#prince dream and knight hob

[just-french-me-up]

dreamling 16 or 23 for the kiss prompts? 👀

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

The battle was won.

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

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

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

"My prince."

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

"Lord Commander."

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

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

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

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

"Are you hurt?"

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

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

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

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

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

"I do not want you hurt."

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

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

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

"Only because I order you to."

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

"Good."

Send me a kissing prompt?

[samsalami66]

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

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

-----

Dream hated audiences. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I accept your request." 

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

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

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

"Rise, Sir Robert Gadling." 

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

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

[arialerendeair]

A Knight’s Favor

Okay hear me out.

Renaissance Fair - Hob drags Dream along for the fun of it all, mostly for an excuse to wear some of his oldest clothing, and his replica claymore (with dulled edges), attracting attention from everyone as he and Dream move together. 

They watch performances by the dozen, and take in the tournament matches, when, after it’s all over, the master of ceremonies steps forward and says that he’s going to need everyone’s help to coax someone to do an exhibition match.

Hob’s eyes are widening and he’s cursing as Evan looks up at him, smirking wide and he’s nearly scrambling out of his seat when Evan gets the crowd shouting his name in a chant, demanding he come down and put on an exhibition. 

Dream, of course, is watching all of this in amusement, and Hob’s just, embarrassed (in a proud way) and sighing.  He explains that it’d disappoint people if he didn’t, so he steals a quick kiss (which gets all of the AWWWs from the audience) and heads down to the arena.  He and Evan are kitted up, and have their weapons of choice (longsword vs. claymore was always an interesting one, since neither of them bother with shields).  

Hob is just settling into position, when a ROAR goes up from the crowd and he sees Evan laughing and gesturing behind him.  His breath catches at the sight of Dream standing there, holding out a ruby, a clear replica of HIS ruby, on a shimmering golden chain, a faint smile on his lips.  He’s approaching before he realizes it. 

“I believe it is custom to bestow a favor on the knight one wishes to win,” Dream says, his voice soft as he bends down and drapes the chain over Hob’s head, settling it against his chest before tucking it into his leather jerkin.  “Do attempt to win for me, valiant sir knight.” 

Hob’s flushed (and it has nothing to do with the light armor he’s wearing), and staring at Dream, who has the smuggest smirk on his face that he’s going to kiss off as soon as he’s done winning the battle.  But he nods, because of course he will win this fight for Dream and he turns back to Evan. 

Evan is smirking and Hob resolves to wipe that smirk off his face, and settles into a stance he hasn’t used in far too long.  He doesn’t hold back, not for a second.  He’s not going for a killing blow, only disarmament, but he can see the surprise on Evan’s face as he twists and wields the claymore in a way that only masters of it can. 

The fight is quick, brutal, and the crowd is roaring their approval. 

Hob can feel the heat of the ruby against his chest as Evan tries to push him back, forcing him into tighter combat.  A quick twist of his hips, faking dropping to one knee and Hob was able to toss Evan over his shoulder, sword and all, before spinning to point the claymore at his throat, grinning. 

Evan will laugh of course, and as the crowd cheers, he hugs Hob and thanks him for the match, and Hob turns to Dream who is...

His eyes are almost as hot as the ruby burning against his chest, the ruby that stands out against the white linen shirt he’s wearing under his armor, and Hob is grinning, triumphant and victorious as he strides towards Dream and reaches out for his hand, bowing low over it in a courtly bow before yanking his Dream into a kiss.  There’s another roar around them, but Hob forgets all of them as Dream kisses him hard enough to have him forgetting his name, let alone any silly old tournament. 

[waitafrikk]

don't put me to rest fans better get excited

[issylra]

DREAMLING AU↳ loyal knight and true by @tharkuun

The second time Sir Robert Gadling came to court, following an invitation for an exclusive tournament, was the first time he met the crown prince. His name was Dream, and he was known already as He Who Heralds the Stars, and Hob wanted more than he had ever wanted before. Hob knew instantly that he would spend the rest of his life at Prince Dream's side, but first, he had a tournament to win.

[teejaystumbles]

Square/Prompt: C1 - Knight!Hob (July adoptable)

Rating: M

Ship(s): Dream/Hob

Additional Tags: inspired by old fantasy art masters like Les Edwards and Frank Frazetta, cw blood, cw sword wound

Hob (day)dreams after finally seeing his friend again. He still doesn't know his name but he's pretty sure his friend is some kind of magical prince. And what does a prince need, especially if he was kidnapped and imprisoned? A knight to rescue and protect him of course...

(Dream watches Hob's imaginings with amusement, eyebrow raised. Who knows, maybe he'll allow Hob to play out his fantasy, and more, one of these days...)

for the @dreamlingbingo!

[gabessquishytum]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[hardly-an-escape]

Fluffbruary Days 9, 10 & 11

gonna try to do a little daily drabble just to get the creative juices going while I work on longer WIPs. no guarantees that it'll be every day.

Dream/Hob • rated T • urgency | kneel | rural & flush | angel | owl & reflection | water | apology

Hob’s vigil is but halfway gone when he hears footsteps behind him.

The chapel is dark. The only light comes from the pair of candlesticks flanking his armor and sword where they are laid upon the altar. Hob is clad only in a thin cotton shift, and the hairs on the back of his neck prickle as the footsteps slowly make their way down the aisle to where he kneels on a thin cushion directly before the altar.

“Rise, sir knight,” says a deep and familiar voice.

“Not a knight yet,” Hob responds quietly. “Your Highness.”

“Do you doubt your ability to master this challenge?”

“No, my liege,” Hob says. He remains on his knees. “Lest you be a manifestation of temptation, sent to sway me from my path.”

“Not I.” Dream finally steps into his line of sight, and Hob’s breath catches in his throat. His prince is a vision, dressed in a diaphanous robe, long hair in a simple braid over his shoulder. “I merely wished to look upon the face of the man I love once more, ere it is wreathed in responsibilities.”

Hob flushes. He is not supposed to touch another soul between the ritual bath and when the priests come at dawn to fetch him for the ceremony, but he longs for Dream with every fiber of his being.

“I think you have come to tempt me, you sprite,” he accuses, and Dream smiles softly.

“Peace, my own,” he says. “Return to your prayers. Know that mine are with you also. I will see you in the morning.”

He glides from the chapel, but turns when Hob calls his name.

“Dream. My prince. I want you to know…” He has to pause and swallow hard against the lump in his throat. “When I swear my oath it will be to king and country, yes. But my first and best oath – the one I swear in my heart – will be to you. Always.”

He is shocked to see tears glinting in his lord’s crystal blue eyes. Dream nods, once, and slips out the side door.

In the morning, the priests come. Hob is clothed in a robe of pure white and thinks of Dream. He receives the sacrament, the first food to pass his lips in twenty four hours, and thinks of Dream.

The king presides over the ceremony. There is a pained look and a murmured apology from his advisor when he forgets Hob’s name.

Hob barely notices. He thinks of Dream.

