#dream x hob x destruction

[mallory-x]

Square: D3 - Holding Hands Rating: E Wordcount: 6069 Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Pairings: Dream/Hob, Dream/Hob/Destruction Additional Tags: BDSM, Dom/sub, S&M, Dom Dream, Dom Destruction, sub Hob, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Consensual Non-Consent, Bondage, Restraints, Spanking, Flogging, Impact Play, Heavy BDSM, heavy impact play, Bruises, Anal Fingering, Finger Sucking, Oral Sex, Rough Oral Sex, Face-Fucking, Cock Sucking, Anal Sex, Size Kink, Size Difference, Destruction of the Endless has a massive cock, Spit Roasting, Belly Bulge, Begging, breath play, erotic asphyxiation, (only mild but it's there), mild objectification, Praise Kink, Humiliation kink, Dirty Talk, Alternate Universe - Human, No incest - Dream and Destruction aren't related

Summary:

Dream sits in a high backed chair like it’s a throne, his back ramrod straight in a corseted waistcoat and his features schooled into regal impassiveness. He’s gazing down at his pet, Hob, who kneels before him and looks up through half-lidded eyes. Hob is naked and bruises litter his buttocks, evidence of an intense play session earlier in the evening. Dream tugs on the leash attached to his collar and Hob sways forward, face tilted up for the kiss which Dream bestows on his forehead like a benediction. As he sits back, Dream looks up and meets the newcomer’s eyes. The ghost of a smile drifts over his lips as he stands, and the newcomer crosses the room to crush him in an embrace. There’s another mutter of comments from the room, as Dream’s reputation is very much one of look-but-don’t-touch, but he seems at ease with this other Dom in a way that no one has seen apart from when he’s with his pet.

Human!AU. Dream invites his 'Brother' Destruction to play with Hob.

Please mind the tags!

Thanks to @tryan-a-bex, @acanthoscurria, and my non-fandom friend Velvet for the beta! For @dreamlingbingo

Link: Seduce you into ruin

[phantomstatistician]

Fandom: The Sandman (comics vs TV show)

Sample Size: 1,301 (comics); 4,048 (TV show)

Source: AO3

NOTE: Do not compare colors between charts

[writing-for-life]

“Into the end of the story”—Jill Thompson

Daniel!Dream is in this concept art for the movie (Neil and Jill created these for a pitch).

If you want to read why that’s important, about Sunday Mourning in general and a few other things, you can do that here.

Or here (Why the order of the last three issues matters).

[tiabritana]

For @softest-punk who’s hobhusband verse I read for the thousandth time today and got inspired. Here’s Hob meeting one of his in-laws

————————————————————————

It was one of the rare times that Death was able to get away from her busy schedule for more than a few moments, and Hob was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

They were currently the only two in the flat and were spending time together at the kitchen table drinking some local ale that Moira gifted him over the holidays when a thought popped into Hobs mind. He never really gave it much thought before-assuming that as with most things in the beginning- his gift was from Dream, and that was that. With the arrangement now, and knowing that prior assessment to be false, Hob turned to Death and pondered how to ask his question.

“Yes?” Death asked, seeing his stare.

“I was just wondering how I stayed the same age after all these years.” He started setting his mug down and playing with his fingers. “I just never really thought about it before, but your gift prevents me from dying, so how do I still look young.”

Death was silent for a bit, playing with her own mug, swirling the liquid around as she pondered his question.

“I never really thought of it much,” she finally admitted. “When I first made the wager with Dream, I just wanted him to see the beauty of humans. You all are-especially you-,” she paused and gave him a warm look, reaching between them to gently grab his hand from where he was still fiddling with them, “so full of life. I just wanted him to understand.” She stopped and shrugged, and Hob understood what she didn’t say. By now they all knew that Dream was in a bad place for a long time and was just starting to see that there was more to life than just his function.

“Anyway, if I had to guess I assume that Father had something to do with your preserved form.” She took back her hand to instead cup her mug and bring it to her mouth to take a long gulp.

Hob stared at the column of her neck admiring as he thought about what she said. He never gave much thought to the Endless parents as none of his spouses liked to talk about them. The closest being Delirium’s nonsensical musings about there being a black hole inside her sometimes, and the twins sharing a look.

“Why would he grant my body stasis- for lack of a better word?” He asked. His musings were starting to give him a headache the more he tried to wrap his head around the subject.

Death shrugged again, putting her now empty mug down. Hob pushed his half drunk glass towards her. He didn’t think drinking anymore would help with his burgeoning headache.

Just as she was finishing his mug, Death turnt her head and gazed off into distance with her ear cocked, listening to something Hob couldn’t hear.

“I got to go,” she said as she stood up. Hob got up and leaned towards her to press a chaste kiss to her cheek.

“I’ll see you later love.” And watched as her great wings took her off to her next appointment.

“She’s right you know.” Hob quickly whipped around at the sound of an unfamiliar voice in his now not so empty flat. Standing behind him was a young man with bright red hair-looking just like Destruction. Hob wet his lips, suddenly wishing he didn’t give Death his drink as the man changed forms into a wizen old man. He instinctively knew who was standing before him even though this was his first time meeting the being; and wondered if this had anything to do with the flat being on the border of the the Endless siblings realms.

The being-Time-circled around Hob, making him feel like a sculpture on display. He swallowed down his sudden feeling of inadequacy and smiled what he hoped was a welcoming grin. “Hel-,” he was cut off before he could finish the greeting.

“I suppose congratulations are in order.” His tone not giving anything away as he continued his perusal. Hob fought the urge to wipe his sudden sweat coated palms on his trousers, and instead met his father-in-laws eyes as he finally circled back to the front.

“I don’t like company, even from my own children, but I do keep an eye on them from time to time.” At the last part his lips twitch up, reminding Hob of Destiny when he managed to make him smile. His form shifted again, turning him into a small red headed child, though the intense look in his eyes didn’t change.

“I watched that day Death and Dream made that wager, and knew how important you’d be.” He stopped and stepped closer to Hob, his form shifting again to a baby, small tufts of red hair and a cherub face. Hob looked down and wondered how this didn’t even make it into his top ten list of weird things to happen to him in the last decade alone. “Imagine my surprise when the least likely timeline overwrote what the Fates had in store for Dream and changed Destiny’s Book.”

Hob swallowed, “uh-,” and once again was cut off from whatever he was about to say.

“Thank you.” The words were softly spoken as Time shifted again, his form now a middle again man with white streaking into his red hair and beard. He finally tore his eyes from Hob, who let out an inaudible sigh as the pressure he didn’t know was slowly suffocating the room disappeared.

When he looked back up, a shadow flashed over the man’s face making him look every eon he was. Hob blinked and the being was gone. As silence slowly descended he heard the knob on the door turning and Destruction emerged from the rain, red hair dripping and boots creating puddles in the entry way. He had shop bags in his great arms as he slowly looked a Hob’s gobsmacked face after shutting the door.

“You okay love?” He asked. He walked around Hob to deposit the bags onto the counter, but stopped and turned to face him again when he received no response. Setting the last bag down Destruction walked over to Hob and took his hands into his own larger ones.

That finally seemed to shock Hob out of his catatonic state. “I think your father approves of me.”

Destruction just stared at him as Hob let go of his hands and wandered the few paces to the kitchen counter to peak into the bags the redhead had left there. “What’s for dinner?” He asked unaware of the stunned expression his blasé response brought.

