Bingo Masterpost)

(Masterlist)

[bakerstreethound]

Once a Dream, Twice the Nightmare

Relationship: Hobrintheus x afab!reader

Warnings: 18+ Smut, praising, fingering (afab receiving), forceful OC male character who is a creep, mentions of workplace harassment, implied stalking, gentle Morpheus, loving Hob, mentions of killing, blood, knives, and dismemberment, lowkey knife play discovery kink appears, everyone is enraptured by Corinthian, makeout sessions, and consensual polyamory

Summary: Going on a date proves to be difficult, especially when it is from a guy at your office who cannot take a hint that you do not like him nor that you don't want to go out with him. Morpheus convinces you not to go and instead enjoy time with him and the two other people who care about you more than anything in the world. Needless to say, you lose yourself to them and indulge in their ministrations.

All writings belong to me @bakerstreethound (Do NOT claim, copy, repost, or translate my works to other sites. I only publish here and on A03 under the same username)

Word Count: 2.7k+

A/N: Hello lovelies, this came about from a request by my lovely wife @roguelov for my 5-year Tumblr anniversary. My six-year anniversary has passed, but better late than never. I had a lot of fun writing this request and Hob has become one of my favorites. I cannot resist writing for Hob, Corinthian, and Morpheus with a reader. I hope you enjoy it (I am so proud of this one!!). Comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Dating was not your strong suit, so why you bothered adding mascara and eyeliner to your face for a final flare was beyond you. One last check you admired your flowy dress that sat just above your knees and was perfectly stretchy and comfortable.

You offered a half smile to the reflection in the mirror, sticking your hand in the pockets and giving a twirl. Pockets in dresses are rare, so when you first put the dress on you had doubts, not wanting to get too hopeful. They are different from your usual style, but this dress was made for you.

Carefully you smooth out the loose strands of your hair that fell from their bobby pin prison, dabbed on one more drop of lipstick on your lips, giving yourself a satisfactory nod. It wasn’t every day you put yourself together in such a manner, preferring comfortable clothes devoid of flowy dresses and skirts. There is a first time for everything, you think. 

Your phone pinged, breaking you from your thoughts. You know it is likely from Jordan, your co-worker who insisted on taking you to a sushi place. You tried to drop countless hints you had no desire to go or eat sushi and every time it was brought up in conversation it was redirected. You wanted to tear out your hair in frustration, so why wouldn’t he take the hint? 

“Darling, you shouldn’t go on that date. He does not respect you and is a fool. No one, no mortal deserves the likes of you,” a silky smooth voice drifts from the shadows. Goosebumps form along your arms at his appearance, as usual.

Out of the three of your roommates, Morpheus was the most elusive, dropping by at inconvenient times. Being friends with Hob, forever the immortal mortal, and Corinthian, one of Morpheus’s art projects was the least of your worries. 

You definitely could not turn down the rent either, as you desperately needed a place to live while pilfering through job applications. So far, a year or two had passed and you got a steady one, where you had the misfortune to meet Jordan, the nuisance and bane of your existence.

You felt so foolish now accepting his offer, not knowing he was asking you on a date until it was too late and his texts became suggestive and eerie. Men and their twisted words. You wished you could be rid of him and that stupid sushi place.

You turn towards Morpheus, acknowledging his presence as you fiddle with the necklace you added to your ensemble. “Well, I wish I could but Jordan is a pain in the ass and he won’t relent unless I join. If I appear and go on this date, then he’ll leave me alone for good.” 

“Oh, darling, that is not the case. He’s using you and harassing you both at work and during your off hours. No person acts in such a manner. Best leave us to handle it.” 

“Handle what?” a warm voice you’d come to cherish many a night inquired. Hob leaned against your doorframe, a small smile gracing his features. You have lost count of the times you lost yourself in those warm brown eyes. 

Turning from your thoughts you sighed as your phone pined five more times on your nightstand. “It’s nothing, an annoying co-worker who asked me on a date that I did not know was a date, and he never specified it was.

He twisted his words and I eventually caved since he was so insistent and I thought accepting it would make me get rid of him. Hell, I am such a fool and Jordan is a creep.” You take a breath, noting the concerned raised brow Hob gave to Morpheus who stood in the shadows, ever stoic. “You were right, Morpheus. I can’t go. What the hell am I supposed to do?” 

“You could block him,” Hob offered, coming to you to wrap you in a hug. His embrace strengthened your resolve and you looked to Morpheus. 

You sighed, leaning into Hob’s warmth. “I will do that, but I work with him at least three times a week and once he drops by my cubicle he will not take the hint no matter how insistent I get.” 

“We could send Corinthian after him. That is an idea.”

Morpheus came closer, standing before you at his full height, his hair a rumpled mess that you did not notice when he was cloaked in shadows. “I would call for him if you wish.” He stroked your cheek gently and you leaned into him, the coldness of his touch a wonderful contrast to Hob’s warm embrace from behind. 

“I don’t want to go,” you whispered, hating how you melted, hating how much your heart raced at the thought, hating how you’d face Jordan at work in three days. 

“Don’t go on the date,” Morpheus commanded.

Your phone pinged again and your heart seized, but Hob held you tighter determined to keep you steady. “Morpheus, why?” Your eyes widened at the set of his jaw, pure determination in his eyes, not willing to let you run from him. 

“Say it.” 

“Why?”  

“You know why,” Morpheus’s voice was soft, yet dangerously low, a silken melody in the space between and you want to lose yourself to his coldness, to Hob’s warmth. How did you not realize sooner they were who you wanted all along? No one else could or would ever compare. 

“Because I want you. I want Hob. I want so much more in this life than to be harassed and taken advantage of by that creep Jordan. I have never felt so safe, so cared for than with you, even Corinthian.” Your heart ached at your confession, realizing the truth in your words, the pure honesty, the desire behind it all. 

Before you could utter another word, Morpheus’ lips meet yours in a soft, determined kiss and you lose yourself to the cold, the fire inside your heart burning free. Hob grunted from behind you, soft warm lips pressed upon your neck, making you melt all the more.

You wouldn’t question how you got here, but you are thankful for them both, saving you from what could have been a precarious situation. You lose yourself then, with Hob biting your neck, passion, and desire brimming between the three of you, nothing could have been more perfect in that moment. 

They continue in their conquest, determined to turn your mind from the disastrous date that could have been and you’re grateful for them, the distraction, the new feelings between you all surfacing. You would not have imagined this happening to you with one, let alone two people you’ve come to admire throughout the years you spent together.

A soft moan passed from your lips as Morpheus slid his hands over your sides, a shower of goosebumps cascading down your arms in the wake of his touch. Hob groaned, pulling you tighter against him, feeling the weight of his desire along your lower back, sending heat to your core in anticipation.

Never had you expected to feel desire or passion for anyone in this lifetime or the next, and you wanted none but them. 

You sighed again as Morpheus’s hands wandered to your breasts, cupping them gently through the fabric of your dress. Hob followed in kind, sweeping his hands under your dress to tease the fabric of your undergarment with his index finger and tracing the apex of your thighs, a delicious agony. To no avail you squirmed against them both, nowhere to go but remain in this moment in time with them.

The buzzing of your phone faded into the background, drowned out by your panting and moans the men coaxed from your lips. Soon enough they had you a writhing mess for them on the bed, sandwiched between them in the throes of bliss and you kissed them in turn, determined to savor every moment, not wanting to let go. 

“So pretty for us to undress, yeah?” Hob cooed, working you with his fingers, coaxing your release from you as Morpheus toyed with your breasts, nipping and suckling, adding to your pleasure. 

“My darling, you’re a sight to behold, so lovely for us,” Morpheus’s voice drank you in, enveloping you in your soul and mind. 

You could do nothing but whimper at the feeling, everything too much yet not enough, body ignited, yet somehow wanting, no, craving more of them and their touches. “Please, Morpheus, yes. Hell, H-hob right there,” you groan, coaxing your lovers on. “I swear I’m going to fuck the next person that walks through that door.” 

“You have us, my love,” Hob whispered huskily, pressing his length against you, evidence of his want and desire.

Your hand grasped onto him with ease, relishing his head tossing back in bliss, the broken moan falling from his lips. Morpheus looked up in awe, his black eyes narrowing, admiring the display before kissing you on the lips gently. 

“I know, Hob but-” you shuddered, as a flash of white passed by your door. 

A deep chuckle resounded in your room followed by a southern drawl. “Well well, what am I missing out on? What did I hear my dear say, Morpheus? Surely they did not mean that. You and Hob are pleasuring them into oblivion already from the looks of it.” Corinthian smirked, his pristine white suit covered in blood.

He wiped the corner of his mouth, smirking as he pushed his signature sunglasses up on his nose before stalking around the bed to get a better view. You let out a soft moan at the sight. 

“Awe darlin’ look at you so pretty for them. So pretty for us.” Corinthian smirked, tilting your chin up with the tip of his knife. “Such pretty eyes. And Jordan will never look at you again or that sushi place.” 

You shuddered at his words, another wave of desire coursing through you. This other being, the creation of Morpheus had killed for you, showering you with such an act of devotion you’re not sure you could ever repay.

“My sweet, you’re so wet for us,” Hob murmured, dragging a finger along your thighs up to your slit, teasing you just so. 

“Looks like they have a penchant for my knives, is that it?” Corinthian’s smirk widened as he added a hint of pressure to the blade he pressed along your neck. 

You choked back another groan, overstimulated by the touches of your lovers, paired with the sound of Corinthian’s seductive voice, cold metal at your throat.

The bed creaked as Hob and Morpheus shifted slightly pulling you to the middle of the bed, keeping you between them, Hob on the left, Morpheus to your right. All of your eyes were focused on the Corinthian after he gently kissed you on the neck where he teased you with his knife.

You continued to admire the new addition to your party. 

The full-length mirror next adjacent to the dresser offered more of a view as Corinthian reverently took off his coat, placing it on your vanity chair, taking off his knife shoulder holsters, and setting the red stained knives on a pristine white towel. You would complain about the towel later, but you and your lovers are too enraptured by the creation of Morpheus to care.

You cannot deny Morpheus’s tastes, or Corinthian’s eye for fashion, the white button-down shirt accentuating his skin, carved of marble, honed and fashioned in the sands of the shoreline.

Carefully rolling up the sleeves up to his forearms, he took another white towel from your vanity, dipped it into the basin of water, and slowly, reverently, cleaned off his knives. 

The precision and the intention are all practiced methods, a ritual, even. 

A ritual that enraptured you and your lovers.

Corinthian set the clean knives on another plush white towel, placing a kiss on each of their hilts, before turning to meet your gaze through his dark signature glasses. 

“Well well, you three have been patient. Is this all for me?” He drawled. 

Hob smirked, kissing your neck, continuing in his prior conquest of teasing your clit to which you immediately squirmed, holding back a groan. 

“Such pretty sounds, my sweet,” Morpheus murmured as Corinthian walked over to the bed, nestling into his creator’s embrace. You were grateful Morpheus had insisted on a large bed, one that he could adjust in any manner he chose.

For a moment you were sure the four of you would break the bed or struggle for room, but now that all of you are on it, it is comfortable, safe, and warm. 

Warm like Hob’s insistent fingers to which you spread your legs further, welcoming him in, arching into his chest as he smiled at you, murmuring encouragement.

It did not take long for Morpheus and Corinthian to partake as well, them rotating between using their tongues and fingers upon you, driving you made and over the edge. Soon enough you pulled each of them in for a kiss, groaning your thanks to them for a wonderful evening, one you are sure not to forget. 

Hob cast a gentle smile your way, kissing your hand, before dragging his tongue along it, his ministrations continuing to your fingers. You raised a questioning brow, as did you other two lovers who were quickly enraptured once more with each other and their tongues. 

Hob shrugged nonchalantly as his tongue threaded nimbly between your fingers, sending surges of heat along your spine and you hope and pray that it is not obvious the vice he already had you in for the second, maybe even third, time that evening.

Taking his sweet time, he does not break contact as he takes your index finger in his mouth, tongue dancing with confidence before he adds in another finger. You are almost lost at the feeling paired with his eye contact.

