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cuubism · 3 months ago

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Good Horses | dreamling | rated T | ~30k (Part 1)

teen au, young love, friendship, neurodivergent dream, myth & folklore, human/no powers au (kind of), coming of age. cw: abusive childhood, some violence

(sheltered rich boy dream/feral child hob, except it got a lot weirder)

A good horse runs even at the shadow of the whip. But we are not good horses. ("Reverence", Sarah Manguso)

In retrospect, it was fitting that the first time Dream met Hob, he was breaking a rule.

It hadn’t been easy. Dream did not like to lie, and wasn’t very good at it besides. And breaking rules made him nervous. Broken rules carried consequences. But he’d needed to get out of the house, just for a moment. To clear his head. And just going for a walk was not a good enough reason to leave the house when he could be doing something more productive. Something better. Make some use of yourself, Dream. You do little enough as it is.

So Dream had crafted a little story of extra studying, extra work, and managed to slip out. Dream did not always tell the truth, could not, but usually he lived in the shadows left by omission. The outward lie was bitter on the back of his tongue.

But he’d been freed. And now he was wandering. He did not often get the chance to wander, untended, unobserved. Making his unsteady way down the winding road leading out of the estate, and then into town, where he’d never really walked before. It was just getting late, almost sunset on a Thursday evening, and the streets were fairly quiet, only a handful of people about. And Dream wandered, not quite knowing what to do with himself but enjoying the quiet in his head.

Possibly meandering about on his own was a bad idea. Possibly he’d be hit by a car or attacked by a madman. He didn’t think he much cared.

And that was when he met Hob. That first dip of his toes into freedom.

He was sitting on a bench in the park, watching the small scattering of pigeons pecking for seeds by the fountain. Dream had always liked birds, but it wasn’t often he had the chance to sit and just watch them. He studied their patterns, mentally tracking the shapes they traversed, their mathematical lines. He should have brought his sketchbook. It would have been nice to work from live subjects, for once.

He was deep in his thoughts, in the calming trickle of the fountain and the repetitive paths of the birds, when another boy about his age plopped down on the bench beside him.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone look so depressed while feeding birds.”

The birds had fluttered up in disarray at the sudden motion, but settled down again quickly. Dream looked at the other boy askance, irritated at his rare peace being interrupted.

“Do you often speak with people who are busy feeding birds?” he asked, unable to keep the annoyance from his tone.

“Only when they’re broody and mysterious,” said the boy. He wasn’t wearing a school uniform, but he must have been in Sixth Form, like Dream. Dream was still wearing his school shirt and trousers, for his own part, though he’d thrown his favorite black jumper on over it, in deference to the chill.

Everything about this boy was looser, really, from his longish brown hair, to his jeans and t-shirt. It made Dream feel very uptight in comparison, which was not a fact about himself he needed reinforced. He already knew it.

“Do you often come and feed birds?” the boy asked.

“I am not feeding them,” Dream said. “They are eating what was there.”

“Just spying on them, then,” said the boy teasingly. Dream did not know what to do about being teased with what seemed like lightheartedness rather than mockery, and so didn’t respond.

“Seriously,” said the boy. “Are you okay?”

Then Dream did look at his face properly. He had very kind, very genuine eyes, was the first thing Dream noticed. It was not something he noticed about a lot of people. Perhaps it was not something a lot of people possessed.

Then the boy smiled at him, a soft, kind smile. It transformed his whole face from something merely pleasant to something lovely.

“Is that why you have come over?”

The boy shrugged. “You looked sad and alone. I’ve been sad and alone before, so I don’t think anyone else should.”

Dream bristled. “I am not sad and alone.”

“Just alone, then?”

Dream’s mouth popped open in affront, and then shut. Then he said, “Are you always so familiar and impertinent with strangers?”

“‘Familiar and impertinent,’” echoed the boy, with a laugh. “Sure. Are you always so snooty and aristocratic?”

“Yes,” said Dream, and he laughed louder.

“Honest though.” He stuck his hand out. “I’m Hob.”

Dream nearly said, What kind of name is Hob? but swiftly realized the hypocrisy. Gingerly, he took Hob’s hand. “…Dream.”

“What kind of name is Dream?” said Hob, and Dream sighed. “And you really don’t have to shake my hand like a king deigning to touch the peasants. I’m not diseased.”

“I don’t like to touch people,” Dream said, taking his hand back. “Peasant or otherwise.”

“Peasant or otherwise,” Hob echoed. He didn’t seem offended. He was smiling.

“Are you here because you felt I should be taught a lesson? Is that it?”

“Nah. I just get bored easily.” Hob turned to watch the pigeons again, tapping his fingers restlessly against the bench. “I was out and about. You looked interesting. You wanna go for a walk?”

“…Why?” But Dream knew why. He had learned it as he’d wandered the streets, freed for the first time.

Hob shrugged. “Just to do it.”

Dream had stepped out of his comfort zone once today already. He supposed he could do so again. If Hob turned out to be an adolescent serial killer at least the end of his life would hold intrigue. “Very well.”

Hob grinned, so bright it struck some deep, static bell in Dream’s chest and set it ringing. “Come on.”

So they walked. Hob seemed to know his way down every street in town. Knew all the shops, and the alleyways, and about half the people they passed—restaurant owners just starting to bring chairs inside for the night, and old ladies gossiping in their front gardens, and even a gaggle of little kids, playing football in the street—Hob waved to them as they passed. Perhaps he didn’t truly know them, perhaps he was just friendly like that—either way, Dream watched with awe and some trepidation. He could not imagine such a life.

“Where do you live, anyway?” Hob asked, hands tucked in his pockets now. “Did you just spring up out of nowhere? Never saw you at school.”

“Not very far,” Dream said. He was uncertain exactly how far he’d walked; he frequently lost track of time in that way, though he was fairly certain he could at least find his way back. “I do not get into town much. Or. Ever.”

“Sheltered,” Hob said, with equanimity. Dream wanted to bristle, but it was true. His parents certainly liked to make sure their children grew up in a particular environment. Though Dream had to admit to himself that even if he had grown up in the center of town, gone to different schools, in a different family—he would not be like Hob. He would not have been playing games with other children in the street, or making spontaneous acquaintances of strange young men in parks. He did not know how to be like that, gregarious, welcoming, unselfconscious. Nature, and nurture. No set of different life circumstances could fix Dream’s fundamental nature.

He was well-aware that he had ‘missed out’ on most essential youthful experiences. Even Desire, coiled up in the same gilding as Dream, made no hesitation in reminding him what he hadn’t done.

“And you are what, then?” Dream asked. “Feral and wild?”

“Yeah, I live in the woods and eat bugs and stuff,” Hob said, with faux seriousness and a shrug as if this was totally normal.

“I would have thought squirrels better nutrition,” Dream said, realizing belatedly that this was an odd response, but Hob absolutely lit up with playfulness. Dream wondered, in a flash of surprising camaraderie, if people often shot down his stranger conversation topics too, or refused to engage. It happened to Dream himself frequently, although he usually came at his odd interests with utter seriousness, instead of play.

“No, squirrels are too hard to catch,” Hob said. “And there’s so little meat? Actually, if you do want to survive in the woods, fish are your best bet, and then plants, but you have to be real careful with mushrooms—”

Thus followed a several minute lecture on the specifics of wilderness survival, which Dream listened to with fascination. Hob was an engaging lecturer, an engaging storyteller, and it was rare that Dream got to simply listen to someone speak on what interested them, with no expectation of interjecting, of making small talk. Why was he spending his time at his family’s social events clumsily tripping through inane discussions of who was hosting so-and-so and how polo was this season—conversations truly more about interpersonal politics and tact and other things Dream fared poorly at than they were about content—when he could have been listening to a verbal dissection of edible insects? Something he knew little about, admittedly, but Hob seemed to know enough about it for the both of them.

“—and so that’s why you have to—” Hob was saying, and then broke off, rubbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I’m totally running over you. You don’t care about this.”

“I was enjoying it,” Dream admitted, and Hob’s face softened in surprise. “However, I’m extremely dubious about your claim that crickets could possibly taste good, in any form.”

“Only when candied,” Hob said, and Dream was unsure if he was joking. He waited for Hob to poke at him for not knowing. It didn’t come. “Take it you’re not a fan of insects, then?”

“Not especially. I like spiders,” he admitted, “though they are not technically insects.”

“You like spiders?” said Hob incredulously.

“I’m also partial to birds, especially corvids, as well as cats,” Dream said.

“Oh, so all the Halloween animals,” said Hob with an understanding nod. “Yeah, that fits the all-black aesthetic.”

Dream surprised himself by laughing. Just a quick, breathy laugh, but more than usually passed his lips. Hob smiled in response.

“What d’you like about spiders, then?” he asked, bumping Dream with his shoulder.

“They are quiet. And precise. I recall being a child—” he was unsure why he was telling this story, but Hob seemed encouraging— “and one summer. When I spent a lot of time in my room. There was a spider that started to spin its web in the eaves outside my bedroom window. An orb weaver. I felt I should be afraid of it but… I wasn’t. It was outside the glass, anyway. Their webs are… quite beautiful. Very delicate and detailed. I find them very artistic. I don’t know if you know, but they spin new webs every night. In the daytime they tuck their silk away again for the next night. It seems exhausting, but, it’s what they must do to eat.”

This was the most Dream had spoken without being compelled to in… weeks, if not longer. Hob just nodded, gesturing him to go on.

“Sometimes,” Dream said, thinking back to those lonely and silent summer days, “I’d watch my spider spin for hours when I had nothing else to occupy myself with. I think perhaps I grew too invested.” There had been moments when he felt he had no friend in this world at all—but he had his spider. Even if it did not know he existed. “I began to shut the shades because I knew that if Mother or Father—or anyone else—saw a bug near the house they would knock the web down or kill it, never mind that it was doing no harm to anybody.”

He trailed off, then, still thinking back. Surely Hob would think he was stupid, for still remembering, still fixating on something so small. But Hob only said, “So what happened to the spider, then? Did someone find out?”

“Only because of me.” A critical mistake, to ever trust Desire—but he had been young then, and thought they were still friends. Dream sighed, squeezing his eyes shut. “I showed my sibling a drawing I had done of it. They wanted to see the real spider, so I showed them. I suppose they saw it as an opportunity to gain Mother’s favor, which was hard to come by—” Dream still recalled their simpering young voice, Mummy, Dream’s playing with buuuugggs—“and of course she didn’t want spiders on her house. So she had our gardener knock it down, though I’d begged her not to.” That was the last time Dream had begged for anything from his mother. He had learned his lesson about its futility and would not make himself so pathetic again.

“Jesus.” Hob sounded disturbed. “That’s… horrible.”

Indeed it was no lighthearted story, though most people thought it a silly one. Not Dream, though. “However,” he added, and now a tiny smile tugged at his lips, “our gardener—his name was Gilbert—came to find me the next night. It turned out he hadn’t killed the spider as Mother wanted, but actually moved her to a far corner of the garden. He showed me.” Dream had held back from crying in front of Mother or especially in front of Desire, but he had cried and cried then, that night in the garden.

When Hob was silent for several moments, Dream realized that this was not, perhaps, the answer that he had wanted when asking such as simple question as why do you like spiders, and also that telling him such a strange and ridiculous story when they had just met was, as Desire would say, weird and off-putting, Dream, and that Hob would certainly not care for his company any longer.

But all Hob said, when he finally spoke, was, “I’m glad he saved your spider.” And he sounded sincere about it.

“I never saw it again after that night, it disappeared into the garden. But I didn’t mind, I only wanted to know that it was still out there and hadn’t been—” he broke off before he could say something even more self-centered and melodramatic, something like, hadn’t been killed for the crime of being near me.

“Yeah,” said Hob quietly, as if he knew, almost, what Dream had been going to say. “Does that happen a lot?”

“Does what?”

“Your mum being…. mean like that?”

Dream had never thought it was… mean, exactly. Rather, he had always assumed that it was simply that his feelings on the matter hadn’t factored into the decision at all. Like he didn’t exist.

But Hob, an outside observer, saw it as mean. If he was right, that meant that Mother’s decision-making had been at least partly driven by hurting Dream’s feelings. Intentionally. Dream did not know what to do with that.

“I don’t know,” he finally said. “I suppose.”

Hob bit his lip. “That’s tough.”

Dream did not know if he should ask about Hob’s own parents. The conversation seemed to have taken too negative a turn already. He did not want this to be how Hob thought of him. Indeed, he realized, with surprise, that he did wish Hob to think of him. He did not want them to go their separate ways and never see each other again, and this was such a rare feeling to have about another person, especially one he had met so haphazardly, that he stopped dead in the street.

Hob rubbed at his ear. He did that a lot, Dream noticed, those restless gestures, especially now that they had stopped walking. “I should get back before my own mum gets worried. Told her I’d be back around dinner,” he said, and Dream’s heart sank, though he had to admit that it was getting quite dark. Then Hob said, “Gimme your phone?”

Heart spiking with hope again that Hob was going to give him his phone number, and that this implied he wished to see Dream again, Dream unlocked his phone and handed it to him. He hoped Hob did not realize what an act of trust that was for him.

Hob put his contact info in and handed it back. “‘Case you want to get out of your enclosure again,” he said with a cheeky grin. It was a joke, but he could not have known how accurate it felt to Dream’s circumstances.

Dream put his phone back into his pocket carefully. “I will text you. Thank you, Hob. For your company.”

“Thanks for letting me ramble at you.” Hob’s smile was almost bashful now. How could he possibly be grateful for Dream’s company?