Needless to say, dinner was late after Destruction called his siblings and they all ended up talking over one another, save Destiny who sat on the couch with a small smile on his face as he read from his Book-Hob sitting beside him as he let his soothing presence help his now migraine- and handed him an aspirin and a glass of water.

[murphyoftheendless]

Sandman art dump!

[naive-daydreamer]

What if we rewrite the stars... (Say you were meant to be mine).

Type: Fanfic.

Rated: M.

Chapters: 13/?.

Tags: too many to count / as much as ao3 let me.

Part 1 of the series: “To dream is to defy, and to defy is to dream”.

Written by: defianceoftheendless

read here on ao3

What was the saying? Ah, yes, dreaming doesn't cost anything.

Well, what if it turned out that the concept of dreaming was much more than a concept? What if it was, in turn, a man behind glass, and there was once a girl who tried to set him free?

That girl's name was Esther Carrasco, and it turned out that dreaming cost her everything.

•

Where a new entity, known as the Defiant of Destinies, emerges from the spilled blood of a dreamer.

[tryan-a-bex]

Halloween; or, Violence, seen from far away, is entertaining

Inspired by a comment by Moreta (ao3), @entropy-mephit, who also did the art! My version and hers are included below. Hers is the fancy one! (Read on ao3.)

Hob watched over Dream’s shoulder as he scrolled through Pinterest posts of Halloween costumes.

“Hob, I do not want to do this. Why may I not just go as myself?” he grumbled.

“No! Love! The point of a Halloween party is to get dressed up and admire each other’s costumes! Don’t worry, the faculty has a huge range of investment is costuming. Some will go all out, especially the arts profs, but plenty of us are going to keep it simpler. What do you think of that pirate costume?”

“What if I go like this?” Dream suggested, suddenly two feet taller and dripping shadows everywhere. Hob cupped his pale, amorphous cheek tenderly in his hand.

“You know I love your Nightmare form, but I think it would be a little over the top for the party.” Hob blinked and Dream was back in his accustomed form, pointing at another picture.

“This one has cat ears, and a tail.” Hob’s lap was abruptly full of a large, black Maine Coon cat.

“Silly duck! Even the non-physicists would have questions about your change in mass!”

“I want to support you in your work social functions, but this is ridiculous!” Hob sighed.

“Anya is coming over soon for babysitting, so why don’t we put it away for now? We can revisit it later, and maybe we’ll think of something in the meantime.”

“Yes, I will go and return when my duties are complete. Maybe I will find something in a dream that will work.” Dream sounded doubtful, but he still gave Hob a tender goodbye kiss before disappearing to his realm.

Hob sighed and went downstairs to greet Yor and Anya. The New Inn has been rented out for a birthday party, so he was going to babysit Anya upstairs at his place for the first time.

“Yor! Anya! Come on upstairs!” he greeted them when they arrived.

“Anya gets to see Hob’s flat!” Anya exclaimed with wonder in her voice.

“I’m sure it won’t be that exciting!” he chuckled, opening the door. Yor entered first, and he saw how thoroughly she inspected the room, while looking as though she was just glancing around. It must have passed muster, because she turned to Anya and gave her a hug.

“Have fun with Hob, Anya!” she said, leaving her with a smile and a little nod at Hob. Hob nodded back, smiling as he squatted to Anya’s level.

“Would you like to play Spy again today?” he asked. Spy was Anya’s favourite make-believe game.

“Today, Anya is an explorer! Anya wants to explore Hob’s flat!”

“Uhhh…” Hob had tidied up, of course, and child-proofed the most dangerous things (the cleaning fluids were on a high shelf in the closet instead of on the floor beside the toilet, for example), but he was sure a determined child like Anya could find something to get into. He’d have to watch her like a hawk!

“TV. Anya has a tv,” Anya began, walking around the living room. She passed the couch to stare at the bookshelves against the wall.

“Hob has a lot of books,” she declared.

“Um, yeah,” he agreed. “Some of them are quite old. Would you like to look at a book?” he hoped she would be amenable to letting him guide the choice of book. Some of his first editions weren’t really in condition for casual handling.

“What is that?” Anya pointed at the top shelf, way in the corner. Ah. Hob had gotten out his old plague doctor mask from storage, back in 2020. He hadn’t been able to help as much this time as in the past, due to licensing requirements for health care providers, but he had covered a few in-person lectures for his immunocompromised colleagues before admin got on board with the quarantine, and he’d handed out masks in the Tube before they they were required.

“Take this, it’ll save your life, mate.” It was a surreal time.

Hob handed the mask down to Anya, remembering the first time he had put it on. He’d survived the plague the first time, when most of his family died. He’d survived it again in the early 1500’s, while he was building his fortune. It had been easier that time, because the plague was always kinder to the rich than the poor. It was in 1665, while he was recovering from grief and from being drowned, that he donned the mask. If he wasn’t going to die, Hob had realized, there were so many lives he could save. Basic battlefield first aid got him started—give thirsty people water to drink. Put a blanket on them if they were chilled. Give them a damp rag if they were feverish. Clean their bodies as much as possible. So many people still died, but maybe not quite as many. Hob was grateful for each one who had recovered.

“Hob did not die for a long time,” Anya came out with, looking quizzically at him with the mask in her hands. Oh, shit. He hadn’t meant to give away that secret; he’d forgotten she was a telepath in the rush of memories. He looked her steadily in the eyes.

“Your papa has a secret, and your mama has a secret.” Anya had told him so the first time she met Dream. She hadn’t told him what the secret was, but Hob could guess, based on how extremely competent and dangerous her parents were.

“You have a secret,” she nodded in agreement, a serious look on her little face, “and I have a secret too,” Hob finished.

“Dream has a secret too,” Anya pointed out. “Franky and Uncle Yuri also.” Hob just nodded. He so did not want to open that can of worms!

“Time to explore again!” Anya suddenly announced, putting the plague mask down on the coffee table. She headed down the hall, Hob darting after her with, he had to admit, some trepidation in his heart. He hadn’t really planned on her seeing the bedroom. He’d better check it first, before she poked her nose in.

Hob stuck his nose in the bedroom, seeing with relief that it was fairly tidy and didn’t have any child-unfriendly things lying around. He turned to try to head her off anyway, only to see that it was already too late. Instead of aiming for the bedroom, she had opened the hall closet where he’d stuffed his dangerous items, and there she was, holding the hilt of his great sword, which was taller than she was. Hob winced and gently took it from her.

“How about we go explore in the park?” He suggested, determinedly turning his thoughts away from all the people he’d killed with that sword, and the times he’d nearly been killed himself, as he stowed it away again.

“Yes! Anya wants to explore the park!” She grabbed his hand enthusiastically, barely slowing down to put her shoes on as they headed outside.

Hob made sure she stopped to check for traffic before crossing the road, then sauntered after her as she dashed through the park, weaving around the few people who were also out enjoying it. She came to a halt as she spotted a raven in the grass, and crouched low to approach it, a crafty expression on her face. Ah, playing Spy again, Hob thought. The raven hopped toward the tree, then suddenly took off to caw at her from its branches.

“Anya is an explorer!” Anya proclaimed to the red-haired man sitting against the base of the tree.

“I’m a bit of an explorer too,” he confessed, patting his little bundle, which was tied to a stick like an old time hobo. Hob felt strangely at ease with him, even though he couldn’t have said why he felt familiar. Perhaps they’d met before.