The act alone was erotic, sparking your mind but watching him riled you further. You had to look away, you had to. Until Morpheus wrapped around behind you, grasping you, pressing his chest up against you. 

He strokes his hands down your arms, sending goosebumps in their wake. “Let Hob work, love. You can be good for us, right?” 

Corinthian grumbled as he shuffled closer, slumping behind Morpheus, ever the clinger and in want of a hug. He compromises by resting his head on Morpheus’s shoulder. 

You sighed in the agony of Hob’s ministrations, ashamed that something so small could rile you up, having you in a chokehold. “I can be good sometimes. If and only if it happens only for you three.” You smirk, noting Morpheus’ excitement pressing against your lower back. 

So this is riling him up, too. 

“What if I said I wanted to watch you and Corinthian makeout?” You mutter in your throes of it all, your brain becoming mush, spewing your desires, the darker impulses. 

Corinthian raises a brow and Morpheus bridges the gap between them lips and bodies colliding as one. You lose them in a flurry of black and white entranced by them, by Hob, pressing his lips to yours, swallowing your moans. You fall into Hob, into the cacophony of affection and desire, enjoying the whispers, groans, and moans that befell the four of you. 

Slowly, and oh so lovingly they tend to you and each other, your body trembling once you’re completely spent, your heart thrumming in your chest as Hob sinks into you, moaning low all while Corinthian and Morpheus watch, utterly enthralled as you come apart for Hob. 

Once you’re all spent, Hob licked the remaining remnants of the combined mess of their desire on your stomach, groaning all the while. 

“You’re all devastatingly pretty. How lucky am I to have you,” you whisper to the now empty room, lit by a single black candle and yellow flame. 

You heard them all shuffle in the darkness, heading to clean themselves up and Morpheus nuzzled up next to you and you felt a coolness between your thighs, registering the cloth he used to gently clean you off.

You smiled in the dark at the gesture. All three of them were so good to you and completely yours. All of you they could not imagine for more and they adored you and would continue to all until the hours of the night, where dreams and nightmares collided.

They would meet you there time and time again, always there, holding you and never letting go.  

******

[gabessquishytum]

Human AU! More asexual Dream agenda. Morpheus used to question his sexuality in his late teens and contemplated that he might be somewhere on the asexual spectrum. It seemed fine to him back then, that is, until he realized how much he didn't fit in when all the relationships his peers had seemed to revolve around sex. So, Morpheus started dating, went out with a few guys, but it died out naturally after a few dates because he refused to have sex. Eventually, he meets Calliope at the uni, and he's really in love and determined to do anything to make this work. They finally have sex, and...it's nothing spectacular. Morpheus just doesn't get why people seem to prioritize it so much (like, how can his friend Cori dedicate so much time to fucking his way through London when there're so many more interesting things to do? reading, for instance!). Anyway, as time goes by, Morpheus tries to really grasp this whole sexual aspect of relationship but it just evades him. He watches porn (it does nothing for him, but he switches on a video every now and then for educational purposes - maybe he'll see something that Calliope might like), tries his fair share of sex toys (some of them are nice, alright, but...cuddling in the blanket is nicer, still?), and comes to a spectacular conclusion that something is very wrong with him. After all, it's him who doesn't meet normal expectations. To make things worse, he starts to notice that Calliope avoids having sex with him (she's tired after work, has a headache, isn't in the mood, etc., and this goes on and on for weeks that turn into months), becomes more distant, and they slowly drift apart. It's a matter of time till they break up. Morpheus takes this as his personal failure, concentrates on his work, even goes to therapy, though he sabotages it before he can actually spell out that he thinks he's asexual, and...he doesn't date. Like, at all. Why set himself for another failure and disappointment? Enter Hob Gadling. They meet accidentally (or not so accidentally, if you ask Hob's elder sister), and Hob is smitten from the word go. He pursues Morpheus insistently yet never creepy; he is, in fact, very understanding and accommodating, and even though Morpheus bristled like a sad wet cat at first (and at second, too), he can't deny anymore that he's in love. He's scared shitless to fuck this up over sex again, but somehow, Hob manages to do the unthinkable: he puts Morpheus at ease. He figures out Morpheus is ace early on, and he's fine with wanking by himself till the end of time if his partner never ever wants to tumble in bed. There're other intimacies to be shared, they also matter! Morpheus doesn't believe him at first, but with time (and lots of cuddles), he cautiously accepts that this may be true. With sex no longer an obligation in his Google calendar, Morpheus even feels attraction...sometimes. It's a rare occasion, but Morpheus is shocked when he experiences it for the first time: he's never truly felt a desire before, and letting go feels scary. Hob is there for him and feels delighted to gently guide him in this exploration. And when Morpheus doesn't want anything sexual, which is most of the time? Hob's still happy with his magnificent husband, their Netflix evenings, disastrous baking, long romantic walks, endless literature discussions, and his right hand.

Gosh, i love this!!! Love the idea that Dream being able to change his perception of sex because it no longer feels like a chore or something that he's been forced into doing (by societal expectations). Mostly he's still not interested but occasionally if he does get a stirring of attraction or desire, he can plop himself down in Hob’s lap and be his pillow princess for an hour or two.

Calliope is probably the happiest person when she sees how content Dream is these days. She and Dream can be good friends (now Dream isn't psyching himself up to have sex with her, and she isn't just constantly getting the vibe that her husband doesn't want her). It's much nicer to have coffee and gossip.

And Dream gets to go home to his husband. Maybe they'll take a shower together, or dance around the kitchen and have a midnight feast. And they'll go to sleep after making out until their lips are sore. Dream will feel no expectations, except the expectation of Hob’s love. That is absolutely guaranteed.

[7-wonders]

8 - "You look like you were jealous" - Subtle Smut Sentence Starters - Morpheus/Dream.

Morpheus never worried about men flirting with the reader because he knows his lover has a preference for women. Lately, a woman in the workplace has been not only flirting but also dreaming about the reader, and that makes our emo kitty jealous. Morpheus starts looking for the reader at his workplace saying that he has important things to talk/do with her, but in fact he knows that this woman wants to ask the reader out on a date, which is why he always appears and intervenes.

You can say that this woman has all the characteristics that the reader likes in a woman. Reader would obviously be bi/pan.

I don't know if that's how it works, forgive me if something is wrong or confusing, I don't speak English. You can obviously change whatever you want. 💓💓💓💓

A couple of months ago, I wrote about the reader being jealous. Now it's Morpheus's turn, and I giggled the whole way through writing this. Enjoy!

•••

As the King of Dreams, Morpheus is privy to the dreams that each and every being with a consciousness holds dear to them. Though he is not in charge of desires (that’s his sibling’s department, and it’s one he’d like to stay far away from, thank you very much), dreams and desires often share the same space and are sometimes even the same thing.

This is how he finds out that there’s someone, a mortal, nonetheless, that is interested in you romantically.

Jealousy is not a feeling that Dream of the Endless has been overly familiar with during his long, long life. Possessiveness, yes, but for the most part, he has had no reason to be jealous (except for the Killala affair, the first, and probably only, time that he had ever been genuinely jealous). Not to sound pompous, but he is Endless. What need does he have for an emotion as petty as jealousy? In fact, if one were to ask him, he would say that he had never actually been jealous before and that if he had, it was so long ago that he did not remember what the emotion felt like.

No, he’s not familiar with jealousy, but what else would he call this…odd, simmering anger that threatens to eat him alive? After all, it had only started when he had sensed you, or rather, a version of you, in someone’s dreams, and found said version of you engaged in sexual intercourse with a dreamer. It was only after Morpheus declared the dream to be over that he went in search of the offending dreamer, only to discover that it was none other than Johanna Constantine.

As you would say, Morpheus shot himself in the foot. After all, he was the one to introduce you to Constantine when the occultist was having trouble summoning and speaking to ghosts. You just so happened to have the abilities of a psychic medium and were more than willing to help out when the situation had been explained to you. You worked well together and ended up continuing your professional partnership after the original job was finished. At the time, Morpheus had prided himself on a job well done. Now, he was wishing that he had forced her to make a costly deal with his sister if only it meant that she would stop meeting up and working with you.

It certainly doesn’t help that Constantine was a naturally flirtatious creature, calling you “gorgeous” or “love” whenever she talked to you, or teasing that she would be ready and available should you finally decide to leave Morpheus. Worse is the fact that, when it came to women, Morpheus knows that Johanna is what is referred to as “your type.”

He distinctly recalled a night spent with you and Hob Gadling, listening as you recounted the follies of prior relationships. Hob had just finished explaining speed dating in the eighties when you told him that, after years of denial, you had had the startling realization after your last relationship that you did actually have a type, with that type being “brunette girls with an attitude.” Unfortunately, that was very much Johanna.

Morpheus doesn’t understand why it is that he’s feeling so upset, so jealous, over this situation. He knows with every fiber of his anthropomorphized being that you are loyal and faithful to him and that you are just as obsessed with him as he is with you. But as Johanna’s infrequent dreams of you take on a more romantic tone, he cannot help but become a slave to jealousy.

Morpheus had to do something. He could not, he would not, lose you to anybody, but especially not a mortal, and definitely not a Constantine.

So he begins to…appear spontaneously when he knows that you and Johanna will be working together. Matthew calls it “staking his claim,” and perhaps that’s what it is. What else would he call showing you affection in front of your coworker, affection that he is not good at giving when in public, for no reason other than to remind said coworker that you are very happily taken? It’s a rather genius plan, he believes. Subtle, too. If he were to be questioned as to why he shows up at the most inopportune of times, he would simply claim that Time works differently in his realm, and therefore it is impossible to know what is considered a “good time” to see his beloved.

Morpheus is able to delude himself into thinking that this is all working perfectly until after the third time he tries this act. You’re excited to see him when he interrupts your and Johanna’s research into whether the entity she’s dealing with is a ghost or a poltergeist, and you eagerly accept the kiss he offers to you. Still, he notices the look that you and Johanna share when he asks if you might be willing to end your meeting early, and he becomes uncomfortable at the thought that you both know what this is. No, Morpheus tells himself, he’s covered his tracks extremely well.

“Well, Jo? Think we can continue this tomorrow?” you ask upon getting the hint that Morpheus would rather be anywhere but here. “We have been at it for a while now.”

She sighs in faux petulance before nodding. “Aye, could use a break, let you and Sandy get on with your marital activities.”

Morpheus glowers at the exorcist, but you just snicker under your breath and remind her, “We’re not married.”

“Yet.” Johanna glances at Morpheus and winks. “Better hurry up with that, else someone might swoop in and steal your girl.”

“Thank you for the sage advice, Constantine,” Morpheus bites out before turning to you. “Are you ready to depart?”

You nod and take his offered arm, allowing Morpheus to sweep you away to the Dreaming faster than you can even think about saying goodbye to your friend.

When you land in his chambers, you grab his arm before he can try to escape based on the pretense of needing to return to tasks that are apparently pressing, but not pressing enough that he couldn’t escape to see you for no real reason. “Wait,” you say. “Can we talk?”

“What about?” Morpheus asks, for he is not about to deny your request.

“You’ve been acting weird.” You pause. “Weirder than normal. And you only act this way when I’m working with Johanna.”

“I do not believe that has been the case.”

You grin, and he knows that you’ve figured out what he has been doing. “Morpheus. Are you…jealous?”

“That is preposterous,” he says immediately, trying to dispel the notion from your mind.

“Really? Because, to me, it sure looked like you were jealous.”

“I am no such thing!”

Instead of trying to argue with him, because there’s no point to that when you both know that he’s lying, your triumphant grin softens to something sweeter. “It’s okay to be jealous, you know. It’s a very human emotion.”

“I am not human.”

“I know. But you do carry the entire subconscious of humanity, so it makes sense that you’d feel our petty human emotions.”

“Suppose I am…jealous,” Morpheus says the word as if it pains him to do so. “That would not upset you?”

“No! If anything, I’m just curious why you’re jealous. And why it’s Johanna that you’re jealous of.” 

The fact that you have no idea why he feels this way makes Morpheus feel even worse about the jealousy that he’s experiencing because it’s obvious that, to you, he has no reason to be jealous. Morpheus so badly wishes to manufacture a crisis somewhere in the Dreaming so that he may escape having to talk about his feelings.