Their walking had taken them in a big loop, and they were just about back at the park where they’d started. Dream was fairly certain their respective walks home would take them in opposite directions. But he was hopeful that he might speak with Hob again. An outcome he could not possibly have predicted when Hob first plopped down on the park bench beside him.

Dream offered him as much of a smile as he could manage and, before he could do something stupid like follow Hob home like a stray cat, turned and walked away. He didn’t turn back to watch Hob leave, though he knew he must have done so.

When he got home, it was properly dark out. It had taken him longer to walk all the way back to the estate than he’d anticipated, he had not been properly paying attention when he left. He went inside, alight with nerves, but his father was not there and the only reprimand he received from his mother was a critical eye and a light warning, “You’re back late, Dream. Don’t make me worry about what you’re up to,” nothing more. So he crept quietly up to his room.

Once there, he sat down at his desk chair and took out his phone. He stared at Hob’s number, frozen with sudden uncertainty. He reminded himself that if he was utterly wrong about everything he would never see Hob again anyway. So he texted Hob.

Hello, it is Dream.

Dream wondered if he would have to wait, but Hob texted back with the same rapidity with which he seemed to do everything.

Glad u got back safe :] thought i mighta sent you into the woods alone to be eaten alive

To be eaten by which woodland creatures precisely? Squirrels? Trout?

Kelpie’ll get ya. You’d follow one I just know it

Those are only in Scotland.

Oh yeah? You’ve done a census have you?

Dream realized he was grinning at his phone, and forced himself to neutralize such a feral expression. It was never wise to get too invested in anything too quickly. Except that they had only just met, and he already felt more comfortable talking to Hob than he did with people he had known for years.

Perhaps I myself am a kelpie. You have fallen into my snare.

Tough luck on letting your prey get away then :) you must have liked me too much to eat me

I expect to be hungrier tomorrow.

I’ll just have to feed you something else then

Is that a promise?

Did Hob truly wish to see him again? Or was he only playing? Could he have enjoyed their unexpected meeting as much as Dream had? He waited in nervous anticipation until Hob responded.

Come find me in the park this weekend?

Dream bounced in his seat, then remembered himself and caught it again. Settling down, he replied:

Any time? Are you simply always in the park?

Yup :)

Dream doubted that was strictly true, but it was certainly true that Hob was out and about more than he was. Hob’s life was… strange. He did not yet know what to make of it.

I will find you, Dream wrote back. Truthfully it was uncertain whether he would be let out without a ‘good reason’. But he would manage it somehow. He must.

Setting his phone aside, forcing himself not to text Hob unending inane things or be pathetically desperate for his company, he pulled out his sketchbook instead. At last he began sketching the birds he had seen in the park. Their soft, rounded heads and stubby legs. The conglomerated patterns of their movement. How they’d fluttered up at Hob’s arrival.

He sketched Hob’s face, as best he could from memory. The soft fall of his hair. The upturned corner of his mouth when he was thinking. He wondered if Hob would let him sketch him in person. It seemed wrong to depict him still, unmoving. But maybe Dream could capture a bit of his energy if he was physically there.

He was getting ahead of himself again.

He sketched the kelpie Hob had mentioned. Elongated legs dripping with river water, mane tangled with reeds, looking back over its shoulder for the lured prey that surely followed it into the water. Intelligent eye. Mouth just this side of too long.

It was closer to the types of drawings he usually did, as he rarely had anything new to sketch live. Usually he drew fantastical creatures, myths and stories, relying on his imagination and the occasional anatomical reference text. It was comforting, to think of such things beyond mortal ken being out in the woods somewhere. Even if their inclination was towards eating children, at least in the stories, Dream still liked to think of such magic and horrors being real.

By the time he finished the drawing, it was very late indeed. He hadn’t eaten dinner, and was hungry, but he didn’t dare slip downstairs to find something. Instead he closed his sketchbook and slipped it carefully back into its spot in the drawer. Changed, and got into bed with a book, but found himself staring at Hob’s texts on his phone instead of reading.

It was not for Dream to have such friends. Outside of school, outside of his parents’ purview, just for himself. But he wanted it. He had had it for but a moment, but he wanted it.

He locked his phone and tucked it under his pillow. As long as he kept it a secret, he just might be able to keep it.

#this fic is kinda weird hope you enjoy tho #i'm almost done writing the last chapter #my writing #good horses #dreamling #edit: wowza this got an automatic mature rating 😂 this is like one of my least mature fics!! its T rated!#its because of the child abuse tag i guess #sorry dream

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theaceace · 1 year ago

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I can't help but feel that (in agreement with general fanon) Hob is the sort of person who falls a little bit in love with anyone who is 1) in his life for longer than five minutes and 2) even a little bit nice to him, and he (usually) isn't too shy about expressing it

So now he finds himself biting his tongue around Dream almost constantly because it would be so easy! Dream says something that could be misconstrued as an insult (it isn't and Hob knows it) and he's on the verge of sarcastically replying cheers, love you too because that's what he'd do with anyone! Every time Dream leaves it's on the tip of his tongue to let him go with a love you, bye

And he might have even gone ahead and said it - he doesn't think Dream will storm out over it these days - except that they've started hesitantly doing a little courting... Dating... Thing. However it works for an Endless whose every previous relationship has rapidly gone up in flames. And saying something like that just has really different connotations when you're in a new relationship! So Hob is being respectful by trying not to rush into things the way he normally does and would love to now

(never mind that he's definitely been in love with Dream at least a bit for centuries)

Meanwhile, Dream is losing his mind trying not to overwhelm Hob with the crushing force of his feelings, but clearly Hob can't feel the same. Just the other day he professed his undying adoration for a barista that gave him a free pastry as the shop was closing. He finishes almost every conversation with the friends he has made in this lifetime with a declaration of love. In fact, the only one who never seems to inspire any such feelings in him is Dream himself

(they sort themselves out eventually, of course, with perhaps a little meddling from all the people in their lives, whether they know what's going on or not)

#dreamling #hob gadling #dream of the endless #Not exactly a writing tag #Is this based on personal experience? Doesn't matter because you can't prove anything

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landwriter · 2 months ago

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Talk about sandman WIPs you say? 👀 Your porn AU and San Francisco gays still live in my head rent freeeeeee ❤️

Pella! I'm glad Professional Fuckers lives rent free in your head because I definitely forgot it existed. In spite of this, I am somehow still confident I'll actually finish and post it one day. It's just so easy and refreshing to write a setting purely from experience. Still needs several more scenes but I know the whole shape of it.

I think there's a lot of really fun potential to be mined from indie porn in a rom-com sort of story: you have this professional physical intimacy that can mean absolutely nothing, an intimacy that is itself altered and shaped by the demands of performing for a camera, by the visual and literal language of any given shoot genre; but separately to that, there's this variable of the chemistry you have with them, as colleagues, as co-performers, and of course, though somehow least significantly, as people fucking. The chemistry that plays out on screen does not always track onto the chemistry you feel with someone. So there's this, I think, super funny territory you can get into, where you've just fucked someone, and the prescient question of did we make something good and the vain little one of was I good, did you like that are entirely separate. But imagine the urge to ask when you're doing something you've never done before.

Imagine, too, nursing a crush on somebody and still not being sure if they like you like you in spite of fucking them in shoots all afternoon and pretending to be in a relationship for half of those. Imagine doing all this demanding, intimate work with a near-stranger, and then making friendly small talk after because outside of this work you hardly know each other. Imagine feeling like there's something there, beneath all the performance, and the commingled horror of crossing professional boundaries--of finding out your co-performer is just so good that they sold the story you were telling together to you too, without meaning any of it--and the desire to find out how good it could be with the cameras off. No awkward blocking, no performing, no story, nothing: an entirely novel, unprofessional, and maybe even more intimidating kind of fucking altogether.

That's what this setting is all about. In the spirit of that, have a mildly NSFT scene ft. Dream sucking cock for the first time while on a shoot, and Hob making a suggestion after.

[ask me anything]

“Dream,” says Hob. “Dream, please, I’m gonna cum, oh, fuck.”

He looks up at Hob, jaw afire, and Hob swears and twitches and comes in his mouth. Dream swallows it without thinking of making a show of it, just swallows and swallows and pulls off, panting. He doesn’t realize how swollen his lips are until Hob traces them with a warm thumb, and murmurs, wow, so low it’s surely not for the cameras, more a breath than a word.

“Was I good?” he asks. His voice is fucked out and low and Hob laughs breathlessly as he tucks himself in.

“Yeah. Yeah, shit, you were good, baby. So good for me.” He looks down at Dream with undisguised lust. “M’gonna want this all the time now.”

Dream doesn’t know what to say, so he just stares up at Hob, until Hob smiles and shifts to sit up. “Great,” he says, in a normal tone, the scene sloughing off him. “Happy with that?”

“Was it enough time?” Dream asks.

“Oh, yeah. We’re probably at thirteen, fourteen minutes. I know you only wanted ten but I didn’t want to tread on perfectly good footage and say something.”

Dream can’t conceal his surprise that it’s been so long already. Hob takes it as skepticism and laughs. “No, you can check, but I’m like a fucking egg timer. It’s my party trick on shoots.” He stands and goes over to his camera, squinting at the display. “Yes! Thirteen twenty-nine,” he announces triumphantly, and turns it off. “Right,” he says, all business when he turns back to Dream. “Water and onto the next?”

Dream, still kneeling, awkwardly stands. “Yes,” he says, and clears his throat when it comes out rough. “Yeah, sure.”

Was I good? Truly? Hob is so good at inhabiting someone else that Dream isn’t sure. He would cover it up well if it was bad. “That’ll sell well,” he says, as neutrally as he can.

Hob takes the bait and grins at him. “Oh, definitely. That was perfect. You were great.” Then he takes in Dream and frowns. “Hey, do you want to, ah?”

Dream realizes he’s still painfully hard. Hob is grimacing down at his tented jeans. The moment of satisfaction is popped like a soap bubble. He adjusts himself, feeling his face heat. “Sorry,” he mutters.

“Oh, fuck, don’t be sorry. Always good to know I’m not repulsive. I meant, do you want to deal with it now since you didn’t come?”

Dream glances toward the guest bedroom, unable to believe Hob is actually propositioning him. Unable to believe the yes that offers itself at once. Hob continues. “My facial shoot, later? Could just switch things around and get it done now if you’re ready to go.”

“Of course,” says Dream, magnanimously. Of course that’s what Hob meant.

#asks #fic excerpts #wips #professional fuckers #dreamling #the sandman #tag story time:#while i have never crushed disastrously on a shoot like in this WIP #i will note there is a delicate balance when it comes to chemistry #and Too Much is as difficult to manage as Absolutely None #(everything else is workable)#once i found myself with 20 minutes of unusable footage because the fucking was so good that the work part of my brain was obliterated #the part that always runs in the background re: angles and shots and timing #background processes: not found. pussy too good #pretty funny considering we were under a full lighting rig that was brighter than the sun #named something ridiculous like ~StormBlazer3000~#faintly humming away in the background #a camera filming in 4K like 5 ft away from us #and STILL forgetting to be on job about it #like moths fucking in the blinding light of a porch lamp #i could talk about this AU and my love for the setting and the work foreverrrrr #even if i did forget about it hahaha #maybe when i have more time in winter i'll finish writing this love letter

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delta-pavonis · 4 months ago

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WIP Word Train + Tag Games

So I have gotten tagged a bunch of times in the past 40 days and I AM GOING TO RESPOND TO THEM ALL AT ONCE BWAAAHAHAHA. No, really, I have been a bit MIA from fandom, but I have been plugging away at a whole slew of fic across Dreamling, Jayvik, and Adrian/Olrox (Castlevania). There are going to be at least 5 WIPs represented here.

Rules for Word Train Game: tagger gives a word, then for each letter of that word you share a sentence/excerpt from your WIPs that start with that letter.

Rules for Tag Game: Post the last line that you wrote and tag someone for every word in that line.

Oh, and if you want to do this? CONSIDER YOURSELF TAGGED. Your word is BIRD. :D

First up, SMILE from the lovely @unpredictable-probabilities

S (How is this the hardest fucking letter to find what the fuck am I writing?!) From a Jayvik fic that started with a crazy idea that I posted about on BlueSky.

Sliding down the wet tiles to sit on the shower floor, Viktor wonders if he is going a little insane.

M From a future chapter of do i have to die to hear you miss me?

“Mmm, I don't remember any oaths in your daydreams of me that night.” Dream smirks as he sees Hob put the pieces together. “You could see… my daydr-,” his eyes widen, “Have you really known how I felt for that long?!” Then he blushes. “Oh, fuck, I think I remember some of the things I first fantasized about…” Dream stops Hob with a gentle kiss. “Sshhh. You thought nothing to be ashamed of.” He sucks at Hob’s bottom lip. “Actually, I think fucking you up against a wall is an inspired idea.”

I From a WIP I don't know if I will every finish, but old mage Viktor goes back in time and talks to his younger self as another way to divert events into a better timeline. This is after the younger Viktor has taken his old self's advice.

If it wasn't for his partner’s strength Viktor would collapse to the floor in a heap. As it is, Jayce tilts his body to the side and pops up onto one knee, all while having a steel grip on Viktor's waist, so that he lands straddling Jayce's thigh. Somehow their lips find each other immediately. It quickly becomes aggressive, more teeth than tongue, and Viktor slides his hand down Jayce's abdomen to the front of his pants and— The fine linen is soaked. And tacky. Fuck. Jayce came in his pants sucking Viktor's cock. While hiding in the shadows of a door on a balcony outside some Piltie society party. And oh how that makes his spent dick twitch in interest.

L From the next chapter of ignition, my grad TA!Viktor/undergrad!Jayce fic.

Long fingers card into Jayce's wet hair and it helps ground him, makes him feel a little less like he is blurring at his edges. “What do you want, miláčku? You can tell me.” Jayce buries his face into Viktor's neck and clutches at his waist.“I don't… it's hard to describe.” He concentrates on breathing. “I wish…” Another whimper, unbidden, as a wave of desire crashes into him again. “I want to touch you everywhere. I want to taste everything. I want to hear the different sounds that you make as I lick each and every inch of you. I want… I envy the water because of how it gets to learn every possible path over your body. I want to follow every drop with my tongue.”

E From a Dreamling+John Constantine fic that was borne of this Insta and @aralezinspace's pointing out that the first few lines I had written could be Keanu Reeves Constantine. Right now the WIP is just titled "Eiffel Tower of Hatred."

“Either you bid him come willingly or I go get him myself.” His voice booms around the room and Hob is half hard in his tiny shorts with how it vibrates the floor. “One of those options will be decidedly more pleasant.” Hob just stares at Dream for a moment and then shrugs helplessly. “Alright. I have no idea what you are losing your otherworldly shit about, but I will get him over here. And then you better explain what exactly is going on in that pretty eldritch head of yours.” He picks up his phone and dials. John answers on the second ring. “I’ll be disappointed if you are calling off tonight, sweetheart,” comes through the speaker. Hob pointedly ignores both the fact that Dream hissed again when John called him ‘sweetheart’ and the fact that it has only made him harder in his pants. “Requesting a change of venue. Can you come to my place? I’ve got an… issue… the needs working out. And it's better done here.”

__________________________________________ Next on deck, LENGTH from my darling @valeriianz

L Same Jayvik fic as the letter 'S' above...

Laughing breathlessly at his partner’s unabashed delight at being called ‘good’, he runs the fingers of one hand through Jayce’s hair. With the other, the one from which the panties still dangle, he cups Jayce’s jaw. “Yes. You did so well for me, Jayce. My dear, sweet pet. Would you like your reward?”

E Same Jayvik fic as the letter 'I' above, but a longer scene, because I really, really like this scene and I don't know if the rest of it will ever see the light of day. Takes place before the scene above.

Every instinct in his body wants to say no. He has absolutely no desire to be in front of any crowd, let alone that crowd. But then he remembers what himself-from-the-future said and swallows it all down. “Yes, we are.” Jayce had already started to walk away, anticipating his answer, and so wheels around to look at Viktor in stunned shock. “I will accompany you… as long as you don’t make me speak.” Very slowly Jayce lights up as he realizes what Viktor said. It is like staring into the dawn, bright and beautiful. And I caused that. Viktor feels warmth bloom in his chest. “Really? You will?” Viktor can't help but smile; Jayce’s unbridled joy makes him feel bold. “We’re not revealing the new hextech, so it isn't like I have anywhere else to be.” Jayce is still beaming at him. “Besides, you asked me.” The blush that colors Jayce’s cheeks makes the comparison to the dawn even more apt. The beauty brings Viktor to stillness when Jayce takes a step into his personal space. He looks up into that soft, glowing gaze and for a moment is absolutely convinced that Jayce is about to kiss him. But then his partner does something even more devastating. Jayce's hand finds Viktor’s wrist, the one not being used to help prop him up on the crutch, and slides down until he can tangle their fingers together. Viktor forgets how to breathe. “Partners,” he whispers, with a smile. Not looking away from Viktor, Jayce holds out his other hand. “Ms. Young, the speech please.” Then, with a squeeze and a tug of their joined hands, Viktor finds himself being led onto the stage.

N From the upcoming chapter of wild horses:

“No.” Hob touches the side of Dream's face. “No doubt. I see it. I feel it. I hear it in your voice every night. I just don't understand why. How, when you could literally have anyone, you could possibly want me.”

G From a future chapter of do i have to die to hear you miss me?

“Gonna explore that,” he pants, more heavily than before, “later. Now, I want,” his teeth nip at Dream's skin, bright flashes of pleasure that spark down his spine and make him rut down into Hob. “To ride you.”

T From a sequel to you create me against your lips (aka Hellknight!Hob) inspired by this amazing art by @teejaystumbles

“The ruby was a vessel for some of my power. It held some of it apart from me.” He lets Hob process that himself. It only takes a moment for it to click. “And if I did the same… could I make myself powerless against you? For a short while?” “With only the ruby you could get most of the way back to how you were on that first night in the palace.” Dream gives in to his urges and nuzzles the collar, licks along the edge of it. That makes Hob writhe against him, hips rolling back, head tilting away to give better access. “And I could fashion a collar that could seal away the rest.”

H From the start of my almost-finished at close to 10k modern-day-setting-and-Netflix-canon-compliant Adrian/Olrox fic.

He rolls his head, straight black hair falling in a cascade to make an opaque curtain on one side of them, a way to prevent prying eyes. “Hello, little one,” the vampire purrs, curving forward again. He brushes their noses together and grins. “A club like this is not at all where I expected to meet you.” Olrox starts kissing along Adrian's jaw, down his neck, speaking in fits and spurts as he goes. “How many? Years? Has it been?”

__________________________________________ Last of the games from February, Last Line Tag from another author I fangirl for, @tj-dragonblade

You technically tagged me on February 21 and here is quite literally the last line I wrote on February 21, at 11:54pm. Viktor POV, from a Jayvik fic. Jayce is holding the edge of a drafting table.

He isn't going to let Jayce touch him until the poor thing has come at least twice, until his fingers ache from holding the edge so tightly.

__________________________________________ March brings me SMART, also from @tj-dragonblade

S Also from the next chapter of wild horses:

So Hob tries to extend himself some grace when, as he parks his bike in front of the four-car garage and makes his way up to the front door of the small mansion, he gets walloped with a wrecking ball of what is essentially sexual imposter syndrome. “How the fuck did I get here?” He murmurs to himself, taking the walk slowly. It isn't that he doesn't think he can sub in a proper scene—well, maybe it is a little of that—he just cannot get around the persistent ‘Why me?’ that runs in circles in his brain. Part of him is still waiting for the other shoe to drop; waiting for this insanely gorgeous, sexually talented, wickedly intelligent, and sharply witty person to look in a mirror and realize that he could walk into any bar in the entire country, point to a person, purr in that velvet rumble, ‘You. I am going to fuck you,’ and only the staunchest of aces and most determined of lesbians would be able to refuse him.

M From another Jayvik WIP I might never finish, a crossover with Dreamling that was inspired by some excellent observations by @academicblorbo, which means Viktor is Daniel.

Morpheus hums in confirmation as he steps up beside him. “Your integration with the hexcore will make you uniquely qualified–you have experience managing and guiding great power.” “Not successfully, I would note. We had to destroy it.” “And yet you have no doubt learned a lot from the experience. That knowledge will not be lost when you become Dream. Further, you have walked a land without dreams and therefore know their importance.”

A More Adrian/Olrox, same WIP as above, set modern day.

Adrian watches as Olrox thumbs open the button of his pants and sits up on his knees; now Adrian has to tilt his face up to make eye contact. The club’s lights flash behind Olrox, and with the lights immediately above them dimmed he is haloed in beams of neon pink and yellow, his hair shot through with streaks of blues and greens. Fuck, it is no wonder he is the favored of a god—they no doubt couldn’t resist him either.

R From the 'Eiffel Tower of Hatred' fic mentioned above. Italics are John Constantine on the phone.

“Right.” He still sounds like he doesn't believe Hob for shit. “Be there in twenty.” Then he hangs up. Hob sighs and throws the phone onto his bedside table. Then he grabs his robe off the hook on the inside of his bedroom door and covers himself up. And fuck him if when he doesn't look to Dream and see disappointment in his beautiful face. What is happening right now?! “Dream, what is going on?” Hob sits on the edge of his bed and motions for his friend to sit next to him. “Not gonna lie, the Lord of Dreams being judgemental about something like this isn't what-” “I am not. Judging. You.” Well, at least his voice has simmered back down. He sits and stares pointedly forward, not looking at Hob. “Your fantasies are your own. I only.” In a decidedly human gesture, Dream takes a deep breath and Hob feels more adrift than ever. “While the matrilineal line of Constantines has been useful to me over the years, John is one in a long line of male Constantines who are a persistent thorn in my side. And that he would touch you like that despite my mark is-” “Excuse me?!” Hob jolts. “Your what?”

T From the upcoming chapter of wild horses:

“There you are,” Dream looks down at him with an affection that stokes a fire deep in Hob's belly. “Warmed up and pliable. Like clay. With your permission, I want to cleave into you in a way you haven't experienced before. I want to push and pull and stroke and pry until I find the core of you. Until I can touch it.” A chaste press of lips that lingers before he speaks again. “May I? Mold you to my will?”

__________________________________________ And last, but certainly not least, leader of all five of us still cheering on the Alurox ship, tagged me in a last line game @ifishouldvanish

Of course, you get the very last line I wrote from my Adrian/Olrox modern fic. This is Olrox speaking, almost 10k in. XD

“Suddenly I understand the current vernacular of saying that a man has a slutty waist.”

__________________________________________ Literally as I am wrapping up this post, @seiya-starsniper hits me with FANG and I just have to. XD

All from the Adrian/Olrox fic. All short to keep SOME of it not posted here. XD

Finally Olrox is fully seated and the vampire collapses back against Adrian, chest heaving. He brings a hand up and twines his fingers with Adrian's where they are pressed below his navel.

Adrian looks down and sees Olrox's cock straining inside the confines of his pants, tilted to one side, lifting the top of the waistband off of his skin a little as it strains the vinyl. “Look how hard you are for me,” he whispers into Olrox's ear, “You think I could make you come like this? My hand on your throat and my cock filling you up and my voice in your ear?”

“Nngh,” it is like Olrox groans at Adrian asking him to think. “Perhaps they think they can fuck me better?”

“Go on,” he holds Olrox’s gaze as he pulls the chain out from his belt loops with a loud metallic clattering. “Tell me.”

#ULTIMATE TAG GAME RESPONSE #Pavonis writes #Dreamling #Jayvik #Alurox #Adrian/Olrox #Alucard/Olrox #Castlevania: Nocturne #Hellknight!Hob #wild horses fic #Dream and Hob as bikers #wip tag game

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pellaaearien · 5 months ago

Text

Here With Me (Chapter 7)

Dreamling | E | (no more) Edging, Caretaking, Porn With Plot | ~20k total

In the end, Hob needn’t have worried. The innkeeper accepts or else doesn’t care to examine their story about being a noble and his retainer accosted on the road, willing to accept the gold thread running through Burgess’ rich tunic in exchange for room, board, and some actual clothes for Dream.

“And medical supplies, if you please.” Dream speaks up, his voice shaky but resolute. “Some bandages, and salve if you have it.” Hob looks at Dream in surprise, but the innkeep just nods.

“I’ll send some up with my girl,” he says gruffly, and they hasten to their quarters before they can make more of a scene. The fewer people who can remember the strange travellers, the better.

“I’d rather you have warmer clothes,” is the first thing out of Hob’s mouth, once the door closes behind them. It’s not what he’d been intending to say, but salve especially won’t come cheap. “I don’t know how long we’re going to be on the road, and—”

“And I’d rather you not die,” Dream snaps, whirling on him fiercely, eyes flashing. Hob swallows the rest of his words. “I… I thought I had lost you.” He wraps his arms around himself, and Hob lurches to embrace him.

“I wish never to know such a feeling again,” Dream says into his shoulder.

“Dream—”

They’re interrupted by a knock at the door. Hob opens it, feeling antsy about having strangers around Dream. The girl is shy, however, keeping her eyes downcast as she deposits her burden of hot water, bandages, and a jar of salve.

“Thank you,” Hob says, and she jumps at being addressed, nodding quickly.

“I’ll be up with the clothes soon, m’lords,” she says, and takes her leave before Hob can say anything more. Hob sighs, and turns to find that Dream has already uncorked the salve, and is sniffing at it.

“Does it meet with your approval?” he teases. Dream gives him a withering look, and Hob grins. Dream wasn’t the only one who’d feared that they would never see each other again, and the relief is hitting him in waves.

When he removes his bandages, Dream makes a small sound, leaning forward, hovering his fingers over the gash.

“I’ll heal,” Hob assures him. “I’d have taken worse, to know you’re safe.”

Dream’s hands clench in his lap. “You should not have had to.”

“Dream.” Hob cups Dream’s cheek tenderly. “I knew what I was getting into when I swore my life to your service. I’m just sorry I couldn’t do more.”

“Don’t say that!” Dream says, grabbing his hand between both of his. “You’ve done so much, all for me, and I—”

“Shh.” Hob rests his forehead against Dream’s, ignoring the twinge of pain. “No regrets. I’d have done it even if you hadn’t asked.” It was all worth it, just to be near him.

Dream sighs. “I do not deserve you, Hob Gadling.”

Yes, you do! Hob wants to say. You more than anyone! But he thinks better of it. He won’t be another in the long line of people who have convinced Dream that he needs to earn his place.

“I get to decide that, love,” he says instead. “And it’s a decision I made on the very first day I met you.”

Dream looks away, dipping a cloth in the steaming water in lieu of answering. Hob hisses as he begins to tenderly wash his wound.

“You needn’t—” Hob begins, before breaking off at the fierce glare Dream fixes him with.

“I do.” His tone brooks no argument. Hob subsides. It feels wrong, so wrong, to have Dream taking care of him, but he can’t help but melt into it.

In the end, the spelled thread is merely pulled, not torn, and doesn't need to be resewn, certainly not by anyone with their amount of medical knowledge. Hob’s bandages are deftly rewound by Dream, who presses a kiss to the wound afterwards, as Hob holds back tears.

The innkeeper’s girl returns, bringing a bundle of clothes and a pot of stew. Hob doesn’t want to question where they got the clothes on such short notice, but the girl provides the information herself.

“They were my brother’s,” she says quietly, glancing at Dream out of the corner of her eye. “He died at the front.”

“I’m sorry,” Hob says, finding that he means it. Burgess’ people bear no blame for his wars. She nods, and departs, a certain understanding reached, though that doesn’t mean Hob is in a hurry to reveal their identity. He can only pray that they are far enough away not to implicate these people, should they be discovered. Dream puts the dead man’s clothes on wordlessly. They’re an almost perfect fit.

It’s later, after they’ve eaten and rested, that Hob wakes from a couple of hours’ sleep to find Dream no longer next to him in bed, but standing next to the tiny glazed window, hugging his arms to himself. Hob immediately sits up; Dream turns his head but doesn’t look at him.

“Hob.” Dream’s voice is velvet in the moonlit room. “I need you.” He swallows. The light is so bright Hob can trace the line of his throat. “I need you to make it so I’m not the oracle any more.”

The words hit Hob like a thunderclap, despite their quiet volume. Logically, he knows that this is an important step in their plan, and the sooner the better, so that Dream’s powers can no longer be used against them. In his illogical chest, his heart is pounding loud enough Dream can probably hear it from across the room.

He had long since resigned himself to the knowledge that he would never properly make love to Dream. The vague idea of falling from grace, of failing to stop in time, removing that barrier to being fully together, had been the stuff of his darkest fantasies. He’d known it would never happen. Dream had asked him to be his knight, and so that’s what Hob would be, until he died of it.

Now, Dream was asking something else. And rather than jumping at the chance, Hob needed a minute to catch up, to coax his deepest desires from the darkness and assure them it was safe to come out.

“I do not wish to injure you further,” Dream says, still not looking at him. “But I fear, if I do not do this now…”

Then I never will, Hob finishes for him. He understands completely. “C’mere, dove,” he says, holding out his arms. Dream inches closer, until he melts into his arms with a sigh, bone-cracking tension leeching from his body. Hob holds him close. He can’t imagine what’s going through Dream’s head in this moment, as he contemplates giving up the thing that has defined his entire life.

“Dream,” Hob murmurs into his shock of hair. “Of course I will. If it’s what you really want.” There can be no going back, not after this. While that might be the point, that doesn’t make it any easier.

“I—” Dream’s voice is muffled by his shoulder. “I do not know if this is what you would have chosen. If I—”

“Listen to me.” Hob holds Dream’s face in his hands, pulls back until Dream meets his eyes. “You never forced anything on me. I chose to follow, chose with both eyes wide open, and do you know why?”

Dream shakes his head the tiniest amount, constrained by Hob’s grip, his eyes wide and so, so blue.

“Because how could I let anyone else touch you? Bring you pleasure? Of course I chose you. Who else could it be, but you?”

There’s a taste of salt against his lips, and it’s a long moment before he realises Dream is crying as he kisses him. Despite living as close as two people could be, they have never kissed like this before. Such romantic gestures were for normal people, with normal lives, serving only to remind them of what they couldn’t have.

No longer. The kiss is messy, wet, and perfect, neither of them quite sure what they’re doing but unwilling to stop. The play of Dream’s plush lips against his own is something Hob had never even thought to imagine, and he is instantly addicted.

“Oh, love,” he whispers against Dream’s skin, against the tiny noises and puffs of air Dream makes as he seeks his lips again. “I’m going to make you feel so good. I’m going to take such good care of you.”

“Please.” Dream nods frantically, and Hob’s blood is roaring in his veins at the thought of finally giving into that plea.

He lays Dream gently down on the bed, one of their straw pillows for his head and one for his hips. Dream deserves mountains of pillows, silks and goosedown, every possible luxury. But this is what they have, so Hob will make do.

The tension in Dream’s frame is back; Hob bends to kiss him, tracing his lips with his tongue (inspired by the thought of a very similar act) until Dream opens for him, gasping and arching. Hob soothes him with soft touches, stroking his hair and sides.

“Hob,” Dream breathes, hips already canting. It’s much more familiar territory, but Hob still takes a moment, pressing his forehead to Dream’s.

“We have all the time in the world,” he says. He will make it true. “There’s no need to rush. I refuse to do anything that will hurt you.” He runs his hands down Dream’s arms, waiting for his nod of permission before pulling off his shirt, then caressing the skin that is revealed. The spread of both of his hands nearly encompasses the width of Dream’s torso.

“Look at me,” he says, and Dream does, the trust in his eyes flaying Hob’s chest open. “I promise you, I won’t stop.” Dream’s breath catches. “Not unless you ask me to. Not until it’s over.” No more ruined orgasms. Dream nods, wordless. Hob cups his cheek. “That means, if I do anything that doesn’t bring you utmost pleasure,” here his voice turns stern, “I need you to tell me.” He knows Dream would stubbornly and stoically bear anything it took, now that his mind is made up. He’s been doing it all his life. That doesn’t mean that this experience shouldn’t be as close to perfect as Hob can make it. “I could never live with myself if I hurt you.” His voice breaks, and Dream grips his arm. “Promise me.”

Dream nods, solemn. “I promise, Hob.”

In spite of everything, Hob smiles. “Okay, then.” He kisses Dream again, because he can, and because he thinks if he stops kissing Dream for more than a few minutes he might die. Dream melts into it, hands lighting tentatively on Hob’s skin in turn, his shoulders and back, and this, too, is new, and strange, and wonderful. There’s no one to see, here. No one to wonder if their hands are hiding something. No need to keep Dream exposed. Dream touches him, and Hob feels like he could fly.

He thumbs at Dream’s nipples, pink and perfect, swallowing the keening noise he elicits. He replaces his thumbs with his mouth, licking and sucking, as Dream takes in a shuddering gasp above him. His lovely Dream, still so sensitive, even after all this time.

“You're so beautiful,” he says brokenly, looking down at Dream moonwashed in their bed.

Dream bites his lip, somehow managing to look both coquettish and nervous. “They call my prophecy a gift from the gods,” he says. “But I think their true gift was bringing us together.”

Hob can’t help but agree.

“I know I have… asked the impossible of you,” Dream says, not quite meeting his eyes. “And now I must ask yet more, for once again I cannot embark on the path I have chosen without you.”

“Not impossible,” Hob murmurs, kissing Dream again and replacing the teeth at his lip with his own. “We made it, Dream. We’re here together. And I’m not going anywhere without you.”

Dream takes a deep breath, and smiles. Hob’s heart flips over in his chest. When was the last time he saw Dream smile?

“Very well, Hob Gadling,” he says, looking up at him from under his lashes. “Then prove it. Make me yours, and not the oracle. Make me… Make me come on your cock.”

He hesitates slightly over the unaccustomed filth, and Hob credits years of self-denial with the fact that he didn’t come on the spot, hearing those words in Dream’s voice.

“As you wish, my love,” he manages, strangled. To that end, he leaves a trail of open-mouthed kisses down Dream’s chest, tasting at his sternum, his navel.

“Hob,” Dream begins uncertainly, but Hob soothes him, running his thumbs over his hips, then lower, dragging a finger through his folds. Dream shivers.

“Already so wet,” Hob says in wonder. What a miracle, to have this gorgeous creature willing and wanting for him. “You’ll get what you want.” He kisses Dream’s upper thighs. “I’m going to get you ready first.” There had been no rule requiring Hob to keep chaste, but as the thought of lying with anyone other than Dream had been abhorrent, he has no particular experience with what Dream needs. However, given that Dream has never taken so much as a finger before, he can infer.

And there had been talk. There was always talk, whether the speakers had known Hob was in earshot or not. Defiling the oracle was the height of taboo and therefore a pervasive fantasy.

Well, Dream was his. And he would do everything in his power to care for him.

Dream nods, his eyes enormous, and that’s the last he sees of Dream’s face for some time as he licks between his legs.

Hob brings all of his well-earned skill to bear, everything that makes Dream sing out sweet sounds above him, and it’s so much like every other time, only everything is different. When Hob judges the time is right, he slowly, carefully, slips the tip of his tongue into Dream.

“Ah!” Dream’s exclamations increase in intensity, and he thinks they both need a moment. He raises his head, licking his lips of Dream’s sweet ambrosia. Dream is gripping Hob’s wrists for dear life and looks up hungrily, his pupils dilated.

“All right, love?” Hob makes himself ask. Dream is nodding before he finishes.

“More,” he demands, and who is Hob to deny him? He bends down, daring to press his tongue a little further. Their surroundings make it easy to remember that now his goal is to bring about what had once been forbidden. He exists in a sort of in-between place of what has always been his job — bringing Dream pleasure — and the constant anticipation as he crosses line after line in preparation to break, at last, his former vow.

Dream’s body responds to him just as it always has, and Hob can only pray that he can provide enough stimulus to get him completely out of his head. He wants Dream to have no regrets, only joy.

Finally, when he has worked his tongue as far into Dream as it will go, and his jaw is starting to ache, he regretfully withdraws, Dream’s fluids coating his chin. Dream is panting, staring at the ceiling, though he looks hoodedly at Hob as he registers the pause. He’s nowhere near climax, but the lines of his body are softer, and it heartens Hob to see. He kisses Dream deeply, and it isn’t until Dream’s shuddering moan that he realises Dream would never have had occasion to taste himself before.

“You like that, sweetheart?” Hob’s voice is rough, tuned low with lust. “Gods, you taste divine. Always have.”

“Hob,” Dream whispers. So far, despite it all, it’s nothing they couldn’t take back, if they had to. Hob intends to take them over that line, as promised, but he’s bringing Dream with him every step of the way.

“Still doing all right?” He feels compelled to check in, though Dream is showing no signs of distress. He strokes a hand through Dream’s wild hair. Dream leans into it, like gentling a spooked horse.

“I am… well,” Dream answers. Hob would have hoped to be doing better than that, but he accepts it for now.

“I have never told you,” and there is a spark of mischief in Dream’s eyes, “how much I enjoy your tongue.”

Hob, for his part, is struck speechless. Of course he hadn’t. Why would he? It was a job. But now he just wants to lay himself out in worship again.

He swallows hard and sticks to his plan. “I’m going to start with fingers now, okay love?”

Dream takes in a shaky breath and nods. Hob kisses him again in reassurance, waiting, he realises belatedly, for Dream to tell him to stop, to take it back. But he doesn’t, and Hob has promised. So he continues, bestowing another lick and earning another shiver, before he slowly, gently, slides a finger into Dream.

The way is easy and slick, but Dream still gasps at the intrusion, screwing his eyes shut and almost, almost pulls away, before he masters himself and relaxes. Hob doesn’t move his hand a single inch, he just waits, stroking Dream’s hair.

“Shh, darling, that’s it, you’re doing so well,” he murmurs. “Just relax. No rush, nothing you need to do. Take your time.”

Several deep breaths later, Dream opens his eyes. There are tears clinging to his lashes, devastatingly gorgeous. His hands occupied, Hob kisses them away.

“Hob, I…” Dream says at length, and though Hob waits, it seems Dream has no more words to say. He presses their foreheads together and they share breaths.

“I know,” Hob says. “It’s a lot. Do you want me to stop?”

The shake of Dream’s head is small, but immediate. “Do not,” he says for good measure, and Hob feels better. “I am just…”

Again, he fails to finish the sentence, but Hob understands.

“I have you,” he says. “And you’ll always have me, Dream. No matter what.”

“Hob.” Dream pulls him down into a kiss. At the same time, he twists his hips, taking Hob’s finger even deeper. Hob gives a startled moan.

“Please, Hob,” Dream prompts. Hob nods.

“Okay, love,” he says. “We’ll take it slow.”

Too concerned with Dream’s comfort, he hasn’t really taken the time to process that his finger is now inside Dream, but he does now, exploring with slow circles while Dream takes shaky, hitching breaths.

“You’re amazing,” Hob says, overwhelmed. “So soft and warm and perfect. How lucky am I that I get to be here, doing this?”

“Hob,” Dream whimpers, arching his back.

“That’s it, love.” Unable to resist the temptation of those pert pink buds, he has to get his mouth on them again, and Dream collapses to the bed, whining. Hob uses the distraction to inch a second finger into Dream.

It’s a tighter fit, and Dream’s breath hisses. Hob pulls back, rubbing tiny circles on Dream’s clit with his thumb. His fingers stay where they are.

“You’re doing great,” he says, as Dream writhes and pants. “You’re so tight, but that’s okay, love. We’ll get you nice and loose and open so you can take my cock.” Dream lets out a moan. “You want that, right?” Dream nods desperately. “Okay. We’ll get you there.”

“Hob,” Dream gasps out. “Hob, I’m afraid.”

Hob stills, but doesn’t stop, running his free hand up and down Dream’s side soothingly. “What are you afraid of, my heart?”

“I—” Dream’s cheeks, already flushed, blush a deeper red. “I’m afraid you’ll stop,” he admits, and Hob opens his mouth, but Dream rushes on. “I’m afraid I’ll come too soon.” His voice is smaller as he says it.

Hob can’t help but kiss him, and is reassured by the way Dream melts into it. “First,” he says, kissing the tip of Dream’s nose, “I promised you I wouldn’t stop, and I keep my promises. Don’t I?” Dream nods again. “That’s right. The only one who can stop me is you, my love.” To prove it, he swivels his fingers inside Dream, who arches again.

“And two,” here he kisses both of Dream’s rosy cheeks, “if you want to come, then come. That’s rather the point of this. You’ll still get my cock, if that’s what you want.” Hob’s wounds had never felt further away from him. “And if you don’t, that’s fine too.” He scissors his fingers a little, and Dream’s legs fall open. “There are no rules, here. Nothing you have to do, except enjoy it, and tell me when you don’t. Yeah?”