“You have a secret too,” Anya disclosed. The man raised his eyebrows, glancing at Hob.

“Ah, Anya, most people do have secrets, you know. It’s generally not polite to ask about them, unless you really need to know, or if someone is not safe. In that case you should really tell a grown up…” Hob trailed off as he realized the other two were ignoring him. The stranger was being submitted to Anya’s piercing gaze, the one where it seemed she could read your soul. She didn’t break the gaze first, he did.

“You should probably ask my brother if you want to know my secrets, Hob. We have met, you know. It was very long ago. In fact, it was your memories today which drew me here.”

“You’re not the one he calls the Prodigal, are you?” Hob wondered, making connections in his head. Dream had a lot of siblings, and they were all remarkable. The man smiled brilliantly.

“I am! You can call me Joe.”

“It’s nice to meet….” Hob started, but Anya was interrupting, grabbing Joe’s hand.

“Anya wants a story! Tell me about exploring!” she demanded. Joe nodded.

“Well, there was this one day I was wandering with my dog, Barnabas,” he began.

“Anya knows Barnabas! He came here before!” Anya interrupted.

“Did he? That’s nice! So, Barnabas and I…” Hob settled in for a good story, hoping it would last until Yor returned.

Later that day, having said goodbye to Joe, Anya and Yor, Hob trudged up to his flat and flopped on the couch. His eyes fell on the plague mask, still sitting on the coffee table, and he was stuck by inspiration. Just then, Dream appeared.

“Hello, Hob,” he smiled as Hob moved to give him room on the couch.

“I met your brother today!” Hob revealed, “and I think I know what to do for your Halloween costume!”

Two weeks later, Hob and Dream were standing outside the faculty Halloween party. Hob had recreated his plague doctor outfit, and Dream was wearing his helm and robe, toned-down a bit on Hob’s advice. Dream was having second thoughts.

“Don’t worry, Duck, it will be fine,” Hob reassured him, taking him by the hand and drawing him gently into the party room. Five minutes later, they were at the refreshments table when an elaborate Big Ben Hob didn’t know came up to them.

“Excellent plague doctor mask!” she enthused. “It looks so authentic!”

“Thank you!” Hob answered, loving how willing people were to see what they expected to see.

“And you!” she turned excitedly to Dream, “I love your mask! Where did you get it?”

“I created it from the skull and spine of my enemy, who I crushed with my own hands,” Dream intoned in his most ominous voice.

“Brilliant! Great backstory! I love how you commit to the bit!” she gushed.

“Hob?” Dream whined.

“Don’t worry, love, you’re doing excellently,” Hob consoled him as they walked further into the party, once again holding hands.

Read previous: Butterflies

Read from the beginning: Space Buns

Read next: Secrets

Why I call Destruction Joe (or Not Joe).

[notallsandmen]

@magnusbae I will write this, if only to have Death pop in once a year/century with the credit card bill, to force a squirming Dream to justify all the expenses. “Chateau LaFitte 1828?! You know we’re in a fucking recession?!”

Also, Destruction left after Dream ruined his credit score.

I can’t get over the fact that Dream conveniently left out / forgot to inform Hob that the gift of immortality was granted by his sister, not himself.

The man really spent centuries playing sugar daddy while using his sister’s credit card

[gabessquishytum]

hi i just think that dream and destruction should take turns fucking hob and coming in him and then plugging him back up. they start off easily enough -- neither of them ever opts for a cock hob would call average, but he likes it that way, and neither of them have gone for anything inhumanly large. and when they come in him the volume's enough that hob might normally joke about his partner having been pent up but, again, nothing he would have questioned from anyone else.

but the day goes on, with hob being bent over his desk in his office or dragged into empty rooms between classes, and as he's fucked over and over, well. eventually the plug needs to be reshaped a bit, doesn't it. a little bigger, to adjust for how much his hole's loosened up. and then dream and destruction have to make their cocks a little bigger so he's still nice and tight around them. and then it starts to turn into a friendly competition.

they're each a little bigger, every time he's fucked again. the plug keeps getting bigger by increments. and they start coming more and more each time, until hob goes from feeling wet to feeling full. he can feel himself swell a little more with each load.

he has office hours after classes -- with only brief visits from students, thankfully, because his partners are taking full advantage of the fact that he's alone in a room with a locking door -- and then he winds up staying to get a bit of marking done. and when he's done, he stays at his desk until dream comes by for his next turn. because after destruction's last round... hob had made the mistake of wearing one of his more fitted button-downs that day, and the buttons are barely holding on over the swell of his belly. another load and he thinks they're going to give and he can't face public transportation like this, and he's so sweet begging dream to magic him home that dream doesn't even bother teasing him about it. just whisks him off back to his flat, where destruction's already lounging in hob's bed. and hob gets to lay back, cradled against destruction's chest, as dream fucks him again and comes, and comes, and comes. until the buttons of hob's shirt finally give way.

-🐈‍⬛

I'm literally squirming with happiness as I read this because ohhh it hits so many of my kinks, doesn't it <3

I love the thought of poor Hob squirming in his chair as he feels fuller and heavier as the day goes on. He's trying so hard to be a good boy and also to like. Do a decent day's work, lol. Nobody is quite brave enough to comment on his increasingly debauched state, or the fact that his shirt is clearly struggling - the poor guy is obviously going through some serious bloating issues, it would just be mean to bring it up.

But Hob knows that people can see how sweaty he is, how his cheeks a permanently red. There's definitely a suspicious white stain on the back of his trousers that he doesn't know how he could ever explain. Overall, he's just fucked out and shakey and so so horny. He can't stop putting his hands on his belly and pressing down, to feel the pressure against the plug in his hole and the way all that thick liquid inside him sloshes around.

He’s totally blaming Destruction for the whole thing. He’s the nicest guy Hob has ever met but his competitive streak is MASSIVE. If Dream goes big, Destruction has to go bigger. If Dream cums a lot, Destruction has to cum more. And Dream is also not going to let his little brother outdo him, so… poor Hob is in for a rough time. And yes, he loves it unashamedly. He’s mentally measuring the girth of their cocks and delighting in the way each time he’s fucked they feel bigger and thicker. He’s definitely encouraging them by moaning and spreading his cheeks, claiming that he can take more and more. He’s not going to deny that he loves being their good little cumdump, he just genuinely isn’t sure if he can move by the end of the day.

Even Destruction’s massive hand isn’t quite enough to cradle the entire bulge of his belly. Hob is trembling between his two lovers as he’s filled with even more cum. He’s whining and begging and he genuinely isn’t sure if he’s begging for more or for them to stop. Destruction just hushes him and rubs over his tummy, saying that he’s such a good little cream puff, can’t he take a little more? Dream rolls his eyes over the nickname but apparently Hob is into it because he clamps his walls down hard on Dream’s cock and coaxes out another load of cum.

Poor Hob really doesn’t know the meaning of the words “too much”. It’s fortunate that he has two lovers to coo over him and rub his belly until he manages to drift off to sleep. If he dreams of being kept so round and well fucked forever….. well, he can’t help it! It just feels so good!

[windsweptinred]

Why I love the idea of a great big Good Omens x The Sandman Crossover Gaimonverse ... (Ineffable Husbands and Dream of the Endless hobnobbing aside).