“I am aware of your proclivity of women that are much the same as Johanna Constantine,” he says instead. “I am also aware of the affection that she harbors for you, an affection made obvious in her dreams.”

“Johanna doesn’t have a crush on me! That’s just how she is, she flirts with everyone!” you argue.

“I can assure you that she does. I will let you see her book if you wish.” He knows that you’re not doubting him in the slightest, but he also wants you to know that just because he’s jealous does not mean that he’s making things up.

“No, if you say it’s true, then I believe you. But what do you mean, my proclivity towards women–” you mutter the last sentence, trying to figure out what Morpheus meant when suddenly you remember the exact same conversation as him. “Huh, I did say that, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

It clicks together for you now, and you grab Morpheus’s hands so that he can’t run away. “Yes, girls like Johanna have traditionally been my type. But lately, my type has changed.”

“It has?” He knows what you’re going to say, but he wants to hear you say it. If Morpheus is going to be indulging his more human emotions, then greed may as well join that list.

“My type is you, Morpheus. Not people like you, but you.”

“Thank you,” he says sincerely, leaning his forehead against yours. Morpheus straightens after a moment when fear runs through him like lightning. “You will not tell her of this, will you?”

“No, I wouldn’t talk about our private conversations to her. Plus, it’s embarrassing enough to have a crush on someone that you know is taken. I don’t want to call her out and make her feel bad about it.”

“You are wise,” Morpheus praises.

“Then might I wisely suggest that you allow me to show you just how little you have to be jealous about?” you ask, already leading him back towards the bed.

He smirks. “You may.”

His secret bout of jealousy, he’s relieved to discover, will remain safe with you.

[avelera]

(With thanks to @fishfingersandscarves for the art, originally posted here!)

Joke's On You (I'm Into That) by Avelera Chapters: 1/? Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling Additional Tags: Betaed, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Language, Bets & Wagers, Under-negotiated Kink, Dark Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Fuckboi Hob Gadling, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Humor, Sexual Humor, Sex, The Dreaming Realm (The Sandman), Tudor Era, Hate Sex, Enemies to Lovers Summary: At the 1589 meeting, Hob is unwilling to let his stranger’s attention wander so easily. Not after Hob held off on his own marriage just for the chance to ask for his stranger’s hand instead. Dream does not take this proposal well. Disgusted by how Hob has squandered his immortality with the vulgar pursuit of wealth, he sets out to prove that Hob could never hope to endure the horrors of courting the King of Nightmares. OR That time Hob pissed Dream off so badly it started a sex competition between them in the Dreaming. With both of them too proud, pissed off, and horny to back down, things get weird very quickly.

--- It's finally posted! At least, the first chapter. Welcome to my silly, messed up, and very very smutty "What if Hob and Dream got together in 1589 (by pissing each other off so badly they started a sex competition)?" fic! It's very weird! Very kinky! And it's got about 45,000 words written at the time of posting! I do hope you all enjoy but PLEASE be mindful of all tags as they're added, the author notes, and your own experience!

[merinsedai]

Rooftops of London snippet

for @dreamlingbingo

Snippet 1/5 for my WIP: The Rooftops of London :)

Square/Prompt: B1: Brainwashing

Title: The Rooftops of London

Rating: T

Ship(s): Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling

Warnings: n/a

Additional Tags: Second Chance, Mary Poppins AU, yes you read that correctly, Dream is Mary Poppins, Hob is Bert, Dream of the Endless | Morpheus is Good with Kids, popping in and out of paintings, teaparties on the ceiling, Developing Relationships, potential flying of kites, Will Roderick Burgess be redeemed? Is it possible? Who knows, read on and find out, fat pigeons

Summary: In 2025, Dream awaits Death as the Kindly Ones ravage the Dreaming.

In 1910, two young boys send out an advertisement for their perfect nanny.

or, the tale of Dream attempting to Mary Poppins his way out of his 20th century nightmare

Read the first chapter on AO3 here

A scene from Chapter 2, where Dream meets Roderick Burgess (who isn't massively receptive to him for some reason? Dream cures that).

“What in the blazes are you on about, sir?!” Burgess bellows, his face turning a rather interesting shade of puce with indignation and rage. “You think I have the time to deal with these ridiculous shenanigans at this time of the morning?”

It is in fact 8am sharp, which is the exact time ordained by Burgess himself in his own (far less agreeable) job advertisement that he had posted in The Times this Friday last. Dream refrains from pointing this out.

“There are no shenanigans afoot, Mr Burgess,” he says placidly, unfolding the letter in his hands. “As I said, I am here to take up the position of nanny to Alexander and Randall, and I shall require an immediate start.”

“Nanny? Nanny?!” Burgess roars, slamming his fists on the table and levering himself out of his chair. The force of the impact rattles the crockery quite severely, and Dream watches with interest as a soft-boiled egg is jostled clean out of its cup, takes an elliptical course across the table (due, he thinks, to its oval nature) and finally drops to the floor with a decisive splat. Burgess pays it no mind, leaning forward, spittle flying as he rants. Dream turns his attention back to the man.

“- this mockery?! I expect a woman for a woman’s role. Not some namby-pampy dandy, waltzing into my living room declaring he will take the job! What manner of a man forgoes proper work to deal with snotty-nosed brats instead? I tell you, sir, I will have no sissies here! No unnatural milksops looking to fill my sons’ heads with depravity and delusions! I tell you, I WILL NOT HAVE IT! You will leave at once before I summon the sergeant-”

Really, this is growing tiresome already. Dream has had quite enough. Manipulating the Waking is more difficult than the Dreaming, where the world moves at his command; the Waking mind is less malleable, more obdurate- but it is not beyond Dream’s capabilities. A tiny alteration in Burgess’s reality, a shift in his perception, and the man is stopping in mid-flow, eyes glazing over and mouth flapping like a fish for a moment before he refocusses and stares uncomprehendingly at Dream.

“I’m sorry…?” he says, and clears his throat with a loud harrumph to try and cover his confusion. “You were saying, Mr…?”

“Morpheus,” says Dream briskly. “And we were discussing the terms of my employment.”

“We- we were?”

“Just so.”

Burgess stares at Dream for a long moment, still looking a trifle bewildered. Dream bears his regard with untroubled patience. The human does not now see Dream as a woman but neither does he see him as a man.  Dream does not care to alter his preferred form to conform to this century’s preconceived notions of normalcy so he has simply made his appearance to be something completely beneath Burgess’s notice. To him, Dream is simply ‘the nanny’, his perceived sex notwithstanding.

And, Dream decides, he  will extend this perception to all the adults around him for it will be much less hassle this way. To the children, however, he plans to present his regular form without any added illusions. If he is to form a relationship with them, then he will begin with being his truest human self. Children are, after all, far more accepting  of things out of the ordinary and besides, they are much more difficult to fool.

[aralezinspace]

Pale

Requested by Anonymous: I was wondering if you’d be willing to write an angsty request (TW) with Morpheus being in an established relationship with the reader, but since he doesn’t eat and is not used to the schedules of humans—he doesn’t notice they have an eating disorder. But someone else points out that they never/rarely eat/only pick at their food and Dream just can’t let it go/stop thinking about it. I’m a sucker for hurt/comfort and I haven’t seen any stories for Morpheus where the reader has an ED

A/N: Warnings: reader has an eating disorder, general eating disorder discussion

you asked for angst? I WILL DELIVER ANGST *cackles* no lie tho, I teared up writing this one. I hope anyone who needs this kind of comfort finds it in this story, and that if you are struggling with this yourself, know that you are not alone (I'm just a stranger on the interwebs but I'm rooting for you) and have access to the help you need 💖💖

I started writing some ✨feelsy spice✨ for this but then it would have been an absolute BEHEMOTH so uh if anyone wants to read PWP/PWF ask and ye shall receive xD

~~Requests for Morpheus and the Doctor (9-13) are open!~~

“The New Inn,” your read aloud, hands jammed into your pockets as you and Morpheus approached the building. You gave him a little nudge and a playful smirk. “What happened to the old one?”

As usual, the current of the joke went right past him. “It was torn down,” he replied with a hint of melancholy, “Hob Gadling purchased the land and rebuilt it… so we could continue to meet.”

“Every hundred years, right?” A nod. Your brow furrowed as you did the mental math, a headache beginning to pound behind your eyes. “I thought your next meeting wasn’t for another decade or so.”

Dream peered at you out of the corner of his eye, a tiny smile lighting up his face. “You are correct. However, I recently learned that once every hundred years is too infrequent to see one’s friend. And…” He held the door open for you, a perfect gentleman. “I believed it was time for the two of you to become acquainted.”

You gave Dream a beaming grin; you knew how big of a step this was for him. It was a huge step for both of you: your relationship wasn’t exactly new, but it had taken a long time of you asking, and a while for Dream to agree to this. The significance of today was not lost on you, and a little shiver went down your spine.

Hob was sitting in his usual corner near the window, already nursing a pint of amber beer. He rose to his feet with a grin when his eyes found his ‘stranger.’

“Hello stranger,” he greeted Dream with a beaming smile, holding out his hand for a shake. You had to give Morpheus a little nudge but he eventually gave Hob a firm handshake and a little nod of his head. Warm brown eyes then darted to you, quickly roving up and down your body, taking in every detail and committing it to memory. So, this is the one who has so captivated the famously aloof and closed off Dream of the Endless. His first thoughts were that you seemed to be open and kind, but strong and perceptive as well- a perfect combination for his stranger. Loving and giving, but also wouldn’t take his shit.

“Hob,” Morpheus began with a gentle and gallant hand at the small of your back, “This is Y/N, my... my partner.” You held out a hand for a shake, meeting his eyes with a warm smile. Instead of shaking it, Hob gently took your hand and kissed the back before giving it a light squeeze.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Y/N. The change you have brought on our mutual friend is nothing short of astounding.”

A flush touched your cheeks in time with your giggle, the sound slightly choked as the pounding in your head intensified. Morpheus gave you both a tiny frown, but there was no real ire behind it. Hob gestured for the two of you to sit. Once again, a perfect gentleman, Morpheus pulled out your chair for you to sit before stiffly sitting himself. Hob gestured to the bar and a waitress came over to take your orders. Hob ordered another beer and a sandwich, Morpheus minutely shook his head, and the waitress’ eyes came to you.

“Umm…” you glanced at the menu and ordered the first appetizer your eyes focused on. “I’ll have a water and a cup of the onion soup, please.” The waitress nodded with a smile and headed back to the bar.

You mostly listened as Hob and Morpheus caught up- meaning Hob did most of the talking and you and Dream listened. He was full of entertaining and touching stories from his hundreds of years of being alive, all the ups and downs and everything in between. Hob started asking you about your life as the food arrived: what you did for work, if you had pets (not counting Morpheus), what you did in your free time (besides Morpheus).

By the time you had to leave, you had only eaten about half of your soup, both from the fact that the idea of eating made you feel ten shades of awful, and because Hob had kept you talking with his easy going charm. Your headache had faded, only to be replaced by jitters, chills, nausea, and a fog tightly bound to your mind. You excused yourself to the bathroom before you left, barricading yourself in a stall and sitting on the toilet before you passed out.

You doubled over, head hanging between your knees to try alleviating the light-headedness. A deep breath shuddered in and out of your lungs. You massaged your temples, trying to get the rest of your headache to go away. You knew you would have to go back out soon, or Hob and Dream would get suspicious. One more deep breath and you hauled yourself to your feet. You plastered a smile on your face as you stepped out of the bathroom. Hob and Morpheus were waiting by the door, their coat collars turned up and hands jammed into their pockets. Both smiled in their own ways when you approached, but Hob’s immediately fell from his face.

“No offense,” he began carefully, “Your face is kind of pale, are you feeling okay?”

“Oh yea, I’m fine,” you responded a little too quickly. “Just a bit tired, work has been busy.” Hob didn’t press it, but you could tell he wasn’t entirely convinced.

~~

You and Morpheus met up with Hob almost every two or three weeks, mostly at Hob’s request, to get to know you and “make up for lost time.” Most of the time you met at the New Inn for lunch or drinks, but you did have Hob over to your apartment for dinner twice. He was very appreciative of your cooking, asking to bring home the leftovers.

