#gabessquishytum

[cuubism]

Morphology | Dreamling | 4.6k words | Explicit | AO3

eldritch Dream, genderfluidity of a kind, lots of smut, nonhuman organs, angst, body dysphoria, undefined body forms and transformation, brief eldritch panic attack, they/them pronouns for Dream

Dream is not meant to stay in one form. But they must, for that is the form that Hob knows. That Hob loves. Or so they think.

this is based on @gabessquishytum and their anon's post located here, about Dream believing Hob won't want him in all his nonhuman shapes, only to discover Hob is very much a monsterfucker... and also loves him very much. I was going to append it to the post but then it got kind of very long. Hope you don't mind me playing around!

---

It was not for dreams to be only one thing.

In the Dreaming, they morphed and shifted, merging from one form to another. Smoke to wind to water, lava to sparks back to stone. In the minds of dreamers they took every unconceivable form, a thousand impossibilities as various as the limbs of Destiny’s forking tree. They were all of unreality. All that could not be, all that was hoped for, fleeting, forgotten, or held, for a time.

In the Waking, it was different. Dreams Dream bent and condensed into a singular form. They he knew well enough from his dreamers that while fluid changeability may be accepted in the illogical narratives of dreams, it was not so in the Waking. To interact with humans, he must appear as one, with the limited mutability that allowed.

Which was not to say that Dream disliked his Waking form. He chose what was pleasing to him. But sometimes it felt… stifling, for one used to being as expansive as the clouds.

Particularly after his imprisonment. Kept like an insect pinned to a board. Immovable. When he was meant to move. When he was Morpheus. Shaper of Forms.

Dream put that away from him.

Hob liked this form of his. Dream had come to understand the way Hob looked on him, and he liked that Hob wanted this form. But. He was not meant to stay in this form. Not always. It was. Chafing. It was. Hurting.

No matter. He could stay in this form that Hob wanted, because more than wanting to break from this skin Dream wanted Hob’s love. And his desire. He wanted to keep Hob’s gentle, heated touch.

This form of lean muscle and sharp bone. This solid body that had endured Roderick Burgess’s prison but also received Hob’s love… he could keep it. Yes. He could. He could.

~~~

I am wind that wishes to storm. Cloud that edges on rain. I am caterpillar’s dream of flight, I am words of disbelieving, I am the hopeful light of new stars, I am— I am water’s dance with the shore, and the sun’s kiss of the moon, and— and— no—

“Yo. Roiling mass of terror that I’m pretty sure is the boss. You good?”

Dream opened their eyes. They did not have eyes, but no matter. Dreams were often about seeing. Matthew was standing on the sand before them, head cocked.

“You alright?” he repeated. “I couldn’t tell if the shrieking was a bad thing or just like. One of your things.”

“One of my things,” Dream repeated.

“Can never know,” said Matthew. He hopped onto an arm that Dream’s form generated just for him to stand on.

“I was not,” said Dream, “shrieking.”

“You were definitely shrieking,” said Matthew. “It sounded like a laundry machine dying.”

Dream grumbled in offense.

Matthew nudged his head against one of Dream’s hands. “Do you… wanna talk about it?”

Dream considered. “Do you often ponder your own physical form, Matthew?”

“Well, since I became a bird,” said Matthew. “Kinda weird. It’s cool, though. Who doesn’t dream of flying, amirite?” He flapped his wings in demonstration, lifting off Dream’s arm, then settling down again.

“And when you were human?” Dream asked.

“Every human thinks about their body, dude.”

“Did you desire to change it?” Dream pressed.

“You mean like a weight loss program?” said Matthew. “Those never work.”

“No,” said Dream. Their form morphed around them, here legs, there tail, wings, teeth. They could not make it settle, not on a human shape or on anything else. They felt— agitated. They should return to their usual human form. Should. “That is not what I meant.”

“Ohhhhhh,” said Matthew, and smacked his face with his wing in realization. “It’s this whole deal. Well, you could change it if you want? I mean. You’re doing it.”

“I did not mean to,” said Dream, their form still writhing around them, never landing on any one shape. “I—” they were meant to go see Hob. They had been cloaked properly in their usual shape. And. Something had snapped.

They remembered, now, falling to their knees on the sand, the careful construct of their human self, a body once worn easily as one of many, shattering into a million shards.

They should. Change. They should change back. They wished to see Hob, and Hob, for all his adaptability, was only human, he would not be able to tolerate this, this thing that could not even give itself a face, or decide what it was, this thing that found physical stasis anathema after so long pressed in glass. Hob cared for the being that he knew. Not this one that, Dream thought, sometimes did not even know itself.

“Whatever you’re doing, I think you should probably stop,” Matthew warned.

“You dare to question me?” Dream bit. He was condensing back down under his human mask, he could do it, he could. He had loved this form once. Could again. As one of many.

Matthew nipped at his hand with his beak. And it was only this that made Dream realize he was clawing at his face so hard he was bleeding starlight.

Solidity spiraled away from Dream again, and they let out a hard breath. It was useless. Whatever meager control they had maintained since their escape was slipping from them. It was pointless to pretend otherwise any longer. Or to pretend that they could truly offer Hob the form he was accustomed to.

“Matthew,” Dream said, and Matthew hopped to attention. “I have some business I must attend to. Please leave me now.”

“Are you sure—?”

Dream waved a hand and sent him back to the palace.

If it was impossible for them to consistently return to their prior state, then at least they should be done with it now. Show Hob what he was truly dealing with. That Dream was not what he thought. Or wanted. Then, at least, they would spare themselves any greater heartbreak.

Wrapping the barest trappings of their usual form around them like an ill-fitting coat, Dream stepped into the Waking.

~~~

Dream emerged directly onto Hob’s bed as a formless shadow. It felt good, to be formless. Normally, they did like to take a form, but to choose recently had been taxing.

Hob was awake and reading. Dream had been meant to come for dinner, and was late. When Dream appeared in a sudden fall of darkness, Hob shrieked and flung his book at them on instinct. It simply passed through Dream with no effect.

“Dream?” said Hob, gasping, the spike in his adrenaline clear. “Is that you, love? Somehow? Or am I about to get eaten?”

Those do not preclude each other, Dream said. Though as they were still a shadow, their voice was more a low rumbling vibration than a true voice.

“Not sure how I understood that,” said Hob. He tilted his head, trying to make out features in the darkness but not, Dream thought, managing it. “Always kind of knew you were more than you seemed,” he added. “Didn’t quite picture this, though.”

It is but one form I am capable of holding, Dream said. Strictly speaking, it was not quite a form at all. As they said it, they shifted, unconsciously, until they were the beam of lamplight caressing Hob’s face—Hob’s hand chased them across his own cheek—and then the lulling hum of traffic, comforting night sounds. Hob kept reaching for them, not quite knowing where he was reaching. And Dream slipped into his daydreams, his vision for what Dream’s many forms might be.

Hob’s daydreams were a comfortable place to land. Warm. Welcoming. And when Dream emerged, they were a thing of Hob’s imagining, something dark and shadowed and multi-faceted but ultimately. Touchable.

That was what Hob desired of them?

“Okay,” said Hob, “what actually is going on here? Are you okay?”

Dream did not reply, stuck on Hob’s daydreams. He did not wish for Dream to force themselves back into their usual form. He merely molded what Dream brought him into a form that was comprehensible to him.

Relief crashed over Dream, magnitudes greater than the dread they had refused to acknowledge. They knew, now, that they had truly expected this to be the end. To scare Hob off. But Hob did not seem to be scared.

“Dream?” Hob reached a careful hand toward them. He pet down Dream’s flank. Fur that was soft because he was touching it. He huffed an incredulous laugh. “Wow. It really is… you.”

“In some fashion,” said Dream.

“In some fashion,” Hob repeated. “In what fashion, exactly?”

Instead of answering, Dream butted their head into Hob’s shoulder. Following the relief of his touch, so much softer and more detailed, now that they did not have the barrier of a stifling form in the way.

“Darling,” Hob said, petting Dream’s hair, “need words.”

“No,” Dream mumbled petulantly. And Hob allowed them their petulance. Dream let out a long breath. It blew warm over Hob’s throat, and Dream felt him shiver. They trailed fingertips up Hob’s ribcage, along bare skin, feeling the stacked solidity of his bones. Hob shivered again.

“It’s like that, is it?” he said.

Dream shifted closer, half slither, half crawl, until their form, incomprehensible even to themselves, was draped over Hob’s lap. Bliss, there, the warmth of him. “You are not repelled?”

“By the ten arms? I think I can cope.” He pressed his lips in close to Dream’s ear. “In fact. I had a dream about this the other night. Well.” He laughed. “I guess I’m having a Dream about it now, eh?”

“Did you?” said Dream, ears pricking up. Had their… moods slipped into Hob’s dreams?

“Can’t remember the details,” Hob said. “But I remember how it felt.” He trailed fingertips up the bony knobs of Dream’s spine. Unlike Dream at the moment, Hob only had two arms, but Dream felt every press of his fingers acutely.

“How did it feel?” they whispered.

“Like,” Hob murmured, lips to Dream’s jaw now, “you were everywhere. Like I got into your body and made love to you from the inside out.”

The thought made all of the strange and varied nerves of Dream’s shifting body stand on end. They wrapped legs around Hob’s waist, arms around his shoulders. Scraped sharp teeth over his pulse. “Really?”

Hob laughed. “Interested now, are you?”

“Yes,” Dream rumbled, their form flickering in excitement, to shadow then a falling rainbow of light, to a mass of vines that wound all around Hob’s body, and then into roots, as if they could grow into Hob, then branching veins pulsing and racing with Hob’s heartbeat, then back to a morass of half-body, half-shadow, because yes, they wanted to be held by Hob, they must remember that.

Hob was still for several moments, then laughed incredulously. “Okay. You’re so cool. I don’t know what to do with any of that, so I’m going to have to wing it.”

He traced a hand along the soft feathers of a wing that had grown with his words. Dream shuddered. A sensitive part of the body, indeed.

“You’re gorgeous,” Hob murmured. “My strange creature.”

Dream purred in pleasure, wrapping their wings around Hob’s back, mouth catching on the edge of his jaw, and, incredibly, felt Hob growing hard under them, as he would if Dream lounged in his lap and mouthed at his jaw as a human.

“You like this,” Dream said, unable to keep the surprise from their voice.

Hob chuckled. “Didn’t you know I fell for you the second I saw the spark of the otherworldly in your eyes? Just didn’t know the whole of what I was looking at. Not then.”

The spark of the otherworldly. “You are in love with dreams.”

“Figured it out by now, yeah.”

“You are. In love. With this,” Dream said, voice echoing from more than one throat, choked up.

“With this? You mean with you?”

“I do not know quite what I am, now,” Dream admitted.

“Well,” said Hob, slipping a hand between them. Dream gasped in pleasure, wings fluttering involuntarily. “You want to find out?”

Squirming against his hand, Dream said, “Do you even know what it is you are touching?”

“Haven’t a clue,” Hob said cheerfully. “Made you go all shivery, though.”

It had. It was. Dream writhed in his lap as Hob experimented, moaned in startled pleasure, toes curling. Body shifting to hurtle towards that arousal. Hob startled as his hand was suddenly enveloped in heat, something he could press into, and Dream whined, so full all at once with no prelude, body twisting out of control without their explicit direction. But it was good.

Hob gripped them by one wing—these had stayed even as Dream’s form continued to spin—and Dream quivered as Hob pulled them closer, pressing his hand deeper into slick heat. He was grinning against Dream’s throat, scraped light teeth over his pulse, sucked a bruise there. Dream’s form rode the wave of his daydreams, provided a wet mouth for him to bite and kiss as soon as he thought of it. Dream tangled long fingers in his hair, claws digging in.

“Can I fuck you like this?” Hob breathed against his lips.

“If you can cope with me changing on you,” Dream said. “I am not. Entirely in control. At the moment.”

A shameful admission, but Hob groaned as if it was the hottest thing he could think of. “I get to have you multiple ways at once? Oh, how will I manage?”

Dream laughed. It may have been a bit teary. Their many hearts were racing, lungs stuttering for air. Wings shivered, feathers fluttering. A long, furred tail wound its way up Hob’s back to wrap lightly around his throat, possessive. Dream would not let this man go now. Could not.

“Budge up, let’s see what we’re dealing with,” Hob said, probing deeper under Dream’s form with his hand, the other still firm on Dream’s wing, which he seemed to have understood was very sensitive, and intended to press that advantage as much as he could.

The touch of Hob’s hand, in Dream, on them, around them, was bliss. Dream wished to be full of him again. To, as Hob had dreamt, be made love to from the inside out.

Riding that hope, their body shaped another hole for his questing fingers. Hob obligingly pressed his fingers in, but said, “Regrettably, darling, I’ve only got one cock, and I had other plans for my hands.”

“Regrettable, indeed,” said Dream, and Hob laughed. Then, “Plans?”

“Oh, yes. I expect some other interesting things may crop up, eh? Need hands free.” He leaned in close to Dream’s ear, which flicked toward him to listen. “I’m going to find every erogenous zone on this body and make it scream.”

Goosebumps broke out all over Dream’s body. They clung to Hob with every limb they could find. Hob grinned wickedly at this reaction. It was a look Dream knew well, one that always boded very well for them indeed.

Hob worked Dream open on two fingers—though he need not, Dream was already wet and gaping for him—then maneuvered his sleep shorts off, took his cock in hand and stroked it twice, hand slick with Dream’s fluids. Then he lifted Dream bodily and sank them back down on his cock.