Gwendoline Christie's Lucifer ruling over the hopeless disasters which are the GO demons... Chef's kiss! Give me a twenty part, workplace comedy. With Lucifer being driven ever closer to a complete nervous breakdown by their shinnanigans. Until they throw Mazikeen over their shoulder, yell 'Fuck this, I'm out!' and rage quit.

The Endless and the Horseman existing in the same universe... Meaning there are tiers of Anthropomorphic Personifications. What does that make the Horseman? Insanely homicidal middle management?

Following Death around like obbsessive little ducklings.

Getting into all sorts of devilment with the Twins like their little chaos groupies.

Constantly checking in with Destiny like,

War: Is it the Apocalypse now?

Destiny: (Turns a page) No

Famine: Now?

Destiny: No

Pollution: Now?

Destiny: Do not make me leave this garden and come down there!

Being one of the main contributing factors in making their direct supervisor (Destruction) become a master hermit.

Most of Hob's down time being spent avoiding/messing with Sergeant Shadwell (This headcanon is stamped across my heart in glowing neon letters).

Adam Young being the bane of Destiny's existence. A reality warping, fate changing... Doodling all over the margins of Book of Destiny in crayola menace!

The image of Anathema and Johanna Constantine as professional associates of the British supernatural community is a thing wonderous to behold.

[catdoingblep]

And some more headcanons for this crossover (some mentions of the temporary death and canonical/side permanent deaths):

Eleonor was from Ravka, and she was a tidemaker (and Hob fell for her with the speed of tv Jesper). Robyn was a squaller, but their story still ends the same.

Nikolai Lantsov is a very-very distant descendant of Hob. Not like anyone alive knows it except Destiny.  (Robyn was the only kid Hob was aware of, but he didn’t care for real before Robyn that much, and he had his slut period right after he understood that he became immortal) 

Wylan is Hob's favourite Crow because he reminds him of Robyn. Both in Wylan Wan Sunshine and how-about-I-push-you-in-the-canal moods.

Hob and Jesper are vibing together. And they both have ADHD in my mind.

Randall Burgess was in the Fold because his best friend needed to go throught it, and Randall wasn't ok with his friend taking this kind of risk without Randall on side. They both and everyone who was with them didn't make it.

Inej had a knife that was called Sankta Robert. She broke this during the basement rescue (she may or may not broke it trying to crack a fishball). Hob brought her a new one instead, durast made.

New knife is by Mad Hettie. She do not do all the durast stuff anymore by her own reasons (and these reasons somehow connected to Destiny), but she was owe Hob a favoir. They also have a very strange friendship because you cannot don't interract when you are two immortals in one Ketterdam.

Kaz was really interested by the devil in the basement not because it was connected with Jan Van Eck but because anyone was thinking that it is impossible to steal thing from basement. He had a lot of other plans with Jan Van Eck, but he likes the challenge.

Hob once was in the Hellgate as a prisoner for few days during his worst times after Eleonor and Robyn. He will not recomend anyone Hellgate (0/10 for service), and he killed himself really bruttaly to be thrown out as a corpse. He had a very important meeting in few weeks, so not like he had time to enjoy Hellgate accomodation.

Ethel Crips is a tailor, and Roderic wasn't aware of it, so she run away from Ketterdam and tailored her face. Did she tailor also John's face? Nobody knows.

Jordie was asking Death if Kaz would be alright. She said that he will not die anytime soon.

Dream will definitely be once (or maybe more than once) asked by some drunkards is he related to Kaz Brekker. 

Nina still becomes the Corpsewitch in this universe and sometimes she is able to see Death around when Death doing her job.

Ok, I do not make tumblr posts, but I have this crossover stuck in my brain (and I am having a hyperfixation on the Shadow and Bones rn), so…

Shadow and Bones (TV) x Sandman (TV) crossover, Hob canonically was involved in the slave trade.

Hob Gadling, the new owner of New Inn (a small Inn on the edge of Barel) and your local saint (yes, he is known as Sankta Robert, and he hates this) and fellow Ketterdam immortal in his six hundreds, is trying to live his life in the Ketterdam right after his Stranger missed their meeting.

He was away for a few years after planned meeting (you know, all this “die and return as your nephew from Novyi Zem” things) and just returned to the city when Fold was destroyed. He doesn’t want to interact with any of Barel’s gangs, because it is hard to hide your immortality when someone shoots you in the middle of the street (it happened before. Twice, actually).

He still tries to know all the local rumours, so he knows about Crows, and now his Inn is apparently the Dregs’ territory.

Meanwhile, Kaz is planning how to destroy Jan Wan Eck and heard a rumour about the devil in the basement.

So, whatever it is, Jan Wan Eck is very interested in it and spends a huge amount of money every month to cover the costs of Burgess. And the guards of the basement are so well-payed that no one can buy them. Wylan barely knows anything about it, he only knows that once his father said him that Burgess promised his father to guarantee that his next child will not be an embarrassment (in exchange for the favour that is taking away the Dream bc Alex wants to get rid of the ball). 

(Roderic Burgess was not a grisha himself, but Randall Burgess was a grisha and Burgess was already making a lot of plans for how he will monetize his grisha abilities and how he will use Randall in his barely legal plans before he died in the Fold and Roderick was stuck with useless otkazat'sya second son)

Crows think that maybe this is imprisoned healer because older Burgess was too old to be alive.  

(Alex considered himself “forced through circumstances” after his father died bc he was too afraid of both Dream and Wan Eck telling everybody that is in the basement)

So Crows start some shenanigans to break into the basement, and Burgess or Wan Yek heard about it and hires some killers to take them down. One of the killers? Corinthian.

Corinthian caught one of the Crows (Nina who cannot take him down because he was made from the dreamstuff?) in the side street, but Hob is passing by. And he doesn’t want some kid to be killed on his watch. 

Hob attacked Corinthian and killed him (obviously temporally) but got stabbed in the process. In his heart. With a knife. So Nina tried to save him, but once she took out the knife, Hob comes to life.

And this makes Hob involved in all the things that he tried to avoid because he didn’t want to simulate his death too soon (and these children already saw that he is immortal), and Crows offered him to “forget” about his secret. Price? Help to steal whatever it is in the basement. 

After this someone (Inej who will have very mixed feelings about Hob being a saint? like they already met some saints but no one was a slave trader in the past) understood who Hob is.

All this Sankta Robert stuff that Hob hates. He is not only a saint because he just died and was resurrected with too many witnesses, but he also did this during the period when he tried to destroy his own slavery business after his Stranger’s advice. So years after he was known as a patron of the slaves and the ones who were illegally detained.

The eternal reminder of his own mistakes. He is not a saint, ok? Just an immortal man who made a huge mistake and tried to do something right when he understood that a crime he did.

(And in that life, he was going with his real name for some time, so he cannot use Robert Gadling anymore because everyone knows his name as the name of the saint)

Idk what will be next but it all ended up as Hob saved Dream from the fishball and they got together trope, yes. Same story but with some extra Crows flavour.

(And after the rescue of the Dream he is very amused with the fact that mortals call Hob Sankta Robert. Like previously, he never paid attention to the life of Hob between their meetings, only to the Hob’s stories on the meetings, and Hob did not mention this so he didn’t know).

Hob also somehow “adopt” the Crows because they are just a bunch of youngsters for him. Like they’re in their twenties, they are totally kids for Hob. Have they already saved the world? Not changing his opinion, they are kids! Kaz is trying to resist this but unsuccessfully (he is not so unhappy with this as he shows).