He rather thinks Dream won’t come early, given how long he’s spent denied, but doesn’t feel the need to say anything. Far better for Dream to understand that he’s free of any roles or obligations, for what might be the first time in his life.

It’s certainly no hardship to worship Dream’s body, the way he’s always wanted to. It feels like a blessing, like they’ve created a little piece of paradise in this bed, just the two of them. Hob is hard, of course, in his braies, desperately so, but it feels irrelevant, in the moment, to working Dream open enough to take three fingers, which he does with utmost patience, as Dream shudders beneath him on a great inhale.

“Hob,” Dream sighs, eyelids fluttering, sweat standing out on his brow. Hob thinks he’s never looked more beautiful. “No more.” Before Hob can pull back, ask for clarification, Dream fixes him with those stunning blue eyes. “Your cock. Please.”

Hob makes a strangled noise. His absolute imperative not to hurt Dream wars with how on Earth he’s supposed to say no to that.

“Okay, love,” he says, taking a deep breath, slipping his fingers out of Dream, who shivers at the loss. “Okay.” He casts about for the salve, figuring that something meant to heal certainly couldn’t hurt. It’s warm as he spreads it on his fingers, and he imagines it will feel good for Dream.

He slicks up his cock with shaking hands, head ringing like he’s taken a blow to the back of it at the thought of actually putting it inside Dream. Even the lightest touch makes him have to take several more breaths so he doesn’t ruin all his careful preparation. Dream is watching him, apprehension deep in his eyes.

“Hey, Dream, can you breathe for me?” he asks gently, leaning down to pet Dream’s hair with the hand not currently coated in salve. “It’s going to be okay. If you don’t like it, I can make you come without it, or we can stop here for now, if you want. I won’t let anyone make you the oracle again, no matter what. You know that, right?”

Dream, still flushed and glorious, takes a few unsteady breaths. “I do want it,” he says. “I just—” He huffs in frustration.

“Yeah. It’s scary, isn’t it?”

Dream shoots him a look like he thinks Hob’s patronising him. Hob grins. “Feel my hand shaking?” He holds it out for Dream’s inspection. Dream subsides, looking awed. “We’re in this together, my love,” he reminds Dream. “Whatever you want, I’ll find a way to make it happen.”

Before he finishes speaking, Dream leaps, pulling him in for a hungry, biting kiss.

“I love you, Hob Gadling,” he says fiercely, and Hob reels anew. They’ve never said the words, never needed to, Hob thought, until hearing them from Dream now. “I want to be yours. Will you fuck me?”

“Oh, my darling,” Hob says, hardly aware of what he’s saying. “I’m going to make love to you.”

Hob can’t resist kissing him once more before reaching for more salve, slicking himself again before tracing his fingers delicately through Dream’s folds.

Dream keens. “Hob,” is all he says, but in that word is a world of urgency.

“I’ve got you,” Hob whispers, his voice fled under the weight. “Ready now.”

He actually has to try a couple of times, because of how much his hands are shaking, and the amount of fluids between them, but it is a temporary awkwardness. Slowly, carefully, Hob pushes his way into Dream.

They both gasp, at the first breach of muscle. Dream freezes, his entire body tensing, and Hob caresses his hips as best he can while not moving from his spot.

“There we are, darling, it’s okay, see? Just breathe, and tell me when you’re ready. Breathe,” he prompts, and Dream’s chest kicks like a resurrection. “That’s it, love, that’s it, is this okay? Am I hurting you?”

Dream shakes his head, almost dislodging Hob from his position.

Relief suffuses Hob’s body. He’d done his job well enough, at least.

“It is… odd,” Dream muses. “Pressure.” He looks down, and then up again. “You are inside me, Hob.” In his voice is a kind of revelatory wonder, as though he has just now realized that this had always been the goal.

The grin splits Hob’s face wide, wide, and his absolute adoration for the creature beneath him only just surpasses his animal instinct to bury himself in warm, welcoming softness. “Yeah, I sure am,” he replies, though it hadn’t really been a question. “How do you feel about it?”

“I feel…” he shifts, experimentally, and their breath catches as the movement slips Hob further inside. “Oh… I feel so much.”

Hob can’t seem to stop shaking, barely holding back ecstatic tears. He has been inside Dream for all of a moment and his lifetime of carefully cultivated control is flying out the window. “Yeah?” he says, thickly. “Move? Tell me when.” He absolutely does not want to rush Dream but his reasons why are dwindling the longer he hovers on a knife’s edge between not pushing deeper and shaking so hard he’s afraid he’ll slip out and won’t be able to get himself back in.

Soft compassion sparks in Dream’s eyes, and he reaches out for Hob’s face. Hob obligingly contorts his spine to facilitate the connection. Nothing else matters as long as Dream is touching him.

“You can move, Hob,” he says, and Hob lets out a sob at being granted permission.

“Slowly,” Hob nods, as much for himself as for Dream. “Gonna go slow, gonna be so good to you, gonna worship you…” His muscles spasm with the effort of holding back as he presses cautiously forward. Dream gasps and arches, drawing him deeper, and then squeezes his eyes shut, his expression not wholly one of pleasure. Hob freezes immediately, cold washing over him.

“Love?” he questions, trying to wring words out of a brain which is rapidly dribbling out his ears.

“Doesn’t… hurt,” Dream manages, not sounding sure enough about it for Hob’s comfort. “It is… a stretch.” He looks down. “Will it really… all fit inside me?”

Hob has never worried overmuch about the size of his cock but he wishes he were smaller now.

“I think so,” Hob says, as gently as he can. “And if not, that’s okay too, yeah?” The fever of arousal in his blood is as nothing to his horror at the thought of making it fit, like Dream’s body and pleasure didn’t matter. He may be making it up as he goes along, but it’s still Dream, and he’s here, allowed to be inside him, allowed to make him come. He thinks they’ll be able to figure it out.

Dream is so tight around him it’s nearly painful, in a way he can’t separate from how good it feels. Moving as little as possible, he presses his thumb to Dream’s clit, rubbing soothing circles. Dream sighs out a moan, relaxing slightly, and Hob glows with pride.

Inch by inch, with lots of caresses and kisses and gentle stimulation, Hob makes space for himself inside Dream. Dream pants, and keens, and bites his lip, and is generally the most devastatingly sexy he’s ever been, because he’s doing it for himself. Because he wants. Hob feels carved out, too, like his heart has expanded to fill his whole body, leaving no extra space.

He’s lapping at Dream’s nipples, where he’d been indulging himself ever since he’d been able to reach them, while Dream grips his hair and holds him there, luxuriating in his pleasure, when Hob suddenly finds he has nowhere left to go. He looks up, stunned, his cock wrapped in the vise grip of Dream’s body.

“That’s it,” he says, breathless. “You did it, love. It’s all in.”

Dream gasps, and clutches Hob closer. “Really?”

“Really.” Hob pushes the sweaty fringe back from Dream’s face, suffused with tenderness. “Doing so well, love. So proud of you.”

“You… always say that.” Dream sounds wrecked, blissed-out and hazy; Hob takes a moment to pat himself on the back.

“Always think it,” he says, nuzzling into Dream’s collarbones. “Can’t stop myself saying things.” This is evidenced, Hob thinks, by the fact that he is still capable of forming words, even while losing his entire mind from arousal, buried inside Dream.

“Will you, still?” Dream asks, his voice smaller. “When I’m not…?”

Hob is in no way eloquent enough to answer the way he ought; he nods, emphatically, against Dream’s chest. “Always. Every day. Best person in the world,” he says thickly. “Can’t wait.”

“Oh.” Dream takes a moment to consider this. Then, “Hob, I think I would like to come now,” he says, in a slightly strained tone.

Hob huffs a laugh. “I’ll do my best, sweeting.”

He makes tiny motions with his hips, but it’s difficult, actually, with Dream so tight. This time, though, Dream is enthusiastic in his reciprocation, pushing back against him with punched out noises, and before Hob knows it — he may have blacked out a little — he’s sliding in and out of Dream. Not fully, but enough that the bed is creaking a little as a counterpoint to their pants and moans.

“Hob,” Dream whines, head thrashing on the pillow. “Hob, please.”

“Oh, love,” Hob says, his blood on fire, “What d’you need?”

“Please,” Dream begs again, and it’s clear that both of them are beyond words. Hob, who by this point has managed to regain a single clue, goes for Dream’s clit again, giving himself over to well-practiced motions while trying to maintain a rhythm. Dream’s mouth falls open, and he lets out a low, continuous wail that Hob can hardly hear over the rushing of his heart.

“Oh, ohh— oh… no!” The discordant note of Dream’s despair snaps Hob out of his frenzy as Dream’s eyes roll back in his head, his mouth moving, making words not his own. “Wind from the east—”

Hob swoops in to kiss him before he realizes what he’s done, capturing his lips with his own, silencing the meaningless syllables. Dream’s eyes are wide and blank, and Hob keeps kissing him, willing him to come back, until Dream sobs against his mouth. Hob can taste the salt of tears. Everything stops.

“Oh, lovey.” Hob strokes Dream’s hair, holding him through the tears. “It’s okay. It’s okay. Just breathe. I’m here. Take your time.”

“It was right there!” Dream exclaims, thumping a fist against the sheets. “I was so close, and then I wasn’t, and then…” He looks up apprehensively. “What did I say?”

“It’s not important,” Hob says, as Dream just stares at him. “I mean it, love. You’re not the oracle any more, it doesn’t matter. I care so much less about any potential prophecy than I care about you.”

Dream’s mouth is an ‘o’ of astonishment. He blinks, several times, as his breath slowly returns to normal. It isn’t until then that Hob notices that he’s still inside Dream, his arousal, once so overbearing, suddenly insignificant.

“D’you want to stop?” he asks, as gently as he can. Dream jolts, likely under the same realization as Hob.

“I…” He visibly considers, chewing his lip. His eyes flick up to Hob. “But you—”

“Fuck that.” Hob has to nip this in the bud. “Don’t you dare worry about me. I’ve been perfectly fine with my hand up to now, and I will be again, because nothing on earth will make me want to keep going if you don’t.”

There is a longer pause. Finally, Dream meets his eyes. “I want,” he says. “To continue. To try again. But—” He spreads his hands, helplessly.

“I told you,” Hob says, returning his hands to Dream’s hair. “We have all the time in the world. I don’t care how long it takes. We’ll try again, and if it doesn’t happen tonight, it doesn’t happen. Not the end of the world, dove. We’ll just try again tomorrow.”

Dream gives him a tremulous smile. Hob begins, with equal parts regret and relief, to ease out. Dream makes a little forlorn noise.

“Just for a minute, darling,” Hob reassures him, kissing his cheek. “I’m coming back, I promise.” He hisses as the cooler air of the room hits his (still quite hard) cock, and Dream shivers, left empty.

Hob pours a cup of water from the jug and makes Dream drink it, and then heaves himself to his feet, groaning as the pain of his injuries return with a vengeance, to see to the fire. Once it’s crackling merrily, he returns to the bed, walking carefully, though it’s all worth it to see the assessing look Dream gives the erection jutting proudly from between Hob’s legs. He licks his lips and Hob thinks he might actually go mad before the night is over. Worth it, if so.

“Was that really inside me?” Dream asks, only looking away when Hob eases himself back onto the bed.

“Yeah,” Hob nods, trying to stretch out the kinks in his muscles. “Should be a bit easier this time, if you still want.”

Dream nods before he is finished speaking. “I want,” he says.

Hob feels a rush of heat that has nothing to do with the fire, basking in Dream’s undisguised lust for him as he sips his own water. He’d known, of course, that Dream found him attractive, but it had been a background thing. Irrelevant. Why torture themselves by expressing it?

There had been a lot like that, Hob is now realizing. Incredible, what you can get used to.

But here, now, they’re free to act and react however they wish, and Hob doesn’t intend to keep Dream waiting any longer. Dream’s eyes are still red-rimmed as Hob gently pushes him back against the pillows.

“Let me know if you’re sore,” he says. Dream gives him a once-over lingering on his injured side, then arches an eyebrow, his meaning obvious. Hob splutters.

“Shut up,” he says. “That’s different.” He kisses Dream before he can voice a protest.

Dream whines as he pulls away, testing Dream's folds gently. “Hob. I don’t know if I can…”

“Shh, love,” Hob says, understanding immediately. “I don’t need to work you up any more. Just promise me you’ll try to relax.” He grabs the salve again — now much depleted — and then it’s time.

He pushes his way into Dream with far less resistance than last time, Dream yielding with an arch and a gasp.

This, Hob thinks, this is worth all of the anguish, as he inches in until he’s fully seated, moaning in harmony with Dream. To be here, now, Dream laid out loose and languid beneath him, nothing expected of him but pleasure.

“That’s it, love,” he coos. “You’re perfect. So fucking beautiful and mine.” His to protect, his to love and cherish. Dream makes a noise he’s never heard before, clutching at his hips.

“Hob, please. Move.” So Hob does. “Ah, ah—”

The sounds of Dream’s pleasure are like wine, and Hob wants to drink them from his mouth.

“Yeah? This good for you, sweetheart?” Dream’s chorus of encouragement makes the question slightly irrelevant. Hob keeps at it; slow, rolling thrusts, and a quiet stream of praise. “I have you. Nothing you have to do. Just give into it. Relax, and feel good. There’s no one here. No one but us.” He breaks off with a whimper. “Gods, you feel so good.”