Dream whined, careening up several registers, as they were filled so suddenly, as they took Hob to the base. Hob groaned at the feeling of their body. Dream tried to adjust to him but couldn’t, Hob’s cock pressed on sensitive spots deep within them, and any time they thought they’d gotten used to the feeling their body produced a new place to torment.

They clawed at Hob’s back, leaving red lines with sharp fingers. Hob gave an experimental thrust, shifting Dream in his lap, and Dream bit down on a scream as their body lit up, chasing the feeling, loving it, magnitudes more affected than in their usual, limited form.

“Wow,” Hob said, fond laughter in his voice, and heat too, as Dream panted wetly in his ear, “this is going to be fun. Have you been all worked up, my darling? Just needed someone to give you what you really need?”

“Needed you,” Dream murmured. They clenched around Hob, tried to steady themselves, but it only made things worse. Everywhere deep inside them was searing flame, their skin-feathers-fur prickly with static, they feared and needed Hob’s touch in equal measure. To soothe. To set alight.

Hob slipped a hand into the other space Dream had left to tempt him, probing deep. Dream bit down on his ear, drawing spots of blood. Hob drew his hand back, met one of Dream’s many eyes. Licked Dream’s fluids from his hand.

Dream lunged forward to kiss him, whimpering into Hob’s mouth as that drove them impossibly deeper onto Hob’s cock. Hob pulled them close, kissed them hard, caught a fistful of Dream’s hair and pulled. Dream’s body decided that it liked that very much, indeed. They whined at the grip, clawing at Hob’s skin with many hands.

Hob brought them close with a firm hand, bounced Dream in his lap, moving them on and off his cock. Dream wailed, overstimulated by all the angles of his touch, torn between pulling away and diving closer as Hob swept his tongue into their mouth, over sharp teeth and soft palate.

“There’s a love,” Hob breathed. “Does that feel good, darling?”

Dream couldn’t offer a reply, and Hob didn’t wait for one. He dug his fingers into the tight feathering of Dream’s wing and tugged. Dream shrieked, wings flapping wildly, sets of them bursting along their back, more, more, less, more. Hob didn’t let up, stroking his fingers through the feathers, dragging over soft skin, sucking on Dream’s throat all the while.

Dream saw white, their body seized up, and the nebulous hole Hob was using to fuck them morphed into a mouth.

Hob yelped to suddenly feel his cock grazing over shielded teeth. Then he laughed. “Don’t you dare bite my dick off, you menace. It’s horrible to regrow it.”

Dream would have asked how he knew that, except Hob’s cock was down their throat. They choked, swallowing around him. Dream did not need to breathe, and so the pressure was exquisite. Their long tongue wrapped around Hob to the base, caressed his balls. Explored further, along his perineum, to probe at his entrance, and then press in.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck—” Hob’s voice was a strangled shout. “Dream what the actual fuck are you doing?” It didn’t sound like a complaint.

I am fucking you with my tongue, Dream said, a hum directly from their form to Hob’s.

“I can bloody well tell, Jesus Mary and—”

Dream purred and rumbled in pleasure, the satisfaction of taking and being taken at once, of being inside their beloved and having Hob inside them in turn. As Hob had dreamt.

Hob’s fingers pressed into Dream. Dream’s form gave and made places for him to press into. Hob’s fingers tickled deep within them, starlight and heat tracking their path. Dream swirled in an indefinite vortex of shape, a hundred things at once, their body prickling all over with the pleasure of Hob’s touch.

Hob twisted against them, clenching down on their tongue, shouted “Dream!” and came down Dream’s throat. Dream swallowed him down in pleasure, retracted their tongue from Hob’s body, eliciting a long moan. They let Hob pull out, and licked the final taste of Hob from their lips before letting that mouth disappear into their form, the traces of Hob consumed.

And then Hob flipped them, somehow manhandled Dream’s indefinite form down to the mattress, pressed down immovably on legs and arms and wings so that the softest parts of Dream’s body were bared to him. Dream reached for him, always they reached for him, cock hard and straining, cunt aching, the slashes of their being weeping for Hob to come inside. Always weeping. They cried out, every inch of them trembling for Hob’s touch.

“You gorgeous nightmare,” Hob said. “You brilliant daydream. Oh, my darling, I love you so much. I’d do anything for you. Anything. But mostly I want to do this.”

He pressed his mouth to where Dream’s body strained for him.

Hob had a very talented and generous mouth, which Dream had blessedly been on the receiving end of many times. This was different: Dream’s form echoed out Hob’s touch, replicated it a hundred times over so every crevice of their body could feel the flat swipe of his tongue, how he drank Dream’s fluids down, the drag of his stubble over lips and folds and the soft skin of thighs. Dream’s many limbs trembled, bent, reformed themselves in ecstasy, they dragged at Hob’s hair, pressing his face deeper so Dream could grind against him, which only made Hob grin.

Hob pressed two fingers into Dream’s mouth and Dream greedily sucked on them, grounding themselves. Taking Hob in more than one way at once… yes. That was what they wanted. They closed their many eyes and gave themselves over to sensation. Hob’s mouth and tongue, the taste of him, the weight of his body as he bent Dream on the bed, his scent, musk and the woodsmoke that seemed to cling to him all these years later—or perhaps that was only in dreams.

They were a dream of completion. They were a dream of ecstasy. Of flight. Hob’s hand tangled in their fragile feathers. Hob’s mouth and fingers inside them. Then Hob plunged three fingers hard, deep within them, as he sucked on Dream’s clit, and with a piercing noise like glass shattering Dream came.

They were. Fragments. The individual colors splayed wide by a prism. Red, yellow, blue. Hob’s fingers trailed through them, blending the colors like paint in water. For several moments Dream drifted, more thought than being. Distantly aware of Hob’s weight on them. It felt… like kindness. Then they floated back to the present, light as the first flight of unfurled moth wings.

Hob was lying on them, looking at them, head tilted. A twinkle in his eyes. He skated his hands up Dream’s sides. Flowers bloomed in the wake of his touch, their soft petals shivering with sensitivity. Hob plucked one of the flower buds and, holding Dream’s gaze, ate it. Swallowed it. Dream watched the movement of his throat.

Inside out, he thought.

“Broke you into pieces,” Hob said then, with satisfaction. “Think I might have seen God for a sec there. Can do better, though.”

“Better?” Dream echoed, voice hoarse. Their form shifted, still, but slowly, languidly. No longer restless. A dark wing draped over Hob’s back. A tail played with his hair. He didn’t seem to mind.

“There’s so much we can do with this,” he said. He gazed at Dream, fond, terribly knowing. “Only getting started, love. I love—” he kissed Dream’s belly, a light, ghosting touch, and tickled Dream’s side with his fingertips— “how sensitive you are like this.”

“I—” Dream started. Absent the writhing need, now they just felt… stripped. Vulnerable. “I expected that you would. Not. Like this. It is not. Human.”

“Neither are you,” Hob pointed out.

“I appear so,” Dream said.

Hob snorted. “No, you don’t.”

Dream stared at him, unable to decide whether or not to be offended.

“I wear the guise of a human,” they insisted, and, to prove it, morphed back into the form that Hob would know as his lover. It was an easier coat to wear, now that they knew they could take it off.

“No, keep the wings,” Hob complained. “Those are cool.”

Dream obligingly returned wings to their form.

“I appear human, to you,” they insisted again.

“Dream, I say this with all the love in my heart, which is quite a lot because I do. Love you.” He leaned on his hand, looking at Dream with sparkling eyes. “You look about as human as a kid wearing a bedsheet looks like a ghost.”

Dream stared at him, mouth agape.

“Don’t worry, it’s a gorgeous costume,” Hob said. “Love it. Really, really do. But I could always tell that wasn’t the whole truth of the matter. Especially once I got close.” With this, he winked.

“A part of me is human,” Dream said. Had Hob truly always seen through them? Paid so close attention as to perceive the translucence of the mask? “For I am the dreams of humanity.”

“And a part of you isn’t,” said Hob. “For—” he mimicked the cadence of Dream’s speech, though not in a mocking way— “you are also the dreams of birds, and shadows, and stars.”

Dream nodded. “These and more.”

“Brilliant,” said Hob.

Brilliant, Dream thought.

Then Hob tilted his head, thinking back. “You expected me not to like that?”

“Recently,” said Dream slowly, “I found I could not maintain this form without pain. And so my hand was forced.” It hurt still, to think of. “I had no choice but to make my true form—or rather, my true formlessness—known to you if I wished to be here at all.”

Hob pushed himself up from where he was lying on Dream’s chest, and instead straddled his hips so he could take Dream’s face between his hands. “It hurts?” he demanded.

“At times,” said Dream. “More so. Since.” They didn’t finish the sentence.

“Why are you doing it now, then?”

“It does not hurt so much now,” Dream said. “It is simply that when I stay static, it begins to. Ache.”

“Ache,” Hob repeated, looking stricken. “Dream, if it hurts, then change back. Be a chimera or whatever the hell you were doing before.”

“That is how you interpreted it?”

“To be honest, I don’t think my brain was really interpreting it at all. You were just kind of… everything.” He stroked a fingertip along the fine bone of Dream’s wing, which was folded against their back now. “Did like the wings, though.”

“I’d noticed that.”

“Cheeky.” Hob shook himself. “Getting distracted. The point is, don’t hurt yourself. I don’t want to see you hurt yourself.” He tipped his head against Dream’s, lips to their skin. “Much rather see you how were today.”

“How?”

“Letting go. Enjoying yourself.” He smirked, Dream felt it against their temple. “Making all kind of lovely noises. Squealing. Shrieking—”

“I was not shrieking.”

“You were shrieking.”

Hob tickled his fingers through Dream’s feathers, and Dream made an embarrassing squeak. They smacked Hob in the face with that wing, and Hob burst out laughing, even though he had to pull a feather out of his teeth.

“I love you,” he said. “Don’t hurt yourself. Be... the indefinably strange creature that you are. And just trust me to keep up.”

Hob kissed them lightly on the lips. Dream leaned into him, made still for a moment by the depth of Hob’s care for them, how Hob caught all of their longing and swallowed it, kept it warm. How he loved Dream. And dreams.

Hob drew them both down to the bed, and the covers over them, and Dream let their other forms creep out, hesitant, but hungry for Hob’s affection. And a creature that was the sky’s dream of nightfall and the poetry of rain upon a still lake, that was the individual patterns of snowflakes and the sculptures built of their drifts, that was ambitious owl and frightened vole, quiet soil and its thoughtful worms, shape and narrative and human, too, of course, laid down its many heads, and curled its much-loved wings over its lover, and rested in his dreams.

#i wrote this so fast in truly a fit of insanity... hope it's hot and not just weird! it's definitely weird though #dreamling #hob gadling #dream of the endless #nsft #my writing #gabessquishytum #eldritch smut

[arialerendeair]

Happy birthday beloved friend!!! Hope you have a happy and magical day. I wonder if I'm being too predictable by asking this, but I'd LOVE to read more of your musclechub!Hob. Either in the "Well Matched" universe of something completely different!!!

Love you heaps! ❤❤❤❤❤❤❤

IT MAY NO LONGER BE MY BIRTHDAY, BUT MUSCLECHUB!HOB IS FOREVER. And you might be a little bit predictable but I love you for it.

Well, I wasn't originally going to do the Well Matched universe, but then I re-read the fic, so of course that's what I had to write!

~!~!~!~!~

The last vestiges of his heat were finally starting to fade, and Dream could feel how wonderfully sore his body was, despite the two baths Hob had given him, and the shower that he had just finished taking, and he stretched, luxuriating in it. The mirror was finally starting to clear, and Dream could see the raised mark on his neck, where Hob's teeth had sunk into him two nights prior when his heat had started. He purred softly, reaching up to stroke over it. As it healed, it would scar over, and everyone would know that he was loved, that he was claimed, and even his family would not be able to dispute the fact that he and Hob were True Mates.

"Dream, you all right?" Hob called, poking his head into the bathroom, smiling at the sight of Dream, naked and marked and HIS, his pleased and happy scent something that he could spend hours drowning in. "Everything okay love?"

Hob had only bothered to put the skimpiest pair of shorts on, and Dream licked his lips with a growl as he turned to look at his mate. His heat was starting to fade, but the intoxicating knowledge that Hob was HIS, was always going to be HIS never failed to arouse him, so he could bury himself in Hob again and again, and his mate would welcome him with open arms. "Better now that you are here."

Hob stepped into the bathroom and reached out to wrap an arm around his waist squeezing him and pulling him in close. He nuzzled into Dream's neck and pressed a kiss to his mating mark. When Dream turned to press up against him, Hob enveloped Dream in both of his arms and nuzzled into his hair. "Mmm, my mate. You smell like mine."

"Yes," Dream agreed, his fingers digging into Hob's sides, the strength of his arms, the warmth of his skin, and the hair on his chest and belly were enough to have his body clenching with want all over again. "Yours. Always." It was an easy and ready promise to make. The past two months had been a non-stop haze of pleasure that he wanted nothing more than to continue to sink into until his whole body was surrounded by Hob.

"Mmm, you want me again?" Hob asked, his voice teasing. "My insatiable mate."

Dream growled and slid his hands up and over Hob's belly, scraping his nails along the hair there, nuzzling down and into Hob's chest, the faint scratch of his chest hair. "I want you always. I would glut myself on the glory that is your body again and again until there is nothing left in me. Until you are consumed by my scent, until everyone knows you are mine." With a shove, he pushed Hob back into the bedroom, any thought of clothes, or managing to go outside gone as he pulled down the offending shorts keeping him from Hob's bare skin.

Hob groaned and followed Dream's insistent pushing, until he was bouncing on the bed, with his mate crawling eagerly on top of him. "Going to ride me again? Or do you want something else?" He grinned at Dream knowingly and grabbed his hips, tugging at Dream until his mate was straddling his waist, slick and hard for him. "Want something?"

Dream rocked himself along the curve of Hob's belly, the rough texture of hair enough to have him shuddering and leaking steadily as he made a mess of Hob. He wanted Hob in him, but he also wanted him just like this, and the conflicting desire to have everything had him whining, because he NEEDED and wanted all of it. When a finger slid into him, deep and searching, he arched and shouted, because, yes, between that, and Hob's body between his trembling thighs was perfect, was everything he wanted.

"That's it, beautiful, that's it. Mark me up, drench me in your scent, make sure everyone knows I am yours and only yours," Hob ordered, slipping a second finger into Dream, through the slick trailing down his thighs. It took Dream no time at all, but soon he was coming, shouting as he arched and his legs clenched down tight around his hips, until he trembled and collapsed on top of him. Hob laughed and reached out to comb his fingers through Dream's hair as he slipped his fingers out of his mate.

"S'good," Dream slurred and pressed his nose to the mark he'd left on Hob's neck. "So good." He rolled his hips lazily, dragging his soft cock through the mess. "Going to make a mess of you so I can wash you off later."

Hob laughed and squeezed Dream. "Sounds great love. Maybe if you feel up to it, you can put me on my knees and fuck me later. Maybe after I've fucked you, knotted you, and plugged you up."

Dream moaned. "Horrible influence."

#Aria Posts #Gabessquishytum #Dreamling #Birthday Asks #Musclechub!Hob

[amielot]

Centaur!Dream with a long pretty mane.

I think @gabessquishytum talked abt centaurs at one point and I was like hng yeaaaaaahhhh centaurs SHOULD be a thing. In whatever iteration.

#the sandman #dream of the endless #centaur!dream #centaurs #very mildly inspired by gabessquishytum's post #the art tag #centaur au

[mallory-x]

Prof Dream dubcon for the wip game? 👉👈

This one was also popular, as @kydrogendragon and @seiya-starsniper wanted to hear about it as well!

It’s appropriate that you asked about it, Gabe, since it’s inspired by this one of your asks! It’s the first scene of the scenario, where history student Hob discovers that his hot professor knows all about his camboy side-gig. I’m calling Dream 'Professor Endels' in this, mainly due to a typo that I liked so I stuck with it 😂

CW age difference, professor/student, blackmail, dubcon and NSFW under the cut.

“Sit,” says Professor Endels, gesturing to the chair opposite. Hob sits, dropping his messenger bag to the floor and folding his hands in his lap. He rubs his thumb over his knuckles, the repetitive action soothing him as he waits for Prof Endels to explain the reason for the meeting. The professor leaves him sitting there for what feels like an age, the silence of the room oppressive as Hob tries not to let his eyes wander over the crammed bookshelves littered with artefacts from across Europe in both time and distance. He starts slightly when Prof Endels speaks.  “I believe you have applied to study for a teaching qualification once you graduate,” he begins. “That’s right, sir.” Most of Hob’s lecturers prefer the students to refer to them by their first names, but although Professor Endels hasn’t specifically said so, Hob struggles to think of him by anything other than a formal title. “I put you down as a referee, since you’re my personal tutor. I hope that’s ok?” Professor Endels finally looks up from his laptop, steely blue eyes stripping Hob’s confidence from him and leaving him bare and vulnerable. He folds his hands neatly on the desk. “You think I can recommend one such as you for a job working with impressionable young minds? After what you’ve done?” His eyebrows are raised, effortlessly expressing his incredulity and disdain for Hob’s ambitions. Hob’s stomach sinks, weighed down by the cold stone of dread and disbelief that’s appeared at Professor Endels’ icy words. His mouth gapes open as he mentally scrabbles for words to refute whatever it is that he’s being accused of. Did he accidentally plagiarise his most recent assignment? Did he get filmed doing that impression of Prof Endels when he got drunk last week? Did Professor Endels find out about… No. No. He can’t have. Hob has been so careful. He knows he was risking everything, but he was desperate and he needed the money… His thoughts are cut off when Professor Endels turns the laptop around to face him, and presses play on the video on screen. He’s turned the volume back up, so Hob can clearly hear the whines and moans the image of him on screen is making as he works a fat dildo into his arse. He was on his hands and knees on the bed, arranged so his face isn’t visible in the footage, but from the twist of his torso it was clear that he’d turned his head to look over his shoulder and read the comments appearing in the chat.  It was unmistakably Hob’s voice reading some of the comments aloud - “Oh you like that, @BigBoy_69? Well since you tipped so nicely, of course you can have a closeup of my slutty little hole.” There’s a rustling noise as Hob moves backwards on the bed towards the webcam—the picture blurs, then refocuses on the dildo sliding lewdly in and out, lube smeared liberally between his arse cheeks. Hob continues reading. “Looks like @Daddy-loves-sluts wants me on my back - and since you’re paying for it, of course I’ll do whatever you want.” The Hob in the video turns over obligingly, face still out of view, but spreading his legs and stroking his cock lazily. “Is this what you wanted, @Daddy-loves-sluts?” His voice hitches as his other hand presses the dildo deeper inside. “Are you going to let me cum for you? Have I been a good boy?” Professor Endels taps the keyboard and the image freezes, leaving Hob red-faced, not knowing where to look. His tutor stares impassively at him while on the screen, pre-cum glistens as it hangs in the air mid-way between the tip of Hob’s cock and his stomach. Hob opens his mouth but his conflicting thoughts jostle for position in his brain and he can’t bring himself to speak.

#wip ask game #nsft #cw age difference #cw professor/student #cw dubcon #cw blackmail #dreamling #dream of the endless #morpheus #hob gadling #the sandman #gabessquishytum is her own warning #mallory's miscellany

[gabessquishytum]

your username is gabessquishytum. but who is gabe?

Gabe is Gabriel from Supernatural 😂😂 I picked the name in 2016 and have never changed it. It's who I am now! I know some people think of me as Gabe now, and I'm totally cool with that 🥰

#gabessquishytum: origins

[purplesauris]

Trying to make an outline for the last few chapters of fishbowlmates AU and I just. why am I like this

#my writing #fishbowlmates au #i should probably make a tag for it huh #also gabessquishytum this is entirely your fault #well you and your anons that is #dreamling

[eldritchdemonfox]

The fact that I got tagged in a wip tag thread that included some of my most favourite sandman writers on ao3 is wild. Like, I know they’ll probably never notice me, but someone they DID notice noticed me. :)))

#fox’s rambles #the sandman #im talking softestpunk tj dragonblade gabessquishytum etc

[five-and-dimes]

As You Always Were

A very silly fic based on a convo I had with @gabessquishytum about Dream being an idiot but in a gender affirming way lol

Read on AO3

~~~~~~~~~

Hob felt like a teenager in a lifetime movie, but he was choosing to lean into it.

Gripping the bathroom sink with both hands, he stared himself down in the mirror. “You can do this,” he said to his reflection, “You deserve to live your truth. You love yourself. Even if things don’t go the way you want, you’ll survive it. You’re sexy and you know it.”

Nodding to himself, he turned away from the mirror and began pacing his flat, looking for anything left to clean or organize.

He was going to come out to his boyfriend today.

It had been two months since he and Dream became official. They had known each other in some capacity for much longer. They shared a lot of mutual friends, but for a long time Dream didn’t tend to join large group get-togethers, so Hob only saw him occasionally. Then this past semester they had both ended up in a class together for the first time. Despite studying vastly different subjects, this particular course was required and both had managed to miss it when they were underclassmen. And now, as they entered their final year of university, they both needed to complete it in order to graduate. Drawn to any remotely familiar face, they had sat together, and then started talking more, and then slowly fallen for each other.

The past months had been amazing, full of sweet dates and kisses and hand holding and Dream being nothing but understanding when Hob hesitated to go any farther. But Hob wanted to go farther, had been burning out of his skin with the need to touch every part of Dream and be touched in return.

He just… needed to let Dream know what to expect when he took his clothes off.

Stalking through the living room, he moved the books on his coffee table this way and that, as if it would make any sort of difference. It’s not like it was the first time Hob had let someone know he was a trans man. He’s had plenty of experience sharing that part of his life, with family, and friends, and hookups. It’s gone good, and bad, and all the levels in between.

So why was he so nervous about telling Dream?

He was being ridiculous. It’s not like he was worried about Dream hurting him or anything…

Groaning, he put his head in his hands and allowed himself to turn and flop face-down onto the couch. What a world he lived in, where he consciously felt grateful to not worry about being murdered. Sometimes he hated everything. 

With a sigh, he pushed himself up, shaking his head and aggressively re-fluffing the pillows he had flattened with his brief pessimism. He wasn’t going to think about the world right now. This was just about him and Dream and their relationship. And, optimism aside- even just being logical and realistic in a way he so rarely was- he didn’t think things would go badly, per say. Dream was gay, and had always been an open supporter and ally for the trans community. Worst case scenario, even if Dream decided he didn’t want to date someone with Hob’s body, he was certain they could remain friends.

Turning on his heel, Hob speed walked to the kitchen and began wiping down the counters for the third time.

Could they stay friends? He wanted to say yes, to say they could move on from this little bump in the road, but the truth was, even after such a short amount of time, if they broke up Hob would be heartbroken. He had fallen hard for Dream… could he really go back to being friends with him after knowing what it was like to kiss him and hold him? What if it was too much, hurt too badly to take that step back, and then he lost not only his boyfriend, but his best friend? And their lives were so entwined, they shared much of the same friend group, would he lose them, too? Choosing Dream over him because Hob was clearly the one being ridiculous and overemotional? 

Catastrophizing, a voice that sounded suspiciously like his therapist rang in his head.

He nearly jumps out of his skin at the tentative knock on his door, glancing at the clock to see that, yes, he has spent the entire morning worrying and fussing and it is in fact the time he asked Dream to come over. 

Hob honest to God straightens his shirt. As though that will help.

What does help is opening the door and seeing the subtle way Dream brightens. No matter how stoic he tries to be, Dream has always been terrible at hiding how very fond he is of Hob, something Hob is eternally grateful for. It’s nice to have the reassurance. Especially now.

“Hello Hob,” he smiles, giving him a quick peck as Hob gestures for him to enter. He takes two steps inside before halting, raising an eyebrow as he glances around Hob’s impeccable flat. He’s been here before, he knows this isn’t the usual state of things. “It seems you were productive today.”

Hob laughed nervously, which only made Dream turn his gaze to look at him curiously, “Ah, yeah, you know, the motivation just sort of hit, haha.”

Dream frowned slightly, “Are you alright?”

Nodding rapidly, Hob starts herding Dream into the living room, “Yeah, absolutely, I just-” Dream allows him to gently push him to sit on the couch, “I mean, I am fine, there’s just something I wanted to talk to you about,” he paces in front of Dream for a moment as his boyfriend’s head moves to follow him silently, “And it’s nothing bad. Or, or at least I don’t think it is. It just… it just is, y’know?” 

He turns back to look at Dream and finds him staring, blinking slowly in carefully reigned in confusion, “No. I don’t know. What’s going on?”

Hob released a shuddering breath, dropping down to sit a respectable distance away from Dream on the couch. “Okay, I…” Hob wrung his hands together, “I had a whole speech planned, but I didn’t write it down and now I can’t remember any of my talking points, so I… I’m just gonna say it.”

Dream nodded, brow furrowed in concern as Hob closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“I’m transgender.”

Even just saying the words made his chest feel lighter. It was out in the open now. Whatever happened, happened. 

And what happened was Dream reaching out to gently cover his tense hands with one of his own.

“Thank you for telling me.”

Opening his eyes, Hob looked over, and his breath caught in his chest at the soft smile Dream was giving him, the one he only showed Hob, “I know that must have been hard,” Dream continued, running his thumb over Hob’s knuckles, “thank you for trusting me with that.”

“So,” Hob’s voice was breathless, a smile slowly creeping onto his face, “So you’re okay with it?”

“Of course!” Dream took both of Hob’s hands into his, eyes wide and anxious in a way Hob had come to recognize meant he was afraid of being misunderstood, “Of course I’m okay with it! I’m sorry if I ever made you think I wouldn’t be. I l-...” He swallowed thickly, “I care about you so much, Hob. This doesn’t change that at all.”

Hob couldn’t help the warmth that spread through him at the cut off confession. Dream had warned him of his struggles with love, especially with “falling too fast”. Despite Hob reassuring him that Hob also had a history of falling far faster than some would deem reasonable, Dream still tiptoed around it, always wary of scaring Hob off. So it meant something that he had come so close to slipping.

“I care about you, too,” Hob leaned forward to press his forehead against Dream’s shoulder, letting out a relieved laugh, “God, I was so nervous!”

Dream pet his hair, “Understandable. I know it’s a big deal. But I promise you have nothing to worry about.”

For a few minutes they stay pressed together, Dream a comforting presence as Hob let the adrenaline bleed from him. When he finally pulled back, they smiled at each other. Before he had a chance to lean in to kiss him, Dream spoke again.

“So,” he tilted his head questioningly, “should I use she/her pronouns from now on?”

Hob could feel the record scratch in his brain. 

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Shook his head, “What?”

Dream frowned, “I just meant in private. I wouldn’t change pronouns in public if you’re not ready for that. I’d never want to out you. Although I’d be more than happy to support you whenever you want to begin social transitioning.”

“Transitioning?” Hob was still waiting for his brain to restart. He felt like he was in the twilight zone. Dream was smart, Dream was studying astrophysics, there was simply no way-

“I’m sorry,” Dream bit his lip nervously, “I don’t mean to make assumptions. I just want to make sure that when we’re together I refer to you as you want. Would you prefer they/them? She/they?”

“What? No. What??” Hob shook his head rapidly as he realized that no, this wasn’t a dream, this was actually happening, “No, Dream, it’s the other way around!”

“...They/she?”

“No!” And even as he yelled the word, Hob’s face split into a grin and he burst out laughing. Dream blinked in confusion, looking like he didn’t know whether to be offended or not, and it only made Hob laugh harder.

“Dream, babe, sweetheart,” Hob gasped for breath, trying to pull himself together and failing, “I’m a trans man! I’ve already transitioned, that’s what I was trying to tell you!”

For a moment Dream just stared, blinking slowly like a cat. Like a particularly dumb orange cat.

“... He/him, then?”

All Hob could do was keep laughing. 

Slowly, Dream began to giggle too, which only made Hob laugh harder, which made Dream laugh, and the vicious cycle continued until they were both doubled over with tears on their faces.

“You are the smartest person I know, how are you such a himbo?” Hob exclaimed.

“Shut up!” Dream shoved him playfully, “I was being supportive!”

Hob couldn’t resist. He threw himself forward, tackling Dream back onto the couch, allowing himself to lay on top of him as he kissed him clumsily, barely suppressing his grin enough to press their lips together, “God, I love you so much.”

A laugh caught in Dream’s throat, his eyes widening. Hob doesn’t want to pressure him, so he smiles, leaning in to rub their noses together, coaxing a soft giggle from him. He just wants to make him comfortable in the wake of a confession that he knows is a lot for Dream, he’s not expecting anything back right now.

He thinks maybe it’s that sentiment that allows Dream to look up at him and reply, “I love you, too.”

“Yeah?” Hob grinned, leaning back so he is sitting up and stradling Dream’s hips, “Even though- and I can’t believe I have to say this outloud but now I have to make absolutely sure you understand- I have a cunt?”

Dream sputtered, face flushing at Hob’s bluntness. And yet, even as he pouts, he nods, “Yes. I love you, however you are.”

“You would love me if I was a worm?” Hob teased.

Dream nodded solemnly, replying completely seriously, “I would love you if you were a worm.”

Hob’s grin softened, and he leaned down to kiss Dream again.

And then, feeling bold and brave and loved, he grinned mischievously.

“I hope you know I’ll be telling this story at our wedding.”

(Years later, Hob will end the story by telling their guests about how Dream smacked him in the face with a pillow.)

#the sandman #dreamling #my writing #trans Hob #Dream is a little confused but he got the spirit #I considered waiting longer to post this since CHBB stuff literally JUST happened #but I'm impatient lol

[moorishflower]

Eating Out (Dream/trans!Hob Explicit)

i heard we were writing trans Dreamling and then I saw that one ask someone sent @gabessquishytum and I blacked out for a few hours and woke up with this on my desktop please enjoy

Contains: FtM Hob Gadling, public sex, oral sex, free use/multiple partners, voyeurism, multiple orgasms, scent kink, hair kink, little bit of eldritch Dream as a treat

The club is almost violently loud, and the instant that Dream materialises within it he wishes to leave.

He could. There is nothing holding him here. Not even his new agreement with Hob Gadling, that they meet twice a month, holds sway here – they have already held their pre-arranged meetings for December, have 'caught up' with each other, as Hob calls it, though Dream always feels as though he has nothing to contribute. He tells Hob about the unceasing tedium of ruling a kingdom, of settling disputes between his creations, of shoring up the defences of the Dreaming such that it will be prepared for any onslaught, and it is all the same, always the same things over and over again for aeons, but Hob leans towards him and listens with the most fascinated air. He asks questions. He is interested.

Dream would much rather hear about Hob's life. His many lives, in fact, within the last two centuries. It seems as though Hob is always doing something: viewing art with noted professors on the subject, or attending poetry readings, or assisting in the building of various installations of a political nature at protests, or organising a play put on by trans youth from local universities. In this century he is highly invested in matters regarding gender and sexuality – which Dream supposes makes sense. His own gender would have been considered at best a novelty in his own time, and at worst an affront to God. These days, however, he lives openly and freely as the man he has always known himself to be.

It is all of these things, and more, that are the reasons why he is here tonight. The Dreaming is stable at last – there are no pressing matters for him to attend to this eve – but he is shortly expected to meet with Lucifer in order to renegotiate their ancient treaty of tentative peace, and he is, as Hob would say, not looking forward to it. He is, in fact, dreading the experience. He is certain that Lucifer has neither forgotten nor forgiven his brief foray into Hell when he retrieved his helm, and the humiliation they were forced to endure at his hand. He will freely admit that he was. Not as gracious. As he could have been, upon his triumph.

He does not want to think about it. And so he is here, looking for Hob Gadling.

It occurs to him, however, as he watches the ebb and flow of people around him, that Hob may not wish to be found this night. He had assumed, when he'd reached for Hob's presence in the Waking and drew himself towards it, that he would appear in Hob's flat above the New Inn. That is where he is most often to be found, this time of night, unless he has prior engagements.

This club, though...it is of a distinctly sexual nature. Its patrons dressed in leather and latex, and some dressed in almost nothing at all. There are sheltered alcoves with faux-leather seats where two or three or more humans whisper quietly to each other, and kiss, and touch sensuously; there are other stations that Dream recognises, but only from dreams: a St. Andrew's Cross, a whipping post, a wooden bench over which a young man bends while a woman dressed entirely in white lace strikes him with a thin crop, raising fine red weals on the pale skin.

Perhaps he ought to leave. If Hob is here to procure a partner for the evening, then it is no business of Dream's.

Except.

Except the thought makes him. Unhappy.

He examines this realisation with detached interest, because he knows if he allows himself to become invested in the idea there will be no going back. Hob is his friend. They have known each other for over six-hundred years. He does not want to ruin their friendship, burgeoning as it currently is.

Neither does he wish for Hob to be here, seeking something that he believes Dream cannot provide for him.

Is that the crux of it? The source of his displeasure? Hob has come here, seeking fulfilment, instead of seeking out Dream? He would have no reason to approach Dream. Their friendship has never had a sexual component.

Although.

He remembers the way Hob had looked at him in 1589, so proud of the largess he had provided, eager for Dream's approval. He remembers the slow up and down glance of 1389 when he had approached Hob's table, when he had still been a beardless ruffian, binding his chest with scraps of wool. He remembers, in 1789, how Hob had looked at him, how he had tugged at his ear, how eagerly he had come to Dream's defence.

Perhaps he had simply not been in the best position to notice any interest. Hob's, or his own. Too prideful. Too convinced that Hob was just like every other human, grubbing about in the dirt for power and acclaim. Too assured of his own high status – one such as he, friends with one such as Hob?

He knows better now. Knows that Hob has lived rich and varied lives, which Dream has, for the past several months, taken succour in, experiencing them through Hob's tales, learning more and more about his friend. Liking what he has learned.

This, he decides, is a new aspect of that learning. And perhaps a new chapter in their friendship, if Hob is amenable. It has been long and long since he has laid with a human – he spares a moment to thank the memory of his sister for withholding her gift from Hob, for it means that Hob is not, strictly speaking, mortal – and perhaps it would be wise of him to observe Hob in this environment first. If Hob is here, he reasons, then necessarily he will be familiar with the etiquette of such a place.

And if Hob is otherwise occupied with a lover already...

He decides not to continue that thought.

A path forward decided, Dream wends his way through the crowds. The club is densely-packed with people, all ages, all nations and creeds and genders, and of them all he is the least-appropriately dressed in his coat and t-shirt and jeans. He does not bother to change, and no one approaches him – he is as a ghost, drifting between the revellers, a visitor to this holy house of Dionysus and Pan, following the faint trail of Hob that guides him like a ball of twine. Gentle prodding at daydreams reveals that Hob was here at the bar, that he, also, had been dressed-down for this occasion, in a white button-up and a pair of loose trousers. Still, others had looked upon him and had, in gauzy fantasies, wondered what he would look like dressed in less. Had wondered what his stubble would feel like against their cheeks. Had imagined his hands – broad, callused, peasant's hands – on their hips, their thighs, their genitals.

Dream does not linger in these daydreams for long, but pursues his true quarry, slipping through the gathered throngs, enjoying, for the moment, the feeling of stalking his prey. It is only infrequently that he is allowed to feel this, the thrill of the hunt, the pursuit; he is, by necessity, a guardian of his dreamers, but he is dreams and nightmares both, and often he longs for an end to the mournful tedium of his duties. Longs for peaceful oblivion or, at the very least, something that he can sink his teeth into.

The club is much larger than he had initially thought, and Dream follows Hob's trail up stairs and down corridors, until he finds himself in a section of the venue that has been cordoned off; several security personnel stand stationed at pre-set points, keeping a watchful eye on the proceedings within.

There are significantly fewer clothes in this part of the club, Dream realises. And what is worn is designed for easy access.

It is less crowded here, but no less quiet – the air is filled with the sounds of pleasure, moans and squeals and throaty whispers, creating a chorus of rising debauchery that drowns out the thumping music below them. He remains unseen, untouched, as he slides through the gaps in the crowd, around amorous couples, ignoring the slick sounds of bodies entangled and flesh entwined, until, at last, he reaches the end of the trail.

Hob Gadling has arranged himself in a secluded section of the upper floor, where dark curtains have been set up to give a modicum of privacy, though the acts happening just beyond are still within full view of the rest of the floor. He is seated in a chair, one of the low, slightly reclined ones that pepper the rest of the club, though this one has been considerately draped in plastic sheeting. The reasoning behind this is immediately obvious: Hob Gadling sits with his thighs spread, revealing the hole that has been cut in the groin of his loose trousers, and there is a woman kneeling before him, with her face buried between Hob's legs.

Dream does not care about the woman, though objectively he recognises that she is beautiful, and clearly quite happy with her current position. His eyes are fixed on Hob, who has his head thrown back, sweat dappling his forehead, mouth open as he gasps and pants. His neck is pulled taut, revealing the tempting line of his jugular, and his shirt has been unbuttoned to reveal the thick hair on his pectorals, almost completely hiding the scars beneath. The woman between his legs does something that must be particularly pleasing, because Hob's eyes slip shut, and his hips rut upwards, and even through the music and the noise and the crowd Dream can hear the sound of his moaning, reaching a fever pitch as he climbs towards climax. When he comes, all his muscles strain at once...and then he slumps, panting, while the woman leans back and licks her lips. The entire lower half of her face is soaked in fluid, and Hob's thighs glisten with the same. It is clear that he has been here for some time.

There is a small sign, Dream realises, that has been set up beside the chair, and a few people positioned around it, reading its words, watching with interest. Some of them watching with eagerness. Eat me out, the sign says. Accepting all comers. Face-sitting offered for best orgasm. Beneath this titillating invitation is a short list of the things that Hob is not interested in. No PiV, says one, and, No S/M.

He watches the woman climb to her feet and then lean down again, whispering something into Hob's ear. It makes him laugh, whatever she says, a full-throated, beautiful display, his head tossed back as he guffaws. Then the woman kisses his cheek, and Hob takes the opportunity to pull her in for a generous hug. Dream has been on the receiving end of such hugs before, but he has never considered that he might be gifted them under such. Specific circumstances.

Then the woman moves away, and he is treated to the sight of Hob on full display. And Dream stops. And looks. And breathes.

Hob had been beautiful, with the woman between his legs, but now that it is only him he is even moreso. With no one in the way Dream is able to see the thick trail of hair on his belly, leading down to the dark thatch of his pubic hair, curls wet with spit and slick. The lips of his sex are parted, red and swollen from the attentions of Dream knows not how many, and here, too, he is wet and open and wanting, with his cock jutting proudly upwards. The plastic sheeting beneath his seat is soaked in his own fluids, and even as Dream watches a newcomer approaches, speaks quietly to Hob and, at Hob's cheery nod and grin, kneels down and begins to lick the plastic clean.

He could remain here unseen, Dream realises. To interrupt Hob's revelry would surely lead to a foul mood later on, but. But.

He wants.

For all that he is neither flesh nor blood, he responds as the form he has taken bids him to, his trousers growing tighter as his erection fills, his stomach clenching with desire, his heart beating faster. His mouth floods with saliva at the sight of Hob's hairy thighs flexing, the dark, spit-damp and abundant curls of his sex, the thin trail of sexual fluids that drips from his fluttering opening and is caught on the tongue of the man kneeling in front of him. And he feels a flash of jealousy, when Hob reaches down and pets the man's hair, and says something softly to him. He recognises the look in the man's eyes, one of fervent adoration, and knows that, were he in the same position, his own expression would be much the same.

He does not wish to ruin their friendship, but. But.

He must make a decision. To remain here, unseen, a silent watcher, is a violation of Hob's trust in him. To reveal himself is to potentially face Hob's ire, but he might take pride in the knowledge that at least he tried.

Dream inhales, breathing in the sharp smell of lust and sex, and steps forward, allowing himself to be seen.

Hob does not notice him at first, still murmuring to the man between his legs. After several moments, though, he looks up, and Dream sees the exact second that Hob spots him: his eyes go wide, and his legs reflexively clamp shut, nearly trapping the man between them, and his muscles shift as if he plans to launch himself upwards before his expression turns resigned, and he relaxes back into his seat. A quick word is had with the kneeling man, who shrugs and then clambers to his feet; he gives Dream a lingering glance as he takes his leave, as do several others of the assembled patrons.

"Dream," Hob says, raising his voice to be heard above the muffled music and the moans and screams emanating from other rooms on this floor. He is still sitting with his knees locked together. "What are you...I mean, far be it for me to judge what you do in your spare time, but what on God's green earth are you doing here?"

"Seeking you out," Dream says. He takes a step forward, and then another, until he has come to a stop almost directly in front of Hob. There is a pillow on the floor, he notices. He had not seen it before; it bears the indents of many previous lovers. He wonders how many have serviced Hob this evening.

He sinks down to his knees.

"Um," Hob says. His eyes are huge, the pupils so dilated that his irises appear as two drops of ink in white clouds. "Dream? What...?"

"I will leave if you wish me to," Dream says. He lifts his hands, letting them hover uncertainly over the heavy curve of Hob's thighs, but not yet daring to touch. He can feel the warmth emanating from Hob's body, more intoxicating than any wine or stimulant, and another wave of wanting crashes over him. Were he standing he thinks he would be staggered by it. "But. If you have no objections. I would very much like to stay."

"No objections," Hob says, voice rising to a squeak. His legs fall apart again, slowly at first, tentative, but widen with more generosity as Dream accepts the invitation, and lays his palms at last on Hob's thighs. They are just as muscled and warm as he had thought them to be, the hair on them coarse where it rubs between his fingers, against his fingertips, and there, at their centre, Hob's sex revealed to him once again. His cock still firm, jutting upwards, his labia still spread and glistening as Dream lowers his head to breathe in the scent of him.

"You smell ambrosial," Dream murmurs, and Hob barks a sudden laugh.

"I've come six times," he says. The tension is slowly leaving his body, allowing him to slump backwards as Dream strokes his thighs. "I smell like sweat and jizz, more like."

"As I said." And to drive home his point, Dream bends down and presses his nose to the sopping curls of Hob's cunt, inhaling deeply. Sweat, yes, and Hob's excitement, and the saliva of others, easily and summarily dismissed in favour of Hob's natural scent, and his friend's murmured, "Oh, oh fuck," as Dream lets his nose brush along the side of his prick. It strains towards him, twitching faintly with Hob's heartbeat. Impudent thing, Dream thinks, though not without a great deal of fondness, and he looks up at Hob through the wild fringe of his hair, blinking slowly.

"You know, I wasn't expecting this," Hob says. His hands clench at his sides. "I only come here maybe twice a year. I wasn't...You don't have to..."

"I wish to."

"...just because I'm. Here. What?"

"I am precisely where I wish to be," Dream says. "And if you truly have no objections. I wish to sample you."

"Jesus Christ," Hob says, and his head falls backwards, thumping against the cushions. "Yeah. Yeah, fuck. Do you know how long I've thought about this?"

"Since 1789," Dream says. He drags the tip of his nose along the length of Hob's cock, and then presses a soft kiss to the head of it, greatly enjoying the sound of Hob's muttered curses. The smell of him is growing denser, sharper, as fresh wetness drips from his cunt.

"Longer," Hob says. "Since the moment I saw you. Thought about bouncing on your cock later that night, even. I would've ridden you so fucking hard."

"Perhaps later," Dream murmurs, and then, for the first time, takes Hob into his mouth.

The effect is immediate, electrifying: Hob goes rigid, mouth opening in a soundless cry as his hips rut forwards, pressing his pubic bone against Dream's nose. His prick is thick, compact, perhaps three inches of trembling nerves that slide along Dream's tongue like silk. The taste of him here is not as strong as it would be directly from the source, but the musky salt of it delights Dream's senses, enraptures him. He lets Hob set the pace at first, trying to gauge how tired he is, how sore...though it quickly becomes apparent that six orgasms in an evening is not, apparently, his friend's limit. Hob does not cry off, nor beg for Dream to give him a moment, but sighs and moans and laughs as Dream sucks at him, first softly, and then with greater force, tracing the thin skin of Hob's prick with the tip of his tongue, then letting it fall free of his mouth so that he can instead lavish attention on the plump lips around it.

Here, he thinks. Here is where his mouth is intended to be, at the nadir of Hob's sex, where his labia are spread like flower petals and his cunt clenches and leaks. Dream hums to himself in delight as he laps a searing path from the root of Hob's prick down to his twitching, wet opening, kneading Hob's thighs with his fingertips as he does so. There is so much hair here that it is impossible to keep his face dry – nor would he want to, even if he could – and Dream leans in to taste, pushing his nose through Hob's pubic hair, committing the scent of him to memory as he licks and sucks at everything he can reach. His wild hunger makes him crude, inexpert, but when he glances upwards to gauge Hob's pleasure he finds his friend flush-faced and panting, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, one hand pushed back into his own hair. When he sees Dream looking he smiles.

"Do you know how gorgeous you are?" he asks. "Between my legs? I've imagined this for so long."

The encouragement is. Pleasing. More than he had thought it would be. Enough that it makes his own cock twitch as he basks in the pleasure of Hob's praise. "So beautiful," Hob says, and he lifts his hips slightly, demanding. Dream is eager to indulge him, and buries his face once more into Hob's sex, licking, now, at his cunt, pressing the tip of his tongue inside to where he is wettest and hottest, savouring the taste of him. The scent that has gathered in his hair, surrounding him now, filling Dream's nostrils, making him dizzy with lust. He cannot resist the temptation to bury his tongue deeper, and then deeper still, longer than any human Hob would ever have taken to bed. Muscles clamp down around him, and Hob makes a startled, thrilled little noise, and then begins laughing again, one hand at last stealing to Dream's hair. He does not clutch, but strokes, softly, like a favoured pet, and Dream purrs, mouth sealed around Hob's cunt, tongue buried in him until there is no more space for anything but Dream.

"You're a marvel," Hob says; Dream flicks the tip of his tongue against the opening to his cervix, soft, soft, and Hob's whole body goes as taut as a bow. "A fuh-hucking marvel oh God, oh fuck, Dream!"

A crowd has begun to form, Dream notes, though it is distant and unimportant information, useful only as much as these people may now see that Hob has chosen him, that Hob favours him. He is too focused on the task at hand to feel anything but the faintest hint of possessiveness – why should he, when he already has what he desires? – and he sets to it with relish, pumping his tongue in leisurely strokes, deep enough that Hob will feel him later, like a sweet bruise. Above him, Hob swears a blue streak, his neglected cock pulsing, prompting a sharp outcry of pleasure every time that Dream bumps the base of it with his nose. Eat me out, the sign had said, and Dream intends to follow it to the letter – there will be time enough, he hopes, to worship every other part of Hob later.

"Dream," Hob says, "Dream, I'm, I'm close, I'm–"

Dream does not wish to be warned. He wishes to be covered in the smell of Hob, drenched in him, and so he presses his tongue sharply up at the same time as he moves his hand to stroke Hob's prick with his thumb, humming in satisfaction as above him Hob shouts, thighs clamping hard around Dream's ears, a gush of fluid oozing around Dream's tongue as he works Hob through first one panting, keening peak, and then a second one just after, smaller, Hob squeezing rhythmically with his thighs, his cries of completion turning to whimpers and then to silence, just the sound of his breathing, like thunder, and murmured noises of appreciation from the gathered crowd. Dream slowly pulls back, and looks with satisfaction as Hob's gaping cunt, at the trickle of spit and come that drips from him, smoothing the curls there flat and sleek.

"Oh," Hob says. His voice is shaky, but inexpressibly fond as he reaches forward and cups Dream's cheeks with his palms. "Oh, I've made a complete mess of you."

He does not need a mirror to know that Hob's words are true. Dream can feel the warm air of the club brushing cold against the wetness on his cheeks, his chin, where it drips in thin lines down his neck. Hob smiles at him, his thumb stroking Dream's bottom lip.

"I think I might have one more in me for tonight, if you're interested," he says, and then with his foot he stretches out and tips over the little sign he had set up beside his chair. "But maybe somewhere where it's...just us? If there's no objections?"

His voice is hesitant. Searching. Dream gazes up at him, dazed, as he had known he would be, with how much he wants, and not only with how much he wants Hob's body, but his laughter as well, and his joy, and his time and his company. No, there are no objections.

"It would be my pleasure," he says, and Hob, still smiling, leans down and kisses the damp tip of his nose, and then the corner of his mouth, and then Hob's lips cover his own, gentle, and around them the club continues on in its revels but, for the moment, it is only them, and it is perfect.

#dreamling #dream/hob #dream of the endless/hob gadling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #my fic #the sandman #the sandman fanfiction #trans hob gadling

[delta-pavonis]

Fic: Placebo Effect

Dreamling (human AU) || Rated E || 10k words || complete Alternate Universe - human, Hob is minorly Tiktok famous, for his woodworking ASMR videos, Hob is also a doctor, Dream listens to Hob’s ASMR, Dream is a museum curator, Dream needs his fucking lunatic parents to stop harassing him about not being married yet, Hob takes on the holiday shifts for colleagues because he doesn’t have a family to go home to, Hob is really fucking bored and decides to offer to do a fake relationship video call, you see where this is going, fake relationship to real relationship, the entire set of Endless sibs are little shits in the best way, getting together, phone sex, dirty talk, sexting, inappropriate work behavior, sex at work, Dream went to art school, Dream was an unrepentant slut in college, Hob is still an unrepentant slut, frenum piercing, reference to previous toxic relationship, sex toys, anal fingering, oral sex, blow job, anal sex

>> You are no doubt being inundated with such requests, but at the endless prodding of my siblings I decided to try: I would like to take you up on that offer of a holiday meal call as a fake partner. Even my littlest sister and my sibling-who-hates-me have taken pity upon my plight and encouraged me to do this, just so they don’t have to listen to our parents harass me for the entirety of another dinner. I am amenable to discussing terms, but you would probably benefit from some pre-event background on my family’s unique flavor of crazy before you agree to this. He doesn’t even get his phone back into his pocket before it vibrates with a notification.

inspired by a prompt @gabessquishytum got

Read on AO3

#Dreamling #human AU #based on a Tumblr prompt #fake relationship to real relationship (kinda) #Pavonis writes

[alexxuun]

Alex you can't make that post and not expect me to ask for (sandman but also any other fandoms) fic recs 🙏🙏

This is so not fair because all of them are so good and I can’t fit them all into one ginormous post 😭

Saint Morpheus by @landwriter (E| 11k). I’m absolutely bias with this one but c’mon! Hob worshiping dream like a saint is everything. Also by landwriter: The many lives of Hob Gadling (M|20k).

If I could recommend @moorishflower entire sandman fics collection, I would (and I am). Some of my favourites are Maybe sprout wings (M| 91k), Wolf and I (E| 12k, also bias with this one) and If I please you (E| 112k). Praise the long fic.

Giving Sanctuary by @avelera (E|170k) Oh god, they are dads grieving together… also by Avelera: Banana Daiquiris (T|4k)

Unrelated Dreamling Size Kink Shenanigans series by @gabessquishytum (E| 6 works so far). Love me a good monsterfucker hob and BIG DREAM.

High enough (you got me good) by @delta-pavonis (E|11k) the erotic nature of weapon demonstration.

As the world came to a halt by @enchi-elm (E| 4k) humanity’s functionality getting absolutely wrecked because of a certain Endless duo and Hob is caught in it.

When I do count the clock that tells the time by @minisgatewaytoinsanity (E|9k). Dream walked out in 1389 and never met Hob until 2022. Hob repair clocks for a living.

White Knight by @gfawkesphoenixchokingonashes (E|22k). Hob has insomnia and Death knows just who to ask.

Holding On While You Slip Away by @acedragontype (E|33k) trans hob and his long immortal life. How could I not recommend this one.

the silent sounds of loneliness (best of my love) by @serenailith (E|11k) Recluse Dream and Uni student Hob here to help him out of his funk.

Bloodshot and beat by Otterwise (E|7k). Post-apocalyptic Dreamling… this one was quite something.

If you’re looking for a fantastic Hobrinthian fic with a dash of Hobrintheus, And if I get burned, at least we were electrified by @seiya-starsniper is the way to go! (E|41k)

London, 1777: A Study in Purple by Temve (E|4k) rarepair Hoblethros my beloved.

I would add more but this is quite a bit already (and still not enough). For other fic rec, I would have recommended some amazing Daredevil fics but that’s probably reserved for another post. Absolutely amazing read! Go forth!

#i love you writers #the sandman #dreamling #fic rec #ask

[dragonnan]

Inspired by this anon ask and gifted to @gabessquishytum (I wasn't sure if you had an AO3)

Dream's design is inspired by the oarfish. Those ruby red fins were irresistible haha!

I'd love for you to share - just please don't repost my art. Please give credit to @gabessquishytum for the lovely story that inspired this art!

#dream of the endless #hob x morpheus #the sandman #my fanart

[amielot]

Centaur!Hob

He's based off of reaaaal chonky draft horses, heh

That post from @gabessquishytum

#Hob gadling #centaur!hob #the sandman #centaurs #a whole UNIT #this version of Hob could probably hip check Dream into the sun if he actually wanted to. #centaur au #i guess??? #the art tag #when he runs he goes THUNK THUNK THUNK

[valiantstarlights]

[Fae!Dream and Vampire!Hob AU]

For @gabessquishytum and wing anon 🖤 I've had this in my notes for a couple of weeks, but now seems to be a good time to share it. 😊

Fun fact, this was inspired by these lines from Baby, It's Cold Outside: "I wish I knew how / (Your eyes are like starlight now) / To break this spell"

Don't ask. The weather was 30°C+ outside when I typed this up. 😂

CW: the tiniest amount of spice, and Dream and Hob being insane about each other as usual.

Fae!Dream runs away from home in the middle of winter and ends up on the wrong side of the forest. He has never been here before. The trails are winding and changes directions when he isn't looking, and the trees are indifferent to his plight, refusing to point him towards the fae side of the forest. 'We are too sleepy,' they say. 'Fuck off.'

Soon, though, he comes upon a castle, and he can see that there's light inside. Snow is already falling pretty hard by then, and Dream is so desperate for warmth and shelter that he knocks on the imposing front doors.

It takes a while for someone to answer, but Dream waits. It's a huge castle. He's about to knock again when the door opens and a handsome vampire peeks his head out. When he sees Dream, shivering and hunched over, lips almost blue, he hurriedly opens the door wide and ushers him in.

Dream enters the castle. Despite everything he has learned in his long, long life.

He knows he has to tread carefully. It's common knowledge that fae and vampires don't get along. But he also knows how important inviting someone inside is to vampires, and he doesn't exactly have a choice. He has two options, and they are: 100 percent chance of freezing to death on one hand, and 50 percent chance of being murdered by a vampire on the other.

Although...now that he's looking, he thinks the vampire looks nice, actually. He's currently talking about getting Dream warmed up in front of a fire and getting him some soup, then apologizing right after because there won't be garlic in the soup.

Dream thinks his voice sounds lovely.

The vampire keeps his promises. Soon, Dream is warm in front of a fireplace, eating creamy vegetable soup. The vampire talks about how he made the soup, and Dream can tell that he's just as nervous as having a fae in his home. But Dream senses no falsehood in his words or in his manners.

Dream is so fucking charmed by him that he (unthinkingly) asks him his name. And then realizes his mistake one second later when the vampire's open features shutter close and his muscles tense.

"My name is Dream," Dream offers. He knows he should not give his name. Not his true one, anyway. And yet he does.

If the vampire's goal is to hurt him, he does not need Dream's true name for that. Dream is still weak from running and escaping his bodyguards. If the vampire wants to hurt him, he'll be too weak to fight back.

"Sure," the vampire says, and...yeah, he's right to be suspicious. 'Dream' isn't exactly one of the top 100 baby names for male fae babies. Lord and Lady Endless knew what they were doing when they named their children. "You can call me Hob."

Hob.

His name doesn't taste like a lie, but Dream knows it's not his real name. It's fine. He likes 'Hob.'

"Thank you for offering me shelter," Dream says. He knows he shouldn't show gratitude or else it will bite him in the ass in the future. He does so anyway. "I was running away from home."

He knows he is under no obligation to speak the truth in its purest form. He has learned how to mislead and twist his words in a way that is still true, but volunteers less information. He does so anyway.

Hob is looking at him intensely, like he is also trying to figure Dream out. "May I ask why?"

And so the whole story falls out of Dream's mouth. It's the first time he has ever talked to anyone about how he is being treated at home, but Hob is respectful and lets him talk. Hob is nice and pours him a glass of water when his voice become hoarse.

Hob is lovely because when Dream starts to break down in the end, telling him all about the entire business with the Burgesses, he takes out a handkerchief and wipes Dream's tears away himself.

"I'm so sorry about everything that has ever happened to you," Hob says in the end, when Dream realizes that he is on Hob's lap, being held. It feels nice. He wants to snuggle up further, but his manners prevent him from doing so. "But I'm glad you've left them for good."

That makes Dream pause, and he shakes his head. "I have not. Technically, I am still under their protection." He looks outside to see heavy snowflakes still drifting down, and an occasional wind gusting through. "I still have to go home."

Hob looks out the window and then back to him incredulously. "In this weather?"

"I have to," Dream insists. "If not..."

"If not?"

Dream looks down at his lap. At Hob's handkerchief that was somehow now in his hands. It's a pretty cream color with the initials R.G. embroidered on the corner. Dream does not think what the initials mean because he doesn't want to pry. Hob's true name is his business alone. But he likes the handkerchief. Perhaps he can keep it as a souvenir of his time at the castle of the handsome vampire. It would be his most prized possession. He will not draw attention to it so Hob will forget to ask him to return it. "If not," Dream says, "I will die before the season turns."

Hob inhales sharply, and then he's clasping Dream's arms. "Is that a fae thing?"

Dream nods miserably. It's how they lost Destruction. And how Dream will be lost, if he doesn't get back. He hopes Death will take care of Jessamy for him.

"Is there no loophole for that?" Hob asks, looking frantic. "There must be something. Like...I don't know, like a transfer of protection?"

Hob must be a very young vampire for him not to know the rules. But Dream knows the rules by heart, and all the loopholes as well, from hundreds of years trying to bend them. And the only way...

"Oh."

"Oh?" Hob echoes. "Is there a way to save you after all?"

There is, but--

He could not possibly--

"I have to leave," Dream announces, and regretfully gets off of Hob's lap and starts walking away.

"What? Why?" Hob asks, standing up himself and following him. "Do you have to go on a quest for some item or something? Stay the night. There's literally a blizzard--"

"I cannot!" Dream shouts.

Hob, shocked by Dream's outburst, holds his hands up peaceably. "Alright," he says gently. "May I ask why?"

Dream bites his lip and says nothing.

"Tell me," Hob begs. "Please. I want to help."

Dream shakes his head. Nobody wants to help. Randall had tried to trap him against his will. Alexander was too afraid of his father and brother to help Dream escape and had only pointed him deeper into their house. Dream almost didn't make it.

Hob exhales. Not out of impatience, but out of a decision reached. "Look," he says, hands still open in a gesture of peace. "I know you have no reason to trust me, but I really do want to help you. I know a thing or two about being trapped in a situation I do not want to be in, and I wouldn't want anyone else to experience that. So...I would like you to know my name."

Dream gapes at him. A vampire willingly giving his own true name to a fae? It's practically unheard of. It's a trick. It's--

Hob takes a deep breath and says, "My name is Robert Gadling."

'R.G.' The handkerchief is his. Dream's fingers tingle at this new information.

There is a change that happens, when someone tells a fae their true name voluntarily, knowing exactly what they're getting into. It's a different kind of change than when their name is tricked out from them.

If their name is tricked out of them, a thin string, only visible to the fae, connects the being to the fae they gave their name to, as a sign of possession.

But when someone tells a fae their true name the way Hob--Robert Gadling, just did, they will look more real to the fae. More tangible.

And a more tangible Robert Gadling, a kind and handsome vampire who would open his doors to a fae, feed them, keep them warm, and want to help them save their life? All the while smelling of nothing but sincerity?

"Tell me," Hob, Robert, says again. "I want to help you."

Dream suddenly hungers for him. And his sudden yearning to make Hob his is not conducive to the conversation. "You--"

"Please," he says. "Unless there's something preventing you to? More of your fae rules?" He looks contemplatively at the space between them. "Do I have to kneel?"

No. Yes. Lie and make him kneel.

"If I stay," Dream says faintly, the words tumbling out of his mouth without his conscious consent, "my parents' protection will slowly pass to my current host."

Hob looks alarmed at that, probably wondering how many hours it has been since Dream has arrived. "How slowly?"

"A week at most."

The answer, of course, is much more complicated than that. In the case of the Burgesses, Dream still has his parents' protection at the end of Day 5, when he finally escaped. In Unity Kincaid's case, she was so in love with Desire that it only took a day for her parents' protection to fade.

But with the way things are going between him and Hob, and with how fast Dream is prone to falling in love, his parents' protection will most likely fade after three days. At most.

"So stay," Hob says, as if it were that simple. He is still so young. He doesn't know what he is offering. "If you haven't noticed yet, the castle is entirely empty, aside from the castle's spirit itself. It takes care of itself and was kind enough to open its doors for me when I rose from the dead. And if it can offer me, a no-good vampire who used to be a highwayman, a home, then who am I to not offer you my protection as well?"

'Highwayman' is a term that cannot be more than 300 years old. Dream is robbing the cradle.

"I am saying," Dream says slowly, "that if you are to offer me your protection, once my parents' protection has faded, you would be considered my husband. The fae will consider us married."

Hob blinks. "Oh."

"Yes, 'oh,'" Dream cannot help but say mockingly. "That is why I must leave."

But Hob just gestures to the windows helplessly, begging him to see sense at the sight of the howling winds that are thankfully muffled by the thick castle walls. "In this weather?"

"I must."

"A night."

"What?"

"Stay for the night," Hob begs. "The weather might be better tomorrow. And if so, I will give you my thickest coat and help you get back to fae land myself. If...if you are afraid of me, I will stay here in the study, and you may choose any room you'd like to stay in for the night."

Dream stares at him, and ignores the way his body is pleasantly tingling all over, but especially between his legs.

Faes are not good. They are greedy creatures who will take the entire dish when presented with a bite.

And in the face of Robert Gadling's kindness and consideration...

Dream walks up to Hob and grabs him by the collar of his dressing gown. If Hob is willing to give him a coat, then Dream will steal all his clothes for himself as well. If Hob is willing to offer him his protection, then Dream will cast his own on him and name him husband without bothering to wait for his parents' protection to fade. If Hob has shown him kindness for an hour, Dream will want him for the rest of their life.

"Kiss me," he says. Demands. Begs. He doesn't know anymore. All he knows is that if Hob does not kiss him, he will cry.

Hob looks baffled. "What...will that accomplish, exactly? If I may ask?"

Dream groans in frustration and stamps his feet. "I will be kissed," he says. "I will know what you taste like, and you will know mine. Our lips will be thoroughly acquainted and we will feel our tongues push wetly against each other. Is that not enough of an accomplishment for you?"

"Sounds like you want more than just a kiss, your highness," Hob says, but his gaze and his voice are lower now, which is exactly what Dream wants.

"I am not a prince," Dream tells him honestly. Always with honesty. "But I do want more than just a kiss from you. With the generosity you have shown me, with you telling me your name, if you do not kiss me, I will simply waste away and perish."

"Well, we can't have that," Hob says. "Not after I just saved you from freezing to death."

"No, we cannot," Dream agrees. "So kiss me, Robert Gadling." His true name on Dream's tongue tastes like sunlight. "Kiss me and protect me and make me yours right now."

Hob's eyes are dancing as he brushes a lock of hair away from Dream's face and tucks it behind his ear. "You're a greedy little fae, aren't you?"

"And you are still not kissing me, you stubborn vampire."

"I can't believe this is how my evening turned out," Hob chuckles, and touches their foreheads together. "I must have gone insane the moment I saw you. I would normally offer to court someone first before the topic of marriage can even be considered."

Dream pecks Hob's dimpled chin, impatient. He has a slight stubble that would feel wonderful against Dream's thighs. "I am not human. Or another vampire. I am a fae. And if you do not kiss me right now, I will go out in that snowstorm and--"

"Alright, you sweet impatient thing," Hob says, "No need for such threats." And finally dips his head down to touch their lips chastely.

Dream would have none of that, however, and surges upwards, intent on devouring him. Their sharp canines clack against each other, but it does not deter them.

"Are we insane?" Hob asks when Dream has to take a breath. It's so unfair that Dream has to breathe when Hob does not. "To do this right after we just met? Tell me truly."

"Yes," Dream answers honestly. "I do not know of anyone who consummated their coming together as one on the very day they met."

"Consummating, hm?" Hob's thumb presses against his hipbone when he pulls Dream closer to him. "We can do that."

"Yes," Dream agrees. "Right now. Please. Everything."

And Hob does just that.

--

His parents' protection fades even before Hob could fuck him, but he's too preoccupied by the feeling of Hob's stubble on his thighs to notice.

--

In the morning, Hob presents him with the most beautiful obsidian ring he has ever seen, and Dream immediately says yes before Hob could even ask the question.

--

"For the record," Hob says one night after they finished fucking in the library, "I was fully intending on lending you all my thick coats that first night. You looked so cold I was hesitant to even take off your clothes."

Dream snuggles up to him and drapes one leg over Hob's deliciously hairy thighs. "That would not have worked," he says, certain. "I would have simply taken off all my clothes and accepted nothing from you except your most translucent nightgowns to cover my nakedness."

"You will seduce a vampire? Didn't you tell me that our kind do not get along?"

Dream bites him gently on the shoulder with his smaller fangs.

"I would not seduce a vampire," he says haughtily. "I have met some before, and found none of them pleasing. It is you I would seduce. The man I have decided would be mine forever as my husband."

Hob kisses his forehead, and Dream could feel the foolish smile on his lips. "Who is a vampire."

"Shush, Robert Gadling," he says, unable to stop himself from smiling as well.

#fae dream and vampire hob AU #dreamling #the sandman #my writing #good job my thumbs

[gabessquishytum]

My brain got possessed by the typo (accidental monster Dream from https://www.tumblr.com/gabessquishytum/744409898494853120/okay-au-with-mpreg-monster-dream-is-heavily?source=share), so let's have a pregnant monster Dream now! Dream is an ancient Mara spirit who used to visit people in their sleep and torture them with nightmares. Not anymore, though - he's been depressed for the last millennia or so, and he's in semi-retirement or on an extra-long vacation, and he just chooses some good, solid houses where he hangs out as a monster under the bed. He needs to spin nightmares to feed, but since he's depressed and all, he gets sustenance simply from being near sleeping minds. It's less nutritional, but it keeps him alive, although he starves. He's been living in a nice Victorian townhouse for the last century, and he loves the place. There's a king-size bed with a canopy in the master bedroom, and Dream very much approves of it. All of a sudden, his routine is somewhat disturbed: the house is sold, the previous owners move out, and there comes a new man. Dream is wary of him at first (what if he picks up a bed Dream doesn't like?), but they get on well. Hob - that's his name - is rather unobtrusive. He reads a lot and always keeps piles of interesting books on the bedside table, has a pleasant voice (he often laughs when talking with his friends over the phone and sometimes talks to himself), and even cleans all the dust under the bed. Regularly. Dream is enchanted! His curiosity picked up, he visits Hob in his dream. He doesn't mean to make it a nightmare and just wants to peek to know him better, but the dream takes a surprising turn. Hob...comes on to him. Dream looks essentially like a corpse, with paper-white skin, glowing eyes, and wild black hair, and he's well aware of his looks. Humans are supposed to find him scary. They always do. And here is Hob, who looks at him reverently and wants to fuck him. Dream is very confused, but he doesn't mind at all: while he's never done it, he knows about the things humans like to do in their beds at night. He's lived under those beds long enough, wishing there was someone to touch him lovingly and whisper sweet nothings to him, too…And if he seizes the opportunity to make that wish come true, even if just for one night, who's there to blame him? He lets Hob make love to him and retreats under the bed in the morning holding that memory dear. Hob wakes up with a distinct feeling that he's never had such a vivid (and hot!) dream before and wishes that his otherwordly lover, who was so shy, responsive, and passionate, was real. A few weeks pass in mutual longing: Dream wishes he was someone loveable, Hob wishes he met someone like that in reality. Or at least saw in his dreams again! Soon, Dream feels that his hunger intensifies and walks the dreams of neighbors to feed properly. It gets worse. He's always hungry and miserable, and his lower back aches, and when he takes a minute to think what the hell is wrong with him, he feels a life growing inside and realizes that he's knocked up. Dream considers his options and decides to talk to Hob. He was so gentle and loving with him, after all...Of course, there's no way he would want Dream and his baby if he finds out the truth. Or is it?

Magic monster dream baby conceived from magic dream romance!!! I absolutely love it. Hob sure is in for a surprise, isn't he?!

At first, Dream goes back into Hob’s dreams to speak with him. He's far too scared to just wriggle out from under the bed and confront Hob in the real world. He appears to Hob and explains that he's pregnant, and that it's all real, and Hob is very kind to him. He hugs Dream and kisses him and promises him that all will be well. Still, he gets the shock of his life when he wakes up and finds Dream anxiously sitting on the edge of his bed. When Dream said it was real, Hob didn't quite believe him... until now.

But Hib doesn't freak out. He asks Dream to explain who/what he is. Dream gives an outline of what his species are, how he's supposed to create nightmares and absorb the energy that comes from the fear and dread. He also explains that he hasn't really done much of that lately. And that's he's worried about the baby. He doesn't even know how this pregnancy is supposed to work.

Hob listens carefully and wholeheartedly promises to help. He tells Dream that he must start weaving nightmares again - he needs to eat! He can start on Hob, who really doesn't mind being scared (fear makes him horny, more than anything). As for the baby, well, they'll work it out together. Whether it's half human or all dream, Hob wants the child as much as he wants Dream. He would like to try and make a relationship work between them.

He even shuffles under the bed with Dream to cuddle him where he feels safe and secure. Although he makes clear that Dream is also welcome IN the bed, too.

Dream is just awestruck by the whole situation. Hob seems to genuinely want him, a thing that seems utterly impossible. Dream has long considered himself unlovable, hence his prolonged periods of isolation and depression. It seems impossible that Hob would to build a life with him. But he looks at Dream like he's precious, magical, worthy of love and adoration... is it truly possible that Dream could live in contentment with his baby and this human?

Hob (who is falling more and more in love with every passing minute) sure hopes so.

#the sandman #dreamling #nsft #cw monsterfucking #cw mpreg

[secondjulia]

Necessary but Stupid -> The StarvingArtist!Dream/Plasma AU You Didn't Request

UM. So. This was definitely just a weird little AU idea I had... definitely not while hooked up at csl daydreaming about Dream & Hob... that I was just going to dump in @gabessquishytum's Ask, as one does with weird little AU ideas. And then it kind of exploded. Into an actual story.

---Rated: G. Logistics in the tags. Ao3 link ---

There's no stopping the dark cloud that passes over Hob's head the moment he opens the door to the plasma center. But now he can smile brightly through it and let the storm blow quietly away. The dark memories this place holds still surface every time he walks in, but he's never once considered not going. Even though it's been ten years since Eleanor and the babe died of some rare blood condition that triggered childbirth complications, Hob's still there twice a week, every week, rain or shine.

He waves to the clerk at the desk. The security guard greets him with a comment about the latest football match, and Hob makes an appropriately pained, commiserating expression. He asks the technician taking his blood pressure how his honeymoon went — Côte d'Albâtre, right? — and Hob reminisces cheerily about his own trips to France.

Nobody’s ever exactly happy at the plasma center, but the sunny professor’s relentlessly friendly chatter brightens everyone’s day. All the staff know him by name, his surprisingly colorful stories can help pass the time on those long-line days, and his smile always lights up the room. 

Sure, Hob can be kind of opinionated — like whenever he declares that death is stupid and nobody should have to die of preventable diseases! Everyone just goes along with it, and it’s so cruel! (Nobody actually disagrees, but he is very vocal about it.) The first time he said this — sitting hunched with downcast eyes, just weeks after his wife’s death — his voice was soft with hopelessness, and it cracked as he held back tears. But ten years later, when people ask him why he’s still doing this when he’s a tenured professor with a summer cottage and a retirement plan, Hob declares jovially that death is stupid! Nobody has to die when he can give them something they need from his own arms — it’s a renewable resource! 

Hob, it cannot be said enough, brightens everyone's day — usually.

But not today. Not everyone's.

Dream cannot believe the insufferable words coming out of this man’s mouth. It's the first day Dream’s set foot in this particular center, and he already wants to go home. 

But home is the problem. Dream's new apartment is much cheaper than the building that just evicted him, but this latest series of paintings are taking far longer to complete than he'd hoped. And also, the art world just fucking sucks. Dream can't fool himself. Even when the paintings are ready, it's unlikely they'll sell well enough or soon enough to plug the gaps in his income. 

For years, Dream played the whole shitty-jobs roulette to support his art, but ever since he was kidnapped and spent years in a glass cage in a basement, he can’t even manage that. Seriously, try explaining that kind of resumé gap to a job interviewer. When he does manage to get work, it always goes bad fast. Dream wasn’t exactly totally undamaged before, but now he feels like he's all scars.

Dream is not here by choice. He cannot imagine who would be. 

He'd gone to his old plasma center for years — till he was forced to move — in order to make ends meet. Today, he's here to fill in the glaring gap between the meager payment he got for a small watercolor last January, his savings, and a near-maxed-out credit card. (Nearly maxed out in the hasty scramble to get to a cheaper place to live. Moving was expensive. Funny how that works.) The plasma center is, in some ways, far preferable to many of the jobs he's had in the past, and it allows Dream to spend more time on his art. But it is absolutely unfathomable how anybody could pursue an eternity of this if they didn’t have to. 

Dream keeps his head down avoiding the attention of the chatty professor. He stays quiet. His cold, bony hands are tucked into his long cardigan sleeves except for when he's chugging water, nearly by the gallon. He's about 2kg from the next weight class. Unfortunately, he's lost weight since his eviction, but if he could bump the scale a little higher, it would mean a higher draw — and a slightly higher payment. He's always cold these days, so the heavy sweater isn't a hardship, and the water fills up his stomach and supplements his inadequate lunch of oatmeal and stolen sugar packets.

The first time Dream meets Professor Hob’s eyes is when they’re sliding the needle into his arm and Dream has to turn his head away sharply. Dream was never afraid of needles — not until that night when someone (he later learned it was a twisted old cult leader named Burgess) stuck him with… something that knocked him out cold and he woke up in the basement. These days, although he's done this many times before, when the metal pricks his skin, Dream still lays frozen like an ice sculpture as his heart pounds against his chest.

He has sold his vintage leather jacket, his treasured collection of elegant handmade cloaks (there was a theatrical phase, it’s complicated), and most of his books (the shelves of his sparse apartment now hold only a few cheap volumes of blank paper for his sketches). But it wasn’t enough. 

Burgess was years ago, but Dream's life still lies in ruins.

He does not like being here. But it seems that this — his body's materials, his very essence — is the only thing of value he has to offer the world. This most basic biological function, the blood pumping through his veins, is all anyone wants of him now.

So despite his fear, he lets them bleed him.

Hob is usually quiet when he’s hooked up to the machine. He'll chat in the line and in the lobby and at the vitals check, but on the donation floor, he politely minds his own business. Here, everyone retreats into their own world, usually scrolling on their phone or staring at the clock. People don't usually feel like talking when they’ve got a needle in their arm. And Hob’s an extrovert, not an asshole. 

But today, the man beside him looks over, and Hob can’t wrench his eyes away. The man is thin and sheet white and his eyes are huge and watery over jutting cheekbones. His lips might be trembling.

“Alright there?” Hob asks kindly. 

The man’s head twitches. It might be a nod.

Hob has seen people pass out here before. With the way this guy looks, Hob’s mildly shocked that anyone thought it was a good idea to drain him of vital fluids. But the people here know their business. His numbers must be under control, or else he wouldn’t’ve been allowed in.

Still, under control doesn’t necessarily mean ok.

So Hob gently keeps the conversation going with the man. Dream, he learns and his heart flutters at the name. He weirdly doesn’t seem bothered by Hob’s donation floor chatter (maybe because he's too bothered by the needle in his arm to notice anything else). Dream doesn’t even pull out a phone. He seems to hang on Hob’s every word of small talk. 

“I can shut up if you’d life,” Hob offers when he realizes with a shock that he’s babbled through the entire first draw. “It just seemed like you needed some distraction.”

“Please.” Dream blushes slightly. Well, at least his skin is getting some blood. “Tell me about… your experiences. What… have you been doing?”

Huh? 

What has he been doing? That’s vague. 

But if anyone can find a way to fill a vague prompt, it’s Hob. So he chatters some more about the union organizing at his university and a ridiculous new scheduling system for the adjuncts — it’s like they’ve taken all the worst aspects of on-demand scheduling from the fast food industry and applied it to higher education for some incomprehensible reason. One of his colleagues had a class — and £2000 of pay — cancelled two days before term started. But not everything’s bad. Hob knows the students are planning a walkout next week, which he fully supports and has already adjusted his lessons to compensate for the lost time. Also, there’s a new pizza place on campus which is rather decent.

He really is just rambling. 

But Dream seems to need it. He hasn’t looked down at his arm once, and Hob’s certain that’s for the best.

Dream has to admit that the insufferable professor has made the time go by a lot quicker. He’s shocked when they’re sliding the needle out of his arm, then wrapping his elbow up, and he’s free to go. He mumbles what he hopes is a polite goodbye to Hob, who is also finishing up, and then practically stumbles out into the rain.

He clutches his cardigan around him and pulls up his hood and plods away from the center. This place is closer to the new apartment than his previous plasma center, but it’s still a half hour hike home. The buses take even longer — his crappy apartment isn't exactly on a convenient route. But at least walking saves him a few quid.

“Hey!” 

The voice makes Dream flinch. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a car slow down beside him, and his heart ratchets up in his chest. He doesn’t look over, only hunches deeper into his wet cardigan and walks faster.

“Hey, Dream!”

Oh.

Belatedly, Dream recognizes Hob’s voice. He finally looks up to see Hob looking out his car window and smiling despite the rain streaming onto his face.

“Looks like you could use a ride!” Hob jerks his head toward the passenger’s seat. “Hop in!”

Dream stares at the kindly professor. Who offers a stranger a ride in their car? Sure, Dream spent the last forty five minutes listening to every mundane detail of this guy's super normie professional life, but they still barely know each other! And if Hob actually knew Dream — a failed starving artist and all around fuckup, consistently two minutes away from homelessness — there’s no way he’d want to associate with him outside of the polite minimum of chatter at the center. 

So what the fuck is Hob playing at?

“Come on, you’ll get soaked!” Hob prods.

Fear strikes Dream, and he recoils, stumbling away from the vehicle.

“Dream? You alright there?”

But Dream is already running, tearing off through the rain. He cuts through a shitty neglected park, climbs a fence and gets chased by a rottweiler through a closed off parking lot, and dashes across a highway — almost getting hit twice.  He doesn’t stop running until he’s home.

Or, well, what passes for his home now. 

Dream dries off, makes some tea, and grabs a sketchbook. His hand shakes as he doodles, but the process calms him and grounds his mind. 

Then, as usual, after his fear begins to ebb, he feels stupid.

His mind replays the afternoon's events. Hob’s smile is brilliant in his memory. Though the initial snatches of overheard conversation were insufferable — not to mention incomprehensible — his recitation of the mundane details of life had been oddly calming. And, though Dream had perhaps not appreciated it in the moment, Hob had seemed genuinely concerned. 

The more Dream thinks about it, the stupider he feels. Worse, he feels ashamed. How rude to run from Hob, who’d only wanted to help! 

The scar tissue that has proliferated over Dream’s heart has truly damaged his ability to function among decent people. That night, he lays awake for a long time thinking about this. He should probably just never go back to the plasma center. He can’t imagine facing Hob after reacting so poorly to his kindness.

But the next day, after he scribbles up the month’s expenses and tries to make the math work, Dream realizes he has no choice. 

The day after that, he’s plodding back to the plasma center.

The feelings of shame are almost overwhelming, and Dream slouches in with his head lowered, shoulders hunched, and eyes averted from everyone. 

“Dream!” Hob’s voice is like a warm bubble bath. “Hope you got home alright.”

Dream can barely look at him, but Hob's smile is like a ray of sun on Dream’s face. There’s a cloud of concern shadowing his eyes, but he’s otherwise as cheery as ever.

“Forgive me. I…” Dream cannot explain. 

“Look, I’m sorry. I totally overstepped,” Hob says. “I know I can be a bit much, and I shouldn’t’ve pushed.”

Dream cannot believe that Hob is apologizing to him. 

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Hob said gingerly, “was that your first time? It’s just you didn’t seem particularly pleased with the whole process. I thought I’d likely never see you in here again.”

“It was not. I have done this…” Too many times to count. “…frequently.” Dream finds the prospect of explaining the complexity of his situation too daunting. But he is touched by Hob’s concern. “I do not enjoy the process.”

Hob makes a sympathetic noise.

“But I did enjoy…” Dream pauses. What the fuck is he doing? Hob’s been kind enough to overlook his rudeness; Dream should just shut up and leave him alone. But maybe Dream has been alone too long, been too long without a sympathetic ear, because he keeps on mumbling, “I enjoyed hearing about your university. With the union… and the pizza… and everything.”

Impossibly, Hob brightens even further. “I could take you! The pizza really is delicious—Oh, shit, sorry, I’m doing it again, aren’t I?” The cloud of concern is back as he takes in Dream’s downcast gaze. “I’m being too much. Sorry, I didn't mean to push!”

“No, not at all. It sounds lovely. I just…” Dream shifts awkwardly. “They don’t exactly pay us enough here for going out.”

“Oh, I’ll get it!" Hob says with a wave of his hand. "It’s no problem. I’d love to take you out. You looked like you could’ve used a good meal after that last one. Have you at least eaten something so far today?” Hob tries to keep the worry out of his voice so he doesn’t sound like a mother hen. All the instructional materials are very explicit about not donating on an empty stomach, but he knows that people do what they have to. 

“I have,” Dream says honestly. His lips twitch as he takes in Hob’s worried look. But Hob's smile, even suppressed, is a beautiful thing. “Really,” Dream stresses. “Oatmeal is cheap. I've had enough to be getting on with things. But later…”

“Great!” Hob’s heart flutters, but he stamps down the feeling. The memory of Dream running from him twists at his heart. He never wants to make him afraid again. 

On the donation floor, they're next to each other again. And again Hob chatters happily about whatever he can think of to keep Dream distracted. It all seems to go well until they emerge together into the parking lot and Hob notices Dream tense as he glances at Hob’s car.

“We can hop on the bus, if you prefer,” Hob says. “The campus is just down the main line, and I've got extra passes.”

Dream blushes, and his shoulders hunch like he's ashamed. “I wouldn’t want to inconvenience you.”

“It’s nothing of the sort! It saves on gas and it's good for the planet!”

At the bus stop, Hob notices the way Dream’s gaze constantly flicks around his surroundings. Even when he looks down and hunches in on himself, his eyes remain alert, as if he's still hyperaware of every movement on his periphery. Hob wants so badly to reach out and comfort him and wipe away whatever has caused him to move through life with such fear, but he doesn't dare overstep. 

Hob is glad that the pizza place is in the bustling, well-lit central food court. Dream's body relaxes somewhat, and that specific tension which Hob had notice in the parking lot doesn't return. Hob buys him a giant slice of spinach, mushroom, and feta and a sealed bottle of water, and Dream even cracks a smile.

“I apologize for my behavior,” Dream says as they find seats at a plastic table in the middle of the food court. 

“No need," Hob says. "I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“You were being kind, and I reacted… extremely.” Dream takes a deep breath and then a long sip of water.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Hob hastens to assure him, "about… whatever happened… if you don't want to."

Dream nods. He knows. Despite his annoyingly resurgent fear, he feels safe around Hob. So slowly, hesitantly, he begins to explain. 

It’s an abbreviated form of the story. Dream avoids the details of how Burgess thought he could siphon the life force from vibrant young adults. How he'd drawn a whole following into his delusion, even though he'd ultimately kept Dream for himself. How (Dream had learned later) Burgess had boasted about having a fresh young man, the font of youth, trapped in his basement — and no one had done anything, whether because he was just a rich eccentric who could get away with a "joke" like that or because he'd paid enough people off. He didn't tell Hob how the elder Burgess hadn't ever been held accountable because he'd died before any of it had come to light, and the younger Burgess had fallen into a coma. A care worker had ultimately taken a wrong turn, stumbled into the basement, and that was how the police were finally called to Fawney Rig. But since no one was alive (or conscious) for a big, thrilling trial, the entire ordeal just fizzled quietly into the background.

It’s not the whole story. But it's enough. 

Hob’s face grows progressively more horrified. He's abandoned his half-eaten pesto and prosciutto slice. It sits cold in front of him now. He feels sick.

“I make art,” Dream says into the silence. “It is not lucrative, but I can work when and how I wish. I have not… had a great deal of luck with traditional employment. Especially not since… those events.”

“Right. Of course." Hob's voice cracks over his words. For once, he's struggling to extract his usual chatter. "Can’t imagine anything’s easy after that.” 

Hob doesn't touch the remainder of his pizza, but Dream polishes his off. He looks oddly relaxed now, as if, in the telling, some of the weight of the horrifying story has slid from his body. 

“I’d love to see your art,” Hob says on the bus back to the plasma center parking lot. Belatedly, he cringes at the presumption, wondering if it's too much, knowing now that he really ought not to push his interest onto a bloody kidnap victim.

“I have a website,” Dream says, bringing it up on his phone and showing the address to Hob. Then he stands, though they're only about halfway back to the center. “This stop is closer to my home. I… Thank you. For the meal. And the kind ear. Perhaps… I will see you next Tuesday?”

“Of course,” Hob says, and a little bubble of happiness rises in his chest. “It’s Tuesday and Thursday for me until the schedule changes next term.”

Over the next few weeks, Hob isn’t always next to Dream on the donation floor. But he asks Dream to tell him about his latest project afterwards, so Dream has something to think about during the donation. And also so that it's not just Hob chattering away at their post-donation dinners. Which are happening regularly now. Sometimes they go for pizza, sometimes a good curry or a hefty shawarma; Hob introduces Dream to the pubs with the best (and biggest) burgers. He knows all the places to get a solid, filling dinner, not because he's concerned about getting his money's worth but because Hob just enjoys a good meal and he's more than happy to help put some meat on Dream's bones.

And get the artist to open up. 

Slowly, Dream begins to do just that.

It starts to seem like Dream feels safe with Hob. When they're out, he stands close to Hob, as if comforted by his presence. His shoulders begin to straighten out, and he hunches less when they're together. Dream's gaze is still alert, but it rarely sinks to the floor now, and his eyes don't flick fearfully around so much when he's with Hob. 

Three weeks after they meet, Dream lets Hob drive him home.

Two weeks after that, he invites Hob inside to see his current projects. 

Hob knew Dream was a good artist from the first glimpse at his website, but seeing the bright canvases in person is just stunning. The glistening abstractions echo the swirling galaxies and deep, black voids of the universe. The colors blend in fantastic points of light or unearthly flames or brilliant streaks across the sky. The textures — flattened out in the photos — give an impression of looking into entire worlds. The brushstrokes are mountain ranges and deep ocean trenches and shaded valleys where, somehow, Hob can imagine entire populations living and thriving within the fibers of the canvas.

"The, erm… the university has spaces for community exhibits," Hob says, struggling to bring himself out of the captivating images as if wading out of a dream. How appropriate. "I could look into that, see if you could do a show. Maybe the Art Department could have you in for a lecture, too — you could talk about the real-life challenges of being an artist, the actual work involved, the practical—" Oh no. He's being too much again. "I mean, of course, you don't have to! I won't say anything without—"

Dream's arms are around Hob's shoulders before Hob can even turn away from the canvas. His wild, dark hair is tucked against Hob's cheek as Dream tightens his grip.

Hob's hands slowly move to Dream's back. He can't speak for a long moment. Instead, his hands gently rub against the thin material of Dream's shirt. Hob can feel the edges of his spine and ribcage, but Dream also feels softer than Hob would've imagined the first time he saw him, pale and shaking, weeks ago.   

"Thank you," Dream murmurs. He steps back, and his gaze lowers, but now it's not filled with fear and sadness. He's smiling shyly. "If you could do that, I-I… would be grateful."

Hob can do that!

He's in Medieval History himself, but he's friends with half the Art History department due to overlapping lectures, the occasional historical consultation or spontaneous debate, and just being a friendly guy. And the Art History people know a few of the more curious, historically-aware Art people due to various collaborations and consultations on the evolution of modern styles and techniques and the socio-political contexts of artistic development. 

Hob, with his talent for striking up conversation, takes less than a week to find several interested parties. And once he shows them Dream's work, everyone is extremely eager to invite the talented local artist to campus!

The next time Hob walks into the plasma center, Dream is already beaming. His smile is bright enough to singlehandedly banish the residual storm cloud that always follows Hob over the threshold.

"I hit the next weight class," Dream says. He leans subtly into Hob's side.

"Good on you!" Hob says, beaming right back. When he tells Dream about the interest in his work, Dream's arm snakes around his waist for a subtle but firm half-hug.

At Dream's first show (he's already scheduled in with both the Art and Art History Departments — the latter wants to address the reality of artist's lives across time — and, hell, Hob's even lobbying his own History Department to get Dream in as part of a series on creative work throughout history), Hob is enamored with one canvas he hasn't seen before. From a distance it's a dark oil-slick abstraction with iridescent slashes of green and blue, but up close, Hob can see the feathery edges of wings.

He cannot explain the sudden, confusing wave of sorrow-joy-awe it provokes deep in his chest.

"Departed souls," Dream says softly, coming up behind Hob, "come back as ravens. Or so it is believed by some."

Hob sniffs and tries to control the itch in his eyes as he turns toward Dream. "Oh?"

"I painted this one soon after I regained my freedom. It felt like a part of me had not survived the imprisonment. It was… necessary, perhaps, to lose something in order to regain my life, but it hurt nonetheless."

"Oh." Hob doesn't know what else to say, but he reaches out, gingerly wrapping an arm around Dream, waiting for any hint of refusal, but Dream turns into him and clutches him tight, and Hob's arms tighten around him in turn. "It's beautiful," he finally says, his words muffled against Dream's hair. 

"I think now… maybe… some part of me that had not survived… has come back. In some form."

And Hob is gone. Tears leak down into Dream's hair. Hob clutches at him for support, but he can feel himself shaking, and now it's Dream rubbing soothing patterns into his back and tightening the embrace.

When they finally pull back, Dream wipes Hob's cheeks with his palm. He tilts his head in a silent question.

"Just… death," Hob says. "It's bloody stupid, isn't it? In all its forms. Necessary, maybe but stupid. I don't want any part of it."

Hob laughs at himself, as if the brash declaration itself is stupid. 

But Dream only nods; he can see that there are deep forces moving beneath Hob's usually cheery exterior. 

On the way home, he listens as Hob finally opens up about his wife and the unborn babe. After a decade, Hob says, the wound has closed up, he has "moved on" in all the ways one is supposed to move on, he has a new — and rather wonderful — life. But the scar will remain forever. It still hurts, but he's grateful for the life he had and the new one he's grown into.

"Shit," Hob says suddenly.

Dream looks around and realizes they haven't driven back to his own crappy apartment building. 

"Sorry." Hob wipes his eyes. "I've blabbered so much, I wasn't paying attention. Driven myself right home."

"It's alright," Dream says. He peeks over at Hob shyly. "I've never seen your place."

Hob blinks at him for a moment — Dream's heart thuds against his throat — and then, despite the tear tracks still drying on his cheeks, Hob's face breaks into a brilliant smile. 

"Are you hungry?" Hob asks. "I can actually cook quite well. It's not always pub food and pizza."

With perfect timing, Dream's stomach gives an almost painful rumble. "I'm starving."

Inside, Hob cooks a delectable dinner. Dream watches Hob move about the kitchen, chattering happily — he's already inviting Dream back over for brunch and maybe a Netflix marathon and Christmas. And Dream's mind is blossoming with new paintings, these ones bright with twining paths and colliding galaxies and shared dreams.

Hob is vaguely aware that he might be babbling into too much territory again, but when he sees Dream watching him with that dreamy sparkly in his eyes, his heart is just too full to care. As they eat together, he lets himself just be excited and not worry about reining himself in. Truly, he might not mind an eternity of this.

And Dream is thinking much the same thing.

#Apparently paid plasma donation is illegal in the UK & you can't donate 2x/week SO... #This is also the Dystopian AU where all the regulations have been axed sorry #+I don't know how buses work in the UK. This is how they work in my city :) #the sandman #hob gadling #dream of the endless #fanfic #dreamling #my fanfic