[unhinged-summer-fun]

the foolish heart's guide to not repeating history - epilogue

Pairing: Dream of the Endless "Morpheus" x F!Reader

series masterlist

epilogue: so it goes

Now that you’ve found a place to be, you’re loath to move from it. London provides no end to exciting things, people, and sights. Hob gives the world’s best historical walking tour of the city by far, and you’ve tried each. Sometimes, Dream joins you. But for the most part, he leaves you be in your waking hours.

For he’s always waiting for you in your dreams.

He’s worked it out so that every time you fall asleep into the Dreaming, your first sight is the reflectory. The butterflies are always so excited to see you, but none so eager as the King of Dreams.

He greets you with a kiss each time, deep and passionate, no matter the occasion. And once you’ve been thoroughly kissed, he pulls away to ask you the same thing each night:

“What shall we dream tonight, darling?”

The Hum is sure to give you all sorts of suggestions.

It’s about three in the afternoon on a random Monday in July when you feel a summons coming through.

My friend, I stand in the Worlds’ End holding you a seat. I have a tale for you.

You leave a note in case Dream comes by the flat when you’re out and zip off to the tavern.

It’s as it always was: raucous, rapt, and ridiculous. A half-dozen or a half-thousand revelers and storytellers dot the vast sea of tables, and you let yourself wonder which world ended for you to come here this time. Destruction is where he said he’d be, an arm slung around an empty chair and a beer in hand. “There you are!”

“Here I am,” you laugh, kissing his cheek and taking the seat promised. These days, you can’t tell the difference between the Destruction who’s known you all your life and the one you’d met at a funeral. You’re sure it doesn’t matter, for you love them both the same. “Clever trick, that.”

“I came up with it all on my own. The universe knows when I’m asking for you, I suppose.” He shrugs as if he’s not declared an absolutely insane cosmic theory. “Did the job.”

“I’ll have to try it myself sometime. Get you over for dinner.”

“I’m sure your cooking’s to be trusted more than mine.”

You’re given a glass of red wine and your customary cheese board, which reminds you of your reason for being here. “You said you had a story for me—”

You’d say you’re amazed by how long it takes for him to find you, but in reality, the delay was all on your part.

“Mind if I join you, darling?”

The voice, made of darkest velvet night and campfire woodsmoke, belongs to your greatest love. His blue eyes twinkle with humor when his brother sputters a little in surprise. He looks at you in exaggerated betrayal. 

“I left a note,” you shrug. “How was I to know he’d find it so soon?”

Destruction huffs, put out but in good spirits. “If you must, brother,” he gestures to another suddenly-open seat beside you.

“Don’t do me any favors,” Dream mumbles, just low enough for you to hear. You hide your grin in a kiss.

“I was just setting in to hear a—”

“Of course we’d find you all here,” another familiar voice comes, dripping with eroticism and a little bit of fond disdain. Desire of the Endless turns many heads as they walk closer, sitting at the table across from Dream.

Despair, who had not announced herself, sits across from you and next to Destruction. You see her stop frowning momentarily, which is as good as smiling. Behind Despair comes Delirium, who has sat at a different table for now but will likely join you all soon. 

“How many notes did you leave?” Destruction hisses, a little aghast.

“Just the one. I’m not sure what’s happening,” you admit. “Though, I am sure we’ll need more wine for this.”

A hand offers a bottle from over your shoulder, and the person that hand belongs to gives you the kindest smile you’ve ever known. “Hope that’ll do. You like reds, don’t you? Hey, little brother. Long time.”

You’re reminded of how the truly old and powerful tend to sniff out the strange faster than everybody else. Destruction looks mortified. You attempt to lighten the mood. 

“Well, at least we know Destiny will never leave his Garden.”

There’s a tense moment when all six siblings look toward the door, but it does not open.

In the Garden of Forking Ways, Destiny of the Endless reads this and smiles.

Wine and food are served to each sibling, though most of the Endless do not eat. Custom dictates all in the Free Houses. Dream is content to take sips from your wine and steal off your plate, his arm replacing his brother’s on the back of your chair. His long fingers, studded with stars, idly trace your bare shoulder.

“I suppose this tale can be shared with the lot of you,” Destruction says, thoroughly miffed but secretly enjoying the camaraderie of being amongst family again. He’d spent so long visiting each of his siblings clandestinely over the last few hundred years, but a change of pace made the heart beat stronger. “Now, this isn’t quite a once upon a time; it’s more of a once upon another time and place…”

In the Dreaming, a man and his love live on the pond at the End of the Story. Each morning—for what passes as morning in the Dreaming—he wakes and greets his love with a smile and a kind word. He does this every day without fail. His love is a gift he’d been given at a time when he didn’t deserve it, but such is the way of life. We never get our best gifts when we expect them.

Throughout each day, he reads from his abysmally small collection of poetry, and his love tolerates it because it makes him happy to do so. It reminds him of old times, he says.

And as the days end, each to each, he takes his love and walks along the edge of the pond until the stars come out. Neither he nor his love makes any marks in the sand as they go. The whole time, his love walks behind him, and he looks back to check he’s not alone many times throughout the walk. To walk beside a love of your own is something no man should take for granted.

Every day, when the night comes, the man takes his love, holds tight, and thinks of dancing, but never does.

And he lived, happily.

“I thought it had an ever after at the end,” Desire says, ashing their cigarette in a dish on the table.

“What about his love?” Delirium asks from down the table. “Does his love get to be hapapilily-living?”

“We rarely have happy forever,” Despair says, rather an expert on the subject.

Destruction doesn’t explain himself, nor does he answer the questions. He watches you with his hands folded together before his mouth. “How did you come by this tale?” Dream asks, keen.

“Firsthand, I’d bet. You’ve been bloody everywhere,” Death says, enjoying her bottle of orange soda at the end of the table.

Destruction continues to ignore his siblings and waits for you. Around you, the laughter and grumblings of a half-dozen or a half-thousand souls quiet somewhat, like even they know some quiet respect is due.

The trouble with loving a king of dreams is that laying something to rest is never the end of the story. For dreams, laying something to rest is quite commonly the beginning.

In all your time, there are some parts worth experiencing again for the first time—the parts that make lives worth living, friends worth having, and mistakes worth making again. The feeling of growing up, of understanding, of changing for the better—all those things make it worth the pain of remembering why you ever said, this time, things are different.

Still, some experiences are meant to never be repeated. You’d vowed never to return to the third universe, to the man in the house by the pond who reads nothing but poetry, but your mind still wanders to it, and him, from time to time, even if your heart does not.

But you take the closures where you can. “Thank you for your story,” you say. “I hope… it ends the same way every time.”

Destruction nods, wise to the subtle graveritas you let bleed into your words. It’s a blessing across universes that somewhere, a man on a beach where he leaves no footprints is happy for the rest of his days.

Dream feels it, close as he is. Death and Desire feel it, the former giving a happy look and the latter leveling a distasteful look your way. “Really? At the table?”

“Oh, you think you can tell a better story?”

“Of course, I can, I—”

“Management will expect you to pay your fares…”

“Well, management can go—”

You tune out the bickering and look up at Dream, who is observing you for any signs of that old pain that used to lance you upon mention of your old, doomed love affair.

“That was very kind of you, darling,” he murmurs.

“It was, wasn’t it?”

He kisses your forehead for a few long seconds, and you hardly hear what he says over your pulse pounding in your ears. “I’m lucky.”