Dream’s hands drape the red robe over his shoulders. Dream’s hands drop the embroidered black tabard over his head. Red, for his willingness to be wounded. Black, for his readiness to die for his lord.

The king rests his sword on the back of Hob’s neck, but it is Dream’s voice that rings out over the assembled crowd.

“Rise, Sir Gadling, knight of the realm.”

prompt list!

[aralezinspace]

Summer Knight Part 1

When Crown Prince Morpheus is summoned to his father's court for the summer, he expects it to be just as tedious and aggravating as any other season spent in the Dreaming's capitol. What he doesn't expect is an attempted kidnapping, a successful kidnapping, uncovering designs on the Dreaming's throne, and a handsome esquire he really isn't supposed to fall in love with. How can he not, when Hob Gadling sees him for who he is, and not just his station? How can he not, when Hob is willing to burn down the world for him? Or: Prince!Morpheus/Commoner!Hob Gadling medieval/fantasy AU

~~Masterlist~~

After three months (probably more tbh) here it is! My contribution to the Centennial Husbands Big Bang.

This would not have been possible without the support of the entire Sadman server, for which I am endlessly (haha) thankful. @delta-pavonis and @signiorbenedickofpadua, I wouldn’t have been able to finish this without your eyes and encouragement. Thank you for letting me scream about these boys at/with you, for ideas when I got stuck, for helping me tease out the snags. Y’all are fantastic. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

BUT WAIT THERE’S MORE

This beautiful incredible art by @wolf-and-raven-dreaming / @ambarden I’m just blown away. Thank you so much for bringing such a beautiful moment to life, especially one that I didn’t get to give as much detail in this fic. I’m obsessed with it, prob gonna make it my phone background 💖

If this story inspires you to create something of your own, please share with me so I can keysmash and gush over what you make!

Divider by @cafekitsune

Prologue

Once, in a time out of thought and memory, there was a realm called the Dreaming- so named because a place so magical and splendid could only possibly exist in one’s most vivid imaginings. The weather was always as it should or needed to be, the land lush and bountiful, even in the harshest climates. The people of the land were, on the whole, prosperous and contented. The Dreaming was not without its troubles and hardships and tragedies- no land is, no matter how prosperous-  and for some, life was rather hard, but never unbearable.

Like any kingdom in a faerie story, the Dreaming was ruled by a king, a queen, and their children. This story, however, only concerns one, the third son, Prince Morpheus Aeterna. Morpheus and his six siblings each ruled a shire within the Dreaming, with the capital city of Istoria on the eastern coast, the lands of the Dreaming appearing to fan out from the city like rays of the rising sun. 

Morpheus was lord of one of the Dreaming’s most important and vital border shires- after all, that’s what you did with a third child, a second son, with a great aptitude for ruling. One who also happened to be heir to the throne, the next in line to be called Dream King. His shire was called Fiddler’s Green- the land was varied, a little corner of everything: snow capped mountains, lush fields of vibrant grass and wildflowers, bountiful forests, a beach of black sand bordering a navy inland sea. 

Morpheus’ kingdom shared a border with the realm of Fawney Rigg, a land of dense thickets and haunting mists and old, angry trees. It was ruled by King Roderick Burgess, a ruthless and bitter old man who should have had many happy years yet before him. But, his greed and jealousy were near endless; he had already conquered several other realms by war, subterfuge, or a combination of both. In the twilight of his life, he set his sights on the Dreaming, and it is here our story begins.

“My lord?”

Morpheus was jolted from his wandering thoughts by Lucienne, his most trusted advisor.

“My lord, a message has arrived from your father the king.”

A frown etched itself onto the Prince’s face as he pushed his breakfast to the side- what an aggravating way to start his morning. He took the tightly rolled scroll of thick, handmade paper and unrolled it with long, bony fingers. His frown grew more pronounced the further he read.

“My lord?” Lucienne was almost hesitant, her fingers tight around the ledger she carried. “What news from his majesty?” Morpheus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, a gesture he had picked up from his father despite his best intentions.

“It is a summons,” he ground out. “He wishes me to attend him at court for the summer.” 

Lucienne frowned with a pang of sympathy. To say that Morpheus and his father King Chronos Aeterna did not get along was well beyond an understatement. Morpheus was the opposite of everything his father had wanted him to be, showing more interest and aptitude in creative and scholarly pursuits than learning the craft of war, as was expected of a crown prince responsible for strategically valuable border territories.

Spending any amount of time at his father’s court was tedious at best. An entire season was sure to be nigh unbearable. 

He gave a resigned sigh. “Begin making travel arrangements. I will draft a response to my father.” He gave the order with all the flat dread of someone about to face the noose. It was going to be a long summer. 

And so it came to pass that Morpheus began the four day journey, following the border of his land and Fawney Rigg until they reached the Gates of Horn and Ivory, massive gates and walls carved of white stone that spanned the entire border of Istoria. If one walked along the wall from end to end, they would see the entire history of the Dreaming laid out before them, carved into the stone. Morpheus could feel his hackles rise as the gates creaked and groaned open, allowing him and his party into the bustling city. He thought he could feel the mythical creatures carved into the gates frowning at him. Folks going about their business immediately stepped out of the road and bowed, looking up through their lashes, hoping to catch sight of the Prince and not just a flutter of emerald livery in the wind. 

The procession slowly made its way to the palace, where the King, Queen, and their retainers were waiting at the top of the great stone stairs. Marble walls and gates that were miniature recreations of those guarding the city, depicting the history of the Aeterna line, were flung wide open, knights standing at attention. Banners bearing the golden Aeterna crest on deep blue fabric flapped in the breeze.

Morpheus’ first thought was that his mother seemed pale. Queen Nocturna had always been fair- Morpheus owed his complexion to her, along with his bright blue eyes- but under the light of the late afternoon sun she looked frail and sickly in her midnight gown, as if the slightest breeze would scatter her into dust. Her hair had long since faded from inky black to the shining silver of the moon, but it lacked the luster Morpheus remembered. Had it really been that long since he had seen his parents? Had something happened?

Beside her, King Chronos stood as regal and stony as ever. There were a few new lines on his face, and a few more gray hairs in his dark beard, but the frown he had reserved for his third child since Morpheus reached his majority was dour and disapproving as ever.

The Prince was announced as he dismounted and approached the foot of the staircase, a herald bellowing his numerous titles for the assembled. When that list was exhausted, he ascended the stairs until he was two steps below where the King and Queen stood, leaving him shorter than his parents– normally he was of a height with his father, and half a head taller than his mother.

Chronos shook his son’s hand with a stiffness only Morpheus could see. “Be welcome, my son.” The King ground his teeth. “It is good to see you.” 

Morpheus quickly bowed his head with a curt, “Father.”

Once Chronos released his hand, the Queen enfolded Morpheus in her willowy arms. She could feel some of the tension leave his body in the relative safety of her embrace. Her smile was beaming when she pulled away to look at him.

“You look well, Morpheus. I’ve missed you, my dear.” 

Morpheus kissed her cheek in greeting with a tenderly murmured, “Mother.” The Queen had always been a refuge for her son when his father insisted on Morpheus being someone he was not- she encouraged him to pursue his passions, constantly reminding him that there was more than one way to be a strong King. Always out of earshot of Chronos- even to his wife and son, he was their King first, a father and husband second, and his word was law.

“Come,” Chronos said to Morpheus, loud enough for the crowd to hear. “You must be weary from your journey. Be welcome and make yourselves comfortable.” He clapped Morpheus on the back and guided him into the palace, followed by his retinue. Once the royals were out of sight, the crowd dispersed, the spectacle now ended. Only one man lingered near the bottom corner of the ancient palace stairs, leaning on a stout quarterstaff.

It is here necessary to briefly introduce Robert Gadling. Orphaned at seven, he was one of a good number of parentless children, now adults, who did odd jobs for the businesses of the city, as well as the government- everything from construction to loading and unloading ships’ cargo, from running messages to protection from overzealous loan collectors if need be. On occasion, a few would be hired by the day to work in the palace, mostly on structural repairs and maintenance.

Robert, or Hob as the townsfolk called him, was a natural born protector. He had never been one to back down from a fight, and, as he planned to live through all his fights, he dedicated much of his time to developing his skills. He would often be seen near the docks or the entrance to the market, talking with foreign merchants and their guards, asking them to teach him what they knew of combat in exchange for a day’s labor. His friends constantly warned him that knowledge wouldn’t buy him food or lodging, but he would just laugh. 

It was in this fashion he honed his skills over the years and taught them to his fellows. He could disarm anyone in a matter of seconds and have a man twice his size on his back in under a minute (so the children said). He had even studied the blade, something his fellow brawlers stayed away from- too much like the royals and knights, they argued, and rolled their eyes when Hob insisted on learning anyway. No one would think it to look at him, that an average sized and modestly handsome day laborer would have such a knack for survival and zest for life. 

Hob’s best friend noted the glazed, entranced look on his face and gave him a teasing shove. “Come on, Hob,” he goaded, “Leave the royals to their tea and cakes, we’ve got work to do.” 

“Piss off, Adrian,” Hob replied as he returned the shove with a brief smile. “Not every day you get to see one roll into town. Besides, I’ve never seen Prince Morpheus before. Heard the rumors, but I had no idea he was so- so…” That glazed look returned as he searched for the right word. 

“Arrogant?” Adrian supplied. “Sour? Pompous?”

“Beautiful.” Hob’s response was barely a whisper, as if the sentiment was something he wanted to keep secret but couldn't stop it from slipping out. 

Adrian rolled his bottle green eyes. This was not the first time Hob had been besotted with someone after a glance, nor was it likely to be the last. The man had so much love in his heart to give, he just also happened to have a bad habit of choosing the worst possible people to bestow that love upon. Adrian could only hope this would be one of his shorter and less depressing devotions. Gods knew Hob had less than a figment of a chance with the Prince.

“Come on, lover boy, Waldren’s waiting for us.”

Adrian wrapped an arm around Hob’s shoulders and turned him away from the palace. Hob went willingly, but not without one last misty-eyed glance over his shoulder, wondering idly what the Prince was doing behind those marble walls. 

Chapter 1

According to Morpheus, attending his father’s court and sitting in on council meetings fit the definition of ‘cruel and unusual punishment’. He rarely had anything to contribute to the other nobles’ gossip- not that he wanted to get involved in the first place- and the council advisors just loved passing off his suggestions as their own. His presence amounted to little more than an interesting trinket brought out at opportune moments to curry favor- or, in some cases, to parade in front of potential spouses. It seemed that this summer would see at least a dozen suitors visiting the palace over the course of the five and a half months Morpheus would be at court.

Finally, one sweltering and humid summer day, the Prince reached his tipping point. He was hot and sticky, aggravated and on edge. This breaking point came around mid morning, when he had had enough of listening to the pompous treasurer drone on and on. Without preamble, he rose from his seat and stomped out of the council hall, ignoring the calls of his father and the advisors. Everyone he passed in the halls jumped out of his way, able to feel the ire rolling off him like the heat rising from the cobblestones.

He needed to get out, away from the palace, and burn off some of this aggravation before he did or said something rash.

His first stop was his chambers, where he changed from the fancier attire expected at court to a loose-fitting gray shirt and black cotton breeches tucked into tall riding boots. Already feeling a little better, he made a beeline for the stables. His piebald mare Jessamy was munching happily in her stall, but perked up when she heard Morpheus’ footsteps. The Prince waved off the anxious stable boy who stumbled over the words, “Should I saddle her sir?” in favor of slipping on the bridle himself and swinging up onto her bare back.

With a few clicks of his tongue and a gentle nudge with his heels, Jessamy gamely trotted out of her stall, past the stable boy, and all the way into the courtyard before tossing her head and cantering out the palace’s southern gate, away from the city. 

The paths through the forest were wide and well kept. Morpheus followed the main road for about a mile before turning onto a trail that was barely visible, unless one knew where to look. He slowed Jessamy to a walk to better navigate the tall grass and rushes that threatened to overtake the narrow trail. This far into the woods, all the Prince could hear was the birds, the wind, and the puffs of his and Jessamy’s breaths. A relieved sigh rattled out of his lungs and he slumped slightly on her back. 

The trail ended at a small lake surrounded by willow trees. The air was cooler here, almost like stepping into another world. Baby shoots of grass were starting to poke through the previous year’s fallen leaves, and twittering birds fluttered between branches. The lake was surrounded by intermittently placed boulders of various sizes, giving it the appearance of a faerie ring, or a window to another world. Some of these boulders were light and bare, others dark with patches of lichen and moss. They all made for excellent perches to sit on and dip one’s feet in the water. 

Tiny fish swam about in their schools, the concaves of their nests visible on the lakebed through the crystal clear water. A frog croaked from somewhere within the leafy plants growing stubbornly between the rocks and into the lake.

Morpheus dismounted with another sigh and loosely tied Jessamy’s reins to a branch. The mare shook her head again and began to delicately nibble on the new spring grass. While she enjoyed her snack, Morpheus sat on one of the flatter boulders at the edge of the lake and tugged his boots off, followed by his socks, then his shirt. 

The moan he let out when his feet slipped into the cold water was almost indecent. He let his eyes flutter shut and his head tilt back as he dug his toes into the soft silt. After a few quiet minutes, he rolled his breeches up to his knees and waded further into the lake, his arms held out slightly for balance as the sand shifted beneath his feet. He waded deeper and deeper, all the way to mid-thigh, not caring in the least that he would be riding back with soaked trousers. Adding one more item to the list of things his father berated him for wouldn’t make a difference. 

Morpheus already felt much better than when he left the palace, but he could still feel his hackles bristling, could still sense the undercurrent of tension and resentment running through his shoulders. The cold water was, apparently, not to be enough to cool him off. 

With an almost aggravated sigh (how could it have come to this?), Morpheus loosened the ties at his waist and reached past his undergarments into his breeches. A rumbling groan slipped past his self control as his fingers wrapped around his cock. His other hand shifted the waistband of his breeches so his cock could spring free, a shiver running down his spine at the contact with the humid air. His toes curled into the lakebed as he moved his hand faster, occasionally running his thumb over the slit. 

He had worked himself to full hardness and was eagerly chasing his high when a branch snapped in the trees behind him. He jumped, startled, and his head swiveled, looking for the source of the sound. The Prince held still, so still that no new ripples formed in the water around his ankles. 

After moments that seemed like years, Morpheus relaxed ever so slightly. It was probably just a deer stepping on a dry twig. His cock throbbed insistently, as if urging him to get back to the task at hand. Morpheus shook his head and turned his focus back to between his legs. 

Another rustle in the bushes, this one closer. Morpheus frowned; he had now been twice interrupted, and the agitation was creeping back into his bones. “Who’s there?” he called, hoping he sounded more angry than anxious. He tucked himself back into his trousers and sloshed out of the lake, muscles coiled in anticipation. 

Out of the trees stepped a man. Clearly a commoner, if his worn shirt and breeches were anything to go by. Dark hair was pulled into a respectably long tail at the nape of his neck, and a neatly trimmed beard of the same dark hair covered the lower half of his face. Morpheus could see a small patch of yet more dark hair peeking out from the low V of the man’s shirt. Earthy eyes sparkled in the patches of sunlight that made their way through the trees, and they were hazily focused on the bulge in the Prince’s trousers. He had clearly been lost in his own thoughts, an apple raised to his lips as if he were about to take a bite. 

Morpheus was still frozen, but for an entirely different reason. For a commoner, this man was exceedingly handsome- had he been born to the nobility, he would have lords and ladies alike falling over themselves to win his favor. 

Hob jumped when his mind registered he was standing before the Prince. For one, he thought that he and some of his friends were the only ones who knew about this little lake in the forest, and, two, holy shit that was Prince Morpheus standing in front of him, barefoot and bare chested, a semi creating a small bulge in the front of his breeches. 

“Oh fuck!” The apple flew out of his hand- he fumbled to catch it, just barely holding on to the fruit as he sank into a low bow, one leg in front of the other, back leg bent, eyes firmly fixed on the ground, arms out to the sides as he had seen the other nobles do. 

Morpheus held up a placating palm as he awkwardly said, “Please rise, there is no need to stand on ceremony,” even though the other couldn’t see the gesture. 

Hob rose out of his bow and placed his hands behind his back so Morpheus wouldn’t see his nervous fidgeting. How was it possible this man was a prince, was incredibly gorgeous, AND had a voice that could lure any sailor to their watery grave? “A-apologies, sir, Highness, I- I didn’t think anyone else knew about this place-” He swallowed hard, trying in vain to control his nervous babble. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, I can just-” 

“It’s quite alright.” Morpheus chuckled in spite of himself- it sounded a little strained to his own ears, but maybe that was because the erection that had fled in his momentary fear was starting to make a comeback at the sight of the beautiful man before him. “I wasn’t aware others knew of this spot either.” 

Hob laughed as well, tense and awkward, scratching the back of his head. But oh gods, his smile could light up the darkest of dungeons. Morpheus could feel his heart clench in his chest, already wanting to see that smile again. The Prince asked, “What is your name?”

“Robert,” Hob answered quickly with another little bow. “Robert Gadling. But my friends call me Hob.” He let out a bashfully choked laugh. “I already know who you are, Prince Morpheus. I mean, just about the whole realm knows who you are. Your Highness.” 

Morpheus had taken a breath to respond when there was more rustling in the trees behind Hob, much more than what could be created by a single man or animal. The Prince froze again, lowered into a slight crouch. Hob immediately whirled around and positioned himself protectively between Morpheus and the tree line. His apple lay forgotten on the forest floor as he settled into a ready stance, his hands curled into loose fists, ready to strike or protect his torso. 

Morpheus had always been independent to the point of being described as a loner, therefore the swirling feeling in his gut at the sight of Hob ready to defend him was completely foreign. It curled in his stomach and slithered between his legs, bringing back that inner heat the cold lake water had once absorbed. And if Hob didn’t see him glancing at the curve of his ass every few seconds… Well, that was between Morpheus and the trees. 

The trees and grasses rustled again to reveal two men in dark gray rags, the lower halves of their faces covered with another piece of fabric. Dirt smudged the visible skin around their eyes. They were each carrying a wicked looking dagger, the blades sharp even if the handles were dotted with rust. 

Hob immediately knew these were bandits- highwaymen that lurked in the trees and waited for the opportune moment to pounce. And they had just found quite the prize.

Jessamy snorted and stomped her feet, sensing the imminent danger. The bandits inched closer, step by step, knives held threateningly aloft. Hob glared at them, refusing to back down, hoping they would develop some sense and realize that whatever they had planned was not a good idea. One of them chuckled in eager anticipation.

“Turn around,” Hob ground out softly, eyes darting between the two, “and I won’t have to bash your heads in.” The bandits exchanged a momentary glance, as if debating the merit of Hob’s words. Apparently, they reached the decision that they had none, because they continued to advance, knives gleaming and ready to cut into flesh. 

Morpheus crept back towards the lake, inching toward Jessamy, heart pounding in his throat. He had never encountered bandits before; the closest he had ever come to someone who had broken the law was on formal inspections of rehabilitation facilities where the offenders had been cleaned up and supervised by wardens. Now, he didn’t have wardens or his retinue or even his hunting knife- his only protection from these two bandits was another commoner who could just as easily decide Morpheus was worth the trouble of kidnapping, or killing, or both. 

“Last warning,” Hob growled, the bandits now within striking distance.

The one on the right turned to his companion: “Get him.” 

Hob swore then yelled to Morpheus, “Go! Leave!” as the first bandit came at him with the knife aloft, intending to bring it down into Hob’s shoulder, or wherever he could reach. He sidestepped the blow and redirected the bandit’s momentum so that he went stumbling towards the water. 

The second bandit charged forward, knife point aimed at Hob’s chest. He grabbed the bandit’s wrist with enough force to make him drop the knife and drove his knee into the bandit’s side. The attacker grunted and doubled over, using the forward momentum to drive his shoulder into Hob’s stomach.

It was a lucky shot that knocked the wind out of him. Hob shoved the bandit away from him, hoping to buy a moment to catch his breath. 

The first bandit had recovered his footing and rushed in from behind Hob, wrapping wiry arms around a golden throat. Hob’s eyes went wide as his breath was cut off, the bandit only squeezing harder as he struggled. The two assailants coordinated their next move with eye contact alone, one holding Hob by the throat while the other stepped into striking distance and threw a sloppy but strong punch at Hob’s face.

The bandit’s knuckles hit him square on the cheekbone. Hob cried out as his head snapped to the side. The man’s other fist came up and landed a punch across his mouth, hard enough to make his nose bleed and teeth rattle and split his bottom lip open. 

“Fuck-” The swear was strained and came out with blood and spit. His vision starting to blacken around the edges, Hob reared his arm up and drove his elbow into the soft midsection at his back. Instantly, his windpipe was free as arms released him and the bandit doubled over in pain. Hob took several gasping breaths as he turned to the bandit who had been choking him and drove his fist into his temple, all the force and energy going down, hard enough to knock him out. 

Hob turned his attention to the remaining bandit. The scrawny man was in a ready stance, hands curled into loose fists held up by his face, but clearly hesitant after watching his partner literally get beaten into the ground. Hob grinned, feral and almost cocky as he mimicked the man’s stance- on a closer look, he was barely a man, just an older boy with his first whiskers. Hob didn’t want to hurt the kid, but he may not have a choice.

With unexpected ferocity, the boy lunged closer, fist ready to fly. Hob dodged one punch, then another, the third glancing off his shoulder- poor lad was already panting for breath, sparking just a hint of pity. 

“Come on, lad,” he tried reasoning, “just walk away.”

The young man’s only response was a desperate yell as he charged Hob, going for a grapple. Hob easily deflected him with a step and a twist, sending the bandit falling hard on his back. Hob settled into his stance, and with a well-aimed kick to his temple, he too was dealt with.

Silence suddenly rang in the clearing, broken only by Hob’s slightly panting breaths. His hands were still clenched into ready fists at his sides.

Morpheus had sprinted a quarter of the way around the lake to where he had tethered Jessamy. He had been ready to bolt at Hob’s word, now he soothed the mare with soft words and gentle caresses. It was like he was watching the whole thing through hazy glass, observing and present but removed, just left of in tune with the world. His chest felt tight, his hands shook uncontrollably as he tried to process all that had happened in a few short moments.

Hob moved out of his combative stance to crouch beside one of their would-be assailants. Morpheus quickly retied Jessamy to the branch and walked over to Hob, feeling extremely awkward and somewhat out of his depth. What did one say to the handsome stranger who had undoubtedly saved him from being abducted, if not worse? ‘Thank you’ did not seem to be anywhere near enough, far less than what Hob was owed for his deed. And yet, the words ‘thank you’ seemed to stick in his throat, refusing to come out.

He stood uncomfortably over Hob, who was pawing through the bandits’ clothes, hoping to find some clue as to their motives, and whether they went beyond simple highway robbery. The Prince had taken a fortifying breath to thank his protector when Hob ground out a curse in another language he had learned from a merchant. In his hand was a worn letter, folded and held together with a black seal. A sigil of stars and other symbols of magick was pressed into the wax.

It was, without a doubt, the seal of Roderick Burgess, King of Fawney Rigg.

“You might want to see this, Highness.” Hob rose to his feet and handed Morpheus the letter. His free hand swiped at his split lip and bloody nose- at least it wasn’t broken, again. He could feel the flesh around his cheekbone swelling painfully. Hob caught the Prince’s sympathetic flinch, small as it was, as he took the paper. Icy eyes quickly scanned its contents, dark brows furrowing closer together the more he read.

“I must return to the palace.” The words tumbled out of him as he refolded the letter and stuffed it in the waistband of his breeches. Moving quickly, Morpheus tugged his shirt back over his head and boots onto his feet as he continued, “My father needs to be made aware of what happened. Burgess sending armed men across our border with orders to watch and intercept me is no idle threat.” 

He unhitched Jessamy and used a fallen log as a mounting block, swinging a lithe leg over her back and expertly gathering the reins. He looked down at Hob as he wheeled her around, holding himself with the distant majesty of a monarch despite his disheveled state. Hob could only stare up in awe, a worshiper at the foot of his god. Dappled beams of sunlight illuminated the Prince like a halo, and Hob was sure in that moment the Prince was indeed fae touched as the rumors went, if not outright divine in his own right. 

“I think it is no exaggeration to say you saved my life,” Morpheus proclaimed, even if the forest and the man before him were the only ones to hear the royal edict. “I am in your debt, Robert Gadling. And I will settle that debt once this threat to the Dreaming is resolved.”

Hob bowed at his words, low and slow and reverent. A few globs of blood dribbled out of his nose and onto the grass. As he rose, he said, “Then at least let me escort you out of the forest and to the main road. I doubt there are any more of these men lurking around, Highness, but I would feel better seeing you to safety.” The last part was true, but Hob figured he probably shouldn’t mention the other reason for his offer: Prince Morpheus had utterly enchanted him, and this was likely to be the last time he’d see the man up close, let alone speak to him one to one, and he wasn’t ready for it to be over.

Pale, elegant fingers twitched briefly around the reins as Morpheus considered his words. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, searching for the right response. Finally, he settled on, “I would be glad of your company. Let us go.” 

He clicked his tongue to get Jessamy moving at a walk, Hob keeping pace beside her. They were silent as they picked their way back to the main forest road, but Hob was on high alert. His eyes darted back and forth, fists clenching and releasing in time with his steps. It was relatively easy to ignore the stickiness of drying blood around his mouth and chin when he was so focused on looking for signs of danger. Thankfully, the trip passed without incident. Morpheus pulled Jessamy to a halt once they were inside the city gates.

“My thanks again, Robert Gadling.” Jessamy pawed at the ground as Morpheus spoke, eager to be back in the safety of her stall. “I do not like leaving my debts unpaid.” The unspoken request for Hob to name his price hung in the air like a phantom. Hob merely gave the Prince a gentle smile and bowed again, still formal but relaxed and easy. 

“This time spent with you is payment enough, Highness.” He paused and bit his lip, plucking up his courage with a slight wince of pain. “May I… Could I call on you? If my day’s work brings me to the palace.” 

Morpheus turned the request over in his mind long enough for Jessamy to grow impatient. He soothed her with a few gentle pats on her neck. “You may,” he finally replied. “As long as my duties permit, I will be glad to receive you.” Morpheus had already turned his horse and urged her into a trot before Hob could say a proper farewell. The gentle goodbye hung unspoken on his lips. Finally, he sighed and kicked a stray pebble as he made his way to the boarding house he called home for a bath and some rest.

[cuubism]

Okay, since it’s not explicitly prohibited to send several asks for the wip game, I’m gonna be adventurous! What about the new king Dream knight Hob fic you mentioned? (Yes, I’m a sucker for king x knight dynamics, sue me🥲)

i too am weak for any king x knight dynamic, go crazy for that shit whenever i encounter it 😂 the premise of the new one (for which i wrote like 4k in 2 days but haven't finished yet) is that Dream is a beautiful prince who swore he would never have an arranged, political marriage, he would only marry for love, and Hob is his devoted knight who's been pining for him for... literally forever, but was always like "a prince would never marry someone who's not another royal 😢 it's fine though it's literally fine I'll just devote my life to him it's fine"

and it was basically fine like that until their kingdom got attacked, they didn't have the forces to defend themselves, none of their supposed allies saw sufficient incentive to help them, so Dream was like "fine you guys are always trying to rope me into some political marriage or other already, how about this time if someone steps up and supplies forces to stop this country getting burned to the ground then i'll agree to marry you (or your son, daughter, etc etc)"

(this is all just the most contrived scenario you can possibly imagine created solely for the purposes of drama and pining XD does it make logical sense? probably not, but it doesn't have to)

their allies are all shitty people apparently because they're like "helping to prevent thousands of civilians from dying? pass. helping to get to marry a beautiful prince? SMASH!"

meanwhile hob

so of course Hob, always a rational actor as we know, is like "I'll just have to figure out how to come up with enough forces so that Dream marries ME instead"

[samsalami66]

Here we go again with a fun little drabble, this time for a spontaneous Knight!Hob and Prince!Dream au (which will probably get a few more additions lmao). It all started with my lovely @im-not-corrupted handing me the prompt "you know, it's ok if you're not ok" from this wonderful prompt list.

----

Dream ran down a corridor, his coat billowing behind him like an angry cloud of black smoke, set to destroy everything that would dare to stand between him and this God-forsaken door deep within the bowels of the castle. 

Dream ran, and it was the first time Dream remembered running since his childhood years, when he had been a naught but a babe, excited to explore every nook and corner of the massive palace that he called his home. Of course the first time he was forced to engage in such physical activity in as many years, it would be Hob Gadling's fault. Because it was always Hob Gadling's fault, from the moment he stepped foot into the throne room and announced he would become Dream's personal guardian, a Knight in his name alone, loyal to none other than the Prince of the Dreaming. 

What is he at fault for? a curious reader might ask, and Dream would whirl around on his heel and give a whole list of things Sir Robert Gadling could be blamed for, if only indirectly. 

For the blush he forced onto Dream's pale cheeks anytime their gazes met over a particularly boring dinner with his family. Perhaps also for the way Dream's heart skipped a beat whenever Hob spoke up to the King and Queen on his behalf, a feat so terrible even the most noble of men had failed before him. Good thing Hob was no nobleman, no son of high houses nor of new money. 

He was an idiot, first and foremost. A talented, quick witted and patient idiot, but an idiot nonetheless. After all, who just waltzes into a room with the King and Queen in it and promises undying loyalty to their adolescent son who no one particularly likes and expects it to simply work? And who decides to simply enter a jousting match without any former training or experience for fun?

Hob Gadling, of course, which was just one more example of things he could be blamed for. 

Nil consideration for his own physical well-being. 

Idiot. 

Dream was about to say as much as he threw open the door to Hob's chambers, but every ill thought spent towards his Knight's stupidity was immediately dropped as Dream found him hunched over the back of his armchair, one hand clutching at his bare chest as it rose and fell in quick succession. 

God's wounds, Dream had seen how Hob got shoved out of his saddle, how the lance had connected with his armor plate and sent him flying from his horse in one spectacular arch. But he never could have guessed just how bad it must have hurt, even through the steel and cloth. The bruise on Hob's chest was an angry black, his sides spotted with a deep red where his ribs were most definitely fractured. 

"Hob," the name left Dream's lips like a plea, like God's name would fall from a sinner's lips who prayed for salvation. And he did pray for salvation, in a way. Not his own, but salvation from endless pain nonetheless.

The man in question looked up between sweaty brows, a pained grimace painting his usual smile an ugly gray. Dream found himself by his side faster than lightning, hands coming up to hover helplessly over Hob's chest. 

Hob sighed at the concern clearly plastered into every corner of Dream's face, the way his lips tugged downwards in an obvious display of his dislike for the position he found Hob in. 

"Don't you worry for me, my Lord. I'm… fine. I'm fine, I promise." 

Tragically, the trustworthiness of this statement was negated by a heavy cough wrecking Hob's body, which left him groaning in pain over his injuries. 

"You are not fine, Robert Gadling," Dream hissed in response, hands finally coming to a rest on Hob's back. "Which is. Alright. It is alright if you are not alright. Just, please, lay down, my friend. You must rest."

Thankfully, Hob did not fight Dream as he was pushed towards his bedroom, and neither did he when Dream gently pressed him down into the mattress with a careful hand to his shoulder. His breath was still heavy and his eyes half-lidded as he looked up at Dream, something vulnerable hidden behind the dark brown of his eyes that Dream could not quite decipher in the near darkness of the bedroom. 

"Will you stay? My Lord?" Hob whispered, apparently balancing carefully between the realm of sleep and the world of the waking. 

"No duty could possibly force me from your side, my half-witted Knight." Dream responded quietly, his heart warming considerably at the soft smile that crept into his friend's eyes at the endearment, before they eventually fell close and Hob got pulled into deep and restful slumber. 

Dream placed a single feather-light kiss to the dark spot on Hob's chest before settling into the other side of the bed, his eyes fixed on the slowing rise and fall of Hob's breast. 

Hob Gadling really was an idiot.

Dream's idiot, but an idiot nonetheless.

[kydrogendragon]

i have to ask about the prince and knight fic that's my favorite trope ever 👀

It's such a good trope!!!! This one is gonna be a fully fleshed version of this fic I had done for the Sadman Fic exchange. The general premise is Omega Dream is arranged to marry Burgess to secure an alliance and Hob is the Alpha knight assigned to look over him for this journey.

It's currently resting at around 4k but is definitely getting away from me in length, I can already tell xD

“How much longer until we reach our stop?” the prince demands. Hob rolls his head from its rest on the back wall of the carriage to meet prince Morpheus’s gaze. “We should be approaching the first town in just over an hour, Your Highness.” The prince scoffs, folding his arms over his chest. “And if I were to insist we stop here?” “For what purpose, Your Highness?” Hob asks, brows furrowed. All that surrounds them currently was woods and a particularly thick patch at that. “To eat,” the prince says, glaring at Hob. “I am hungry. There was nothing prepared to break my fast earlier this morning due to the travel arrangements.” The way he stares, it’s as if Hob is personally responsible for the princeling’s lack of food. So the kid does eat after all, a miracle given how scrawny he is. Hob stifles a sigh as he looks out the window at their pacing scenery. “If you insist upon it, sir, we will stop upon your command. However, I would encourage you to consider waiting until we reach the next town for proper supplies.” “Are we ill prepared for our journey so early?” This time, the sigh is not so easily stopped. Prince Morpheus’s eyes narrow. “No, Your Highness, we are not. We are perfectly prepared for this journey, I would simply advise that with just an hour longer before the next stop, it would be better to save our rations for the longer stretches between towns.” The prince stares him down. A smarter man might have bowed his head or ordered for a stop the moment the prince had requested it. But Hob never claims to be a smart man. Instead, he stares right back. He thinks, for a moment, that the prince will kick him out of the carriage judging by the look on his face, but then his shoulders fall and he turns his gaze back out the window. “Very well,” he mumbles, the fire that had been in those eyes just moments ago fades away to nothing. It was strange, seeing such heat die so quickly, especially for members of royalty. Hob half expects this argument to reignite shortly after, but they continue in silence, the prince seemingly content to stare out at the passing scenery with a dull look in his eyes.

Wip List

[scifrey]

Keepsakes

Status: Ongoing Ficlet collection; unbeta'd

Series: the Hob Adherent series

Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Includes some comics canon, and some cameos from the wider Gaiman-verse (including the Good Omens and Lucifer television shows), but it’s not necessary to know to enjoy the story.

Rating: Mature-ish.

Warnings: Discussions of grief and in-canon character death. Some sexytimes. Some whomp and hurt/comfort.

Relationships:  Morpheus | Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling, Eleanor | Hob Gadling’s Wife/Hob Gadling (past)

Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling, Patrick the Bartender, Harriet Butler, Matthew the Raven

Summary: Short ficlets set in the Hob Adherent world, based on prompts received from readers. Feel free to DM me or leave prompts in the comments, and if it resonates with me, I may write up a ficlet! Thank you for the inspiration in advance.

Set amid the events of Cling Fast and Carpe Diem

READ ON AO3 OR READ BELOW:

Postcards

"So, a sword in Buckingham's army, a bandit, a printer, a shipwright and then a merchant middleman for the dockyards, a knight, a beggar, investment broker--"

"Slaver," Hob interrupts Harriet as she counts off his professions on her fingers one slow, sunny afternoon at The New Inn. "Call the thing what it was."

Hari offers him a sympathetic smile. They're the only ones in the pub proper today, as Patrick is off to tend his ailing mother, Dee doesn't come in Mondays, and Morph is having lunch with his editor.

"After which you were an MP and staunch abolitionist, a soldier again in America for the North, an industrialist and labor rights advocate, a yuppie and silicone valley early adopter--"

"Apple paid for most of this," Hob agrees, selecting a glass and checking it for water spots or lipstick stains.

"--and now a professor and publican. Am I missing any?"

“Oh!” Hob remembers as he pulls a pint for her. "And I was ruler of Hell."

She leans across the bar from her stool, and thwacks his arm. “Fuck off, you were not, you old liar,” Hari laughs.

"Was so!" Hob protests, setting her beer down in front of her. "Ask my husband. He was there. I was ruler of Hell for thirteen minutes and seventeen seconds on my six-hundred and sixty-sixth birthday."

Hari raises a challenging eyebrow at Hob over her pint glass as she takes a sip. "I won't believe a thing the Prince of Stories tells me," she says decisively, when she sets the beer back down. "And I don't believe you."

Hob pulls a postcard from L.A. off the bar back, where it's been pinned to a corkboard among a handful of others, all from the same city. This card depicts a cartoon devil drawn over a photo of the Hills, lounging on the iconic Hollywood sign. It says "Greetings from Sin City!" in bright yellow font.

Hob hands it to Hari to inspect. Her face gets drawn as her eyes flick over the handwritten note on the back.

"To my fellow former ruler of Hell; I did it! I opened a nightclub, just like you suggested. Visit me at LUX any time you'd like, Hobsie. xxx Lucifer Morningstar," Hari reads in a voice that grows increasingly strangled.

She hands the card back to Hob with trembling fingers. Then she shotguns the rest of her pint.

"So hell is real, then," Hari warbles.

Hob shrugs. "Everything is real. Humans create gods, not the other way around. If someone believes in it, it exists."

Hari nods thoughtfully. "I suppose you would know, being married to a god."

Hob chuckles. "Well, former god-ish. And don't worry, only people who believe they deserve to go to Hell actually do. Self-punishment or fulfilling prophecy, or something. I try not to think to much about that Celestial stuff."

Hari nods again, and without asking, Hob refills her pint glass. He has a feeling she's going to need it.

"But it is something I'm going to have to worry about," Hari says softly, accepting the drink with a nod.

"Not any time soon, I hope," Hob says, folding his arms on the bar top and leaning close to offer her a comforting look. "And when it does happen, I can promise you that my sister-in-law is gentle and kind. You have nothing to worry about."

Harriet runs her arthritis gnarled finger up and down the side of the glass, collecting up the condensation. "You know, that is actually a comfort." She looks up at Hob with a wicked little grin. "Especially knowing your husband."

Hob throws his head back and laughs.

[bruce-wayne-simp]

Last Line Tag Game

Rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or however many as you like).

Tagged by: @seiya-starsniper @lenreli @staroftheendless

This is from my Knight Hob/Prince Dream au that I'm working on and kinda obsessed with lol

Hob can hardly breathe as he watches the nobility file out of the hall, red hot rage still fiery in his chest. His cheeks are burning, his face must be red under his helmet. How dare he? Lost in the haze of his anger, he almost doesn't notice the man and woman approaching him. “Sir Gadling?” The woman asks. “Yes?” “May we speak somewhere private, sir?” Hob eyes her warily. She is not someone he recognizes. Nor is the man next to her. The woman is tall, with dark skin and pointed ears and a determined look on her face. An elf perhaps, though he's never seen one before. The man is short and stout, with light skin and dark hair. Both wearing garb that denounce them as nobility of some kind. “Tell me who you are, first.” “My name is Lucienne. My companion is Matthew.” She slips a hand into her pocket, pulling out a ring. She holds it out for him to take, which he does, turning it in his fingers. He notes the sigil on the face of it. An infinity sign. The sigil of the Endless. He looks back up at her, and she smiles. “May we speak in private, sir?” He nods.

Tagging (no pressure): @chaosheadspace @valeriianz @five-and-dimes uhhh and whoever else wants to

[gabessquishytum]

Spent the weekend pouring over your galaxy-brained posts, thought I’d toss an idea I’ve been bouncing around for a bit into the ring; after their 1689 meeting, Dream increasingly indulges in thinking up the occasional fantasy of what-ifs, in which he swooped in to rescue Hob from any number of the awful things he went through during that century. To be fair to Dream, they start out and often continue to be about simply giving Hob the food and shelter and compassion he’d been deprived of, magnanimously giving his human friend acquaintance some much-needed comfort and perhaps receiving a bit of gratitude and awe in return.

But at some point the fantasies turn and grow, in which Hob decides to express his gratitude with his body, or Hob swoons into Dream’s arms after being rescued from the witch mob and all but throws himself at his knight in black armor, or Hob becomes so sweetly pliant from the food and baths he desperately needed that he allows Dream to use his body as he pleases; when you’re the Prince of Stories, the list of scenarios to play with is varied and endless ;P

But then when 1789 rolls around, and Lady Johanna and her thugs show up, presenting Dream with this wonderful opportunity to make one of his fantasies a reality (and if he’s lucky, it’ll be one of the sexy ones), before he can do anything swoon-worthy Hob throws himself into the fray and-

Oh. Hm. Now that’s something to consider. “You need not have come to my defense.” But that’s okay, this is a whole new avenue to explore, Dream’s not gonna abandon his old fantasies, but he does need to leave immediately so he can go examine the many new ‘Hob coming to my defense’ ideas coming into his head.

(And maybe this possibly turns into a fishbowl rescue au, as Jessamy has read Dream’s diary or smth and thus knows the best thing to do is go find Hob Gadling, she can get her lord rescued and laid, it’s a win-win. The sleepy sickness was a strange phenomenon that was never adequately explained, but didn’t last very long in the grand scheme of things so the world shrugged and moved on. Hob doesn’t quite follow how a talking bird telling him that His Stranger was in trouble lead to the best sex of his long life and a relationship with the King of Dreams involving quite a bit of roleplay, but you won’t catch him complaining)

I’m so fascinated by the idea of Dream having fantasies and daydreams of his own!! How does it play out in the dreaming, I wonder? Does he get to participate in live-action fantasies, or see it all play out like a film in front of him? I can totally see Dream getting intoxicated and wound up in these intricate scenarios.

Poor Jessamy has to spend a lot of time overhearing Dream’s horny daydreams about this random human, but GOD she’s glad that she was paying attention, when Dream gets captured! When Hob actually comes to rescue him it’s a whole lot less sexy than Dream was imagining. Hob gets shot (twice), there’s blood all over the floor, Hob basically uses a crowbar to smash the glass and it goes everywhere - not a pretty sight.

So. Once Hob is sufficiently recovered and Dream has dealt with the circumstances of his capture, he basically scoops Hob up into the dreaming and announces that they’re going to roleplay the rescue all over again, but this time it’s going to be romantic and sexy and Dream is going to swoon in Hob’s arms without either of them being covered in blood and broken glass, thanks very much.

Hob (who is still very confused but very happy to participate in anything that Dream wants from him) gladly rescues his Stranger all over again, and this time he also gets lovingly pounded on the basement floor. He’s not totally convinced that he isn’t hallucinating the whole thing until Dream smiles at him, and then he somehow knows that it’s all real. Dream loves him, for some reason. All is right with the world.

[lostelfwriting]

Fic Masterlist

Split into 3 categories: Fluff, Smut, Angst

All my FLUFF fics

(((Dream/Hob unless stated otherwise))) ((("~Xk" is the wordcount in thousands)))

Palm-Sized Cosmic Entity: ~2k, Tiny Dream and Caretaker Hob

Palm-Sized Immortal Knight: ~2k, Tiny Hob and Dream who is in denial about curse-breaking

the sun burns brighter with you by my side: ~3k, Human AU, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, CW: panic attack

Dream a Dream of a Little Me: ~2k, Hob wants to know how Dream looked as a baby, CW: implied Mpreg

Ice Skating AU: ~10k total, mostly fluff with plot

A Nice Christmas: ~3k, Christmas fic, Dream learning how to relationships

The Joining: ~1k, subfic for Phin's Soiteria, Wedding fic (well, a wedding-like bonding ritual)

Angel: ~2k, Songfic, Grief and Healing

The White Stag: ~2k, Fairytale AU

All my SMUT fics

(((Dream/Hob unless stated otherwise))) ((("~Xk" is the wordcount in thousands)))

Dancing with the Brutes, Fucking the Stars: ~27k, Professional Dom Hob/Dancer Dream, CW: self-worth issues, depression

if you just let me (have you, love you): ~25k, Porn Stars AU, BDSM and proper communication

A Miracle in Us: ~WIP, Mpreg

Reunited in Heart, Touch, and Bed: ~4k, Angst, Smut, and Fluff, CW: overstimulation, rough sex

Arcana vs Bandits: ~4k, Football AU with Smut, CW: major injury

Might Be Just a Dream...: ~6k, Human AU, Hob/Corinthian/Morpheus Threesome, CW: masochism

Glory to Dream: ~1k, Glory Hole fic, Dream/strangers under Hob's supervision

Messy: ~1k, Immortal Throuple, BDSM, trans,sub Dream, trans,dom Calliope, dom Hob

Piece Out (Or In): ~5k, Human AU, Shameless Smut, Crack Treated Seriously, Sexy Chess Game

To Hold and Dream: ~8k, A/B/O, Human AU, Student/Teacher, Unexpected Heat fic (1st chapter)

Today: ~1k, Slice of Life but kinky, Long-Term Chastity (voluntary sex slave!Hob)

The Other Ritual: ~2k, subfic for Phin's Soiteria, TW Body Horror

control my thoughts, don't let them hurt me: ~6k, BDSM, Rewards, Domestic Control

Make Me Feel Powerful: ~2k, BDSM, Rough Sex, TW: Consensual Non-Consent (Roleplay)

Queen Brat: ~3k, Lucienne/Titania, Platonic BDSM, Domme Lucienne, sub Titania

stubornness pays off: ~1k, Piss Kink fic

Human Rescue and Rehome Program: ~7k, Alien AU, Alien Dream, Alien Kidnapping

Marked by Death: ~7k, CW Body Horror in the 1st Chapter, Human AU with a Twist, worship, overstimulation, rough sex (2nd chapter)

Helping Himself to His Bad Dreams: ~3k, TW Rape/Non-Con, Dream assumes that Hob wants to have sex more often, so he forces himself to have sex with Hob while Hob is drunk. It hurts them both.

All my ANGST fics

(((Dream/Hob unless stated otherwise))) ((("~Xk" is the wordcount in thousands)))

Bury Me with a Rose, We Both Have Thorns: ~32k, Human AU, Hanahaki Disease

Dreamling Whumptober 2023: ~31k, many different whumps

Falling, Fallen, For You: ~7k, A/B/O, Kid fic, Dream being bad at feelings, Happy Ending

Friend of the Sea: ~7k, Mermaid Hob/Prince Dream

The Dust Settled around Us: ~8k, Human AU, Post-Apocalyptic

Black Smoke and Hurting Hearts: ~4k, Firefighters AU, Human AU, Rescue Mission

To Hold and Dream: ~8k, A/B/O, Human AU, Student/Teacher, break-up and getting back together (2nd chapter)

the precarious space at the end of the world: ~2k, the end of the world, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Happy Ending

If I Am Nothing, If I Am Trying: ~6k, Human AU, Homophobia, Time is a Bad Parent

we become daydreamers: ~17k, A/B/O, Human AU, Homeless Omega Hob, Rich Alpha Dream, Grief and Trauma

Safety is a Person: ~6k, CW Mpreg, Dream finds out he's pregnant while in the fishbowl; Hob to the rescue!

The Last Punishment I Will Need: ~1k, no ship, Corinthian-centric Whump Fic

your happiness lies in my dreams: ~3k, Human AU, Abusive Relationship

you are here to stay this time: ~1k, Post-Comics, Bad Coping Mechanisms

Marked by Death: ~7k, TW Body Horror, Injury, Brutish Medical Practices, Human AU with a Twist (1st chapter)

The Hunt: ~9k, A/B/O, Human AU, Angst and Fucked-Upness, TW Unmated Omegas are forced to participate in The Hunt where Alphas can… anything. Hob is an imposter who tries to protect the participating Omegas.

Telling Bite: ~1k, TW Implied Non-Con, Burgess forces Dream into prostitution.

The Black Void I Cannot Fix: ~4k, TW Implied Non-Con, human!Dream gets roofied at the New Inn, doesn't tell Hob, tries to fix himself, Hopeful Ending