Hob kept a close eye on you during visits. Steadily, his concerns grew: not about your fitness as a partner, although he was pleased and comforted by how much you cared for his stranger and how well you worked together. No, he was concerned for your physical well-being, and the fact Morpheus didn’t notice. How could someone as observant and almost omnipotent as Morpheus not notice how little you ate?

He finally brought it to Dream’s attention one night at your apartment. You had been cooking dinner, gently stirring a pot of pasta, when you asked Hob to mind the stove before rushing off to the bathroom, pale and shaking. He stirred in silence for a moment before peaking at Dream over his shoulder. The endless was seated on your slightly squishy couch like it was a throne, his hands folded serenely in his lap, staring straight ahead. Must be plugged into the Dream Matrix, he thought to himself.

“Dream?” Morpheus’ eyes focused again as he turned to Hob, eyebrows slightly raised in permission to go on. “It’s not my place, but… is Y/N alright?” He paused. “I’ve noticed when we’re together, they… don’t really… eat. Much of anything.”

Morpheus’ brow furrowed in confusion. “Why mention this to me? They are perfectly capable of caring for themselves and eating when their body demands.” Hob sighed.

“Yes, I normally would agree, but… they always seem pale, and weak, and ready to fall over. I’m sure you know, that’s not an indication of good health in a human.”

A deep frown etched itself into Dream’s face as he thought on Hob’s words, and realized his friend was right. “I… never noticed.” His insides writhed with a hot feeling that was somewhat unfamiliar to him. He hadn’t felt it often, and didn’t like to acknowledge when he felt it: it was shame. You occupied his every waking thought, how could he not have noticed?

“I don’t blame you,” Hob continued quickly as he turned off the stove and moved the pot off the burner. “I know a lot of human things aren’t exactly… at the forefront of your mind, but…” he sighed. “I think they may have an eating disorder.” A tense silence filled your apartment.

“An… eating disorder?” Dream repeated slowly. Hob nodded.

“An unhealthy relationship with food, destructive eating habits, that can lead to other problems, or be caused by other issues, other things happening in their life.” Morpheus’ frown grew deeper, the writhing shame suffused with bone deep concern. How could he not have noticed the neglectful harm you were doing to yourself?

“Thank you for telling me,” he murmured darkly. Hob could tell he was angry, but not at you. He knew Morpheus was angry at himself for not noticing, not knowing. For not taking care of you.

You emerged from the bathroom a moment later, profusely thanking Hob for watching the pasta. Dream watched you carefully- now he saw what Hob meant, and wondered how in the infinite realms he could have missed it. He saw the tremors in your hands, the paleness under your skin, the bags under your eyes, your slightly heavy breathing. Hob was right, you looked like you were about to keel over.

You could feel the tension rolling off Morpheus as you placed the food on the table, could feel his stare on your back, could feel the intensity of his frown. You could tell he was pissed, but had no idea what had set him off. Anxiety gnawed at your insides.

All through the meal, Morpheus’ responses were clipped and ground out, but his hand on your thigh was as gentle as it had always been. It didn’t escape your notice that he gave your leg an encouraging squeeze every time you took a bite, no matter how small.

It began to dawn on you what may have happened while you were in the bathroom trying not to pass out.

The rest of the visit was calm and enjoyable, but you could still feel the tension coming off Morpheus in waves. When Hob left, he murmured to the Endless, “Be gentle with them, they know you care and they’ll tell you in their own time.” Morpheus nodded and bid him farewell.

After he had seen Hob out, Dream turned to you. You were seated on the couch, fiddling with your fingers, curled in on yourself as if expecting a harsh scolding. Morpheus let out a breath through his nose. He hated how fragile you seemed, how small. Now was not the time to ask you about what Hob had said. He feared one wrong word would completely shatter you beyond repair.

As you went through your bedtime routine, Morpheus wrapped his arms around your waist. “There is something I must see to in the Dreaming,” he choked softly, the words landing on the sensitive skin behind your ear. “I will find you when you arrive.” You gave him a quick smile and nodded as you rubbed moisturizer into your cheeks.

“Okay, I’ll be there soon. Just need to brush my teeth.” Dream pressed a lingering kiss to the back of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. “I love you,” he breathed into the ridges of your spine, fluttering the little hairs there. A whirl of sand at your back and he was gone.

~~

Back in the Dreaming, Morpheus prowled through the halls to the library, a determined frown creasing his face. “Lucienne!” he half bellowed, the rumbling echo of his voice bouncing of the ceiling. The librarian jolted out of her seat and faced her lord with her hands behind her back.

“Yes my lord?” she asked anxiously, wondering what could have possibly gotten him worked into such a state.

“I need to do some research, on…” he swallowed hard. “On eating disorders. In humans.”

Lucienne blinked in confusion. “Eating disorders, my lord?”

“Yes,” Dream grit out. “Whatever you can find.” Lucienne nodded and pushed her glasses further up her nose.

“Of course my lord. I’ll bring them to your study.”

“Thank you. I will be with Y/N this evening.” He gave her a nod and swept out of the library. Lucienne frowned as he left, putting the pieces together. She could only hope you were alright.

~~

Morpheus spent all his solitary free time with his nose buried in a book- reading about various eating disorders, how to support loved ones dealing with them. There was a sort of unspoken understanding between the two of you, but one filled with tension that would one day snap. You knew it was a matter of time before he approached you and began asking questions, and you dreaded the day.

It came sooner than you anticipated. The two of you were in one of the palace’s many sitting rooms, reading in arm chairs in front of the fireplace. Morpheus softly closed his book. “Darling,” he asked gently, “Why did you not tell me about your eating disorder?”

You froze, a deer in headlights. Morpheus was never one to mince words, but his question caught you off guard. You closed your book and chewed your bottom lip, trying to piece together an answer. “I am not upset with you my love,” he assured you, reaching over to take your hand, “I am concerned for your welfare.”

Your hand was shaking in his grasp, your eyes watery with unshed tears. Unformed words were stuck in a massive lump in your throat. How could you possibly explain the tangled web of thoughts, fears, and insecurities that had ultimately led to your self-imposed torture?

“Hob brought it to my attention,” he continued carefully, leaving space for you to chime in if you so wished. “I was unsure of what he meant, at first. Lucienne directed me to information in the library, so that I may learn what ails you.” He rose from his chair and knelt in front of you, taking your hands in his. “My darling, you need not explain. I only ask that you tell me how I may be of support to you in overcoming this.” A pause. He swallowed hard, eyes silver and swimming.

“I understand these things can have roots in low self-regard. My love- I will worship your body with love and care until you know and believe, as I do, that you are beautiful in every way, and then continue to do so. I do not wish to see you endure such needless and undeserved suffering.” He lowered his head to press a desperate kiss to your knuckles, and you could have sworn you felt a single tear scorch the skin.

“I am not angry or ashamed,” he assured you again, speaking the words into your hands for you to hold onto forever. “Not at you. Only at myself for not noticing your pain and struggles sooner, for letting you suffer alone and in silence. It seems… I still have much to learn about humans.”

Despite it all, you chuckled, sniffing back your tears. Who’d have thought you’d see Dream of the Endless admit on bended knee that he didn’t know everything. The small sound of mirth took him by surprise; surely nothing about this was laughable.

You slid out of your chair and into Dream’s lap, the warmth of the fireplace suffusing your face and making Dream’s silhouette against the flames appear even darker and more enchanting. “I didn’t know how to tell you,” you finally admitted softly. “I… I was afraid you would see it as just one more human weakness, one more reason why we- I- wasn’t worth your time. I… didn’t want you to think I was weak, or finally agree with the words in my head that’re always saying I’ll never be enough for you-“

Morpheus stopped your words the best way he knew: by kissing you. Unyielding but gentle hands held your face as he captured your lips, leaning you back into the chair. “You need not say any more, my heart,” he growled softly against your lips. His words vibrated with power and promise, an oath he had no intention of breaking before the stars burned out. “Whatever aid you need, you shall have.” One kiss. “You need not endure this alone any longer. I will be by your side.” Another kiss, more lingering. “Always.”

[virgo-dream]

1st Dreamling Nation Fic Exchange: Victorian Soldiers Edition ✨

“A mini bang of fics all written by members of the Dreamling Nation discord server, revolving around the same prompt, in which we were all given the same two pictures and, outside of brainstorming plot ideas together, were left to our own devices to create a story.”

It is with great pleasure that I present this collection of fics, fruits of the first Dreamling Nation fic exchange!

When I made this discord server back in December, during a Christmas induced Big Sad(TM) moment, I could never have imagined the amazing community we were creating, and now, almost a month later, we’ve got more than just these fics to show for what this server has given us. I’m incredibly blessed that one moment of deep sadness led me to meet such great people, and that we can keep inspiring each other and celebrating creativity and this wonderful fandom space that The Sandman has given us.

This event was only made possible by @littledreamling’s gentle guidance and kindness. Thank you, my love! I hope this will be the first of many! 💖

Now, with no further ado, the fics:

⭐️ When I Wake Up, There Are Only Your Eyes to Greet Me, by @virgo-dream

Rating: Explicit / multi chapter / warning: graphic depictions of violence

Five times Sergeant Robert Gadling woke up to Captain Morpheus Apeiron. One time Morpheus woke up to Hob.

A very unlucky battalion finds itself in the command of one Captain Morpheus Apeiron. He doesn't seem particularly worried with their survival, but mostly with ending the war as soon as possible. Sergeant Robert Gadling seems to be the only thing keeping all these young and inexperienced soldiers alive. After one particularly heated fight between them, Hob ends up discovering there is much more to his Captain than meets the eye, but is he seeing Morpheus as he truly is, or through the prism of his own desire?

⭐️ Golden Heart, by @littledreamling

Rating: Teen and Up / multi chapter

The first time he had ever clapped eyes on Morpheus Endelas, son of Lord Chronos Endelas, Hob knew the man was no soldier. He had floated through the camp, his feet barely brushing against the dry leaves, his head held high and haughty. There had been a massive red jewel around his neck and a white-breasted raven perched on his shoulder, equally lordly, if a bird could ever be described as such. Hob had simply rolled his eyes. He didn’t know why Lordling Endelas was parading through their camp, but it was also above his pay grade. He was just a first lieutenant, practically still rolling around in the mud with the common soldiers. So he had shrugged and rolled his eyes some more, right up until someone helpfully informed him that Morpheus Endelas was their new Captain. And then he had started reconciling his relationship with God, because the Lordling was sure to get them all killed.

⭐️ Ananke, God of Compulsion, by @aquilathefighter

Rating: Teen and Up / multi chapter

Lieutenant Hob Gadling is planning on deserting before his deployment. He has everything planned from faking his death to getting to the US. However, a wrench is thrown into his plan when Captain Morpheus Endeleas asks him to be his assistant for the week leading up to the company’s deployment. Now under close watch by a man Hob thinks despises him, he cannot escape his duty. What will come from a week working closely with Cpt. Endeleas?

⭐️ Tirra Lirra, by The River, by @quillingwords

Rating: Explicit / multi chapter / warning: major character death

Little Hob Gadling meets a strange boy by a river, and their lives become intertwined over decades. A love story set against a backdrop of war. A tale about memories, dreams, and making choices.

⭐️ After The Storm, by @immacaria

Rating: Teen and Up / multi chapter

The war was over. They had won. It was finally over. But Hob knew that at the moment they stepped into London, Dream's family would descend upon them like vultures and try to seperate them. No problem, though, Hob fought four years in the war. The Endeles family would not take Dream away from him.

[thenightling]

Hob’s canonical appearances

Someone who has only seen the Sandman Netflix series asked me if Hob makes more appearances in The Sandman later on. Warning: This post contains some major Sandman spoilers.

The first time we see Hob Gadling is in the story Men of Good Fortune (combined with the story Sound of her wings in The Sandman Netflix series). This is Chapter 10 in The Sandman audio drama and issue 13 of The Sandman comics.

In this story Hob Gadling became an immortal and started to meet with Morpheus once a century and Hob eventually got Morpheus to admit that they were friends.

The next time we see Hob Gadling it’s during the storyline The Sandman: Season of Mists. 

Morpheus has FINALLY realized that he was wrong to leave Nada in Hell and has resigned himself to going back to rescue her but he is very much afraid of Lucifer.  Morpheus makes careful preparations in case he does not return from Hell. He even visits Hob in his dreams to have one last drink with his friend.

Hob would later wake up to find the half-finished (and very rare) bottle of wine next to his bed, confirming that it was not just a dream.  (in The Sandman it’s NEVER just a dream.) 

The next time we see Hob after that is in The Sandman storyline called The Sandman: Worlds’ End where travelers from different time periods and alternate universes gather in an inn located in a nexus of reality and tell stories.    Here we are told the story of Hob’s Leviathan.  A boy named Jim (revealed later to be a gender nonconforming girl named Peggy) goes out to sea and meets Hob Gadling on the ship.  Hob takes Jim / Peggy under his wing and they have a brief encounter with a sea monster.  Later when Peggy is older she and Hob meet again and become lovers.    

When we see Hob again after that it’s in The Sandman: The Kindly Ones. Hob is mourning a love who died via drunk driver. She had been crossing the street and her name was Audrey.  Morpheus meets with Hob for a drink.  Morpheus wants to order dark mead but Hob tells him they don’t offer that anymore (obviously this was before the big Thor / Viking fad of 2012 or so.  Lots of bars carry mead now).  So Hob picks the drink. By now Hob knows he’s friends with The King of Dreams (the audio drama lets that revelation happen much earlier.) When we next see Hob it’s in The Sandman: The Wake. He’s devastated to learn that Morpheus is dead and attends his wake in The Dreaming. Some months later Hob has a dream of his friend, a dream that Neil Gaiman has cryptically confirmed “It’s never just a dream.” In the dream Destruction (who Hob only knew as a lousy street artist) and Morpheus are on a shore and they walk into the sunset. There are some hints that Morpheus may be spending his afterlife in Hob’s dreams as a dream entity.

[lord-morpheus-ravens]

32. markets - for the soft prompts 💖

Hello! Thank you for being my first ever prompt in this fandom, ahah! Let's set this somewhere after the end of the first season...

The market was quiet when they finally reached it; subdued, in the way of half-asleep things, bright orange and deep blue, already wrapped up in the shadows of the twilight. Few were the people still perusing the stalls, and many a seller had already begun to pack up. It was in times like this, at the threshold between day and night, that the Waking most resembled the Dreaming -its contours were gentled, its sharpness held at bay by the last rays of the setting sun, its roaring crowds reduced to a handful of stragglers, hurrying home for dinner.

Dream watched the dwindling human activity for a few moments as Hob Gadling led him around the little hidden square, seemingly searching for something. Their shoulders brushed, just barely, with every odd step, and each touch (likely unvoluntary on Hob's part) pressed a breath of warmth on Dream's perpetually cold corporeal manifestation. It was... not unwelcome.

"Have I kept you from your chores?" Dream questioned, turning just so to try and meet Hob's eyes, fixed as they were on the closing stalls. "Perhaps you would have preferred coming here earlier."

Earlier, Dream had manifested into Hob's pleasantly cluttered living room, because he had found himself wanting for company and with no pressing duties to attend to; and his friend had gotten over the fright surprisingly quickly, and, accomodating as ever, had put on the kettle for tea, and offered him sweet biscuits and idle chatter and all of his space, his time, his things.

It occurred to Dream now that it was not considered polite in human society to show up unannounced to someone else's place. "I will endeavour to send word beforehand, the next time I visit."

Hob gave him an absent-minded hum and shook his head. "It's fine, dove, I didn't mind, feel free to pop in whenever," he said, and circled Dream's arm around his own so they could be of one pace, hurrying to the other end of the emptied out space. His hair, awash in the blueish light of the growing evening, looked especially soft, and Dream had to blink himself out fixing on the heavy strands, so rich and inviting. "Besides, I know you're not very fond of crowds, so..."

It was unnerving, to be so effortlessly known. But then, when it came to this particular man, to be known was to be cared for. Strange and new, Hob's stubborn crusade to make a person out of him, the way he was constantly asking after Dream's opinions, after his needs, working off the unprecedented assumption that one such as an Endless even had needs... The tension that had snapped his spine straight melted at the first hint of a smile from Hob, and as Dream allowed himself the luxory of slouching just so (just so their bodies slid a little bit closer) he contemplated the wealth of affection given freely and without reserve, and wondered.

They strolled through the quiet marketplace, all the way to the very last stand, which was, in truth, not a stand at all, but an upturned crate, a parasol and a single young woman sitting on a folding chair, who waved at Hob rather cheerfully. "Professor! I wasn't sure you'd make it in time!"

"Told you I would, my dear," Hob replied with an easy grin. Without relinquishing his hold on Dream, he leaned in to inspect the little basket on the crate. "This is Morpheus, a very old friend. Morpheus, meet Nira, one of my first graduates."

They exchanged a polite nod.

Hob huffed, giving Dream's arm a gentle squeeze. "So... Are there any left?" he asked, and then he pulled Dream in, until he was forced to bend over. "Come on, have a look."

Inside the basket were two kittens, fluffed up and fuzzy, curled one around the other as they slept swaddled in an old blanket. One bright orange, the other dappled black, they could not be older than a couple of months; as he did all dreaming beings, he knew them, that they were warm and sleepy but had been frightened earlier. That they missed their mother, and the little sisters that had been adopted earlier in the afternoon.

"My landlord is evicting them," said Nira, perhaps picking up on his consternation. "Old man was fine with one cat, not five."

Hob smiled at Dream and tapped his free hand on the basket, carefully, so the kittens didn't even stir. "I was thinking of getting a cat," he explained. "Do you want to pick one?"

Dream pursed his lips; he glanced at the two siblings, then back at his friend, his open expression, his arm that was still wrapped around Dream's own. "They would be happier together," he said, because it was true, and because surely, surely, Hob would refuse him.

Hob's smile widened, sweet in the way it brought out the lines at the corners of his eyes, and he shrugged. "Alright then, what's one more?" he mused, and turned back toward his former student. "We'll take them both. And the basket, I suppose."

[sseanettles]

nothing grows in corpses (in the earth of me)

dream x hob gadling | mature | Finally cross-posting my take on the fandom classic of the show progresses as the comics do, even to The Wake. Until Death resurrects Morpheus and forces the choice of "redemption" upon him instead of suicide. It goes...horribly. No good. Very bad. Instead of learning the lesson, Morpheus (in his infinite wisdom) opts instead for a highly effective existence strike until one day Hob Gadling stumbles upon his ghastly handiwork and immediately decides that this just won't do. Man Who Refuses To Die vs. Man Who Refuses To Live: fight.

Dead Dove, Do Not Eat for the following: graphic depictions of starvation, illness, suicidal ideation, self-harm, blood and gore, loss of autonomy, etc. etc. This is some classic old world whump, folks! But I promise it's also supremely healing in the end.

CH. 13: Elsa's song | 6 k | AO3 link | prev part | next part

(or: the one where recovery is not a linear beast.)

The next few weeks settled into a tenuous pattern. Constantine’s nurse kept up her end of the bargain, though not from any kind of free will as Hob quickly learned when he lingered around the corner after one of their weekly supply hand-offs, listening to the women as they bickered.

“You gettin’ cold feet on me now, Sandy?” Constantine pushed, backing the woman against the side of her battered car. “I think you’re forgettin’ how this works.”

“I’m not a fucking hospital, much less a pharmacy!” she pushed back, though her voice was far less fiery than the words it spoke. “I’m gonna lose my license, I—”

“Are you seriously complaining about malpractice? You?” Constantine demanded, almost outright laughing in her face. But when Sandy did not back down, feebly standing her ground, shaking head to toe all the while, Constantine nodded to herself. “Alright.” She jerked her thumb over her shoulder down the road. “I’ll just set that demon loose in your new ward, then.”

Sandy paled to a sheet.

“Wait!” she cried and chased after the departing exorcist. “Wait, stop—”

“You summoned the damned thing, not me. It’s not my fault,” she said without breaking pace and rounded on the woman as she grabbed hold of her coat and tried to pull her to a stop. She seized her by the arm and slammed her back-first into the wall, looming in her face. “Fucking go on,” she goaded. “See if I care about a bunch of old fucks staring at the walls like vegetables until they finally kick it. It’s better than the kids you fed it last time.” A heavy silence mounted between them, a kettle on the verge of blowing. “Try me.”

And Hob watched from around the corner as Sandy’s defiance wilted and rotted away to dust.

“Are we good?” Sandy nodded, not meeting her eyes. “Same time next week, then. I’ll text you what they need.”

Hob watched Constantine go. She never once looked back, and she walked with the stride of one unburdened by any guilt for the things she said or did.

Once, he would have envied her. But now…now, he did his best to just fear her.

Bandages, IV fluids and lines, antibiotics, lighter pain medications than what Hob had tried before, physical and occupational therapy routines, and resistance bands…anything and everything they could think of Constantine via Sandy procured. Various YouTube channels run by various disciplines of healthcare providers filled in the rest, and Gwen and Hob quickly discovered that between the two of them, Morpheus participated a touch more readily in the more involved things like physical therapy with Gwen. At first, Hob’s pride had smarted, but on reflection, it made a certain kind of sense. Gwen did not know Morpheus, had never known him.

It was easier to struggle and fail with her. Easier to fall on his face, easier for his joints to buckle and his lungs to heave with the lightest of exertions as his stomach turned on him and his coughs lasted so long that he began to pass out from the lack of air. It was easier to be helped to the bathroom in the early days of recovery by one who had no frame of reference for who he had once been and who did not rub salt into his wounds with her presence alone.

And Gwen had returned home after that first week. She had just needed some time to process, according to her, had needed to map out a few ground rules in her head before moving forward. For one: no half-naked women, property damage, blood, or dead bodies in the house without warning. None of the above ever was preferred, but she had resigned herself to adjusting her expectations at least for the short-term future.

If she was going to come home to a shit show, she had the right to know about it ahead of time.

For another: no talking animals while she was in the flat. Her brain was this close to breaking already. If Matthew was around when she was, he had to confine himself to raven noises only, thank you very much.

While Morpheus had been visibly wounded to hear the bit about Matthew, he had begrudgingly accepted her terms. Not that he had really had much of a choice, but the semblance of one mattered all the same.

Hob had given her so many massages in those weeks, and he had a couple different spa packages in his back pocket for future heavy days. He wished there wouldn’t be anymore, that healing from this point on would only get easier. But he knew better.

Recovery was not a linear thing.

o\\__oOoOoOo__//o

The first major relapse came about three weeks in. Morpheus had never truly recovered any kind of appetite; he still picked at his food more than he ate it. He was only slightly better at keeping up with his fluids and still relied quite heavily on the IV to keep him adequately hydrated. While the antibiotics had gone a long way to resolving the pneumonia, he still grew short of breath at even the slightest exertion, and when he did choose to speak, his sentences were punctuated every four or so words by a heavy, recovering breath.

But the one thing he did keep up with, as best as he could with the way he was neglecting himself in every other category, was his mobility.

Range of motion, weight bearing exercises, resistance bands, slowly increasing the very brief distances he struggled through in Gadling’s flat—he chipped away at it all, kept at it until his strength resembled more that of a schoolchild and less that of toothpicks and wet paper.

Gwen was delighted; in her eyes, this was a step in the right direction, a sign that their strange guest had turned at least one corner and had committed to his recovery. It was a sign that he would maybe yet not be a permanent fixture in their home, whether she would admit it or not.

It puzzled Hob.

He knew his stranger to be many things: stubborn, principled, utterly bone-headed at times in his drive to prove that he and he alone was right.

The one thing he knew him to not be was receptive to the notion that he had perhaps been mistaken and over-reacted and that he should actually listen to the counsel of others.

That was downright laughable.

A man who had let himself waste away into a breathing corpse purely to make a point did not just wake up one day and decide to live. That did not happen. Anywhere. Hob couldn’t think of even a single fairytale or folk story that went that way. And yet here he was, standing at the kitchen island as he finished grading his last paper and watching nervously as his Stranger finally tired at the window, set aside his book, removed the blankets from his legs, and rose unsteadily to his feet. He crossed the room back to his bed in similar, slow fashion, bracing himself along every surface he could reach as he did and using the infusing IV pole as a crutch all the way. But he made it back, even lowering himself to sit on the edge of the bed instead of getting partway down and collapsing the rest of the distance. His cheeks were flushed with the effort, his breaths heavy, and he looked to Hob as he pushed back his bangs that were just starting to reach his eyebrows once more. His nails were still fragile, but not as split and no longer infected, and the little scabs dotting his body had faded away to scars in most places and disappeared altogether in others.

“Satisfied?” Morpheus muttered in that backhanded manner of his, and Hob rolled his eyes as he fetched his friend his nightly cup of water. It was never touched when the morning came, but he liked to think he was laying the groundwork for a future habit.  

Harmless delusions like that were important to have.

“A grand marathon,” he threw back and set the glass on the coffee table beside him. “You need anything else?”

“No,” Morpheus shook his head. “I am…well, Gadling.” 

“I think well is overselling it a bit. You’re still breathing like a bad advertisement in a smoking kills campaign. Come on.”

Morpheus rolled his eyes but followed Gadling’s herding hands nonetheless to lay back in bed, drawing the blankets over himself with his own strength as had been increasingly common of late. A small smile pulled at Hob’s mouth as he watched him move, as he noted the already far decreased number of dressings taped about him and the shallower hollows within his cheeks and ribs.

Slow, but steady.

“Good to go?” he asked, reaching for the light switch as he headed for his own room, and Morpheus nodded his assent. “Goodnight, my friend. Sleep well.”

“Good…night.”

The room fell dark, and Hob hesitated for a moment amid the black, listening to his friend’s unsteady breaths as they gradually slowed before forcing himself to go to his own room.

For all intents and purposes, it had seemed a perfectly normal evening. Or at least, as close to their normal as their bizarre new lives could get.

So, when Hob awoke in a panic four hours later, at the blackest hour of the night, to the sound of some calamitous crash from beyond their bedroom and a harshly stifled scream of pain, it was the understatement of the century to say he had not been expecting it.

“What the fuck?!” Gwen yelped, scrambling for the lamp switch beside them, but Hob was already out of bed, sprinting for the living room.

“Stranger?!”

The bed was empty. The IV pump still stood beside it, still running happily away without a problem, but a small puddle of saline spread across the floor, seeping into the rug. Hob could see the pulled catheter at the center of it, tinged with blood, and he quickly scanned the rest of the flat, going to the kitchen and the knives first.

All there. Same with the hatchet and the fire pokers. The window was shut.

But the front door…

“Robbie!” Gwen was calling from the other room, stumbling from the bed herself, “what happened?!”

The front door was open.

“Fuck,” he hissed and ran for the landing.

Curled at the bottom of the stairs, wheezing and moaning in pain, laid Morpheus.

“Fuck,” Hob repeated, with greater feeling this time round, and ran down the stairs as quickly as he could manage in the dark, leaning into the banister all the way. “Stranger!”

Morpheus gritted his teeth against his burning tears and ground the heel of his one working hand into his eyes as he listened to Gadling hurrying to his side. It came away bloody, and he hid his battered face in the floor.

Useless. Weakling. You could not even manage to run away properly.

“Alright…you’re alright…”

I am not alright, you blundering fool! he wanted to snap as Gadling’s hands began their gentle assessment of his shivering body, starting with his head and spine. I am the furthest thing from alright. This is torture grander than the designs of hell, this is—

This was a refractured wrist, dislocated shoulder, a new laceration to his forehead and cheek where he had struck the edges of the steps, a bloody nose, several new bruises across his arms and legs and spine, at least one cracked rib, and a sizeable goose egg to the back of his head. Hob coaxed him onto his back, and his heart twisted at the way his friend threw his one good arm over his face, hiding from Hob’s eyes in the crook of his elbow as he fought to smother his shamed sobs.

“I’m going to have to reset the arm, my friend.”

Morpheus’ hand snapped from his head to Hob’s chest, scrabbling at his shirt, pleading.

“No—”

Hob caught his striking hand and forced him to still.

“It’s me or I call Constantine’s nurse.” He paused, holding Morpheus’ wide, fearful eyes. He seemed so much younger in the moonlight that spilled through the foyer window…so much paler. For a moment, the man beneath him seemed but a boy, and he thought of ebony black eyes and snow-white hair. “Which of us do you want?”

His answer came in closing eyes and a head turning away.

“I’ll be quick,” he promised.

From the landing upstairs, Gwen watched Robbie gently help Morpheus into a seat against the wall. He maneuvered his arm into position, and then there came a quick pull and a jerk followed by two nauseating pops as first the wrist and then the shoulder realigned. Morpheus cried out again through gritted teeth, and a new track of tears spilled down his cheeks.

“All done,” Hob soothed and ran his hand up and down Morpheus’ bruised side, trying to calm his hyperventilating breaths. “We’re all done.”

He tugged off his pullover and bound the garment around his friend’s chest, knotting and twisting the sleeves until he had fashioned a sturdy sling that kept the limb immobile and pressed close. And then, there was silence, punctuated only by Morpheus’ soft, shaking breaths and the quiet notes of pain that accompanied the end of each exhale. But by now, Hob knew better than to mistake this for the quiet of calm, of centering meditation. For the quiet of sanity. 

And when Morpheus made a sudden lurching bolt for the door, barely getting his legs under him, Hob was ready. He lunged after him and caught him around the middle before he could swan dive back into the tile.

“My friend, I am not here to keep you prisoner,” he protested and fought to wrangle the man back to the ground with him. “But you are not well!”

“I am well enough to walk—” Morpheus spat back, the words strung together in a rushing wheeze as he struggled to free himself. Hob dragged him back to the floor and pinned him in a seat against the wall with a single hand to his chest.

“You couldn’t even manage the stairs, you just fell your way down them!” he hissed in disbelief, shouting though his words were whispered still. “Where were you going? Where did you think—”

Morpheus shoved at him to no avail, and his eyes welled anew with frustrated, hateful tears as he shouted back his answer.

“Back to the alley!”

Hob went quiet. His hand slowly slipped from his friend’s chest as his own eyes began to glitter.

“I…I cannot be here,” Morpheus continued and tore at his clothes, his skin, at his lame arm with a mounting self-horror and hatred, and the tears slipped from his eyes in a steady, unnoticed stream. “This-this form, it is fragile, weak—this-this grotesque burden! It is despicable, I am desp—I cannot—”

Hob grabbed him mid-ramble and pulled him into a crushing embrace that stopped his thoughts mid-tailspin like a wall. And for a few heartbeats, they just sat there in silence, two grown men on a tiled floor bathed in moonlight at three in the godless morning.

“Let go,” Morpheus whispered.

“No.”

Morpheus tried to push at him, to wrench him away. A mouse would have had better luck moving a mountain.

“Let go of me, I command you—”

“Why?” Hob demanded as Morpheus continued to thrash against him, no care given now to his hyperventilating breaths or his new wounds as the blood spattered Hob’s shirt and smeared across his neck and jaw.

“No one touches me—” his Stranger snarled, desperate now, and Hob tightened his arms in a jostling wrench with one hand at the crown of his old friend’s head and the other wrapped about his back.

“I do!”

The ferocity in those two, snapped syllables knocked Morpheus back enough on his heels that Gadling forged ahead, his voice trembling but earnest and true.

“I carried you in my arms when you were more rot and death than life. I warmed your face against my throat. I bathed you. I tended your wounds. I fed you. I cleaned you.” He swallowed, took a few breaths, and pushed on. “I saw you at your absolute worst, and I loved you all the while.”

From the word loved on, even Morpheus went still.

“And yeah,” Hob wetly laughed and tucked his fingers into his friend’s hair, “you were grotesque. And you are a burden, let’s not pretend you aren’t. Especially because I know you put yourself in that alley.” Morpheus flinched. His hand curled into a trembling claw of a thing, shaking, as he tried not to touch anything, let alone Hob. “You dug that hole I found you in for yourself like there was oil or gold at the bottom and you only had a day to strike it. You are a self-destructive, cruel fuckin’ mess.”

Morpheus wanted to disappear. He wanted the earth to swallow him, wanted to be as good as dead beneath a blanket of snow and a frozen quilt, forgotten by the world.

“But we’re all burdens. That’s fucking life!” Hob snapped and shook him again, his voice nearing the breaking point. “And I am hugging you like if I let go the world’s gonna end because you are my friend, and I love you all the same.”

Morpheus’ eyes went wide, and he scarcely breathed. His hand slowly began to drift down.

“I loved you as a demon,” Hob continued when he was sure his words wouldn’t fray apart into croaking tears. “As a fae lord…as some inscrutable cosmic…thing. I loved you as a shroud.” The edge of Morpheus’ palm settled on Gadling’s hip, and the man sucked in a sharp, quaking breath as he pushed on. “I loved you as a pain in the arse who lives on my sofa. And I love you right now as the stuck-up, arrogant idiot who just threw himself headfirst down the stairs because how dare somebody see him as less than beautiful and perfect and untouchably all-powerful.”

And in the silence that followed Gadling’s mighty declaration, the kind of words that would have wreaked havoc on the Dreaming for an age and now echoed only in the foyer of a Richmond flat, Morpheus’ broken head sagged heavily upon his shoulder. His hand tipped to settle fully against Hob’s hip before slipping into a hesitant return embrace.

Surrender; at long last, surrender.

Hob’s shirt grew damp with blood and silent tears, and he blinked swiftly at the ceiling, fighting to keep himself together.

“I did not ask for this,” Morpheus gritted into him.

Hob closed his eyes as if struck, and before he could think better of it, he pressed a fleeting, comforting kiss to the man’s temple before pressing his head a bit more firmly to his Stranger’s. He ran his fingers a little deeper into his hair and closed his eyes with a heavy, heavy sigh as he felt Morpheus sag into him a little more at the tenderness.  

“I know,” he murmured and ran his other hand along the knobs of his aching spine. “But you’re here now. We both are. And we both have to make do with what we’ve been handed.”

After a while, Gadling began to pull away, and when it seemed Morpheus was going to let him go, he sat back on his heels and held his friend at arm’s length.

“Hey.” He ever so gently chucked his bruised chin, guiding him to meet his eyes. “You don’t ever have to pretend with me. If you really, truly want to go out that door, I won’t stop you.” God, but his eyes looked so tired…so worn through. “I mean, I will think you’re an idiot, and I will wait until you’re senseless on the ground again in whatever alley you pick next and then just bring you right back home to do this all over again,” he said as if it should be obvious, “but I won’t stop you. I’ll do this as many times as you need. I’ve got nothing but time.” He ran his hand up and down Morpheus’ good arm and tried to catch his eye again as, eventually, it slipped from his. “Can we go back upstairs, love?”

Morpheus shivered. There it was again.

Love.

He gave a weary nod, not quite meeting Gadling’s eye, and allowed the man to help him back to his feet. Hob pulled his friend’s good arm over his shoulders while his own slipped around that boney waist to help him on each wobbling step up the stairs.

When Hob looked up, Gwen was gone from the landing.

“Y’know,” he huffed as they made their slow ascent. “I was going to give you a hug back in 1889. When I said you were lonely.”

Morpheus swallowed and took a few breaths before answering.

“I suspected.”

There was a pause.

“Bit easier to run out of a pub than a flat, isn’t it?” The look Morpheus shot him from his bruise-swelling eyes could only be translated as oh fuck you, and Hob laughed, rubbing his thumb along his hip in comfort as they continued upward. “Come on, mate.”

When they reached home once more, Gwen was nowhere to be seen. The bed had been tidied and prepared once more for sleep, and the first aid kit had been laid out on the coffee table: a suture set, stack of gauze pads, roll of tape and tube of antibiotic ointment already set aside.

The door to their bedroom was closed once more, and once he’d gotten Morpheus squared away once more, settling him back in bed with his menagerie of wounds dressed anew and setting aside the now useless IV pole and pump, he retreated into the waiting, frosty dark. He changed his clothes in silence, and when he climbed into bed, he could tell plainly from the tension in Gwen’s weight upon her side of the mattress that she was wide awake.

“I’m really sorry, love,” he said after a time. “I know you have your big lecture tomorrow, and—”

Gwen rolled over.

“It’s fine.”

Hob turned after her.

“It’s not.” She said nothing, and her silence spoke volumes. Hob released a quiet sigh. “We’ll talk tomorrow. I love you.”

For a while, so long that Hob was sure she wasn’t going to say anything at all to him, Gwen was quiet.

“I know,” she finally whispered and pulled a second pillow over her silk-wrapped head. “Don’t forget to wake up early to clean up any blood he left on the stairs and in the foyer.”

Message received.

“…Yeah. Won’t forget.” Hob’s chest ached, and he turned away, adjusting his pillow at an angle so he could wrap his arms partially about it while still burying his head into its depths.

When sleep took him, he awoke in an idyllic field beneath a towering oak tree on a fine summer day. Morpheus laid beneath him, bloodied and broken, just as he laid in his living room now though without the care of stitches or slings, and he held Hob’s horrified eyes with a listless emptiness. The flowers wilted. The grasses died. And the ground turned to hard-packed permafrost that spread from his Stranger’s body like a mold, consuming him and all around them. Hob could only watch as the ice spread into his own flesh and bone where they touched and froze him into place like some sort of grotesque statue as he tried too late to pull away.

And once Morpheus’ chill robbed from him the last of his freedom, his Stranger’s hand slowly raised to his ice-carved features. His fingers brushed his cheeks like tiny daggers, caressing the line of his nose, his brows, following the path of his cheekbones to his jaw and finally his lips. Hob yearned to shudder but could not so much as blink or even breathe as his Stranger’s nails lengthened and their touch trailed down his neck, over his collarbones, to wait upon his chest.

Please, he wanted to beg— (please, yes? please, no?) Mercy.

And Hob howled in silence as Morpheus’s hand dug in, titanium fingers crushing his ribs, tearing through cartilage and flesh. He wanted at the least to close his eyes, to not see his own crimson spilling down Morpheus’ arm or the expression on his face as he dug. But he could not, and the icy grip pushed and groped ever further into him until it found what it sought.

It curled around his frantically beating heart…

His Stranger smiled that sly, mean smile of old.

…and then ripped.

Gadling could do nothing but stare with frozen eyes as his lifeblood poured in a crystallizing spatter atop his friend, and everywhere the scalding blood touched, Morpheus’ skin began to thaw. His dark head fell back in ecstasy, the color returning, the life glowing once more in his eyes as he clutched Hob’s still-beating heart in his hand.

Gadling felt himself grow colder. And colder. And colder….

And Morpheus moved, leaning up to him with a bloodstained mouth that pressed hungrily to his own, to his neck, and Dream’s voice of old purred against his ear like a starved cat presented with an endless feast.

“Thank you…” Those resonant tones amplified, and a voice Hob felt he should know yet could not recall having ever heard grinned in redoubled volume atop Morpheus’, “my love.”

The hands tore back into him, prying him apart to make a home, and Hob’s silence screamed and screamed.

Gwen dreamed of gardening. She tended the bountiful yard of a nice house back in North Carolina that she owned, where she was close to all her friends and family and never had to look at another talking animal or hear the title “of the Endless” ever again for the rest of her very long natural life.

In the living room, Morpheus watched the hearth’s embers dwindle to coal and did what he did most nights.

He lost himself in thought and bell jar silence and did not stray anywhere near the land of dreams. He released the effort it took to listen in this mortal plane, allowed the tightness in his neck to relax, and traded his tension headache for the dull constancy of a concussion and the throb of his pulse in his newly sutured forehead. His left eye was nearly bruised shut, and he adjusted the lay of the ice pack to the back of his head as he considered next steps.

His plan for a quick escape in the night had, obviously, failed, and at his current rate of recovery, it was a decreasingly viable plan overall. And in the light of Gadling’s rather melodramatic proclamation, it felt especially cruel to drag his weary body to the kitchen or the window and attempt to end things himself. His sister of course, would not come. But his demise would butt against her domain, would announce his commitment to his decision far more poignantly than any fragmented sentence he could gasp out, and that was his only intent.

But then, Gadling would have to clean up the results of his handiwork, or worse Guinevere. They would have to patch him together once more like that asinine children’s rhyme, knowing he would just do it again and again and again, and the cycle would continue. It was hardly kind or considerate, but then again, Morpheus had never pretended to be either.

…Perhaps he could hide a paring knife in the bathroom tonight. Then, at his next bath, he could take advantage of the privacy and the containment the tub provided and slit his wrists beneath the warm water. It would be easier for Gadling to clean. He would, ostensibly, just need to open the drain, douse the porcelain in bleach, and then—

“My, my,” someone crooned from the window bench. “I should call my dearest twin here for the mood in that mind.”

It was a subtle thing, the way Morpheus’ already flat expression turned to stone and his eyes to steel. But turn, they did, and when his battered skull pivoted upon his neck to glower at the entity that lounged in the moonlight—clad only in a long, flowing black robe of silk and lace and feather that spilled about their bared legs and down to the floor like ink—they only grinned back at him with a smile as sharp as knives.

“Hello, Morpheus,” Desire purred.

“What do you want?” he asked, and what had once been a disdainful demand in a life now passed was little more than a frightened whisper.

Desire laughed, cold and ringing and as playful as the bedroom, and laced their fingers together as they allowed their spine to bend, and they stretched their joined arms above their head toward the ground as they rolled languidly onto their back. The window seemed to grow with them, the bench transforming to a fainting couch and then a bed that they sprawled within. Their bare feet played at the glass, their toes painted red to match their lips, and left fogged footprints behind.

A throne for the reigning victor.

“What do you want is the better question,” they leered, upside-down, and rolled onto their stomach to rest their chin upon the cradle of their fingers. Their golden eyes gleamed like fire as they shifted from Morpheus’ carefully still frame to Hob’s bedroom door. Their grin widened from Cheshire cat to hungry wolf. “Or even better, what does he want.” They drew upright like a cobra, like a lion at the head of their pride, and pointed to Morpheus with a sharp-tipped finger in playful scold. “You hid him from me, brother, but no longer. Such delicious things are happening in that brain of his tonight and all of it mine.”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t?” Desire laughed at the piteous objection, and they swung their legs over the edge of the bed with a dancer’s brutal swiftness, sweeping to their feet. “That’s all you have to say to me?”

Desire was smaller than him. It was not by much, a couple inches perhaps, but for the entirety of their existences, they had always been forced to look slightly up at him. Here, now, they were the one who towered, and Morpheus could do little else but watch them come, their every move sultry and fluid and dangerous.

“No posturing?” they needled as they soon reached his bedside. “No threats of ending me or raining down ruin? Just one…” They mounted the bed and drew closer still, “pitiful…little…don’t?”

Morpheus struggled as far back as he could in his newly injured state, balking before Desire’s advances until he was pressed to the sofa’s back; his head turned away, and his eyes cast to the floor as he tried to calm. Desire loomed above him, straddling his legs, and leaned down as they peered at their fallen brother’s sad state. “Well,” they purred after a time, sneering. “I suppose that’s all you can manage right now, isn’t it? Tch…”

Morpheus jumped as Desire’s nails caressed their way up his throat to hook him by the underside of his jaw and drag his head to face them.

“Look at you,” they chided with a pouting frown that spread all too easily into another cruel smile. “The things you do to yourself.”

He swallowed and swore their nails drew blood. “Desire,” he hoarsely whispered, only just keeping himself from outright pleading, and they rolled their eyes with a groan.

They released their hold in a put-upon flick of their wrist and picked at his hair next as his head tipped with a pained wince.

“I’ll leave him be…” they sighed, and they waited until they saw the flash of relief in Morpheus’ swollen eyes before allowing another mischievous smirk to curl their painted lips. Their hand returned to his jaw in a clamping flash that dug their nails into his hollow cheeks and had him startling with a grunt of pain. “For now. But you’ll have to do something for me first.”

Morpheus thought of Desire’s talons sunk into Gadling’s mind and body, thought of the man’s gluttony at the mercy of their destructive cruelty, and set his jaw against Desire’s grip.

“Name it,” he growled, for a moment the Morpheus of old.

Desire’s smile turned victorious. They leaned close, holding him in place by the jaw as their lips neared his ear. Their breath was hot on his skin, their scent overwhelming, and Morpheus braced himself for their price as they whispered….

“Fucking…eat.”

His mind grated, ground, and utterly broke.

“What,” he said. The blindsided word hardly registered as a question, and Desire looked directly into his eyes, still holding him in that throttling grip.

“I am tired of your rotted bones haunting my halls like some kind of putrid ghost,” they snapped, and Morpheus could only stare in utter bewilderment. “Start eating. Start drinking. Start sleeping. Start fantasizing. I don’t care what order you do it in, but you better start doing it tonight, because if you don’t—”

Morpheus’ voice strengthened even as his ability to comprehend what was happening with this conversation unspooled like a runaway ball of yarn.

“What,” he repeated, and Desire swatted him upside the head.

“Hunger is just a facet of desire, you shit. All of this,” they gestured to his mess of a body, “is you being arrogant enough to think you can self-immolate your way back into our big sister’s good graces. But guess what, my lord? Death’s not listening. My twin has had her fill. You’ve been knocking about in the wrong kingdom, and I have had it. I—”

They caught themselves with a deep, composing breath, and when they resumed, it was at their usual cadence.

“Start eating. Start sleeping,” they ordered, and their tone, too, began to soften until it returned to their natural, predatory purr. “Or else…” Their eyes slid from their brother’s to something off to their right, and they turned his head with them to look to Gadling’s bedroom door. “…I make all your appetites uncontrollable.”

 …They wouldn’t.

“You’d just absolutely shatter loyal little Guinevere’s heart. Hell, maybe the rest of her, too,” Desire continued and bit by bit released their grip on Morpheus’ jaw as they watched him somehow pale further beneath the fresh bruises and wounds. “As you well know, you always get what you want when it comes to lust…or you destroy what stands in your way to get it.” Desire was no longer touching him, but still his head stayed turned, his eyes transfixed on the heavy door and the people who slumbered innocently on beyond it. “And Gadling…” They laughed and slipped from the bed to peruse the kitchen, lingering at the fruit bowl. “Oh, that one would bow for you so fast it embarrasses even me,” they leered and made their selection, “and we both know that you never leave much behind once you’ve satisfied the hunt.”

He thought of Gwen helping him down the hall to the bathroom and guiding him through therapy exercises. He thought of Gadling tending his wounds and studiously tracking each one’s healing. He thought of their endless patience and kindness, and Gadling’s kiss seared his temple in the cooling night, his arms firm about him as he relentlessly pursued his own destruction.

Desire wouldn’t, he begged.

But Desire would. He knew they would, and they would laugh the whole while, delighting in their destruction and cruelty as this flat tore itself apart. He turned from Gadling’s room and looked up at his sibling beside him as they returned, hiding something behind them all the way. And as they read in his eyes the resignation and hatred, they knew they had won.

They presented a banana from behind their back with the single most juvenile smirk on their face. After a moment, Morpheus snatched it from them, and their expression sobered to something that was almost grim approval as, glaring all the way, he ate the entire thing.

“About time.”

[unpredictable-probabilities]

A Dip Into Comfort

Summary:

After a long week at work, Hob finds that Dream has prepared a surprise for him.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2,551

Square/Prompt: A2 - Bathroom Sex | @dreamlingbingo

Ship(s): Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling

Additional Tags: Bathing/Washing, Bathroom Sex, Bath Sex, Bathtub Sex, Bubble Bath, Bathtubs, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Coming Untouched, Comfort, Fluff, Sweet, Sweet/Hot, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Romantic Fluff, Smut, Fluff and Smut, Domestic Fluff, Domestic, Domestic Boyfriends, Pampering

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56909119

---

Hob all but stumbled out of the bus as soon as the doors opened. It was finally Friday, and he could go spend the night eating pastries on his couch while watching bake-offs, or immediately pass out and sleep for 40 hours. He hadn't decided yet.

The past week had been a series of late nights preparing exams and early mornings of faculty meetings that really should have just been emails. It was that time of the semester again where it felt like the entire university was busy, and at this point Hob was pretty sure he was looking forward to summer vacation even more than his students were.

He made the short walk from the bus stop to his flat, trudging up the front steps and yawning as he unlocked the door.

He was planning on collapsing on the couch, but he stepped into his living room and saw that someone was already in it, carefully arranging a plate of croissants and chocolate éclairs on the coffee table.

“Dream?” Hob was suddenly wide awake. “It's not date night, right? Oh my god, did I forget—”

“Hob.” Dream's voice was soothing and his expression soft as he gracefully stood up and walked towards Hob. “You did not forget anything.” He cupped Hob’s face in his hand and kissed him, a gentle press of their lips. “Welcome home, beloved,” a smile lifted the corners of his mouth.

He helped Hob out of his jacket, hanging it on the coat rack by the wall, then took Hob’s bag from him and placed it on the couch.

Hob followed, still unsure of what was happening but certainly not complaining. “Is there a special occasion somehow? A holiday in The Dreaming?” They had been dating for a few months already, but Hob had never come home to Dream waiting in his flat before.

“No,” Dream replied as he sat back down. “I merely saw your daydreams while you were on the bus. They were quite vivid.”

“So you came here and waited for me?” Hob felt warmth bloom in his chest at that. He took a seat next to Dream and looked at the food on the coffee table. “And where did these come from? Can we eat dreamstuff?”

Dream gave him a smile of fond amusement. “These are not from the Dreaming. I ordered them from your preferred coffee shop, using the phone you gave me.”

Hob’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “I didn’t think you’d know how to do that.”

“I did not. But it was easy enough to reach into certain dreams and learn how. Carl brought the food again, the young man from last week. He handed me a coupon and said that our next order from them would have a 10% discount.”

Hob saw the coupon on the coffee table and looked back at Dream. “Did you see his daydreams while you two were talking?”

Carl was not the most subtle of delivery men. Hob was the one who usually received food orders whenever there was a new dessert he wanted Dream to try, but there was a time last month when he had been washing the dishes when their order arrived, and Dream had opened the door before Hob could say anything. Carl had looked like he nearly swallowed his own tongue, his cheekbones pink as he tried to tell Dream how much the food was. Hob had rushed over and paid before the poor lad fainted on their doorstep.

Dream tilted his head just slightly. “How would you know whether he had daydreams?”

“Love, I don’t need mind-reading powers to notice that he’s always the one delivering our food now ever since he saw you for the first time,” Hob playfully pointed out.

“Regardless, this night is about you.” Dream was looking at him so intently that Hob felt his face warm. “Would you still like to eat first? Or sleep already? I can make you sleep whenever you wish and ensure you only have the sweetest dreams. Or no dreams at all, if you would prefer that.”

Hob reached for the back of Dream’s neck and pulled him in for another kiss, lingering longer this time. “I had no idea you were so sweet,” he teased after pulling away.

“I learned from the best,” Dream said easily, his eyes twinkling, and Hob didn’t bother to hide his grin. “Which one shall it be? A dreamless sleep?”

“Oh, I don’t think I’d ever want to be Dream-less.”

Dream rolled his eyes—a gesture he had learned from Hob—but Hob could see the smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Dream always looked adorable when he was pretending to be exasperated at Hob’s terrible puns, which was why Hob continued to make them.

“And I might like a hot shower first, actually. It’s been cold all day.”

Dream nodded once. “Then let me draw you a bath.” He stood up and took Hob’s hand, gently leading him to the bathroom.  

“A bath?” Hob blinked.

As soon as Dream opened the door, Hob heard the tap running and noticed a pleasant scent in the air.

The bathtub was filling up with soapy water, suds covering the entire surface, along with…

“Are these rose petals?” Hob said in surprise, turning to Dream.

“A lot of humans seem to think that a warm bath with scented oils and flowers is agreeable after a particularly tiring day,” Dream said hesitantly. “Do you object to this?” He began to raise his hand as if preparing to vanish the contents of the tub.

“No, no,” Hob said hurriedly, squeezing Dream's hand. “I was just surprised.” He glanced at the soapy pink water in the tub before turning back to Dream. “Join me?”

Dream furrowed his eyebrows. “I have no need for bathing.”

Hob smiled at him fondly. “I know. But I still wanna spend time with you.”

Dream looked surprised for a moment before his features softened. “Then allow me to help.” He leaned closer and kissed Hob, his hands reaching up to slowly undo the buttons on Hob’s shirt.

Hob swayed into the touch, unbuttoning Dream’s coat in turn. He felt Dream’s tongue sweep on his bottom lip, and in the next heartbeat they were both in the tub, fully soaked to the chest and without a stitch of clothing on either of them.

Once Hob’s senses have settled down from the sudden teleportation, he realised that he was leaning back against Dream. Their bare skins pressed together, Dream’s chest a cool contrast to the warm fragrant water.

The tap had turned off, so Hob heard clearly when Dream leaned forward and spoke in his ear.

“Will you allow me to take care of you, beloved?” His hands were already lathering shampoo in Hob's hair.

“You're spoiling me,” Hob sighed and melted against Dream, his eyes fluttering close at the feeling of Dream’s fingers on his scalp.

“As you deserve to be,” Dream murmured, and pulled away just enough to glide his hands down to the nape of Hob's neck and his shoulder blades, firmly kneading the tension out of the stiff muscles.

Hob let out a groan that he would have been embarrassed of, except Dream had never made him feel embarrassed of anything.

Dream's hands slowly went down Hob’s back, coaxing the soreness out inch by inch until Hob felt like he might fall asleep right there. And he must have for a minute or so, because when he woke up, Dream had the showerhead in his hand, holding it so that the hose didn't get in the way, and was beginning to rinse off Hob's hair, gently tipping his head back so no shampoo got in his eyes.

“Is this a good time to admit that I've fantasized about this in 1689?” Hob asked as Dream’s fingers were carding through his hair.

“It is unnecessary. I was aware of your daydreams then.”

“Oh? A shame you didn't act on it,” Hob said playfully.

“You were in a vulnerable position. I did not wish to take advantage.”

Hob’s eyebrows lifted in surprise and he turned around to face Dream as much as the bathtub would allow. “Wait, really?” 

The showerhead vanished from Dream’s hand and returned to its place on the hook on the wall. 

“You had lived on the streets a long time without a single kind touch. And I…” Dream’s eyes cast downward. “I was different. At the time. Greedy. If you had allowed me to touch your hair in the bath, I would have taken more. More than what you might have allowed had you not been in a desperate situation.” 

Hob felt dumbstruck; he had already been so grateful for the food and lodging that Dream provided for him that night, as well as the handful of coins. And now, knowing that Dream cared about him that much even back then… Hob just stared at him for several moments, unable to say anything.

Dream met his eyes again hesitantly, his shoulders tensing as if he was preparing for Hob to yell at him or kick him out.

“Love,” Hob rubbed Dream’s arm soothingly. “That's… Thank you, for that. I knew you were kind to me then, but I had no idea just how much.”

“It was the least I could have done. After everything that you had been through.”

Hob smiled. “You really are very sweet, you know? Also,” he pointed at Dream's chest accusingly. “Are you telling me we could have shagged over 3 centuries ago and you didn't say anything?”

Dream blinked at him in surprise. “I had just explained—”

“Well what about in 1789? I knew I wasn't imagining the look you gave me. You're saying I wanked myself to sleep that night when I could have had the real thing?” Hob barreled on. He had the right to, after hundreds of years of holding back.

“I was concerned for your safety.” Dream was evidently trying to suppress a smile and only partially succeeding. “Have I not made up for those times with our plentiful hours in bed as of late?” 

“I haven't decided yet. Might need to add in more hours to be sure.” Hob placed his hand flat on Dream's chest, feeling the heart under his palm that beat only for him.

Dream pulled him closer and planted a soft kiss on his neck. “I was under the impression that you wished to sleep already,” he whispered against Hob’s skin.

Hob felt himself flush, heat pooling low in his belly, and he shuffled around to face Dream properly. “There's lots of time to sleep. Later. I've got other things on my mind right now.”

“Oh I am quite aware of the things in your mind right now, Hob Gadling,” Dream rumbled quietly, his lips finding their way to the shell of Hob's ear.

Hob let out a shuddering exhale and turned his head to catch Dream’s lips in his.

Dream pulled Hob forward to sit on his lap, water sloshing out of the tub from the force. Hob grinded down on Dream's growing hardness under him, rubbing his own against Dream’s torso.

Dream moaned against his mouth, only making Hob’s blood run quicker south. “This is really what you want?” Dream asked breathlessly, his pupils blown wide. “You are not too tired for such activities?”

“I'd stay awake for a week if it means we get to do this now,” Hob’s voice sounded hoarse to his own ears. He gripped Dream’s hair and surged forward to kiss him again, his hips twitching forward when he felt Dream’s tongue sliding against his own.

Hob felt firm hands massage the flesh of his arse, and then a slender finger slick with soap teasing his rim. A shudder ran up his spine, and he moved encouragingly against Dream’s finger. His hands held either side of Dream’s face, keeping their mouths pressed together as if he needed it to breathe.

Dream finally took mercy on him and slipped his finger in, twisting him open and adding a second one.

“Fuck,” Hob gasped, leaning his forehead against Dream’s. “Yes. Right there.” He distantly wondered if he could come like this, riding Dream’s fingers while his cock rubbed up and down Dream’s body. But he wanted more, wanted what he knew Dream was more than willing to give.

“And you shall have it.” Dream added a third finger, spreading Hob open and brushing across his prostate.

“Dream,” Hob nearly sobbed, digging his blunt fingernails into Dream’s shoulders. “I'm ready. Please…”

Dream withdrew his fingers, and Hob’s whine at the sudden emptiness turned into a wail as Dream’s cock filled him.

Dream held Hob’s hips in place; his eyes had fluttered shut and shallow breaths were coming out of his parted lips, his cheeks flushed a ruddy red.

Hob’s chest was heaving, his cock impossibly hard, but he thought he could spend an eternity just staring at Dream like this, frozen in a moment's pleasure.

Then Dream started to move and all thoughts fled from Hob’s mind.

“Dream…” Hob’s voice wavered as he felt Dream slowly slide in and out of him.

Dream’s eyes had turned into galaxies. “My name sounds so sweet on your lips.”

 “Ah—!” Hob’s eyes rolled back in his head as Dream filled him even deeper at the next thrust. His thighs were trembling so much that he had no idea if he was still helping raise his own hips.

Hob leaned in and kissed Dream, tasting the sounds of their moans. He would have chased the heat of Dream’s lips and tongue for much longer, but Dream began thrusting at a faster pace and their kisses turned messier until Hob didn't have control over his own mouth anymore; gasps and pleas and curses spilling out as he threw his head back.

Dream was panting now, his eyes squeezed shut as he relentlessly hit Hob’s prostate with each movement of his hips.

“Hob.”

His name sounded positively sinful from Dream’s lips, and it was all it took for Hob to be hurled over the edge, stars exploding behind his eyelids as a scream tore from his throat.

He rode Dream’s cock through his orgasm, gasping softly when Dream came and spilled inside him with a low drawn-out moan.

Hob collapsed against Dream, boneless and half-conscious, only faintly registering that the water was draining and the tub was filling up again with a fresh batch, rinsing them of soap and spend before draining again.

“Shall we move to your bed, my love?” Dream asked breathlessly, his hand rubbing soothing circles over Hob's back.

Hob hummed in agreement and held Dream tightly.

In the next heartbeat, they were on his bed, dry and warm under the blankets.

Hob wrapped an arm around Dream and snuggled in the crook of his neck. “Thank you. For tonight. I love you.” He raised his head slightly and planted a kiss on Dream's jawline under his ear.

“And I love you, Hob Gadling,” Dream said softly, holding him close. “Now rest. There are pastries waiting for us in the morning.”

Another hum that was more a sigh of contentment slipped out of Hob, and he felt himself smile at the certainty that Dream would be waiting for him in the morning.

---

(Dreamling Bingo Masterpost)

(Masterlist)