“You are.”

He gives a nip at the tip of your nose. “You’re pushing it.”

“You don’t scare me.”

“I really should—”

“Stop that, the two of you! The next one’s starting…”

So it goes.

[tiabritana]

Another Hobsbandverse inspired story. Please check out @softest-punk works.

————————————————————————

Hob turned the knob to his flat and stepped inside. He threw his keys into the bowl by the door- a pottery attempt by Destruction that Hob thinks was supposed to resemble a seashell- threw his coat onto the chair next to the rack- he’d have to hang it up properly later- took his bag and set it on top of his coat and finally took the bouquet of flowers from between his teeth and set them on top of his bag.

He slipped off his shoes, grabbed the bouquet and set off for the kitchen to grab a vase.

“Those are absolutely stunning darling, whoever did you get them from.” A voice purred from the direction of the sitting room. Hob paused in his search to see a pair of golden eyes watching him from the couch.

“My lovely spouse surprised me with them at work today.” He beamed deciding to play along.

“And who might this spouse of yours be, hmm?” Desire slowly rose from their perch on the couch to slink their way to Hob- who had finally located a vase and was filling it with water.

“They have stunning golden eyes, a tantalizing red smile, and can stalk their prey while wearing 6 inch heels.” He turned his head and glanced down at said heels Desire was wearing as they continued to come closer to him, then turned back around to continue filling the vase.

When they were finally chest to back, Desire wrapped their arms around Hobs neck, turning his head again and pulling him closer so that they could claim his lips in a welcome kiss. Hob moaned as Desire’s tongue swiped the seam of his lips but pulled back before the kiss could be deepened.

“The water’s about to overflow.” They whispered in his ear causing a shiver to run down Hob’s spine; before their words registered and he turned back around with a yelp to quickly shut the faucet off.

“Fucking hell” He muttered under his breath as he took the now full vase and set it on the kitchen table. Desire watched, softly chuckling at their husband as he fiddled with the flower arrangement.

“I’m happy my surprise was so well received.” They said as they headed back toward the couch. Hob finished his arranging and followed Desire stepping over one of the ghost cats who was laying in the middle of the room.

“Thank you lovely,” he pecked Desire on the forehead as they sat back down to watch the reality show they had paused, and headed towards the bathroom.

As he approached the door, Hob noticed the paint was a different color than it had been that morning, but shrugged it off as one of the siblings expressing their artistic abilities. When he opened the door however, he had to pause and blink to make sure he was really seeing what was in front of him.

“Uh- Desire? Was Delirium the last one here?” He asked, turning to look back at the blonde. Desire didn’t turn their gaze from the tv before letting out a noncommittal hum.

“I believe she and Despair were the last ones here, but were gone by the time I arrived.” And went back to their show. Hob returned to the scene that was still awaiting him in the bathroom.

Submerged in a purplish-pink viscous like substance the filled the whole room, a zebra-patterned octopus waved a tentacle in greeting. Hob returned the gesture and slowly closed the door, deciding that he could wait to take a shower, and instead walked back over to the couch and cuddled close to Desire. They wrapped an arm around him and let him cuddle into their side, their gaze never leaving the television.

“His name is Simon.” A sudden voice said from his other side. Hob craned his neck from where it was currently under Desire’s armpit to see Delirium now sitting upside down on the couch. Her hair was neon orange curls today that flowed to the floor with feathers sticking out from all sides like some sort of puffed up owl. Some of the slime from the bathroom still lingered on the jacket she was wearing. Hob hoped it would come out of the fabric.

“Don’t you think Simon would be happier not swimming in pink slime love?” Delirium pouted, but from the angle she was dangling it looked like a grin.

“I suppose he can, what’s the word when gravity doesn’t like you and you fly fly fly up to the sky-“ here she spread her arm out wide, “and drift with the clouds?”

“Float?” Hob answered, and she nodded her head and flipped off the couch and smiled in his direction before taking off towards the bathroom.

“Dreamy will probably let Simon float in the streams of the sea of dreams and shore of nightmares.” She danced, wiggling her hips and spinning as she reached the bathroom door. Hob smiled turning back around to rest his head on Desire’s chest, and closed his eyes and just breathed in the chaos that was their flat- and loving every second of it.

[samsalami66]

AO3 Wrapped (author's edition!)

Tagged by my wonderful @seiya-starsniper , I swear mine's going to look so sad compared to yours, but let's do it!

in chronological order, the fics I posted this year:

No Honour Amongst Justice (WIP, The Sandman - Hob/Dream)

Between Sweat, Turnips and That Bloody Cow (The Sandman - Hob/Dream)

A Monster Would Not Care (Baldur's Gate 3 - Astarion/Tav)

Ball is Life (The Sandman - Hob/Dream)

Don't Go Kicking My Heart (The Sandman - Hob/Dream)

Red Card Plays (The Sandman - Hob/Dream)

Catching Up With The Past (The Sandman - Hob/Dream)

Early Ball For My Goalie (The Sandman - Destruction/Johanna Constantine)

A Canvas For Revenge (The Sandman - Hob/Dream)

Easy as Breathing (The Sandman - Hob/Dream)

Shooting for the Sky (The Sandman - Hob/Dream)

Cinnamon Warmth (The Sandman - Hob/Dream)

Too Good For Me (The Sandman - Hob/Dream)

Tangled Dreams (WIP, The Sandman - Hob/Dream)

Rising Malevolence (The Sandman - Hob/Dream)

Stats:

Works Published: 15 in 2024, 28 total

Work subscriptions: 106

Kudos: 1,273

Comment Threads: 252

Bookmarks: 218

Hits: 8,861

Word Count: 67,301

Naww it's nice to see I've achieved so much this year! Best stats I've ever had! Let's hope 2025 brings more words and even more engagement!

Top 3 fics (of all years) by kudos:

Embrace me, my sun, as we eclipse (The Sandman - Hob/Dream)

Motionless (WIP, Harry Potter - Harry/Draco)

A Canvas For Revenge (The Sandman - Hob/Dream)

I'm not very surprised about the first two, but it's amazing to see one of the fics I posted just in November 2024 to be on place 3!! I also love that fic so I'm not mad at all :))

Top 3 fics (of all years) by word count:

No Honour Amongst Justice (WIP, The Sandman - Hob/Dream)

Motionless (WIP, Harry Potter - Harry/Draco)

Technically my number three is a fic I've co-authored and therefore I wrote less than half of it, meaning I'll just take the next one in line!

A Knight in Shining Armor and his angel (Harry Potter - Harry/Draco)

All of this is a sign that I need to write more longer fics, can't be that two of my longest fics are from 2021 X)

Top 3 ships of 2024:

Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling (13 works)

Astarion/Tav (1 work)

Destruction/Johanna Constantine (1 work)

Top 5 tags of 2024:

Alternate Universe (13 works)

Alternate Universe - Football (7 works)

Pre-Slash (7 works)

Fluff (6 works)

Found Family (5 works)

Hehe, I wrote too much soccer au, didn't I. I think I missed tagging some of the fics as Found Family and fluff though, they should also at least be 7, but whatever X)

Tagging @mid0khan @bazzybelle and @valeriianz in case you guys haven't been tagged already, I know I'm a bit late on this one.

[fauxraven]

First submission has been posted to @fauxraven !

Excitedly waiting for more ;)

|| REQUESTS ||

Requests are currently OPEN

I write for The Sandman Universe—all things, ships, crack ships and characters featured in either the TV Show or the Comics.