“Hob. Haah—”

“So fucking good, fuck, Dream, I love you, I love you, I love you—”

Dream gasps, drawing him closer like a particularly determined octopus, and Hob goes willingly. The slick velvet catch and slide of Dream’s body is incomparable to anything he’s ever felt. If he weren’t hard enough to pound nails, he’d stay here forever if he could, to always feel as connected to Dream as he feels in this moment.

He grits his teeth, trying hard to grip the razor’s edge of his composure as Dream meets him thrust for thrust, his hair a riotous shadow against the roughspun sheets.

“Ho-ob!” Dream wails, his belly twitching, and Hob, conditioned to a lifetime of quick responses to this exact moment, does the first thing he can think of, which is to press his hand flat against Dream’s belly to feel it for himself.

Dream jerks like he’s been struck by lightning, every muscle in his body seizing, eyes shooting wide, mouth open in a silent scream. The insistent fluttering of his walls around him turns out to be too much for Hob’s tenuous control and he spills over inside Dream, panting like a racehorse and feeling like he’s been run over by one.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, Dream…” There’s so much of it, on and on, and through it all Dream’s hips make little involuntary motions, taking Hob for all he’s worth until he’s convinced he’ll die of it — but what a way to go. His head hangs down between his shoulders as he shudders through it, holding Dream as close as he can while Dream makes tiny cries in time with the twitch of his hips.

Finally, Hob can take no more of it and gently, gently pulls out, a process complicated by Dream’s body clinging to him for dear life. When Hob does manage to slip free, accompanied by a messy rush between their bodies, Dream keens as though bereft and tries to curl in on himself. Hob barely has the presence of mind to keep from collapsing directly on top of him, drawing him into the lee of his arms with clumsy motions.

“Shh, love,” he whispers. “Shh, it’s all right. You’re fine, I’m here. I’m here. I love you.”

He holds Dream close while they both shake with the force of their heaving breaths, running soothing hands over every inch he can reach.

There are silent tears on Dream’s cheeks. His heart seizes, and he fights through the languor to be able to form words.

“Gods, please tell me I didn’t hurt you…”

Dream squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head, tears scattering like diamonds. Hob crosses the impossible distance to cup Dream’s face in his hand.

“Words, darling, please,” he begs.

Dream reaches for his hand, grasping it after several tries and twining their fingers together.

“I am well, Hob,” he says, voice serene. The tears are still streaming down his face. “I am no longer the oracle. I am… free.” He says it with such wonder that Hob is nearly moved to tears himself.

“Yeah,” he chokes out. “Yeah, you are.” They both are. Hob is free to love Dream as fiercely as he’s always wanted to, and he will never take it for granted.

“During that last moment,” Dream continues, “just before I lost my powers. I saw…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Hob says firmly. “I told you. You’re not the oracle any more. Let it be forgotten.”

“Not this,” Dream insists. “I saw us, Hob.” His voice is hushed. “Sitting outside a house — our house. Together.”

Hob loses his breath as he imagines it. It’s everything he’d ever wanted for Dream, for himself. Everything he’d thought they could never have.

“The sun was setting over seaside cliffs. There was a garden.” Tears are still flowing unchecked down Dream’s cheeks, but Dream sounds as content as Hob has ever heard him. “And in my arms…” He takes Hob’s hand and draws it to rest over his abdomen.

Hob might never breathe again.

“A baby, with… with my hair,” Dream forces out through renewed tears, “and your eyes.”

Hob can’t think of a single thing to say. He scoops Dream up, rolling them until Dream is nestled on his chest. Dream squeaks at the unaccustomed position.

“Really?” It’s official; his happiness could not be more complete. “Dream, you absolute marvel. You’re perfect, I adore you—” He plants kisses on every inch of Dream he can reach. “Wait.” He pauses as the thought occurs to him. “Are you… saying we made a baby? Just now?”

Dream in his arms is loose and relaxed, flushed and happy, and Hob would give everything to ensure he looks like this always.

“I do not know,” Dream answers. “We shall have to wait and see. Or—” A smirk Hob would not have thought him capable of crosses his face. “We could keep trying, until we know for sure.”

Hob finds himself laughing harder than he can remember in a long time. “We might just have to,” he says, once he’s caught his breath. “Wouldn’t do to have your final prophecy not come true, eh?”

Dream just smiles, and nuzzles into his neck. “I love you.”

“I love you, Dream,” Hob replies, already a reflex. He can’t wait to say it every chance he gets.

Well and truly tapped out on adrenaline now, Hob can barely keep his eyes open long enough to make an attempt at cleaning them up, before cradling the most precious thing in the world to his chest. He sleeps.

#pella writes #dreamling #dreamling fic #the sandman #here's where we REALLY earn our E rating #I'm not going to tag for specific things because I don't want all kinds of blogs following me so instead #read on Ao3 for more details

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five-and-dimes · 5 months ago

Text

WIP Word Train Game

Okay so this is a million years late, but I got tagged by three different people for this game and I FINALLY got it all done.

Rules: tagger gives a word, then for each letter of that word you share a sentence/excerpt from your wips that start with that letter.

This is going to be a beast of a post so it’s going under a read more- In total with three words, I had 15 letters. I have 12 WIPs, so I chose to go through and write something for every. Single. One. So under this read more is at least one excerpt from ALL my WIPs. Enjoy!

@seiya-starsniper :HEART

H: (From the fic where Hob keeps calling the Waking “the real world” and hurting Dream’s feelings.)

Hob feels like he is in two very different relationships. When Dream visits him during his waking hours, he is… aloof. Not cold, exactly, not the same level of distance he had in previous centuries, but still holding Hob carefully at arm's length. He does not rebuff Hob’s physical affection, but nor does he reach out on his own. When Hob touches him he simply holds himself very still. In the Dreaming, however, Dream will drape himself over Hob’s body, pulling him close until there is no space between them. He will run his hands through Hob’s hair, starry eyes gazing at him longingly as he showers him with poetic words of his love.

E: (From “Cinnamon Boy”, the college AU where Dream is always cold.)

Even his siblings had pushed him away for his frigidness. He remembers being small and hearing the shouts and shattering of his parents fighting again in the dark of his room. For a while, Death allowed him to crawl into her bed, curling close and trying to convince himself that everything was safe in the arms of his big sister. But finally, one day she grew tired of it, pushing him away when he tried to cling to her. “Dream,” she groaned, “stop it. At least stay on that side,” she shoved him away from her, half asleep and frustrated, “your hands are freezing.” Tucking his hands against his chest, Dream blinked back tears. All his siblings had complained to varying degrees anytime they were forced to hold his hand when they were out, but Death had always been the kindest. He had always known that his elder sister was the peacemaker among all of them, but… he hadn’t realized that putting up with him had been a part of that. He had thought that Death volunteered to hold his hand because she loved him. He realized now that she was simply sparing the others from the burden. Years later, now a young adult, he is still crawling into people’s beds looking for someplace safe. And he is still cold. And he is still pushed away.

A: (From chapter 6 of “When Dreams Become Reality”, the Inception au)

Adrian groaned, “Is my whole dream going to be like this?” he muttered. Hob frowned, and when he looked at Arthur the other man explained, “This is where the inception job happened. Our mark was on this flight, and we had until landing to finish the job.” “Really centering around this first job,” Hob teases, and Adrian rolls his eyes.

R: (From “Dead Hearts”, the human au where Hob was Dream’s childhood bully.)

Reaching out, Lucienne frowned when Dream startled under her touch. It has been some time since he had reacted like that. “What’s wrong?” She asked gently. Dream bit his lip. Lucienne knew… everything. She had been there when he was at his lowest, her and Matthew and Jessamy, protecting him and lifting him up without any judgement or disdain, even when he felt certain he did not deserve their kindness. She knew about the things that had put him in that place. She knew about Hob. And yet, he cannot bring himself to tell her what is happening. Perhaps he fears she will discourage him, give him the same lecture Death always has about letting go of the past and not holding grudges. Perhaps he fears she will look down on him, will finally see how horrid and broken he is to seek even a fraction of revenge on the man who tormented him. Perhaps he fears that she will not take his side, will tell him he is overreacting. Will tell him that he had deserved it. Whatever the reason, he is afraid. And so he smiles, covering Lucienne’s hand with his own, “Nothing,” he tells her, “It is simply. One of those weeks.”

T: (From the next fic in my Immortal Throuple au.)

“Tell me what you want?” Hob whispered against his neck, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles against Dream’s sharp hip bones, “One thing. Just one thing I can give you to make you happy.” Dream shivered in his arms, and Hob can feel his throat move under his lips as he swallowed thickly. “I…” His voice is so soft and uncertain, his fingers curling anxiously against Hob’s shoulders. Hob kisses along his jaw, his cheek, brushes their noses together softly. There is nothing for Dream to be afraid of, and yet Hob can feel the rabbit beat of his heart beneath his hands. “I would like to be facing you,” he finally confesses, stiff and nervous and unable to look Hob in the eye, “I want. To see you.”

@cuubism :GLOW

G: (From an omegaverse au where Hob finds out Dream has been hiding his ruts from him.)

Growling low in his throat, Hob cannot help the swell of protectiveness that rushes through him as he reaches out to cover Dream’s hand. “Hey,” he waits until Dream glances up at him through his eyelashes, “you take care of me during my heats, right? Your ruts are about you. About giving you what you want, what you need.” Dream is shaking his head before he’s even finished speaking, “It is not fair of me to ask you to suffer for days just because-” “Why on Earth would taking care of you make me suffer?” Hob interrupts, appalled, “I love you. You’re not a burden, you’re not asking for anything I don’t want to give.”

L: (Another from the fic where Hob keeps calling the Waking “the real world” and hurting Dream’s feelings.)

“Love,” Hob sighed against his neck, each word mouthed against his skin, “Love, love, my love,” and Dream sighs beneath him, holding Hob close as the black sands cradle them, impossibly soft and smooth. Everything here is so magical, so wondrous, Dream most of all, and Hob wishes he was a poet so he could do it all justice, but he’s not and he never has been, so he settles for kisses and the word “love” repeated over and over. The next day, Dream walks into the New Inn and Hob grins widely, “Hey stranger,” he greets. For a moment, Hob thinks he sees something like despair on Dream’s face at his words. But when he blinks, it is gone. So he must have imagined it.

O: (From a fic for the Dreamling Bingo prompt “creature: feral”.)

“Oh, this is horrendous,” Johanna whispered, her nose crinkling in disgust. Everything about the situation was horrendous, Hob couldn’t argue with that, but Johanna nodded towards the rings of sigils, “The protections here are frighteningly fragile. Everything is painted on, not carved. All it takes is someone getting a little too close and scuffing one of the marks and the whole thing becomes useless.” Looking down at the moat surrounding the various rings, Johanna scoffed, “And that’s not even holy water.” Hob did a double take, “I’m sorry, what?” Johanna shushed him, and they both glanced quickly to ensure that they hadn’t drawn any attention to themselves. Leaning in a bit closer, Hob kept his voice soft and even this time, “How can you even tell?” “I’m good at my job,” she offered cryptically, “Ol’ Burgess got scammed.”

W: (From a fic for the Dreamling Bingo prompt “adoption”.)

“Well, you’re obviously good with them,” Hob smiled easily, feeling more than comfortable to trust this man, “Any particular one you feel drawn to?” At the moment, the kittens were still too young to have noticeable differences in their personalities, but if he had a favorite, he would make note for anyone else who came to see them. There is a long, drawn-out pause, and he assumes Morpheus is simply considering the question with the same quiet gravity as he seems to do with everything. But then, he turns to Hob, face steeled, “I would like all of them.” Hob must have misheard, “You…” he blinks rapidly, “You want all four of them?” He nods, just once, deliberate and firm, “Yes.” There is another pause as Hob waits for… something. An explanation, a story, or a reasoning, anything even remotely resembling a normal conversation that someone might offer after asking to adopt an entire litter of kittens. Dream offers nothing but stony silence, staring at Hob unblinking as he waits for an answer. Hob would be terrified to play poker with this man.

@valeriianz :LENGTH

L: (Another from a fic for the Dreamling Bingo prompt “adoption”.)

Letting Morpheus into the apartment, he gestures vaguely at the living room, “Feel free to set those down wherever there’s space. I know it’s a bit of a mess in here,” he rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. Morpheus glances around, no hint of judgement on his face, though to be fair, Hob had trouble picking out any emotion from his expressions. Eventually, he walks to a corner of the room, next to a small side table and places the carriers on the ground. “I do not want them to get in your way,” he offered, “And it would be better for the kittens to explore them on their own, at first.”

E: (From “My Soul to Keep”, the sequel to “Now I Lay Me”.)

Each night, the dream is the same. Hob knows it is a dream, but not in the way he does when he is with Dream properly, when he can travel and take everything in in full awareness. Here, he has no control. No way to make it stop. He is crouched on the edge of a cliff, his body hanging half over the open air as he reaches down. He is holding Dream’s hand. He is the only thing keeping Dream from plummeting to the ground. Each night, Dream looks up at him, calm and sorrowful and resigned, white eyes gazing steadily at him even as Hob grunts and struggles and fails to pull Dream up. And each night, Dream opens his mouth and says, “Let go.”

N: (From a fic about touch starved Dream struggling with communication.)

Nervously, Dream twisted his fingers together, shoulders up around his ears as he mumbled, “I… do not wish to bother you.” Hob smiled gently, “Wouldn’t have offered if it was a bother,” he pointed out. Dream bit his lip, and it is both adorable and heartbreaking how much this simple, innocent situation seems to scare him. “If you get uncomfortable we can stop. There’s no rules or time limit or anything. I just think it might help.” Dream swallowed, looking up at Hob and searching his face. Finally, he seems to steel himself, approaching the couch like it might attack him. Slowly, carefully, he sits beside Hob. There is another pause as he takes some deep breaths, but Hob doesn’t rush him, simply hitting play on the movie. The sounds of the opening help fill the space, Hob leaning back against the couch casually, not looking at Dream so as not to make him even more nervous. The opening credits are just ending when Dream finally musters the courage to lay his head in Hob’s lap. His entire body is tense, as though bracing to be scolded or pushed away despite all of Hob’s reassurances, and Hob’s heart breaks.

G: (Another from the next fic in my Immortal Throuple au.)

Groaning, Calliope covered her face with her hands, dropping onto the couch dramatically, “He was so sweet,” she sighed, “I was at the bookstore and ran into him. Literally. Wasn’t looking where I was going and barreled into him, dropped a dozen books all over the floor. And he apologized to me. Helped me pick everything up like a proper gentleman and then asked me about my favorite poet.” Hob laughed, “Oh no, that’s your weak spot.” “I am aware,” she sighed again, “Had to pull him into a supply closet almost immediately.” Laughing again, Hob let his head drop back to face the ceiling, “When I met him he was in the park. Feeding the birds.” “No,” Calliope gasped, sitting up, eyes wide and shining at the mental image, “You are joking.” Hob shook his head, “Nope. This dark little slip of a thing, surrounded by pigeons and sparrows and sprinkling seeds for them. Nearly bit through my cheek trying not to squeal, he was so cute.”

T: (From a fic for the Dreamling Bingo prompt “tied to a bed”.)

There is a long moment where they both simply stare at each other. The other boy snaps out of it first, his face flushing and slapping a hand over his eyes and backing out of the room. “I apologize, please excuse me-” “No no no, wait!” Hob finds his voice, “Please, I need you to untie me!” The stranger froze, but only for a moment. Separating his fingers just slightly, he stumbled back into the room, grabbing a blanket off the floor and tossing it over Hob’s lower half. Hob has to bite back the urge to ask ‘What? Don’t like what you see?’ He just had to be rescued by the most gorgeous person he'd ever seen. The irony was cruel.

H: (From a fic for the Dreamling Bingo prompt “haunted hotel”.)

Hob nodded thoughtfully, not entirely sure what he was meant to do with that information, but curiosity still driving him forward, “Do you know how you died?” The ghost flinched, and Hob backtracked quickly, “Wait, I’m sorry, that was- that was so rude-” “It’s fine,” the ghost interrupted his rambling. Hob still felt bad though. The ghost wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I…” The moment stretches, and Hob forces himself to stay quiet. To let the specter take all the time he needs. Finally, he looks up, his eyes watery. Hob had never considered if ghosts could cry. “I don’t remember.”

I have no idea who has already done this, so feel free to ignore me lol

@beatnikfreakiswriting @softest-punk @gabessquishytum @pellaaearien @tj-dragonblade @kydrogendragon

Your word is: TURN

#the sandman #dreamling #my writing #wip tag #wip game #tag game #sorry this took so long friends #but also thank you I am now a little farther in all my stuff! ^^

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valiantstarlights · 11 months ago

Text

Last Line Tag Game

Tagged by @kydrogendragon @lenreli and @teejaystumbles ✨ Apologies for only getting to this now 🙇‍♀️ Thank you all for tagging me, though! 🥰

This is for teejaystumbles's The Bodyguard AU. 😎 The clues are in the numbers. 💃

No pressure tagging: @valeriianz @gabessquishytum @cuubism 🙇‍♀️

"No."

"...'No?' You're declining the job offer?"

"Correct."

"For god's sake, why? It's not like you to turn down a job before you even meet the client."

"'No' is a complete sentence."

"As is 'fuck you' and 'why.' No, brother; I know you. There has to be a reason why you're turning this job down."

"Can I not simply be enjoying my well-deserved vacation?"

"Okay, first of all, you got shot four years ago. Second, just last week, Destruction was whining about getting his ass handed to him when the two of you got in the ring and sparred. Destruction. A professional MMA fighter. Whining. Let that sink in for a second. Third, the salary is 500 thousand a year. I mean, what more do you want? Or is that figure too low for you after you worked for Morningstar?"

"(small sigh) You know I do not care about how much I'm paid, so long as the amount is fair and reasonable."

"Then why--oh. ...Oh, right. Now I remember. You don't work for artists anymore."

"Careful, sibling."

"(dramatic sigh) Oh, big brother. How many years has it been? Ten? Eleven? And you're still--"

"If this is your best effort in trying to persuade me to take the job you're offering--"

"(light laughter) No, no. Don't worry. I've changed my mind. I never should have called you in the first place. I know how difficult it is to convince you to do something when you have already decided against it, and I have no intention of trying to get you to change your mind either, because unlike you, I simply do not have enough free time to wallow in sadness and think about--"

"(hangs up)"

#teejaystumbles #the bodyguard au #dreamling #the sandman #my writing #tag game

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im-not-corrupted · 3 months ago

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12345 Tag Game

Rules: Give us the links to your fic with the most hits, second most kudos, third most comments, fourth most bookmarks, fifth most words, and fic with the least words (feel free to interpret however you would like; if not on AO3, can be on Tumblr or FFNET, etc)!

Thanking you kindly for the tag @samsalami66 <333 I'll try my best not to include any double fics

Most Hits: When Atlas Shrugs, Whose Back is Breaking? (Dreamling, 85k, WIP)

In 1989, Hob Gadling nurses a drink in The White Horse, hoping his Stranger will walk through those doors one more. He’s ready to apologise for 1889, for pushing too far, despite the hurt that still stings whenever he thinks about that day a little too hard.

In 1989, Death comes to a decision. Her brother has suffered for too long. Though she is bound by ancient rules, unable to intervene, she knows of somebody who isn’t and hopes he will be willing to save her dear brother from Fawney Rig, and she finds him waiting once more at The White Horse.

A week later, Hob Gadling saves Dream of the Endless from his prison of glass and iron, and the two navigate the troublesome waters of friendship and healing.

———

[or: the obligatory Hob saves Dream from the fishbowl fic]

Second Most Kudos: the space that's in between (every page, every chord, every screen) (Dreamling, 26k)

Before, Hob Gadling never believed he’d be unfortunate enough to love someone who’d never love him back. He’s never coughed up flowers before, and he’s willing to bet he never will.

After 1789, Hob Gadling dreams of his Stranger, realises a few things about himself, and coughs up his first flower petal.

———

[or: nobody talks about their feelings, Hob Gadling has been coughing up flowers for centuries and can’t speak properly after 1989, and it turns out communication is a vital part of a relationship. Who knew?]

Third Most Comments: take it slow (Dreamling, 34k)

"Bullshit,” he said abruptly, and Dream…did not expect that. His own eyebrows creeped into his hairline; he ignored the stinging and the pulling that simple action caused. It did not matter. “You look like you’ve gone ten rounds with hell itself, my friend. I didn’t…I didn’t even know anything could hurt you like that. Just…” His shoulders stiffened. For the first time since he began to talk, he seemed suddenly unsure of himself, or perhaps of his words. “I…Would you like to come back to The New Inn? I would like to look at those cuts, Stranger. You…You don’t deserve to be hurt like that.” The words struck him not unlike a blow to his face. Stung just as much as one would, with the added effect of knocking the air from his lungs. He could not even dredge up amusement at Hob’s unassuming 'you look like you’ve gone ten rounds with hell itself', instead staring at Hob wide-eyed.

After his duel with Lucifer and retrieving his stolen tools, Dream is injured and in pain. When he sees Hob, the man insists on helping him care for his wounds.

Fourth Most Bookmarks: the majesty of fantasy (protects me from tragedy) (Dreamling, 26k)

This time, Dream’s imprisonment takes more from him. Upon escaping, he finds himself unable to move on. He is tired, even after regaining his tools and power, and cannot understand why he’s unable to shake off the effects of his time imprisoned.

After Death suggests finding Hob Gadling, he finds The New Inn but does not walk inside. The idea of seeing the cruelty he has suffered first hand reflected in Hob is too terrible for him to bear, and so he returns to The Dreaming.

After some prompting, though, he begins to visit Hob’s dreams. Somehow, he finds a safe space there in the company of his friend.

———

[in which: Dream is miserable, everybody is worried about him, and Hob’s fairly sure his Stranger has been visiting his dreams but has no proof to back that up.]

Fifth Most Words: and sip the sunlight from your eyes. (Dreamling, 38k)

Three months after Hob Gadling learned why his Stranger had not turned up in 1989, the two of them form a friendship. Slowly, the Dream Lord begins to understand friendship.

Inevitably, the Dream Lord finds himself falling for the immortal man. This goes against everything he knows, and he soon pushes him away in an attempt to protect Hob from himself.

Hob—who is very much in love with Dream, and still doesn’t know his name—just wants Dream to be okay. He waits patiently for him once more, and when Dream returns to him with an apology and an offer for something more, he thinks the wait was worth it all.

———

[or: Dream has a tendency towards self destruction, Matthew and Lucienne deserve a raise or ten, Hob has once again has the patience of a saint, and all of Dream’s problems would be solved if he learned how to communicate properly. He gets there eventually.]

Least Word Count: i am Emptiness, i am Hope (The Sandman, 869 words)

There are stars painted on the ceiling.

Most paintings depict stars to be silver, ethereal and glowing. Or white, beautiful and elegant, tiny specks in the night.

These stars are gold, painted atop a backdrop of an imperfect shade of blue, the shade of twilight.

If these were anything else, they might be considered beautiful.

The King of Dreams likes stars. He has stars in his eyes, the King of Dreams - or at least, he usually does. Now, all that is left of those stars are…echoes. Memories of supernovas and binary stars, reflected in pale, icy blue irises.

He does not like these stars.

I am so sure I've seen everybody do this but who knows? Tagging @cuubism @tharkuun and anybody who sees this and wants to participate, feel free to do so <3

#the sandman #dreamling #eris writes things #12345 tag game #the fact that all of this is sandman related isn't a surprise #but it DOES make me want to write more for Arcane to reflect my current fandom hyperfixation

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seiya-starsniper · 1 year ago

Note

For the gentle prompts! Dreamling, 1. "You're alright." <3

BELOVED I FINALLY FINISHED THIS 💖💖 Hope you enjoy this retired Dream omegaverse sweetness :3

Gentle Prompts Post Here || AO3 Link Here

------------------------ Dream paces obsessively around the tiny bedroom, feeling both claustrophobic and too exposed at once. There is a tension behind his teeth, a feeling that will not abate until his—his—until he is reunited with his beloved. His mate.

When the Fates had come for his life, Hob had stood in their way and called Dream his true mate. As soon as he’d spoken the words, Dream knew them to be true, and he’d stared in wonder, as Hob, his mate, had told the fates they could not have Dream. The Fates had been torn, as killing one’s true mate would kill both partners, and yet Hob Gadling was protected by Death herself, and thus not allowed to die.

Dream had looked at his sister then, and all she’d given him was a tiny little knowing smile. Somehow, she had known everything, as she knew and Destiny knew all things.

Dream had wanted to be angry at her, but he couldn’t. Not when she had led him to his mate, all those centuries ago. He had thought that Endless did not have mates, for they did not hold secondary genders the way humans had. And yet, here Hob Gadling was, declaring what everyone except Dream seemed to already know.

The Fates decided instead to take something of equal value to Dream’s life. They took from him his function, his purpose, the very essence of his power as Endless. It had hurt. They reshaped him into something else, something vulnerable and soft, something human. To Dream, the separation from his power had made him feel as though he were dying anyways. His very being had been changed, his soul was no longer what it once was, nor was his mind.

But when he woke up and looked his mate in the eyes, Dream knew everything was going to be okay. Not today, nor the next day, but eventually. Though he was no longer Dream of the Endless, he was still Dream, and he was not going to spend the rest of his days alone. He had Hob, his oldest friend, his protector, his mate, to help him move through his new life, his new purpose, as a human being.

A knock sounds on the other side of the door, interrupting Dream from his musings of the past. Dream whips his head so fast towards the source of the noise that he feels his neck pop. That was another new sensation of being human too. Dream had bones now.

“Dream?” Hob asks, his voice soft and quiet and perfect in Dream’s ears. “I’m done with work now so—”

Dream pulls open the door so hard it crashes into the wall. Hob laughs as he’s forcefully yanked into the room and then pressed to the bed, Dream nuzzling and scenting him the entire time. He wants to drown Hob in his pheromones, wants to bury himself deep inside his beloved’s body, wants to be closer, closer, until he doesn’t know where one of them ends and the other begins.

“Hey it’s alright, you’re all right, I’m here,” Hob coos, peppering Dream’s face with kisses and nosing along the alpha’s face. He returns the scenting gesture, releasing a calming pheromone that Dream inhales deeply, desperate to fill his lungs with it. He purrs happily with each inhale, and with every exhale, he feels the tension start to dissipate from his body. His muscles relax, and then he is content.

Hob senses the change in him immediately and laughs, clutching Dream even closer.

“So how’s your first rut been going?” Hob asks, and Dream groans in frustration.

“I do not like this,” he complains, flopping onto Hob’s chest and then rolling over so as not to crush the omega. “Everything is just—so much.” Being human, in general, was a lot, and more unpleasant than good on some days. Especially today at the start of his rut. Dream had always carried the collective unconsciousness within him, he had known what human emotions felt like. And yet, having his own human emotions to contend with was an entirely different thing altogether.

Hob chuckles, and rolls on his side so that he and Dream are face to face, cupping a hand to his lover’s face.

“First one’s always a bit rough, I’m afraid,” Hob says sympathetically. “Though I can only speak for myself as an omega,” he adds. “Gets easier though, I promise.”

Dream sighs, then nuzzles into Hob’ palm. “I suppose it is a small price to pay to be your mate,” he replies.

“That’s the spirit,” Hob says, before he leans in and places a kiss at the tip of Dream’s nose. “I will say you’re one of the most polite alphas in rut I’ve ever met.”

Dream growls, suddenly jealous at the mention of Hob knowing other alphas. It is unreasonable, illogical even, to expect that his mate not be at the very least casual acquaintances with some. Hob has lived for centuries, has loved others besides Dream even. It does not bother Dream to know these things normally. But there is no logic in ruts or heats, and all Dream can think of, in this moment with his hormones running wild, is to claim.

Hob yelps as Dream pushes him down into the mattress, then grins up at his mate as Dream’s pheromones scream mine mine mine.

“Well, hello there,” Hob purrs when Dream dips his head down and licks along the mating bite he had given his lover just a month earlier. Hob had gone into heat within days of Dream becoming human and their lovemaking had lasted the entire week. Dream feels the same urge now as he did back then, the urge to be one with his mate.

“I’ve got you,” Hob croons. “I’m here, whatever you need, love.”

Love.

Such a simple word, and yet it carried so much weight, so much gravitas between the two of them. Hob loved Dream, had always loved Dream. And now, they had the rest of eternity to love one another back.

#dreamling #the sandman #sandman fanfic #hob x dream #morpheus x hob #seiya writes #seiya drabbles #seiya writes dreamling #I need to update my tags I think lol

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mentallyinvernation · 1 year ago

Note

Courting disaster for the wip game <3

Heya!

Courting Disaster (the title will proooobably change it's just a filler atm) is an Alpha/Beta/Omega, arranged marriage, royalty AU. I blame the entire thing on Queen Charlotte because I watched that and immediately got ✨inspired✨so it very very very loosely follows that.

ANYWAY, a snippet for your time:

“God’s wounds, you could at least pretend to have a good time. It’s supposed to be our wedding day, is it not?” “It is.” “I get it. I’m a troll to you.” Hob mutters. “You’ve made that much perfectly clear.” Dream diligently refrains from rolling his eyes. “I do not believe you to be a troll.” “Then you despise me, correct?” “You are my husband.” Dream replies by way of answering, though his expression remains a practised blank. “Impressive how you made those two things sound synonymous.” A wry smile twists the corner of Dream’s lips. “I do not despise you. I was transported overseas so that I might be here with you. How could I be anything but happy? A crowd of nameless faces cheer for our union. It is their wish to see us dance, so I will dance. It is most unfortunate that my family could not attend on such short notice, and it is unlikely I will see much of them henceforth. But no matter. I consider it a great honour to wed a man I met mere hours ago. A man whom, from the moment I stepped foot inside these walls, I have been poked, prodded, weighed, and assessed to ensure that I am fit to please. So tell me, Your Majesty, do I please you? Have your staff succeeded in presenting me as an adequate mate?” Hob’s mouth hangs open. “Of course, you’re -” “Then the matter is settled.” Dream interrupts, tone sharper than the edge of a steel blade. “I cannot despise you. I do not despise you. You are my husband. We are the Crown. I have been agreeable. It is done.”

As you can see, they're both very happy 🙃🫠

#dreamling #dreamling omegaverse #dream x hob #my writing #tag game #astrophel hireath wips

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theaceace · 2 years ago

Text

Hob is woken, not by the shrill cacophony of his alarm or the sunlight hitting his face where they'd forgotten to pull the curtains last night, or even the warmth of Morpheus' hands and mouth, but by the sudden dip in the mattress as another person flops onto the bed with them.

Several lifetimes' worth of instincts see him jolting awake in an instant, heart racing and sweat already beading on his back and brow. Hob may not be able to die, but he's been ambushed in his sleep more than enough times to be getting on with, ta very much, and he's not keen to do it again. Suddenly he's twenty-five, and exhausted after days of marching on Troyes, feet sore and heart sorer, waiting on a battle that never came. He's twenty-eight, and the knife that flashes in the darkness misses his throat only because Herry has ears like a bat and enough blind-foolish loyalty to leap on their attacker's back. He's seventy-three, and lying barely-conscious among the dead that need burying or burning, and he knows that he needs to rouse himself even with the arrow still in his chest, or he'll be burnt or buried with them. He's two-hundred and sixty-four, and they've come to the home he'd made for his family, to drag him from the bed he had shared with his wife some thirty years before, and haul him away as a witch.

He's gripped now by the same fear, and it has him up and moving, one hand fumbling at the bedside table for anything with enough heft to dent a skull before he realises that none of his attackers have ever smelt like peaches.

Beside him, Morpheus shifts just enough to free his face from the clutches of his pillow.

“That key was given to you for use in emergencies, my sibling,” he says, voice thick with sleep and the cotton pillowcase.

Desire stretches luxuriously between them and smiles, fox-sharp, at Morpheus. They roll their head to look at him – beneath the perfume and sweat and wet pavement smell of them, Hob catches a sour waft of alcohol.

“Oh but my dear brother, this is an emergency,” they say, and – look, Hob has been drunk enough to recognise the exquisitely deliberate care at the edges of their words. He huffs a little, pushes himself up so that he can slap a hand on the bedside lamp and blink furiously against the sudden light. It takes a few seconds for his vision to clear, and he rubs his hands over his face in a vain effort to convince himself that this is some new nightmare that Daniel is testing out, before he gives in to the inevitable and turns to examine their guest.

"And what could possibly be so pressing at –" Morpheus snatches Desire's wrist up to stare blearily at their watch "– two thirty-seven in the morning? That could not be expressed in a phone call or wait until a reasonable hour?"

"Do you know, brother mine, how many partners I found to dance with? Whose desire for me, once so integral as to be a given, I had to simply guess at? To read in the curve of a smile or the enticing lull of a question? I didn't know them, not a one, and can you guess, sweet Dream, how many of them took me to their beds?"

And Hob has heard quite enough of that. He stretches and tosses back the sheets, while Morpheus shoots him a filthy glower that softens immediately into a plea for respite with his sole visible eye. Desire either doesn't notice this silent communication, or doesn't care.

“None!” They crow gleefully, clasping their hands, and Morpheus scowls as he's jostled in place.

It's not that Hob wants to leave him to fend for himself against his sibling, only that he doesn’t fancy being in the firing line when Morpheus inevitably snaps and thumps Desire with a pillow.

Doing an admirable job of ignoring Morpheus' wounded expression, Hob groans and lurches himself in the vague direction of the kitchen. Might as well put the kettle on for this.

"Jasmine or apple tea, love?" He calls. No sense having any caffeine now. If they're lucky, Desire will wear themself out quickly and they'll be able to go back to sleep before the alarm goes off.

"Apple, if you would," Morpheus replies.

"Ooh, I'll have jasmine if you're making."

"Didn't ask you!" Hob shouts back, already adding a spoon of sugar to the third mug he'd fetched down for them.

“Oh, so forceful! You know, if you ever get tired of my stick-in-the-mud brother here…” Desire trails off meaningfully, and Hob snorts, smiling a little to himself. They know full well it's not going to happen, however much or little they remember about his desires, and even if he were – impossibly – to change his mind about Morpheus, they'd get bored of him soon enough.

He sets all three mugs on a tray, and grabs a pack of chocolate digestives while he's at it. Morpheus would never admit to being fond of them, but he doesn't need to. Hob's watched him absent-mindedly devour most of a packet while he pecks one-handed at the keyboard. Besides, Desire could probably do with something to line their stomach.

“Is being human always this delightfully contradictory? So baffling and solid and… damp?” Desire asks, lifting their head just enough to peer at Hob as he re-enters the room. It's a moot question, of course. They've been human long enough now to know that the answer is, largely, yes.

“Often. But do you know, my sibling, the very best part of being human?” Desire turns lazily to look at Morpheus, smiling wide. Their lipstick today is dark purple, and smudged at the corners of their mouth.

“Mm, do tell. You know how much I crave your… wisdom,” they say, rolling the words indulgently over their tongue. Hob sighs and nudges Morpheus’ book to one side so he can set the tray down on the nightstand on his side of the bed.

“It is that it is no longer against the Old Laws for me to do this,” Morpheus says, planting one foot against their side and shoving hard enough that they topple off the bed with an outraged squawk and undignified thump. There's a blessed moment of stillness, the same kind of breathless anticipation that Hob remembers from the battlefield, before the charge and the mud and the pain. Then they pop back up over the side of the bed with a cry and launch themself at Morpheus. He'd be more worried if he couldn’t hear the laughter in their voice, nor see how their outstretched hands target Morpheus’ ribs and armpits, rather than his eyes.

Hob's sisters have been dead for centuries now, but he remembers this well enough. Maybe if the Endless had ever been anything like children, they might have gotten all of the murderous posturing out of the way before they grew up enough for it to be a problem, he muses. Still. Better late than never.

He takes a sip of his own tea and grabs a biscuit. Lord knows he won't get a look in once Morpheus has finished trying to jam his elbow into Desire's stomach and realises they're there.

“It was never against the Old Laws for you to be a bastard, which is lucky because you always were one!” Desire gasps, writhing away from Morpheus’ pointy limbs. Hob's been at the receiving end of those elbows before, and even when Morpheus is being gentle, they're decently sharp. He wonders idly if either of them'll tire of this before their tea goes cold, and decides not to intervene either way. Serve them both right if they have to drink cold tea.

“You tried to kill me!”

“Don't tell me you're still hung up on that?”

“I am, because you tried to kill me!”

“Well it's not like it worked!”

Not really the point, Hob reckons, but then again he's had plenty of mates that have tried to kill him.

“More by good fortune than good judgment,” Morpheus hisses.

“Oh, so you admit to your poor judgment?”

Hob snorts, and the wounded look Morpheus swings towards him would fell a lesser man. Hob takes another biscuit.

“Ha!” Desire takes advantage of his momentary distraction to lock their arms around his shoulders and blow a loud raspberry against his cheek. Hob doesn’t think he's entirely successful in hiding his smile. Morpheus doesn't even try to hide his look of disgust.

Well, he had to learn the downsides of being an older brother at some point, Hob supposes.

Judging that the worst of the scrapping is over, he perches on the edge of the bed and pats Morpheus’ flank idly. Desire, loose-limbed with alcohol and triumph, flops over him to reach for their tea. Morpheus magnanimously doesn't jab his fingers into their exposed side.

“Thank you, Robert darling,” Desire says, eyes half-lidded as they drink. It comes out far less coquettish than Hob imagines they intended; too genuinely content. Morpheus sighs, and frowns, and doesn't quite do a good enough job of hiding his own ease as he sits up and leans against Hob.

“I suppose you intend to stay the night?” Morpheus asks. There's nothing of the dignified dreamlord about him now, with his hair flattened on one side and just a little lank, and pillow creases on his cheek. He peers at Desire, half of his weight still supported by Hob, who takes another slurp of tea and polishes off the last of his biscuit. It's still unbelievable, sometimes, that he may see his dour and distant old stranger like this. Something tangible, something grounded, something he can hold. Unbelievable, too, after the way they had almost parted, after the way Morpheus had almost –

Well. Doesn't bear thinking about, really.

“Mm, yes, if you'll have me.” Do they have to work to make everything they say sound like a double entendre, Hob wonders, or does it come naturally? He's not entirely sure they even notice they're doing it.

“You're always welcome,” Hob says. “Guest room's all made up, and there's a spare toothbrush under the sink you can have.”

“How very kind. Dream, dear, isn't your man kind?”

“Unreasonably so.”

“Ta, love,” Hob says, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. Desire rolls their eyes theatrically, as though that might mask how their expression softens. “Now drink your tea, I'd like to get a few more hours’ sleep before I need to get up.”

Morpheus grumbles but straightens up, plucking his mug from the nightstand and cradling it in one hand while he reaches for a biscuit with the other.

“Should we expect any of our other siblings to join us tonight?” He asks, managing somehow not to spray crumbs everywhere as he does so, which is a bit unfair. Hob has centuries more experience talking through mouthfuls of crumbly biscuits, and he still can't do as good a job of it. “I take it you did not venture out alone this night.”

“No I didn't, but don't worry,” Desire says, tilting their head back as they drain their mug, a neat ring of purple left behind on the ceramic. “My sweet twin is unlikely to make an appearance. I certainly hope, at least – she went home with that little exorcist friend of yours. If she comes here, then something’s gone dreadfully wrong.”

They grin, cat with the cream pleased at the expression on Morpheus’ face, and flick their hand in something like a wave. “Well, goodnight brother! Robert.”

They flounce away towards the spare room, and Hob presses his smile into the curve of Morpheus’ shoulder.

“I hate them,” Morpheus grumbles. Hob kisses the bony jut of skin where his t-shirt has slipped, once, twice.

“No you don't,” he says. Morpheus sighs, sets his mug down, and returns to hold Hob's face still for a proper kiss. Not that Hob would try to get out of it.

“No,” he agrees softly, pulling Hob down with him for a cuddle onto pillows that still smell a little of peaches. “No. I do not.”

#dreamling #dream of the endless #desire of the endless #hob gadling #This was originally going to be part of 'Em's retirement home for wayward Endless'#in which Dream retired and all of the other Endless followed (except destruction who didn't want someone else saddled with the job)#A sort of 5+1 thing with each of the ex-endless siblings interacting with dream and hob #and 1 of the current endless #But unfortunately my brain isn't up to that so you guys get this instead #Anyway I think a lot of problems would have been solved if Dream and Desire had gone through developmental stages like regular siblings #Here we see the 'toddler' phase. Hob is lucky they're not biting each other #Not exactly a writing tag

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