What do I write?

fluff ☁️

angst💥

smut💕

How to submit a post?

On my profile, click on the Submit a Post button. You may submit a ship, crack ship or character, a short summary and a format (imagine, one-shot, multi-chapter fic, drabble or head canon). Submit post.

You will receive a positive response within 24 hours if your post has made it to the draft list.

Keep an eye on your notifications. You will be tagged in the final product, and therefore will be made aware of its release.

If you wish to submit anonymously, be sure to follow me so you don’t miss the post when it does drop.

Finally, you will find the post in my Masterlist.

Don’t forget to drink plenty of water, and your daily contingent of pathetic little man—Dream—‘s tears.

Happy readings!

[eleanor-bradstreet]

The Field: In a Week (Benedict Bridgerton x Reader)

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!Reader Modern AU Rated: T - language, discussions of sex, infidelity, mortality Word count: 2.9k

Part 2: Lavender Forever Part 4: Back to Autumn Masterpost

Summary: A decade into your marriage, you and Benedict face life's trials.

Author's Note: The third in a four-part series based on songs about fields/nature that I associate with Benedict. This part is based on the song In a Week by Hozier. 💙

A decade later

Your feet moved on their own. You were so blinded with anger, so lost in the whirl of your bitter thoughts that you let them carry you wherever they wanted. All you knew was you had to get out of the house before you snapped. You had already made a scene, walking straight out of Aubrey Hall and stomping across the cold, misted grounds while multiple members of the Bridgerton family watched. But it was better than shouting at your husband in front of them all, airing your dirty laundry in mixed company in some self destructive attempt to hurt him as much as he had hurt you. No, this was better. Just remove yourself from the situation. Cool down, reset, and find some way to awkwardly slip back and make a quick exit.

You grumbled low to yourself, spitting into the autumn air everything you wanted to say to him. All of your most wounding insults, your most witty comebacks, your most damning accusations. Things that you never had the celerity or courage to actually say in the moment, but that always won every imaginary argument. It was both exhausting and cathartic to replay the quarrels in your mind over and over, a twisted cycle you had become all too familiar with. 

A sudden rustling noise snapped you back into the present moment. Looking to the treeline you saw an orange tuft dart into the shadows and then a gleaming pair of eyes turn and peer back at you. It was a fox, watching you closely as you stomped the final few yards into the expanse of the field. It was the only place you had thought to go; somewhere distant and quiet, familiar and comforting, though bittersweet now with all the memories it contained. The happiness you remembered feeling there contrasted sharply with everything you felt now. As you moved through the tall grass you traced what had led you to this point.

After a decade’s tenure working with Anthony you had felt the pull to hang your own shingle, to establish yourself outside of the family you had married into. Everyone supported your move but the transition was proving harder than you had expected. Though you knew your blame was misplaced, you had started to grow resentful of the Bridgerton name and the automatic prestige it carried. Prestige your new brand could only dream of. 

You were working long hours, Benedict never seemed to not be working, and the honeymoon period was long over. He had reached a zenith of success and now it seemed every gallery from Salt Lake to Phuket wanted his pieces. But his traveling to meet with them all left no piece of him behind for you. The tender moments when you had joined together each day: swatting playfully at each other as you wrangled for the kettle, dinner burning on the hob as Benedict ignored it in favor of sprawling you across a countertop, and staying up far too late entwined in bed as you stared at the ceiling and talked of all your grand plans; none of that happened anymore. Everything felt like a transaction, even drudgery, as you both strove to fulfill life’s basic tasks while exhausted by everything you were trying to accomplish. 

Arguments had arisen to replace your daydreaming. Arguments over petty things and big things too. Neither of you could make up your mind on the biggest question - whether or not you wanted children. You were admittedly both curious to see what you might look like blended together in a new person and wanted to send them out as an agent of good in an increasingly uncertain world. But it was that same uncertainty that made you fear to bring them into it. And you both knew that your lifestyles didn’t currently lend themselves to parenthood. While you suspected Benedict believed a child would bring you closer together, you feared that the added stress of a helpless dependent may tip you over the edge.

The bliss that had once dominated your relationship now seemed to be only a memory. The generator in your chest that he had installed had run out of fuel. You were starting to contemplate things you could never have imagined only a few years prior. The D word. Something you had previously found so dirty, akin to a slur and having no place in the same sentence as Benedict’s name. Now it was beginning to have an odd kind of appeal. But it still forced tears from your eyes every time you thought about it, as it did now. With a shaking exhale you sat down, your hot tears contrasting with the cold dew in the grass. Failure and frustration welled within and you sank your head onto your knees, trapped in a loop of anguished thoughts.

When you heard more rustling you looked up, wondering if the fox had grown curious enough to approach. But it was Benedict, walking toward you slowly with his hands in his coat pockets, frowning.

You hastily brushed the tears from your cheeks.

“Benedict, please. I don’t want to do this right now.”

“Well, I didn’t want my wife to storm out of a family gathering in front of everyone and fuck off into the wilderness but here we are.” His voice was cutting, his eyes steely. “Is this your solution? To just not talk about it and eventually wander back in and act like nothing happened? Do I get to simmer in your resentment for the rest of the night?”

“Ben, stop,” you whispered, tears rising again.

“We need to fix this!” He barked, the sternness in his jaw so uncharacteristic. Then he softened. “I want to fix this."

The broken pleading cut through you and you saw a fleeting glimpse of the Benedict you had fallen in love with, still hiding there under everything that had happened. You knew he was talking about more than just your tiff in the family room. He was talking about everything.

“I want to fix this too.” 

You allowed him to sit next to you in the grass but when he reached for your hand you jerked it away.

“I’m sorry,” he offered.

You wouldn’t forgive that easily. If he wanted to fix things, he had to understand how he hurt you. “You made a joke at my expense.”

“I thought you’d laugh with me!” he reasoned. “You used to.”

“Used to was a long time ago. Now the jokes about your wife’s adorable, failing hobby business are wearing thin. I know you can’t relate. You or anyone in your family, with your fabulous lives.” You knew you sounded petulant but were giving free reign to your honest thoughts. Ever since stepping outside of the family business, you had felt somewhat outside of the family too. You only had yourself to blame and knew it was objectively untrue but couldn’t defeat your niggling imposter syndrome.

“Hey,” Benedict’s eyes were full of concern. “You are part of this family. What’s mine is yours.”

“Alright.” You scoffed and rolled your eyes, leaving spite in the driver’s seat.

“I didn’t know it would upset you so much.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” you spat. “You wouldn’t know much about me anymore because you’re never around. Gallivanting all over the world, one gallery to the next while your quaint little wife sits at home.”

Now it was his turn to be exasperated. “You told me you needed to stay and focus on your work.” 

“Just the first time and you’ve never asked me to join you again!” You stared him down, waiting for him to acknowledge fault, wanting him to explain himself. His silence stretched your anger to the breaking point. If you were going to have it out, you would have it all out.

You cooled your voice and turned away from him. “I suppose that’s good for your image. I wouldn’t want to be a third wheel.”

From the corner of your eye you saw his head snap up. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I’m not stupid, Ben. And other women aren’t blind.” You took a shaking breath, fearing where the conversation would lead but knowing you had to pursue it. The suspicion and insecurity had been simmering within you for too long.

After a long pause he finally spoke, his voice hollow. “You think I’m running around on you?”

The words fractured your heart and you had to stifle a whimper against the pain. “You tell me,” you whispered. “So much time spent apart.” 

You held your breath, waiting for all of your worst fears to be confirmed. A devastating truth that would simultaneously destroy you and set you free. But you were only met with more silence. You turned back to see Benedict staring at the ground, jaw locked and eyes searching.

“Nothing to say?” you prodded. “Should I take that as an admission?”

He looked up, pale eyes stormy while his voice was surprisingly calm. “No. I’m trying to think what I could have possibly done to undermine your faith in me like this. Maybe I didn’t fuck up in one big way. Maybe I fucked up in a thousand tiny ways. Over time, is that enough to make you think I’d go back on my vow?” The pain in his voice and confusion in his eyes immediately tore down your defenses. With only a few quiet sentences he deftly convinced you of his innocence and made you regret accusing him at all.

You swallowed thickly. “Your vow?”

“Our wedding vows. Remember?” He raised his eyebrows sarcastically. “Big party. You wore white. In this very field in fact.” He gestured to the landscape before you. The sky was clouded and the green was fading into straw tones. But your memories could etch in every detail of that sunlit day. A day of bliss when you joined your lives together, just feet from where you sat now.

Benedict continued, his words fervent. “We made vows. Vows that I remember and that I’m not going to break. No matter how many mistakes I make, my commitment to those stays the same. Do you believe me?”

His burning gaze made you tremble, nearly speechless in the face of his loyalty. Your enmity melted away with a half-hearted quip. “They weren’t really vows, per se.”

“No, they were better.” This time Benedict took your hand and you didn’t pull away. He held it tightly. “My heart unto yours is knit, so that but one heart can we make of it.” Smiles flitted across both your faces, remembering all of the Shakespeare he had insisted on using for your ceremony. ‘Eternal words for an eternal love,’ he had said.  

He brought your hand to his lips and pressed the softest kiss to your knuckles before pulling it to his chest. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to share my heart with anyone else if it's actually yours in the first place.”

You broke, letting your tears release the pressure of all the guilt, relief, love and hope building within. His arms instinctively wrapped around you as you leaned against him, now surrounded by warmth and his familiar smell. This was your husband, the love of your life. This was Benedict. He wasn’t perfect, but then neither were you. You had challenges to face and wounds to heal, but knew with certainty that the person you wanted to turn to through it all was him. Even if he was the cause of pain himself. You chuckled against his neck, laughing and crying simultaneously at the beautiful contradiction.

Benedict pulled back to meet your eyes. “Do you believe me?”

You nodded and he let out an audible sigh of relief, grinning as he rested his forehead against yours and held your face in his hands. “And then end life when I end loyalty.”

You surged forward and kissed him, the salt of your tears tingeing your lips. The two of you clung together, tension easing as your bodies and souls bolstered each other again. You lowered slowly to lie in the grass, side by side with your hands clasped.

“I miss you on these trips too, you know,” he revealed. “It’s fucking agonizing. I don’t want to travel as much as I do, but…”

“You need to,” you assured him, realizing your selfishness and insecurity couldn’t stand in the way of his dreams. “I want to see the works of Benedict Bridgerton displayed across the world. It’s what you deserve. It’s what you’ve earned. Starving artist no more.” 

He quirked a brow. “Was I ever?”

“No,” you smiled. “And maybe I’ll join you sometimes.”

He squeezed your hand. “Yes, please. It would be good for both of us. You never know who may be in need of a Creative Director.”

The mess of your job situation came hurtling back. The last thing you wanted was a handout. “Ben…”

“I’m not going to go slinging your name around and angling for favors. We can just keep our ears open,” he explained. “Let the nepotism work after you’ve applied.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his dry remark. It was inescapable, the fact that you were tied to a surname that opened doors. But you knew Benedict would support you in rising based on your own merit. You had never actually asked for his help and chastised yourself for it.

He turned to stare up at the grey sky, mumbling to himself. “And I can give my damn fist a rest.”

You balked. “I’m sorry?”

The way he wiggled his eyebrows confirmed everything.

You smirked. “Are you saying you’re sullying all these five star hotel rooms with your self abuse?”

“Whenever I think of you.” His menacing little grin never failed to ignite a spark in your stomach. Despite how your body always ached for his, your suspicion of his infidelity had bled into suspicions about your sex life. Every time he returned home he pounced on you, but you had assumed it was driven by guilt or pure animalistic need, not by passion. You had felt like you owed it to him as a welcome home gift. You hadn’t realized how much he still longed for you. To imagine him alone in every far flung city, pleasuring himself while gasping your name, it was both tantalizing and a bit heartbreaking.

“Why don’t you call me?” you asked.

He looked dumbfounded. “You would want that?”

“Yes.” You rolled over and gave him a deep kiss, murmuring against his lips. “Timezones be damned, I want to know you're coming for me on the other side of the world.”

“Fucking hell,” he exhaled, eyes glittering. You smiled and snuggled into his side, the two of you lying in silence, studying the clouds, quietly envisioning the new chapter you were embarking upon. You felt a sense of peace returning that had eluded you for years.

You could have laid there for years or for hours, you weren’t sure. You were just content to feel Benedict’s hand in yours, to hear the quiet rustle of the wind in the grass, and to know that happier days lay ahead. But eventually the light started to dim, the temperature dropped to the point that your breath became visible, and you knew you had to return to the world outside of your hideaway.

“I don’t want to go back,” you confessed. “I made an ass of myself.”

Benedict smirked. “It would look worse that I marched off after you and neither of us ever returned.”

You were no longer concerned about anyone’s perception of you. Not while you were together. “They should know by now where to find us,” you shrugged. “What’s the plan? Lie here forever?”

You inhaled the crisp air, realizing the appeal. “Sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

“It does.” Benedict nestled deeper into the grass with a smile. “Lay here until we just dissolve into the grass. Become the flowers. That would really throw a wrench into the dandelion wine production.”

You both burst into laughter. It felt so good to laugh again.

“They’d find us in a week,” you mused. “Or whatever is left of us after the foxes have had a taste.”

He grimaced. “Gruesome.”

“It wouldn’t be our problem. We’d be gone. Somewhere. Together.”

Dark as it was, there was an undeniably appealing beauty in the idea. That the two of you could let the world fall away and rest forever in your favorite place, slumbering together through frosts and thaws and watercolor sunrises. You lay in complete stillness imitating the corpses you  imagined yourselves to be, your hands clasped so tightly that you could feel both your pulses between them. They were slowing, your hearts settling back into a calm echo of one another after dissipating their anger. 

Benedict spoke softly. “I’m sorry for everything.”

“I am too.” 

You knew with certainty that you had rounded a corner, entered a new era of honesty with one another. One upon which you could build the next decades of your shared life. Benedict, ever the mind reader, confirmed as much.

“A new start from here on out, yeah? We let our bitter selves die here.”

You turned to face him, cherishing his crooked grin, his bright eyes, every smile line that carved his features and fleck of grey that hid at his temples. You saw the boy who had kissed you in a swirl of dandelion tufts, the menace who ravished you with sinful delights, the husband who anchored you through every storm, and the man who you would follow to the ends of the earth. All rolled into one beautiful soul that you were blessed to have joined with your own.

You squeezed his hand. “Alright. We’ll lay here and die a little. Then I want to be home with you.”

Tagging: @angels17324 @bridgertontess @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky