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dreamlingforukraine · 10 months

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[ShowXComic Swap AU] The Truth Can't Hurt You, It's Just Like The Dark

It's Comic!Dream who appears in the Show!universe, and Show!Dream whisks Show!Hob away to the Dreaming for his own safety while he works to banish his other self.

Now, task accomplished, Dream knows he has to return Hob back to the Waking World.

But not yet.

This is a @dreamlingforukraine fic commission for @hoblingtyrant. ✨️ Thank you for your generosity and your patience 🙇‍♀️ I hope this level of darkness is to your liking. 👀

The title is from the song, "I Want You" by Fiona Apple. You can also read this story on AO3 here. 😊

CW: Spicy spice, but also dark themes! I'm talking Dark!Dream and his unhinged behavior, dubious consent, codependency, unreliable narrator, and even (offscreen) minor character death 👀

Note: This from the same AU as The Burning House, The Gilded Cage, and Fidelity. Except this is a new universe within that multiverse? 😂

Dream did not mean to take it this far.

But when he managed to banish his other self back into his own universe and it was time to return Hob into the Waking World, he found himself hesitant.

Just another week, he told himself. Just one more week and then he's going to return Hob back to his life.

But the weeks turned to months, and the months turned to years, and it's very easy to lose track of time in the Dreaming, even for dreams and nightmares.

Only Dream knows how much time has truly passed, and none would dare to speak against him. Not after he unmade his own raven for trying to get Hob to leave him. For trying to turn Hob against him.

It's unfortunate, but Matthew had to be unmade. Dream could forgive many things, but betrayal is not one of them.

Hob had asked where Matthew had gone, of course. And Dream had said, "He chose to retire."

It was not a lie.

Before Matthew became Dream's raven, he was a grown man. He knew exactly what he was doing when he did it. And so Dream allowed him to reap the consequences of his own actions and retired him.

Lucienne, he knows, has a lot of words saved up for him behind her teeth. But she does not speak against him. Nowadays, she barely speaks at all, keeping her replies limited to, "Yes, sir," and, "Right away, sir."

He appreciates her loyalty, and the fact that she knows her place.

The other dreams and nightmares follow her lead. Dream acknowledges that this is a cause for concern. A large number of his subjects might ask Lucienne to one day lead a mutiny against him, but he knows she will decline.

She knows all of them can be easily replaced with newer, more obedient versions of themselves. She will name the second Corinthian as an example, and they will all shut their mouths.

As they should.

They should know that there is only one being who is irreplaceable to Dream, and that Dream will unmake his own raven, move heaven and earth, and indeed, murder another Dream of the Endless--if it means having his love by his side for all eternity.

Truly, Dream did not mean to take it this far. But the thought of Hob leaving, the thought of Hob having a life away from him, or worse, being in danger or having another Eleanor--

Dream grits his teeth at the thought. He will not see it happen. Not again. Especially not now, after he has tasted Hob's soft lips, and swallowed down his moans of Dream's name, his frame shaking in Dream's arms, and his eyes so full of love as he looks at Dream after their lovemaking, when they're both lying in bed, sweating and sated.

If anyone dares to take Hob away from him, even one of his own siblings, he will tear the fabric of reality apart just to get him back.

"Hello love," Hob greets cheerfully as Dream enters the kitchen area of Hob's house in the Dreaming. He always perks up when Dream gets home, and it never fails to make Dream feel loved. He never understood the concept of 'home' until recently, when he comes back from his duties and arrives where Hob is.

This corner of the Dreaming, hidden from sight from everyone else and guarded by Corinthian himself, is always summer bright, though Dream allows the seasons to change whenever Hob requests it. Today is a sunny winter's day, and the skies are a robin's egg blue.

Dream will do anything for Hob, as long as Hob doesn't talk about wanting to leave.

"Hello, Hob," he says, and walks the short distance towards his love, wrapping his arms around Hob's middle while his chin rests on Hob's shoulder.

Hob is cooking something that looks like seafood stew on the stove, and he is currently stirring and testing the stew's viscosity. "How was work today?"

"Tedious," Dream replies, and places feather-soft kisses on the exposed skin of Hob's neck. Hob shivers deliciously and leans more against him, and Dream tightens his arms around him, pressing their bodies even closer together. "I would rather be here with you."

Hob chuckles, ladling a spoonful of the stew and blowing on it. "Then you should take more days off," he says, then holds the spoonful towards Dream. "Here, taste."

Hob does small, sweet, and seemingly insignificant things like that--blowing on a spoonful of hot stew to cool it down, even when he knows full well that Dream can't burn his tongue.

Dream loves him so much.

He opens his mouth and lets Hob feed him. The broth tastes gingery, and there are clams and cuttlefish and fishcake in the spoonful that Hob offered him. Dream has no doubt that, were Hob to make this same dish in the Waking World, it would taste just as good. But here in the Dreaming, it tastes absolutely sublime.

Like all the food that Hob made ever since he started living in Dream's realm, the stew tastes like devotion. Like a love that has simmered for more than 600 years, with a well-developed, deep, rich flavor, and a sweetness that makes Dream crave for Hob more.

It's delicious, and his hunger grows the more he eats. He angles his hips away so as to not bring attention to his rapidly hardening cock. There will be time for that later.

"Good?" Hob asks, when Dream gives a pleased hum as he chews. "It's a seafood stew I first tasted in a little seaside restaurant in the 1970s. Unfortunately, they closed before I could return the following summer. And I couldn't find the owners, so I had to spend a considerable amount of time trying to recreate it."

Dream swallows the stew and licks his lips, devouring Hob's story as well. He turns his face to the side to kiss Hob on the lips. It's an awkward angle, but Dream stretches his neck a little longer, more than what a human is capable of, and he makes it work without inconveniencing Hob.

Hob, for his part, sighs happily into the kiss and blindly reaches towards the stove to turn off the flames. His hand misses by a couple of inches, but this is the Dreaming, and Dream is its lord, and he turns the flames off for Hob with a single thought.

Hob will never be in danger here.

When they part for breath, Hob is panting, and he turns around fully so Dream could crowd him against the kitchen counter, his legs bracketed by Dream's on either side. "The stew is delicious," Dream praises, leaning in to kiss and lick Hob's lips again. He will never get enough of him. "And so was your story."

"I'm glad you like it," Hob says, cheeks pinkening in pleasure that Dream likes his cooking. Like Dream would ever find any of his dishes wanting. "It took me years to get it right, and by the time I did, the fishmongers in the market had taken to calling me 'seafood stew guy.' It's fine since it was about the time I changed identities anyway, but it still makes me cringe that somewhere out there, a bunch of old people would fondly recount the story of the seafood stew guy to their grandchildren."

Dream chuckles at Hob's accompanying silly daydream--a hunched old lady walking with a child down a beachfront, telling them about the years she interacted with a strange fellow who ate nothing but seafood stew.

"I think it's admirable that you always work so hard to achieve your goals," Dream says fondly. Where most humans would give up, Hob Gadling would persist. It's one of many reasons why Dream fell in love with him.

Hob smiles sweetly up at him and stands slightly on his tiptoes to give Dream a chaste peck on the lips. "Thank you for saying so," he says. "But really, it's your influence. You always make me want to do my best."

Dream growls at his words and deepens their kiss. Trust Hob to know just the right words to make Dream feel even more insane about him.

He lifts Hob up so he could sit him on the counter to make it easier for his neck. Hob wastes no time and pulls Dream towards him with his legs, and locks his ankles against his waist so Dream would not go far.

As if Dream ever would, when Hob is right here.

"Are we going to eat sometime soon, or will I have to reheat the food later?" Hob asks. "Because I feel like it's going to be a few hours before we start eating, and I would like you to know that I made pot stickers as well."

Dream starts unbuttoning Hob's trousers. "Sounds delicious."

Hob laughs and helps Dream take off his clothes, raising his hips when Dream starts sliding his trousers off, and pulling his shirt over his head. "'Sounds delicious,' he says. But is he talking about pot stickers or something else?"

"I'm talking about you, of course," Dream says, and leans down to swirl his tongue around Hob's nipple. "Your dishes always taste good, but you taste even better."

Hob moans at that, and pulls Dream's head more towards his chest. "Fuck, Dream--"

"I'm right here, my love," Dream says, and nips at the soft skin of Hob's hairy tits. He looks so beautiful. Dream waves his hand impatiently so the clothing melts off both their bodies.

"That's...oh! That's cheating."

Dream shrugs and gently lays Hob down on the counter, the space accommodating them and reshaping itself so Hob's head doesn't hit the wall, and he can fully lie down on his back with his legs still around Dream's waist. "I never once claim to play fair."

Hob pouts at him. "I had to make the pot stickers from scratch, you know," he says. "No cheating about it. Do you know how long it takes to make them? Because the recipe said one hour, but obviously it didn't take into account all the wrapping--"

Dream kisses Hob to prevent him from talking about the time, biting at his lips gently, one hand massaging his pec, while the other strokes his cock. Hob moans and arches his back, all talk of food forgotten.

"Dream--"

"We will eat your wonderful creations later, my love," Dream promises. "But now, I must have my fill of you so I can sate the hunger that has been driving me mad all day."

Hob moans as Dream eats him out right there on the kitchen counter. Normally, he wouldn't allow such a thing, arguing that they need to retreat to the bedroom because the kitchen is a sacred space meant only for preparing food. But this is the Dreaming, and the rules of the Waking World do not apply here. The counter will remain spotless and sanitized if Dream wills it, and so Hob allows himself to be taken every which way in his dream kitchen.

The kitchen in his flat in the Waking World is small, with barely enough space to do food prep, but here in the Dreaming, Dream has spoiled him and allowed him to design his own kitchen, with no thought given to how much it would cost or, indeed, if some of the things he wanted were even possible in the Waking World.

Dream told him that his imagination is the limit, and so Hob had gone nuts. His dream kitchen is bright and airy, allowing plenty of sunlight in, with light-colored wooden cabinets and marble countertops. But it never gets too warm when he's cooking, and his pantry is always full. He also never runs out of ingredients or have ingredients spoil because he forgot all about them.

And it doesn't stop there. Because Dream let Hob go nuts with the entire house as well. The bedroom is always pleasantly cool and the sheets are always clean, and the bathroom is spacious enough to have a large bathtub that would fit both of them, even when Dream feels like being bigger than human-sized.

Hob won't even have to clean or water the plants or do laundry again if he doesn't want to. (He sometimes wants to, but only for roleplay purposes.)

Dream has literally made for him the perfect house, and all he had asked is for Hob to stay. For just a little while. Just while he works on banishing another Dream of the Endless who just appeared one day in the Waking World.

And in Hob's time in the Dreaming, it must have been...oh, a few weeks by now, Dream has had him practically on every surface in the house. Even, memorably, on the observatory's smooth glass dome, with all the stars twinkling below them, and made Hob feel like they were fucking in a space station.

Responding to his very detailed daydream, Dream temporarily turns the observatory to a futuristic spaceship that affords a 360 degree view of space, and Hob gets rimmed and railed above the rings of Saturn.

It's like Dream can't ever get enough of Hob, and Hob...

He loves it.

Having Dream's entire attention focused only on him, having his lips on him, his arms around him, his cock in him...

"Dream," Hob moans, as Dream shapes his tongue so it could reach even deeper within his hole. "Dream, please, I'm so close--"

"Is that a warning to get me to stop, or a plea to let you cum?"

Dream has not let up from fucking him with his tongue, and so his voice is being projected by the walls instead.

Hob shivers at the casual display of power and tightens his hold on Dream's hair. "I want to cum, please." He squirms when Dream's tongue grows even larger and reaches even deeper. "Fuck-- Your tongue is so deep, I can almost feel it in my stomach."

In reply, Dream's tongue pushes upward, and Hob whines when he sees the outline of Dream's monstrous tongue on his lower belly. "Shit, Dream--"

"Cum for me, Hob," the walls said in Dream's voice, while Dream's dark starlight eyes look up at him from between his legs. "Cum on my tongue with my name on your lips. Scream out who you belong to."

Hob pants and whimpers as Dream starts thrusting his tongue faster, his sharp, dark lacquered nails digging into Hob's thighs, leaving red marks. "Dream," Hob gasps out as Dream's tongue presses him in all the right places, making his muscles flutter and squeeze involuntarily in pleasure. "Mmmn, right there--gonna come--" The tongue twists inside him, hitting his prostate dead on, and Hob yelps as his thighs start to seize. "Fuck! Dream!"

Dream hums as Hob starts cumming, and Hob's orgasm intensifies at the vibration. "Dream," he moans, voice cracking a little and feeling delirious with pleasure. He just came untouched but he needs more. He needs Dream inside him. Marking him. Filling him. He is Dream's, body and soul, forever. "Fuck me again," he begs, and shifts to make himself look more alluring. He pushes his tits together and cups them from underneath, presenting them to Dream like a feast. "Fuck me with your cock this time."

He keens in delight when Dream reaches with both hands and gropes at the cups of his breasts, thumbing and twisting at his nipples. His tongue starts to shrink inside Hob, and Hob whines and clenches his muscles, futilely trying to keep the prehensile organ inside him.

He feels like crying. No. Not yet. Not yet, please. "No, please. I still need you. Hurry, I feel so empty--"

"Patience, Hob," Dream murmurs as he stands, hands still on Hob's hairy tits, palming and squeezing. His tongue is shrinking, but it's still longer than normal, and Dream is utilizing its current length to lick Hob's slick from his chin and around his mouth. Hob moans at the sight and pulls Dream's body closer to him with his legs. "I will give you everything you need."

Hours later, Dream is still fucking Hob, though they have relocated to the bedroom.

Hob is holding his legs open, his nipples swollen from the amount of time Dream spent sucking and biting at them, and his stomach is streaked in white from his many orgasms. He looks radiant.

Dream thrusts harder, angling Hob's legs higher and wider, and enjoys the beautiful fucked out sounds and helpless gasps that spill from Hob's lips. His moans are interspersed with Dream's name and pleas for more, and Dream obeys and gives him exactly what he wants.

Can Hob really make it back in the Waking World? After Dream has spoiled him rotten here?

He would hate it, Dream thinks. The unavailability of certain ingredients, the fucked up climate and unpredictability of the weather, the mundane chores he has to accomplish daily...

It would be like dropping a 21st century man back in the 14th century. And for how well Dream knows Hob, he knows he would not want it. He would miss all the conveniences that the 21st century has provided him: electricity and wifi and take-out, not to mention that he'll have to get a job again. Not because he needs to work for a living--Hob has too much money for that now, but to pretend like he's just another normal human and not arouse suspicion.

Hob would hate it. If Dream were to return him to the Waking World now, he would absolutely despise it. He would think that Dream is purposefully being cruel to him. Abandoning him like he did before.

If Dream sent him back to the Waking World, wouldn't that only spell disaster for them both? Dream left Hob in 1589 for some unimportant poet and came back to Hob tortured and dirty and starved. Uncared for. And Dream left Hob once more due to his stupid pride in 1889 and got himself imprisoned for more than a hundred years.

Clearly, the lesson to be learned here is he should never leave Hob's side ever again.

And the last thing he wants is for Hob to hate him. For him to look at Dream with heartbreak in his eyes, his pure, gentle heart once more crushed into fine powder at his feet.

He will never make Hob sad again. And bringing him back to the Waking World...

No. Out of the question.

It's better if Hob stays here, where Dream can provide anything his heart desires. Where Dream could always love and protect him. He will give Hob a world--a universe--where everything he wishes for will be his.

His perfect darling.

"Dream," Hob moans, as Dream starts thrusting deeper, losing his rhythm as Hob squeezes his cock deliciously. "More. Fill me more. I want to look round and pregnant and yours."

Dream groans at that, and imagines little children with their features running around the house. How many would they have? A dozen? A hundred? They have the rest of eternity.

But no. Not yet. Maybe someday, when Hob is more settled.

Dream will ask Hob again when he is less out of his mind with lust. And if Hob really wants to bear his children, then who is Dream to say no to him?

Much, much later, as they lie on the bed, Dream on his back with an arm around Hob, Hob on his side with his hand placed on Dream's chest, their legs tangled together and Hob's round stomach filled with Dream's cum pressed against Dream's side, Hob nuzzles against Dream's chest and says, "How goes trying to banish the other Dream?"

Dream stops running his fingers through Hob's hair, but resumes after only a moment's pause. "He has proved to be cunning," he says. "But you should not worry. I am more than a match for him, and I will never let him hurt you."

Hob hums and kisses the patch of skin in front of his face, which is just a little above Dream's heart. "Okay," he mumbles, already half-asleep. "Take your time. I don't want you getting injured."

Dream pulls Hob closer and presses soft kisses on his forehead. "I will be careful," he says. "I will always come home to you."

Hob yawns and snuggles closer. Like this, it's difficult to tell where he ends and when Dream begins. "Good," he says sleepily. "Love you."

Dream would do whatever it takes to keep Hob by his side. "And I you, my love."

Epilogue

In another universe, a defeated Dream of the Endless gasps awake with a rattling cough. He sits up, clutching at what's left of his stomach, and starts to vomit shadows that turn into spiders that hiss like snakes as they hit the ground and scuttle away from him.

There is a literal hole in the middle of his stomach, going right through his spine. And his body, Endless as it is, struggles to stitch itself together again. He heaves, retches, and spits thick, yellow acid that makes the ground sizzle.

He wipes the sweat off his forehead and surveys the damage done to him.

From what he can see of his limbs, his left leg had been blown clear off, leaving him with a charred stump that ends a hand's span away from his pelvic region. The flesh of his left arm is partially melted, showing irritated bits of skin and bleach-white bones. His entire right side is mostly unscathed, with only a few deep slashes here and there from where the other Dream had raked his claws.

His back is littered with shrapnel and lightning vines that shock him occasionally, but they are a minor inconvenience at the moment.

Distantly, he is grateful that there is no one to see him in such a wretched state. The Dreaming here has long been reduced to an empty, desolate wasteland filled only with treacherous mists and islands of stone ruins.

His black clothing hangs off him like the sails of a shipwrecked galley, also courtesy of the other Dream's ruthless attacks, but the thing that he came for, offered to him freely upon a hidden altar, lies safe within his hollow chest.

He winces as he cracks open his ribs and withdraws from the empty safe that used to be his heart, a battered, leather bound notebook.

It's plain brown and cracked in places, stained golden and glittering by some sort of eldritch blood in others. It's the kind that can be bought in stationery shops, but it looks more than a quarter of a century old, and it certainly smells like it.

He inspects it thoroughly now.

He would have looked at its contents earlier, but he was busy fending off his other self. That other Dream is stronger than he is, and he fought like a rabid animal, almost frothing at the mouth in hatred.

Dream wonders what the other him is protecting so ferociously. A small part of him wants to know so he could take it away from the other him and use it to cast him down. The larger part of him mourns that he has forgotten what it feels like to feel that strongly about something.

It has been centuries since he felt anything, and his realm is a reflection of that.

A Dreaming as empty as its master, with dreamers running scared as Dream's shadows chase them for sustenance.

He opens the notebook carefully, mindful of its age. A card falls out and lands on the patch of ground by his remaining knee. It's a simple white cardstock.

Dream picks it up and notices that there is something written on the back. He turns the paper around and reads the words.

Once he finishes reading, he reads the words again.

And again, for the third time.

The corners of his mouth start twitching, and, unable to contain the mirth overwhelming his body, he starts to laugh.

It starts out as a menacing chuckle, before it grows louder and louder, until it shakes the earth and becomes more deafening than a thunderclap.

It's been a while since he laughed.

It feels good.

In the ruins around him, the shadows dance in their nests, and blood-red vines slither on the ground like veins. In the far-off distance, a couple of pterodactyls screech in the sky.

The Dreaming has been dead for years, but here it is, showing signs of life again.

On the ground where the card had landed for but a moment, green grass had started to push up from the earth, and they fill the air with the scent of summer.

Dream presses the white cardstock against his nose and breathes the scent of it greedily. He could not believe he has almost forgotten the sweet, lovely, faithful scent of Hob Gadling.

He will read his darling's notes later. But for now, Dream rips his clothes further so he could wrap one hand around his cock while his other, healing, skeletal one holds the notebook, and its accompanying note against his face.

The notebook smells slightly stale, but it still smells of Hob's sweat. Dream groans and licks the paper, tasting the ghost of Hob's fingers.

Delicious.

He tastes so fucking good.

The card is newer, bought recently, and Hob had kissed the bottom corner, like the temptation that he is, with bright red lipstick the color of Dream's ruby. Dream presses his lips upon the impression on the paper covetously and strokes his cock harder.

Dream has had ambrosia thousands of years ago in Olympus.

But Hob's lips, through the lipstick's impression, tastes even better than that.

It's been so long since he had felt such pleasure. And it won't be long until he has a Robert Gadling of his very own.

His eyes roll to the back of his head as he cums with Hob's name on his lips, while all around him, his realm heals along with his ruined body.

Life. Hob has granted him life with a single, ghostly kiss. What more if Dream kisses his own Hob? What more if Dream makes love to him, their curves and edges fitting together seamlessly, their shared sweat and cum blessing the earth under their bodies?

He kisses the note reverently, and smears his seed on the slightly smudged lipstick. Amazingly, his cock twitches again at the sight.

He smiles.

He has preparations to make.

To another beloved Dream, one who lost his Hob before the 21st century,

With this, I hope you'll find another Hob to love you for the rest of your days. I found that there are many, across all of time and space, who lost their Dreams. It is my wish that those who were left behind not be lonely for long, because life is so much more happier when you have the one you love by your side.

I wish you luck and happiness, and I apologize if you were injured in any way in the process of getting my offering. My Dream is a bit overzealous, but he loves me well.

With love,

Hob Gadling 💋

Hob wakes up in Dream's arms and smiles when he sees that his love is still sleeping. Good. Hob leans up to kiss his chin and snuggles even closer. Still asleep, Dream hums and tightens his hold on Hob. Like Hob is trying to leave the bed and he's preventing him from doing so.

Hob huffs a laugh. His lovely boyfriend is so silly sometimes. Why would Hob want to leave? He doesn't have to go to the bathroom anymore upon waking up, like he did in the Waking World. And no need to brush his teeth either to get rid of his morning breath.

He traces random patterns on Dream's chest as he waits, content, for him to wake naturally. Hob would have to reheat the stew and the pot stickers from yesterday for breakfast, but he knows they'll still taste like he just took them off the stove.

(It's very convenient, and Hob always makes sure to thank Dream for the wonderful house he built for him.)

His hole throbs pleasantly as he clenches it, imagining sitting on Dream's cock during breakfast, warming him. Maybe they could fuck once more before Dream leaves to attend to his duties again.

He doesn't tell Hob the details of his current duties, but Hob knows he's lying about still not being able to banish the other Dream. He just doesn't know why Dream is trying to hide the truth from him. Does he think Hob would want to leave?

Because he doesn't. Why would he?

Dream needs someone to take care of him. He has so many duties, and even more people depending on him. When Hob is still living in the Waking World, he tried his best to help Dream unwind, but he can only do so much with the limited amount of time they have in the evening.

And so Dream remained tired and sleep-deprived, even under Hob's care.

But that changed when Hob started living in the Dreaming. Now, Dream is sleeping well, and eating well, and he can fuck Hob whenever and however long he wants! No need to wait for Hob's body to recover. They could just go at it again and again until they're both satisfied.

It's a bit irritating that Dream's duties take him away from Hob, but that's okay, because Hob has a plan for that as well.

Soon, Hob thinks happily as he caresses his cum-filled belly, Dream will have another excuse to stay at home more often.

Dream stirs, and Hob turns his face brightly towards him. "Good morning, Dream."

Dream smiles, unguarded, and it never fails to make Hob's heart all aflutter. He looks so handsome, and Hob can't believe he's the lucky person who gets to wake up next to him. "Good morning, Hob," he says, his voice sleep rough but happy. Content. "My darling. My love."

Yes, Hob thinks, as Dream pulls him closer for their first kiss of the day. It's definitely better now that he's here.

"I think it's admirable that you always work so hard to achieve your goals," Dream says with a soft look in his eyes, looking at Hob like he's something precious.

Dream does not know the things Hob did to be here with him, and sometimes Hob wonders if Dream would still love him if he knew. He hopes he does. He cannot bear the thought of Dream hating him and casting him aside, leaving him like he did before. He would rather die.

Hob smiles sweetly at the only love of his long, immortal life, and stands slightly on his tiptoes to kiss the lips that he has been dreaming about since that day in 1389. "Thank you for saying so," he says. "But really, it's your influence. You always make me want to do my best."

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dreamlingforukraine · 10 months

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Sandman (TV 2022) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Daniel/Hob Gadling Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling, Death of the Endless Additional Tags: spy AU, Secret Agent Morpheus, Secret Agent Hob Gadling, Banter, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Hob is a Mission Impossible type of badass, Dream is a pedantic genius spy, mission briefing, Enemies to Lovers, of sorts Summary:

When Morpheus, top spy of his agency and brooding loner is summoned for a mission briefing he soon learns that he will be forced to team up with mercenary-turned-secret agent Robert Gadling.

The two could not be more different and tension runs high between them from the start. But despite Morpheus open displeasure of having to work with another agent, he cannot fight the secret intrigue for the charismatic daredevil who seems drawn to him like a moth to the flame.

for @valeriianz thank you so much for supporting @dreamlingforukraine! 💕 💕 💕

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dreamlingforukraine · 11 months

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digital and watercolor versions of a @dreamlingforukraine commission for @acedragontype for their absolutely wonderful fic A Good Life and a Happy Death which I HIGHLY recommend :)

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dreamlingforukraine · 11 months

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Dreamling for Ukraine Creator - @staroftheendless

Hello Dreamers, I’m participating in the fandom charity drive @dreamlingforukraine!

That means I’ll be creating fanworks in exchange for donations for one of these charities which are providing relief for the victims of the war in Ukraine and the destruction of Kakhovka Dam.

What I offer:

fanfic - find examples of my writing in my writing tag here on tumblr or on AO3

fic already written for the event

Suggested Donation Amount:

1€ per 100 words. This means you can donate 10€ for 1,000 words, 20€ for 2,000 words and so on.

I accept offers for a minimum of 500 words and a maximum of 5k words (although I tend to overwrite 😉).

number of slots: 3 (for now, maybe more depending on fic length)

Accepting prompts:

Yes! Hit me with your ideas. If you need inspiration, you can check out my monthly smut prompt list.

Additional Info:

Expected turnaround time: 2-4 weeks depending on length of the fic

Will write ✅: I'd give anything a go really, sfw and nsfw, best suited for fluff and smut, angst usually with a happy end. kid fics are fine. poly with other characters or reader! down for a/b/o and kinky stuff. Feel free to suggest anything!

Won't write ❌: underage nsfw, non-con (unless it's cnc), if you find a hard limit, I'll let you know

How to commission me:

I will be accepting donations indefinitely.

Send a message here or on discord (carakeks) telling me what you'd like me to make for you.

Wait until I reply. Do not donate until I confirm your commission! All money donated to charity is non-refundable.

Once I confirm your commission, donate within the next 48 hours. PLEASE remember to screencap your receipt and black out your personal details. You need to send me this to prove you’ve donated.

Once I’ve seen your receipt, I’ll start working on your project.

I reserve the right to refuse commissions if I’m not comfortable with them or feel like I’m unable to accept them for lack of time, skill or any other reason.

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dreamlingforukraine · 11 months

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This story comes to you thanks to @honeyteacakes who gave me the honor of writing something for @dreamlingforukraine 💜

Square: C2 - Reunion

Title: A Bath and Beyond

Rating: E

Word Count: 4,192

Ship(s): Dream x Hob

Additional Tags: surprise sex, Dream shows off with dream stuff

Summary: After doing something stupid, Hob ends up getting a surprise visit from Dream. He'd appreciate it a lot if it wasn't for the fact that he's currently sitting naked in his bathtub with a boner between his legs.

also on AO3

Hob is rearranging and cleaning up a few things at the bar of "The New Inn," throwing sidelong glances at the door again and again. He's waiting for his stranger, although he can't exactly call him that anymore. Dream of the Endless, the king of dreams and nightmares, has finally revealed to Hob who he is.

While Hob is grateful that he did, it also has shifted his perception of the man, or rather, entity. A flutter goes through Hob's stomach every time he thinks about the fact that a king of a mystical realm that holds big stakes in the existence of the world regularly visits him for a private chat.

It doesn't help that the anthropomorphic personification of dreams chooses to manifest as a hot goth guy that ticks a lot of Hob's boxes. Before, Hob always managed to keep such thoughts at bay considering how mysterious and aloof Dream acted during their meetings, but he doesn't do so anymore. In fact, he seems like a changed man.

It was Dream's idea that in a fast-changing world, they should shorten the intervals between their meetings, and somehow that led to them meeting every two weeks, give or take a few days. Dream as Hob's constant in life wasn't just something he could hold onto in the grand scheme of things anymore, but turned into a beautiful someone he could literally touch and see and surely wouldn't mind tasting.

"Hey, prof," a scratchy voice says next to him and Hob jumps, almost dropping the glass he's holding.

"God's wounds, Matthew," Hob groans, mopping up his spill. "I told you not to do that. You're worse than Dream."

Matthew caws in a tone that screams offense, and Hob translates it to "Nobody is as bad as the boss." He tries to hide his smile and Matthew blinks up at him. "I'll ignore that you said that and just hand over my message. The boss got held up by some important fairy court stuff, so he won't be coming by tonight."

"Alright, thanks Matthew," Hob says, although his heart drops.

Matthew takes off and Hob looks after him, wondering again how he got here, to this point in time. He just had a conversation with a raven, and although Dream has no real obligation to come by, Hob is disappointed. He's done over 100 years without Dream, but now, one more day is a challenge.

Hob has gotten used to Dream's company, so much so that his craving for it is stronger and more frequent than ever. It's Dream's fault, mainly. Spoiling him with interesting conversations, his teasing voice, the spark in his eyes when he challenges Hob over something. And the smile. God, the smile.

With a sigh, Hob tears himself away from the thoughts to note down a few items on his shopping list for tomorrow, but right after fresh lemons, Hob's mind drifts back to dark hair, pale skin, and ruby lips. The Prince of Stories must have read Snow White one too many times. Or did he inspire it?

Hob shoves that thought away, too, only to find that he fell into doodling on his freaking shopping list and his mind then ran off the rails completely. Under "fresh lemons," Hob noted "Dream," "Oneiros," and "Morpheus" as if Dream is something he can just pick up at the store. God, wouldn't that be great?

Staring at the names, Hob can't help but like it, though. Dream is like him. He's immortal, and along the way, he collected quite a few names for himself. It's something they got to share, that connects them. Driven by the sentiment, Hob puts "Hob Gadling" right next to Dream and it takes him a few seconds of studying his own handwriting before horror grips him.

He didn't just write his name. He put a little heart in between Dream and Hob like a flustered little student with a crush. Hob stares at the words way too long, thinking about all the forms he had to fill out in his lifetime, always checking the "single" box, the space for a spouse staying empty. His mind goes so far as to imagine a wedding invitation and that's when he finally gets a grip.

Hob pulls out a lighter and a second later, his shopping list goes up in flames. Despite spending most of his life not smoking, Hob always has a lighter on him for occasions such as this one. You never know when you have to destroy evidence.

Now that Hob knows that Dream won't come, there's no need to wait here for him, so he closes up and decides to spend a nice quiet evening with earthly pleasures instead of a dreamy one. He gets himself a nice glass of wine and runs a hot bath, ready to soak until he falls asleep. After all, he doesn't have to worry all that much about drowning.

Lying in the bathtub, Hob tries his best to clear his head, but instead, his imagination runs wild. After Dream told him who he was, Hob had a ton of questions, but they're still far from having discussed all of them. While Hob knows that Dream is not a king in the way a human would be, Hob still imagines what it would be like. Dream in a crown and fancy clothes, ordering people about.

Hob has never been one to support an evil monarch, but maybe Dream is a kind ruler. Maybe he rides into battle himself and fights alongside his men. One time, when a particularly rude customer wouldn't leave Hob alone, Dream gave him a death stare that made even Hob's skin crawl. Dream can be quite imposing. Dominant. The word settles deep in Hob's belly, and heat rises up his cheeks, but he still lets his hand wander down between his legs. Those are just thoughts after all. It's okay to indulge a little.

Teasing himself, Hob's body loses a lot of the tension it's been holding and he leans into it, letting the arousal take hold of him. He's about to close his eyes and get lost in himself when a shadow forms in the middle of his damn bathroom, surrounded by a whirlwind of sand.

Hob manages to quickly put both hands over his obvious erection before Dream has fully manifested right there. He stares at Hob in the tub and Hob stares right back since Dream wears a black coat as per usual, even with the lapels drawn up as if to brace against strong winds, but his chest is bare. A long v-shaped stripe at his front reveals a lot more skin than Hob has seen of him before, and it doesn't help the situation at hand.

"Dream?!" Hob asks, hoping to keep his cool, but the word comes out as a squeal.

"Are you in pain?" Dream asks, taking a step closer and running his eyes all over Hob's body. "Why did you call me?"

"Call you?" Hob wishes he could sit up straighter, maybe even reach for a towel, but despite the horrible situation, he's still hard and doesn't dare to take even one hand away from his dick. "I didn't call you. You don't even have a bloody phone!"

Dream takes another step closer, and Hob wonders why he looks so worried. He's never seen him like that. "I heard you call my name," Dream insists. "I worried you might be in distress."

It's rather sweet actually. Dream thinking that Hob might need help and barging in right away. If Hob wasn't still naked and semi-hard, he'd appreciate the hell out of it.

"If I wrote down your name and then burned it-" Hob asks, finally making the connection, "would that count as a call to you?"

"Yes," Dream says, looking up to the ceiling before closing his eyes with a deep sigh. Hob uses the chance to sit up on his legs but covers himself quickly when Dream looks at him with a stern expression. "But why would you do that?"

Hob is happy to admit mistakes, and he doesn't care to lie unless he has to, but what he did isn't easy to admit. "I just sort of doodled on a piece of paper with your name in the mix, and then I burned it. I didn't know how much of a secret it is, you know? After all, you didn't tell me for ages."

"I guess that is reasonable," Dream admits, but his eyes still rest on Hob's face, prodding, as if not satisfied with Hob's claims. "Are you sure you are alright? You seem feverish."

"It's just the hot w-" Hob starts but Dream closes the distance between them and a cool hand finds its way to Hob's forehead. It's quite nice, forcing Hob to end his sentence with a heartfelt, "Oh."

When Dream sits down on the edge of the bathtub next to Hob, he engulfs him with his distinct scent. It's something Hob knows so well but never found the words to describe. It's cool but burns, it's vast but specific, something foreign everybody just knows. Dream smells like a starry night, whatever sense that makes.

"You are hot," Dream states, and Hob wonders if he doesn't catch the double entendre in his words. "Are you sure you have not been hurt?"

"I'm fine," Hob says, this time very much lying as his eyes trail over Dream's exposed skin. If he leaned forward a little, he could have a nice taste. "You can go back to whatever fairy get-together requires this outfit."

Hob didn't mean to comment on Dream's clothes, but it's hard not to say something about the thing that consumes him. Whatever he said, though, it changes Dream's expression to something sinister that has Hob's blood turn cold.

"I was not happy about said fairy meeting, to be honest, and you gave me a good enough excuse to disband it," Dream says, his hand sliding down to cup Hob's cheek. "I wanted to make our meeting."

"Wait," Hob says, his blood rushing through his body as he catches up to Dream's words. "You just ditched a bunch of fairies because you thought I was in trouble? I'm sure that meeting was important."

Dream draws his eyebrows together as if he needs a moment to make sense of what Hob said. "Yes, I did," he says, his fingers now holding on to Hob's chin. "You will always be more important to me."

That's quite the statement, and Hob has a hard time breathing with the way his heart hammers in his chest. Too many thoughts swirl around in his head. The Lord of Dreams is sitting on the edge of his bathtub, caressing his face and voicing concerns over his condition, just because Hob acted like an idiot. He feels the need to honor those efforts, to be worthy of Dream's attention.

"Thank you," Hob says, and a long-hidden instinct forces its way back into his life, moving his lips. "My lord."

Dream stares at Hob as if he's seeing him for the first time, his lips falling open with a quick breath, and his eyes growing dark. He traces his thumb over Hob's lower lip as if to touch what's left of the words he just spoke, and Hob knows that he's lost.

Every indecent thought, every filthy notion, and every improper feeling he ever had toward Dream, consumes him now, and looking up at Dream, he presses his lips to Dream's thumb for a chaste kiss as if to swear fealty to his ruler.

Stars explode in Dream's eyes and Hob bows his head, horrified over what he did, but desperate to appease Dream. He doesn't want him to run away again just because Hob can't control his silly feelings. Taking shallow breaths, Hob acts as if he's invisible, but Dream reaches for his chin again, coaxing him to look up.

"Why would you call me that?" he asks, his eyes still consumed by ever-changing galaxies.

Hob can't even say why. He never thought about this before, but Dream showed concern and kindness. He cared about Hob when he didn't have to. Dream has duties so much bigger than Hob could ever be, but he's here now. In Hob's eyes, his friend deserves the same devotion.

"You are a king, are you not?" Hob asks, swallowing hard as he steels himself for the truth. "I want you to be my king."

Dream's lips turn up in a half smile, and Hob wonders if he thinks him silly, but it's hard to think of better words when Dream leans in closer while tilting Hob's head up even more, bringing them so close to each other that Hob can feel Dream's hot breath ebb against his lips.

"You should be careful with what you offer me," Dream says, his tone amused, but his words are a dare. "You do not know what I might ask of you."

Hob has a hard time breathing. He's never been this close to Dream before, and he's getting light-headed, any thoughts about being careful what he says to Dream flying out of the window. Hob's cock twitches below his hands, and he wants Dream more than ever before.

"Whatever you'll ask of me, I'll do it," Hob says, staring into Dream's eyes despite his heart beating almost out of his chest. "I want to be of service to you whichever way you want me."

Any other man might have been wiser than to offer someone more powerful than a god to do with him as he pleases, but Hob meant what he said in 1889. Despite learning a thing or two over the years, he's still the same man, and Robert Gadling always jumps head-first into danger. To him, Dream is the big fancy ball everybody wants to go to and if Hob plays his cards right this time, he might get an invitation.

"Let me worship you the way you deserve," Hob says, no longer afraid. "Please."

Dream takes his hand away and Hob's heart stops, but Dream doesn't disappear. He gets up, and the room around them changes. Music is coming out of nowhere. Smooth notes of something Hob listens to when he tries to relax. The fluorescent light disappears, replaced by candlelight from candles brought here out of every corner of Hob's apartment.

"You shall not worship me," Dream says, waving his hand, and Hob isn't sitting in plain hot water anymore but bubbles surround him instead. "And you shall not serve any man, god, or entity ever again."

Hob wants to object but then Dream steps into the freaking bathtub, boots still on his feet. He goes to his knees, all the while holding Hob's gaze, and the deeper he sinks into the water, the more of his clothes disappear. By the time he reaches Hob, he's completely naked, the bubbles around his hips the only thing keeping him hidden while Hob gets to feast his eyes on miles of smooth skin.

"A king is only a king if he serves his people," Dream says. "You have dreamed more than any other human, Hob. You have given plenty. Let me serve you."

Although Dream didn't phrase it as a question, Hob knows that he's waiting, asking him for permission. Hob is still struggling for air, but he has his wildest dreams at his fingertips and he's always been too greedy to say no to pleasure.

"If that is what you want," Hob says, "I shall gladly take what you're willing to give me, my king."

Dream makes a humming sound as if he's pleased with Hob's answer, and in a swift motion, he comes closer, putting his hands on Hob's hips.

The simple touch is a revelation for Hob. Something is teasing the back of his mind like forbidden knowledge. Even in his long life, nobody has ever touched him the way Dream does and nobody ever will. Dream is ancient, experienced beyond Hob's wildest imaginations. Hob will never come even close to understanding what that means, and still, he can feel it in his core and every part of his existence because Dream wants him to.

"Dream for me," Dream says, and Hob's hands fall away from his crotch as he offers himself up to Dream, opening his mind to all the possibilities, his whole being giving an excited "yes" to everything Dream could ask from him.

Dream pulls Hob closer, pressing their bodies flush against each other, and Hob groans as Dream sets him aflame, every inch of his skin blazing hot as if Hob is flying too close to the sun. Still, madman that he is, he puts his arms around Dream's neck, staring right into the abyss of those lightless eyes.

Hob falls, dancing across a milky way, wind in his air that shouldn't be there, but he embraces the cool of it as it caresses his skin. For a moment, he's light as a feather, but then Dream's fingers dig into his sides ever so slightly and Hob is made of flesh again, heavy against Dream, his dick trapped between the two of them.

Embarrassed, Hob tries to draw back, but the bubbles around him are way more tangible than they should be, sliding up his sides. Hob knows it's Dream embracing him with more than just his hands, and the foam glides to places fingers could hardly reach, opening him up, making him pliable for his king.

"I've certainly never been touched like that," Hob says, both a little horrified but also immensely intrigued about what sex with the Dreamlord could be like.

Dream leans in and kisses Hob's neck, right where his racing pulse must be visible. "Do you want me to stop?" he asks, the lips brushing against Hob's skin making him shudder.

"God no," Hob says, pressing himself against Dream, worried that he might leave. "I want this. I want you."

His words certainly have the desired effect. Dream runs his hands along Hob's legs before gripping his ass and right out lifting him into his lap. Anybody else would have slipped, but Dream holds Hob up as if he weighs nothing, and then Hob can feel him.

Dream's cock glides along Hob's cheeks, made slick by the water and foam, and before Hob can get used to the feeling, he gets right out impaled. "Heavens," Hob groans, feeling the stretch as Dream lets him sink down deeper and deeper until Hob whimpers and claws at Dream's skin.

Dream holds Hob in place and keeps kissing his neck and chest, his tongue soon lapping at Hob's wet nipples, and Hob's body reacts on its own. He rolls his hips, opening up to take Dream as deeply as he possibly can, and Hob can't help but run his fingers through Dream's hair. It's soft on the surface but somewhat sturdy like feathers, reminding Hob that the man under him isn't just a hot guy he met at a bar.

Dream must have a lot of better prospects. Hell, Hob is sure that at least one fairy must have looked at him with some shenanigans on their mind, but Dream is here with Hob, tasting him, touching him, buried so deep inside of him that Hob can barely take it.

He shudders again, a little cry escaping him, and Dream stops moving. Looking up at him, Dream reaches for Hob's face, cupping his cheek just like before. His eyes are blue again, more familiar to Hob, and Dream is holding his gaze. "I think I might have overwhelmed you."

"No, no, it's fine," Hob gasps, but he's breathless, and a smile comes to Dream's face, so much softer than Hob has ever seen it before.

He cups Hob's face with his other hand as well and carefully draws him in. "I apologize for being rough with you. Let me do better."

His voice is smooth and dark, caressing Hob like a soft breeze, and the closer they got, the warmer it gets. When Dream touches his lips to Hob's, Hob melts in his arms. Colors rise in Hob's mind, yellow flowers, white clouds on a blue sky, green grass. Hob can smell it, just as much as the earth, and a warm sun hugs him. He's comfortable. Safe. Dream's kiss is a home Hob returns to despite never knowing it before.

"Better?" Dream asks against Hob's lips, and when Hob only sighs, a quiet chuckle rolls in Dream's chest, the vibration of it electrifying Hob's body.

He feels cocooned, almost cut off from the outside world, but at the same, he feels so much more. Hob feels everything at once.

Dream pushes forward, getting Hob to lay back where the soft foam clings to his body, cushioning him like a bed full of pillows. Hob can't remember ever resting so comfortably, and Dream is right there with him, his body a soft and warm blanket where the water draws back.

None of it makes sense, and Hob huffs a laugh. "You're cheating."

"I am simply fulfilling your dream," Dream says, the hint of a smile playing around his lips, but then he leans in to kiss Hob, and his movements bring him closer, deeper.

Hob can't help but put his legs around Dream, eagerly inviting him in, but Dream keeps his promise to be soft. He barely moves his hips, gliding in and out of Hob so slowly that all of Hob's nerve endings light up like fireworks. He claws at Dream's back, fingers digging into the flesh. He's desperate to hold on to something solid while his mind is set free.

He's flying through a nebula of pure bliss, the water around them crushing against his skin in tiny waves, heat, and cold in constant change. Hob hears the rhythm of his own heart, pounding against his ribs, blood rushing through his veins, transporting sparks that explode in random intervals. It all becomes too much.

"Dream," Hob pleads, a tear rolling down his cheek, and then everything goes quiet. Dream is right there, the blue of his eyes, the eyes of an old friend, a friend Hob clings to, afraid to lose him again.

Dream must know. He leans in, whispers in Hob's ear. "I wanted to be there, too. In 1989. I wanted to make our meeting."

A soft laugh bubbles out of Hob, opening up something deep inside of him; darkness crawling to the surface and evaporating in the air above him. It's a particularly naughty nightmare, finally gone. The only thing left is Hob's Dream.

"Thank you," Hob says, falling right back into the dream, but this time, he's not alone. Dream is there.

They drink wine out of flowerheads, dance between stars, fly through clouds, and kiss under the sea. When they emerge, Hob drinks from Dream's breath. He feels their bodies moving together, strong muscles and soft skin, wet heat, and cold air. The foam is closing around them, teasing Hob wherever Dream can't reach.

"More," Hob whispers against Dream's lips. "Be rough with me."

A growl escapes Dream's throat and he does bite Hob's lip, but he still holds him close, peppering him with soft kisses and gentle touches. Hob feels safe and cared for, and above else, brave.

This time, it's Hob who holds Dream's face in his hands, needing him to look into his eyes. "I do want to serve you. I want to worship you. Because I-"

Hob can't say the words when Dream thrusts into him, setting his insides on fire. The heat coils low in Hob's stomach, his legs shaking, barely able to hold on to Dream anymore, and all the while, Dream goes harder, deeper. Hob has never felt so full, and his dick twitches between their bodies, the friction driving Hob to madness. He feels the pressure building and knows there's no way back.

"I love you," Hob says, his words coming out like a desperate prayer before he loses his grip.

Hob squeezes his eyes shut, moans tumbling from his mouth, white light exploding in his mind. Then he opens his eyes and Dream is right there.

Hob is still in a bed, on a soft pillow, in a room full of sunshine. Dream is there, reaching over to brush Hob's hair out of his face.

"I promise, I will never miss another meeting with you," he says before leaning in to give Hob a chaste kiss and another soft smile. "Because I love you."

Warmth spreads in Hob's chest, his heart wanting to burst out of his chest and explode in a bizarre declaration of joy. He puts his hand on Dream's chest, feeling a steady heartbeat.

"Is this a dream?" he asks.

"Yes," Dream simply states and Hob takes a deep breath, needing to make sure.

"Is it still real?"

Dream reaches for Hob to pull him close, kissing up his neck, eliciting a shiver from Hob as he desperately waits for the answer. Dream's breath is hot against Hob's ears, his voice laced with amusement. "Perhaps."

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dreamlingforukraine · 11 months

Text

Dreamling for Ukraine

Creator- @notallsandmen (Notallmaenads on ao3)

Hello Dreamers, I'm participating in the fandom charity drive @dreamlingforukraine !

That means I'II be creating fanworks in exchange for donations for one of these charities which are providing relief for the victims of the war in Ukraine and the destruction of Kakhovka Dam.

What I offer: Fic in any guise, preferably very smutty and/or fluffy.

Accepting prompts: YES. I am open to most prompts, particularly your weirdest smut prompts, goofiest joke prompts, or heart-achingly fluffy. My speciality falls under Victorian/Edwardian smut, but any historical fic prompt is also very welcome. Will make sfw, nsfw, pwp, kinks (particularly BDSM-adjacent), dub-con

Won't make: MCD, Daniel-Dream, unrequited love, love triangles, infidelity etc. I can share my more detailed squicks in DMs, and we can brainstorm a compromise if need be.

Suggested Donation Amount: 1€/$/£ or the equivalent in other currency per ~100 words. This means you can donate 10€/$/£ for 1,000 words or 20€/$/£ for 2,000 words and so on.

I accept offers for a minimum of 100 words and a maximum of 5000 words.

Slots: 2

Expected turnaround time: between a week and a month, depending on the requested word count

How to commission me:

* I will be accepting donations until further notice

* Send a message here on Tumblr, telling me what you'd like me to make for you.

* Wait until I reply. Do not donate until I confirm your commission! All money donated to charity is non-refundable.

* Once I confirm your commission, go ahead and donate. PLEASE remember to screencap your receipt and black out your personal details. You need to send me this to prove you've donated.

* Once l've seen your receipt, I'II start working on your project.

* I reserve the right to refuse commissions if l'm not comfortable with them or feel like l'm unable to accept them for lack of time, skill or any other reason.

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dreamlingforukraine · 11 months

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[Hamilton AU] Keep Me in Comfort For All My Days

Leon (Hob with amnesia) is sick. Mr. Murphy (Dream) takes care of him.

This is a @dreamlingforukraine fic commission for @bazzybelle . ✨️ Thank you for your generosity and your patience 🙇‍♀️ I hope you like it! 😊

The title is from the song, "Non-Stop" from the Hamilton soundtrack.

CW: period typical homophobia. Contains fluffy fluff. 🖤

Some stuff you need to know if you opted not to read the story on AO3:

Hob has amnesia and is going by Capt. Gideon "Leon" Roberts.

Dream is masquerading as a rich foreign lord named Mr. Thomas Murphy to better keep an eye on him.

This AU is also an American Gods crossover. Hob!Leon is living in a two-storey house (called Reverie House), and his housemates are Slavic gods (The three Zorya sisters and Bielebog/Czernobog).

They have a Caucasian shepherd dog who answers to Little Bear and Ovcharka (which literally means sheepdog). 🐶

Leon blinks groggily awake, and the first thing he sees is Mr. Murphy reading a book by his bedside.

A glance towards the window shows him that it is currently dark out. A fire had been lit, but it is a small thing, and he is thankful that it is. He feels like he's burning up.

He could hear the muffled sounds of Mr. Czernobog and Ms. Polunochnaya talking downstairs. And if Ms. Polunochnaya is awake, then it must be around midnight.

He must be dreaming. Because while everything else seems normal, his room has this hazy quality about it, and there is also Mr. Murphy's unexplained presence.

Were he really awake, Mr. Murphy would not be in Reverie House in the middle of the night. And for that matter, he wouldn't be sitting by Leon's bedside, of all the places to sit and read.

So yes. This must be a dream. A dream where he is allowed to look upon Mr. Murphy for a long time without anyone to judge him negatively for it.

Mr. Murphy looks as stunningly beautiful as always. But in the low firelight of Leon's room, he looks otherworldly. His blue eyes now so dark, his raven black hair unbound, the skin of his neck and collarbones showing, his shirt unbuttoned...

Leon should look away. He should not be having these thoughts about Mr. Murphy's sharp jaw, his long eyelashes, his lips that looks so soft--

Mr. Murphy's eyes flick towards him then, and it causes him to blush. Lord have mercy on him. What was he thinking? It's a good thing Mr. Murphy cannot read minds, or else he would have thought Leon dirty and unnatural.

"Good evening, Captain Roberts," Mr. Murphy says. Leon tries not to melt from the sound alone, but it is difficult. The sound of Mr. Murphy's voice is a balm to his soul ever since he first heard it. "How are you feeling?"

Leon opens his mouth to reply, but only a croaking sound comes out. Before he could even begin to feel mortified, Mr. Murphy is already moving.

"Here, allow me."

Without another word, Mr. Murphy stands up and leans over Leon to prop him up in bed, then sits down beside him and pours water into a glass waiting on the bedside table.

Leon did not have time to voice his protest before one cool hand went to gently hold his nape while the other held the glass in front of his lips.

Leon is feeling about ten thousand things right now, from pleasure to panic, all contributing to him feeling unreasonably warm in the face. Mr. Murphy's cool hand on his nape feels good on his heated skin. He wants to lean against it, but keeps himself still and focuses instead on getting hydrated.

When Mr. Murphy suddenly withdraws the glass before Leon could drink his fill, however, he whines and leans his head forward shamefully, chasing the glass with his lips.

"Slowly," Mr. Murphy says. Leon manages a nod, and the glass is offered to him again. When he has drank his fill, Mr. Murphy withdraws the glass again and, to Leon's shyness, wipes the corner of his lips with his thumb.

"Mr. Murphy," Leon says. He does not fail to notice that his voice still sounded hoarse, like he had not been speaking for a long time. His limbs also felt weak, and the room might be swaying slightly around them. Are they on a ship? Why is Reverie House on a ship? "Am I dreaming?"

The corner of Mr. Murphy's lips tilts up at his words, and Leon finds his gaze focused there. What would it be like to make Mr. Murphy smile? What would his laughter sound like? How lucky Leon would be if he got Mr. Murphy to laugh because of something amusing he said.

"You are not dreaming," Mr. Murphy says. "But you do have a fever."

Oh. That explains a lot. Leon leans back further into the pillows to help the room stop spinning.

"Mr. Czernobog has informed me that Ovcharka found you collapsed in the fields while it was raining," Mr. Murphy continues, and this time there is censure in his voice. "What were you doing?"

Oh. Leon blushes, remembering. "I was sketching."

"Sketching," Mr. Murphy repeats dubiously. "You were sketching the field?"

Leon blushes even harder. It makes sense for Mr. Murphy to sound dubious. Soldiers don't sketch, and common-born soldiers certainly do not indulge in the arts during their free time. "I was sketching wildflowers," he says to his hands on his lap. "Because...when we first met, do you remember? You said you like them best of all the flowers. And I saw that there was a patch of particularly beautiful wildflowers in the fields when I was walking by and..." He sounds so silly. A lovesick fool. "I didn't want to simply pluck them from their homes and give them to you in a bouquet, especially when you mentioned that you love their determination to live despite the harsh environment they're in. And, well... I thought to sketch them instead. And give you the sketch, when I finished."

In hindsight, it was incredibly stupid of him to do that. He is no great artist, and the sketch itself must be heavily waterlogged by now, if not torn completely. His heart grew heavy. He really did give that sketch his all.

Mr. Murphy, who has listened quietly throughout Leon's entire explanation, remained silent for a few more seconds before he says, "You sketched wildflowers so you could give the finished piece to me? Instead of simply taking the flowers? Because of what I said about them?"

Leon nods miserably. Even Mr. Murphy thinks he's ridiculous. And the sketch he had so lovingly done must be torn to pieces by now. Because Ovcharka might have found him, and perhaps Mr. Czernobog had carried him back home, but there is no way his sketch survived. Mr. Czernobog is not a man who appreciates art, and would have left Leon's papers and pencils behind because it's a higher priority to get him home, and Ovcharka would have trampled all over his things with his large paws, not knowing the damage he was making and only worried for Leon.

Leon does not blame either of them for his loss. Mr. Czernobog, despite his stern appearance and curt words, is a kind man, and Ovcharka is a good and loyal dog. It is not their fault, but his. For taking too long, for staying out too long, and for not paying attention to the darkening midday skies.

"I will ask the Zorya sisters if your things have been retrieved," Mr. Murphy assures him. "But that is a task for later. For now, I wish to know how you are faring."

Leon wants to tell Mr. Murphy not to worry about his silly little sketch, but his throat closed up at the last second. "I'm fine," he says instead. "Or, I will be. Fevers never really keep me down for long."

"Oh?"

There was a curious note in Mr. Murphy's voice, but Leon is still too out of it to be certain he heard correctly. "Yes," he says. "I have contracted a fever a few times during the war. Some of my fellow soldiers die from it but," he chuckles grimly, "not me. I was even shot in the shoulder, but I healed pretty quickly from that as well. Minimal scarring and no pain afterwards. Hence the nickname Lucky Leon."

He does not mean to sound bitter or ungrateful to be alive. But for every time someone calls him that, Leon thinks about every other soldier who died from the same thing he has survived, and he feels rotten. Why should he survive when more deserving men die of such simple wounds and sickness? They have wives. Children. Loved ones they long to return to.

Leon had none of those. Still has none of those. Perhaps if the war happened now, he would have the Zoryas to think about while he and Mr. Czernobog are drafted to go to war, and Mr. Murphy is someone he would fight to return to, but the men he fought with had actual families waiting for them. Children who will never see them again. Wives who will never kiss them again.

So why should he be the one to survive?

He felt Mr. Murphy's hand touch the back of his on his lap, and stay there. "You have a dark look in your eyes," Mr. Murphy says gently. He's always so gentle with him. Leon does not know what he has done to deserve it. "I guarantee thinking dark thoughts will do you no good. And," A pause. "I, for one, am glad you have not succumbed to illness or grievous injuries."

Pleasure suddenly suffuses him due to Mr. Murphy's words, and he feels guilty. He does not quite know what to say to that, however, and so he simply says, "Thank you. I too, am grateful to be alive."

Because surviving the war means I got to meet you.

Mr. Murphy's hand is delicate and fine boned, but it feels right resting on top of his own rough one. Leon longed to turn his hand, palm facing up, and intertwine their fingers together, but does not dare to. Mr. Murphy will not welcome it. And he would be taking advantage of his friend's kindness if he were to attempt something like that.

"Would you like to have some soup?" Mr. Murphy asks. "The older Zoryas have prepared a vegetable soup earlier. I could have a bowl brought up for you, if you wish."

Leon blinks quickly a couple of times to help him not be overcome with emotion. Mr. Murphy is so kind and considerate. How lucky his wife must be, whoever she is.

If only Leon were a woman, he could have...

Well, not marry Mr. Murphy, certainly not. Mr. Murphy is a rich and important lord, and Leon is just another soldier, common born, and one just lucky enough to survive the war. But were he a woman, and were he pretty enough, and rich enough, he might have caught Mr. Murphy's eye and...

There is an image that surfaces in his mind. Him, dressed in rags, watching a long-haired Mr. Murphy walk away into the night. He wanted to kiss him, but knows that he shouldn't. He knows it would not be allowed. He is too dirty and worthless. Not fit for his Stranger at all--

Mr. Murphy's hold on his hand suddenly becomes tighter, and he has inhaled sharply.

Leon blinks, and the weird vision and the thoughts accompanying it disappears. "Mr. Murphy?"

There is a strange emotion in Mr. Murphy's eyes, and he is looking at Leon like...

Like how Leon wants him to look at him.

With hunger and barely concealed yearning, his body only being held back from moving closer due to propriety.

His heart flutters in his chest. 'I want to kiss you,' he thinks. 'I want you to stay with me. Never leave me again. Please. I will die. I will suffer endlessly.'

Mr. Murphy's other hand, the one not holding Leon's own, has risen to cup his jaw, and Leon could not look away. Mr. Murphy's eyes, a darker blue in the low light, looks even darker now, almost close to black. There seem to be stars twinkling from deep within them, like glittering jewels at the bottom of a lake at midnight.

"Mr. Murphy..." Leon licks his lips unconsciously, and watches as Mr. Murphy's gaze stray on his tongue. He looks like he is about to lean in and...

Leon's heart is beating so fast in his chest. Is he hallucinating? He knows it could happen at the peak of one's fever. For the sick person to see strange images, as well as imagine all their wildest dreams coming true.

He would do anything for this to be real.

Mr. Murphy leans forward, closing the distance between them, and his lips press against the corner of Leon's mouth, the very same corner his thumb had touched earlier.

Leon gasps, and his unoccupied hand reaches forward to clasp Mr. Murphy's expensive coat. His intention is to pull him closer, but he is too weak to do so right now. He wants to turn his head and capture those lips in his, but his heart is now pounding in his head, and the room is tilting dangerously--

"Mr. Murphy," he moans, high and embarrassingly transparent in his desire. "I want--"

He is delirious. He wants everything. He wants his Stranger, who is right here, impossibly, at his bedside, kissing him.

'Love me. Please, love me. I am here. I have been waiting for you for so long. My Stranger. My Stranger. My love. I love you. I love you.'

Mr. Murphy groans against him, pressing their bodies closer together, and his breath smells so sweet, like the scent of home. A place where one is cherished and adored. Leon feels his toes curling under the blankets.

He turns his head to kiss him back, to kiss him properly, and his lips grazed against Mr. Murphy's own before the room tilts on its axis and he is suddenly overcome with vertigo. He turns away and fights against the bile rising in his throat.

Mr. Murphy holds him tighter, but this time he is only assisting Leon so he could rest fully against the pillows. He too, has leaned away now, and his eyes are only full of concern.

Maybe there is something more in them after their kiss, but Leon cannot decipher it properly. He has managed to stave off retching, but he is still too disoriented to think.

"I will have some soup brought up," Mr. Murphy says as the room slowly stops spinning. He sounds apologetic, and Leon knows he must surely regret...

"I will not leave you," Mr. Murphy assures him, and squeezes Leon's hand. Leon manages to squeeze weakly back, earning him a small smile.

"I will call for Little Bear," Mr. Murphy says, and Leon is about to ask him how, because Ovcharka is a bit stubborn sometimes, when Mr. Murphy whistles a thin high note. A couple of seconds later, Ovcharka comes bounding in, woofing softly, then grinning his silly dog's grin at Leon when he saw that he is awake. To Leon's surpise, he does not jump on the bed like he sometimes does, and instead sits on the floor.

"Little Bear," Mr. Murphy says, "Will you please let Zorya Polunochnaya know that Captain Roberts is in need of something to eat?"

Ovcharka woofs softly once more before he pads out. Possibly to do the task.

"You know he can't understand all of that, right?" Leon asks. The room is stable once more, but he still feels dizzy. He is pretty sure that dogs can only be taught simple commands like sit and stay and roll over; not fetch a human to get some food for another human who is currently sick. And how would Ovcharka even convey that to Ms. Polunochnaya?

Mr. Murphy simply smiles at him, just his tiny one, but to Leon, every smile feels like the entire universe lighting up. "Perhaps. But I intend to stay with you, and so I have entrusted Little Bear to go get you some food."

Leon imagines Ovcharka carrying a tray with his mouth, balancing apples, and huffs with laughter. "You're funny, Mr. Murphy," he says, before his eyes slowly droop closed, and before he knows it, he is fast asleep.

When Leon wakes up, it is still dark outside, but Ms. Polunochnaya has just entered the room. When she notices that he is awake, she beams at him. Her face is glowing softly, like moonlight. She is holding a tray filled with fruit slices and a bowl of vegetable soup, as well as a pitcher of cold water and some eating utensils.

And Mr. Murphy is still sitting beside him on the bed, not having moved from earlier. He is still holding Leon's warm hand in his pleasantly cool one, but now their fingers are intertwined.

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dreamlingforukraine · 11 months

Text

Gratuitous Desire Whump, rated G, available on AO3 here.

"It starts with an ache at their temples, a throbbing pressure just at the edge of their notice.

Since their brother had managed to escape his prison, Desire’s realm has struggled to adjust to the contractions and expansions of the Dreaming."

Desire gets sick and has a terrible, horrible, no-good, very-bad time of it. Even worse than the illness, they keep on having to deal with their siblings.

Title from "Fever" by The Black Keys.

---

For @prismaluv. This is my second complete commission for @dreamlingforukraine!!!!

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dreamlingforukraine · 11 months

Text

[Urban Fantasy Spy AU] Try to Hide Your Hand

Agent Hob Gadling and Tech Officer Dream Endless go on a mission together to extract Agent Ethel Cripps from Fawney Rig.

This is a @dreamlingforukraine fic commission for @seiya-starsniper. ✨️ Thank you for your generosity and your patience 🙇‍♀️ Sorry I went kinda crazy with this. But I had a lot of fun worldbuilding, so 😂

The title is from the song, "You Know My Name" by Chris Cornell, which is the theme song for the James Bond (Craig) film, Casino Royale.

CW: Dark themes because the Burgesses and their goons are the scum of the earth. There will be murder and noncon pet play, but the noncon is only on Burgess and Co.'s part. Dream and Hob are communicating with each other all the time and everything is consensual between the two of them. I promise there's gonna be fluffy fluff in the end. 🙏

Hob sits with his legs spread open, Dream kneeling between them, his dark head of hair resting against the junction of Hob's pelvis and thigh, and he hates it.

To be clear, he doesn't hate Dream. Not right now, anyway.

No, it's the situation they're in that he hates in particular right now.

Agent Ethel Cripps, The Agency's undercover spy assigned to monitor and report on the Burgesses, reached out to Head Office less than a month ago and said she wanted out. She has requested that she be extracted ASAP.

'I'm pregnant,' she said in her encrypted voice mail. She sounded so near to tears that it moved Hob's heart when he first heard her message. 'I want to get out of here.'

According to her file, Agent Cripps has demon blood. It's weak enough that she doesn't have the same strengths and weaknesses as her ancestors, but she still retained the classic half-demon appearance. Her file included a photo of her: a young blonde woman with delicate curving white horns complementing her short bob. She had been smiling in her picture.

Hob hasn't gone on to a mission with her yet since she's only been with The Agency for less than a century, but he heard that she was good at her job, feeding The Agency rare but important information about the Burgesses' human and creature trafficking schedules, resulting in many successful rescue operations.

Thus, her case was deemed urgent and important enough for The Agency to send in two of their best to extract her: a field agent to be the face and the muscle, and a tech officer to make sure the three of them get in and out safely without setting off any alarms, potentially leave listening bugs behind or retrieve important documents, and arrange for transportation, accommodations, and other essential minutiae.

Unfortunately, the two people assigned to take on the mission are Hob Gadling and Dream Endless, and everyone who has been in The Agency for more than a couple of years know that the two of them do not exactly get along.

More unfortunately, they have to pose as a human master and their half-other pet, because it's the standard within the Burgess family. Roderick has his own pet, and so does his remaining son. And so does everyone who is anyone within their ranks.

All half-other pets have either been trafficked from somewhere or were born in captivity. They're effectively modern day slaves.

Hob (a full human with an immortality mutation) has been working for The Agency for around 600 years now. But he remembers the day that certain bombshell was dropped on him and Dream.

Dream (a half-eldritch being along with his siblings, and who has been working for The Agency for longer than Hob has been alive) had sat so still on his side of the table that he could have been mistaken for a statue.

Hob had immediately protested. Slavery of all kinds repulses him, and though he dislikes Dream's guts, he would not have him act as someone lesser than him. Having had to go undercover as a slaver in the 1700s had been his worst mission, and he would rather not repeat the experience.

Death, Dream's older sister and their direct superior, listened to his tirade patiently, before telling him that other avenues have been considered; of course they have. But going undercover as a human master and his half-other pet is the one avenue that guarantees the highest chance of success.

All they had to do is show up at one of the Burgesses' casinos, have Hob win enough rounds with Dream as his 'companion,' commit enough violence where cameras are located, and they would soon be invited to Fawney Rig. Once there, Hob will be invited to play against the captains and the lieutenants. He'll have to win until they get into the same game as Agent Cripps and her human master.

Agent Cripps had not disclosed just who her human master is, which leads The Agency to believe that it might be either Roderick or Randall Burgess. Hob is going to have to win a bazillion games.

"If it's the games you are worried about," Dream said, speaking to him for the first time since they entered the room, "you need not worry. I can count cards, and have quite the skill for card games. We will, of course, have to devise a reliable method of nonverbal signals between the two of us so we can communicate with each other without saying a word; but it shouldn't be too difficult."

"Yeah," Hob spat at him. "Because that's the thing I'm most worried about."

Dream had frowned at him and said, quite stupidly, in Hob's opinion, "What else are you worried about, then?"

Hob had scoffed in disbelief, stood up, excused himself, and headed straight to The Agency's training salles to let out some steam. He imagined he was punching Roderick and Randall Burgess's faces, all the while cursing the day Dream was dropped on his head as a baby because that is the only reasonable explanation why he can be so fucking stupid.

He must have been at it for an hour when he realized that Dream was in the same room as him. He wondered how long the man had been standing there.

"What do you want?" he snapped. He didn't mean to. He's just so, so mad. At Lord Time and Lady Night. Who must have dropped Dream as a child for a minimum of fifty times. "You here to tell me the mission is important? Because yeah, I know."

"I'm here to remind you of your duty to The Agency," Dream told him. "I was under the impression that you didn't need any reminding, and yet, here we are."

Hob snorted and wiped the sweat out of his eyes. "Yeah, right." Like Dream would stoop so low as to take time out of his day to find where Hob is just to insult him. "What's the real reason you're here?"

Dream fidgeted minutely. Anyone else wouldn't have noticed, but Hob did. "I have agreed to go on this mission," he said, "and I would like for you to be my partner."

For a moment, it was so silent in the salles that a pin drop would have sounded like a gunshot.

"You fucking what?" Hob demanded. "Why the fuck would you agree? And why in god's name do you want me to be your partner?"

'You hate my guts,' he didn't say. 'You'd rather go down ten flights of stairs than share an elevator ride with me.'

Dream let out a laborious sigh, like Hob is being the stupid one here. "The mission will require my partner to be indifferent and occasionally cruel to me. I had thought that it would be an easy task for you."

Hob was actually getting a headache from this. "You thought it would be easy-- Dream. You know that kind of play has to be consensual, right? And maybe that's not how Burgess and his goons do it, but it's how it's done, normally. Please tell me you know that."

Dream pursed his lips, no doubt offended by Hob's perceived slight to his intelligence. Whatever. Hob was already so fucking tired. "Would you rather another tech officer accompany you on this mission, then?"

Hob immediately thought of Eleanor, but just as quickly dismissed it. He and Eleanor dated a while back in the 1500s, but she was married now, and going on this mission would be weird for them both. But he's not going to tell Dream all of that, so instead he asked a question of his own. "What about you? Wouldn't you rather go on this mission with another field agent you actually get along with?"

Specifically, Hob was thinking of Corinthian (who is a vampire? Hob isn't sure), who oozes sex appeal every second of his life, and was Dream's favorite field agent for always returning tech in repairable conditions, even if he has to lose an occasional eye for it.

Or heck, maybe even Shaxberd, that stuck-up, mousy-looking simp (who is definitely a were-sewer rat). Hob didn't think he'd do a good job playing as Dream's human master believably, though.

"No," Dream said to his shoes. "You are...adequately competent in what you do, and data shows that the two of us working on this mission together would result in a higher chance of success. It is why my sister called for us in the first place."

Hob mouthed 'adequately competent' to himself and incredulously shook his head. "That might be the nicest thing you ever said to me in 600 years, and I still feel insulted."

"Good," Dream quipped. "You should be grateful I didn't give you any more praise than that, else your head become too big to fit through The Agency's doors."

Christ. Hob could already see how many headache pills he's going to have to take if he goes on this mission with Dream.

Not that he has already decided to go.

"Fine," Hob said, and turned his back on Dream to face the training dummy again. Time to wallop Dream's parents for child abuse once more. "I'll think about it."

"Think quickly," Dream said, and also turned to leave. "That is, if you can manage to do so without hurting yourself."

Just to spite him, Hob immediately called Death and agreed to be Dream's partner as soon as Dream left the salles.

And now, a couple of weeks later, in the dungeon below Fawney Rig, Dream is on his knees between Hob's legs, wearing only a black diaphanous robe and bejewelled chains, both functional and decorative, breathing on Hob's (still) clothed dick (thank god), while Hob plays with Roderick and Randall Burgess, along with five of their most trusted advisors. Two have already lost, and they have gone up to their rooms to lick their wounds and perhaps take their anger out on their pets.

Everyone had laughed when Randall shared that thought, and Hob did too, even if he felt sick to his stomach while doing so.

Hob takes a deep breath as subtly as he can. Roderick Burgess is sitting on his immediate right, and he supposes it means that he's sitting in a place of honor, regardless of how dubious that honor is. Next to Roderick is his son Randall, next to Randall is an empty seat where one of the advisors who lost had been sitting, and next to the empty chair is the machine that serves as the croupier.

Hob is surprised the croupier is not a sentient being, but he supposes that even advisors cannot be trusted not to cheat. The game, really, is how best to cheat without seeming to, and so far, Hob thinks he's winning.

Because Hob, personally? He's not that good at cards.

But Dream? Dream is a goddamn shark, and it is only thanks to him that Hob even got this far.

On the other side of the croupier sits an elegant old East Asian woman named Mrs. Chu, to her right is an empty chair where another advisor who lost had been sitting, next to that is a large bruiser of a man named Mr. Melendez, next to him is a walrus-looking guy named Mr. Wallace, and on his right is Hob, who had been going by Mr. Rupert Gadlen for the past couple of weeks.

And of course, all the pets are either on their knees on the floor, or on their master's lap. Dream had signalled to Hob that he'd rather be kneeling on the floor, and Hob signalled an 'okay' back, even as he made a lewd comment to get Dream to drop on his knees.

The group had laughed warmly at him, thinking that he really is one of them. Hob had immediately signalled his apology to Dream right after he sat down.

Also, it turns out, Agent Cripps is posing as the pet of Roderick Burgess himself. So that's fun. She's sitting on his lap with her back towards them, and Hob doesn't know how they're going to signal each other what the plan is, but Dream signalled him to leave it up to him, and so Hob did.

He trusts Dream.

They might dislike each other for a multitude of reasons going back 600 years, but he trusts him when it comes down to it. And he has trusted Dream to win all his games for the past couple of weeks, so he'll trust him this final night.

And then they'll finally be able to go back home and put this entire mess of a mission behind them.

Hob almost shot an entire room full of Fawney Rig security personnel the moment one of the guards clapped a power suppressing shackle around Dream's neck, and he's been gritting his teeth for what seems like two entire weeks straight, thinking about Dream shivering and cold and being treated poorly since this mission has started, so yeah. He's so fucking ready to complete this mission.

Preferably by shooting everyone in sight as a parting gift and burning Fawney Rig to the ground.

But he will not shoot until Dream signals him to.

And Dream has been feeding him information about the other people in the room via Morse Code to his leg during lulls in the game, so Hob knows who the biggest threats are, who is doing poorly financially and can't afford to be reckless and lose, and in what order he should shoot when Dream gives the signal.

Hob replies to Dream with a pat on the head for 'I understand,' a gentle tug on Dream's ear for 'Repeat,' and a firm squeeze on his shoulder for 'Continue?'

The 'continue' sign is mostly for the games. Hob would caress Dream's cheek and press Morse Code on his skin telling him the cards on his hand as well as the cards in the middle of the table, and Dream would squeeze his ankle once for 'yes,' and twice for 'no.'

And then there's an entire separate system on just how much money Hob should bet and how he should come off as: cocky or unsure, neutral or reckless.

Hob may be a little in love with Dream's brain as he had Hob learn all these signals before the mission. Just his brain though. Because Dream as a teacher has a lot of room for improvement. Like, an entire ballroom's worth of room.

Hob places the blame, once again, at Lord and Lady Endless's feet.

"Mr. Gadlen?"

Hob's gaze snaps to Mr. Wallace, the walrus-looking guy to his left, as the man waits for his response.

A quick glance around the table shows that no one has folded yet.

'Yes,' Dream signs. 'Raise.'

"Raise," Hob says obediently, and slides a couple more stacks of chips to the middle of the table after Dream taps out how much he should raise.

"You're pretty ballsy for a newcomer," Randall Burgess says, and pinches his pet's nipple, making them cry out in pain.

His pet is a twenty-something brown-skinned man wearing the same kind of robes as Dream, but in green. He looks miserable and drugged out of his mind, arms chained behind him, his balance on Randall's lap precarious.

Hob bares his teeth in a facsimile of a smile. "Well, you know what they say: no guts, no glory."

"Indeed," Roderick Burgess says to Hob's right. For now, he seems content in ignoring Agent Cripps on his lap, and Hob hates that he's thankful for even that small mercy. "I built this family's fearsome reputation with my own two hands from the ground up, and doing so got me covered in guts."

The remaining advisors chuckles at that, and so Hob does as well.

"That sure would explain your vigor, sir," Hob dares to say. He knows beforehand that Roderick favored boldness and praise from his underlings, and Hob has met a lot of people like him in his previous missions to know just how to play him. Because Roderick might be old for a human, but Hob is many times his elder.

Roderick stares him down for a moment before laughing. Right on cue, his advisors laugh along. "I think you would do well within my ranks, Mr. Gadlen," Roderick says. "Lord knows I need more bold and competent people around me."

Hob has heard the rumors about Roderick killing his other son a couple of years prior for being 'too weak.' He doesn't wonder if it's true. He knows it is.

"I'm flattered," Hob says. "Truly, I am. But I hope you still think well of me after I steal everyone's money tonight."

This time, there were no laugh cues, because everyone genuinely laughed at his audacity.

"Oh, yeah, I like him," Randall tells his father. "I think he'd do well managing the casino in Vegas or our chop shops in Leipzig. Whip the guys into shape and possibly bring in new customers."

Roderick hums and studies Hob over Agent Cripps's shoulder. "What say you, Mr. Gadlen? Joining the Burgess family is one of the best decisions you will ever make in your life, and we don't often ask people to join."

"Why invite me, then, if you don't mind me asking?" Hob asks. "I only wanted to win some cash a couple of weeks ago, and now here I am."

"Talent," Roderick says simply. "I've learned to recognize it over the years, and you have it in spades. And other than that, we can see that your morals align with ours, and that is a rarer thing nowadays. Tell me, have you ever killed a man?"

"Yeah," Hob says. He puts a hand on Dream's shoulder, just as Dream puts one hand around his ankle. Hob ready to ask, and Dream ready to give the signal, if need be. "Brief boxing stint in my twenties. A couple of thugs tried to rob me on my way home. Showed them what they were looking for."

Randall, to Hob's disgust, had dragged his pet to sit over his crotch area and was grinding against the man's ass. "How did you kill them?" he asks breathlessly.

Hob looks straight into Randall's eyes as he says his next words. "One of them got his head bashed against a wall. The other's head I cut off using the door of a closet that someone had thrown away."

Randall moans and continues dry humping his pet. Hob does not look away or make a face, but he makes a note to make the fucker's death slow and painful. Have him bleed for hours, maybe.

"Creative," Mrs. Chu says. Her dress made her look like a glittering red insect. "And have you ever went to jail?"

Hob smiles at her. "No, ma'am. And I never sent anyone to jail either. Why let them live for years when you can take their lives away yourself? I'm not one to deprive myself of the thrill of killing."

"Good," Roderick says approvingly. "Very good. I think you're exactly what we're looking for, Mr. Gadlen." Then, unexpectedly, "All in favor of him joining us?"

As it turns out, not everyone was on board. Mr. Melendez, the bruiser type, sitting on Mr. Wallace's left and partially covered by the man's bulk, and who has mostly been keeping silent this whole time, is very much against Hob joining the Burgess family right this second.

He threw his cards on the table, slammed his fist against the table's surface, and made the chips rattle and neatly stacked chip columns fall.

Roderick looks impassively at the man, visibly angered by his previously perfectly arranged chips now a disorganized mess in front of him. "Is there a problem, Federico?"

"A problem?" Federico Melendez repeats. "The problem, Mr. Burgess, is you letting a whelp join the family out of the blue when I had to wait for years to be given an invitation. And have I not proven myself to be better than him? Am I to be replaced?"

"I remember your initiation," Randall sneers at him. "The fact that you took too long to finish only means that you are, deep down, just another weak-willed piece of trash."

This is new information, evidenced by how Dream frantically taps, 'Initiation?' against Hob's thigh.

'IDK,' Hob taps quickly. Hopefully Dream knows what that means.

"Why you snivelling brat--"

"Enough," Roderick says, and looks to Hob. "Mr. Gadlen. Kill this man and you will be considered for our initiation."

As Mr. Melendez rages at Roderick's words this time, Hob squeezes Dream's shoulder. 'Continue?'

Dream hesitates, then squeezes Hob's ankle once. 'Yes.'

Hob smiles grimly, but gamely stands up. "Sure," he says. "I don't know what initiation you're all talking about, but I'm always down to fight someone to the death." To Mr. Melendez, whose first name Hob just learned a minute ago, he says, "Sorry, man, but you heard the boss."

Hob makes quick work of it, and was nauseated to see that, upon turning away from the bloody pulp that had been Mr. Melendez, he is greeted with the sight of everyone at the table in various states of undress, all of them in compromising positions with their pets.

Thankfully, Dream is left to sit and wait for him. If anyone had tried to touch him, Hob knows he'd start shooting every sick bastard in the room regardless of Dream's lack of command.

"Excellent job, Mr. Gadlen," Roderick says from his seat, which has been pushed back to allow Agent Cripps to service him. Hob's trigger finger twitches, but he does not look away. "And what artistry. We've never seen a man so beautifully murdered."

"Never," Mr. Wallace agrees. His pet, an androgynous smoke being, is facing Hob enough that he can see their dark misty tears falling down their face.

"Now he has to go through the initiation, Father," Randall begs. His own pet is bent over, head low on the ground but fists clenched.

"Please, Roderick," Mrs. Chu says. "He will make a good replacement for Federico." Hob cannot see her pet, which he had noticed earlier was some type of dragonoid being, but that's probably for the better.

Mr. Melendez's pet, meanwhile, is currently cowering in the corner of the room. They look to be an anemone-like creature, and had curled in on themselves every time Hob landed a hit on their now deceased owner, implying that Mr. Melendez had been physically hurting them when he was still alive.

Hob bites the insides of his cheek to keep from screaming.

Soon, he tells himself. Soon, I'll rid the world of their slavers.

"Everyone in agreement?" Roderick asks the room at large.

A chorus of 'aye's were heard, and Roderick inclines his head like a benevolent god. "Then we shall commence the initiation."

"What about the game?" Hob asks as he sits back on his chair. What? He's really looking forward to stealing everyone's money (with Dream's help), and using it to fund the therapy bills of every half-other currently in Fawney Rig.

"We can continue after," Roderick assures him. "Now. The initiation."

Hob waits. He could feel Dream put his hands back on him again, ready to signal him. He places his own hand on Dream's shoulder.

"It's nothing nefarious," Roderick says, which just makes Hob certain that it absolutely is. "You need only to fornicate with your pet in front of us, orgasm, and you will be considered as one of us."

Hob stops breathing.

He's pretty sure Dream has stopped breathing as well.

But everyone was looking at him, and not at Dream at the moment, and he has to focus. "What's the catch?" he asks, feeling his heart beating against his throat. He cannot. He will not take Dream against his will.

"No catch," Mrs. Chu tells him. "But we do want a show."

"It's been a while since we've seen a good show," Mr. Wallace agrees. "Not since Randall, I believe?"

Randall laughs. "Yeah. Alex was so pathetic I had to take his pet from him." He shakes his pet's shoulder roughly. "Isn't that right, Paul?"

His pet, Paul, starts crying, and on the ground below him where his tears fell, flowers start to bloom.

Jesus Christ. Hob really is looking forward to killing every single one of them.

"Well, Mr. Gadlen?" Roderick says. "Will you give us a show?"

Hob is sure they'll kill him if he says no. He doesn't need Dream squeezing his ankle once for 'yes' to know that. But still.

'Continue?' he asks Dream.

A harder single squeeze, and he can almost hear the accompanying thought that goes with it. 'Yes, you bloody idiot!'

"Yeah, alright," Hob says. He sure fucking hope Dream knows what he's doing. "Up you get, baby."

Unbeknownst to Hob, Dream had secretly been communicating with Agent Cripps throughout the night. Ethel's long forked tail had been tapping Morse Code against Dream's foot under the table the entire time, and most of the information she gave him he had relayed to Hob.

Dream glances at Ethel now, and sees the fiery determination in her eyes. As Hob lifts him up on the table, Ethel gives him the tiniest of nods, and Dream immediately pinches Hob's arm hard.

The signal to wreak havoc.

A split second later, Dream has dived under the table as both Ethel and Hob draw their guns and kill the most important members of the Burgess family.

It barely lasted a minute.

"Thank you," Ethel says, as the three of them stand in front of the towering inferno that used to be Fawney Rig.

As soon as the last body hit the ground, Ethel had told the androgynous smoke being to teleport Hob into the remaining advisors' rooms, and Hob had done his duty and helped free those two advisors' pets as well.

And when every innocent party is safely outside, Mrs. Chu's half-dragon pet had set the mansion ablaze.

"Don't mention it," Hob tells her. Dream was a little off to the side, making phone calls to rescue personnel, while a group of a dozen or more half-other beings watch as the Fawney Rig burns. Most of them were crying and holding on to each other. Hob was glad he managed to get a bunch of blankets so they could wrap themselves in it.

"No, seriously, thank you," Ethel insists. "I felt like I was going insane back there, and I hated every second that I exposed the two of you to their vile world."

"You can say that again," Hob mutters. "Christ. So Randall killed his own brother?"

Ethel looks around and steps closer to Hob. "No," she says in a low voice. "He made Paul do it. He used to be Alex's companion, but...well... It's one thing to dote on a pet and another to love them."

From within the group of half-others, Hob could see Paul with tear streaks on his face and flowers at his feet, holding onto Mrs. Chu's half-dragonoid who, Hob can see now, has a large acid burn on one side of his face.

Now, Hob never goes back to saying old curse words, but he feels like this is an appropriate time for one. "God's fucking wounds."

At this point, Dream joins them. For some reason, he steps closer to Hob than he normally would. When Hob steps back, Dream steps even closer, and gives Hob the stink-eye while doing it.

Hob doesn't know what the fuck his problem is, but he's too tired to think right now. Let Dream be weird. All he wants is to get back to headquarters and maybe eat some fries and drink a chocolate milkshake.

"Thank you for the rescue, Mr. Endless," Ethel tells Dream. For some reason, she has stepped back from Hob.

Great. Two half-others being weird.

"You are welcome," Dream says. Then, in a more gentle voice, "Will you be keeping the baby?"

"Oh, yes," Ethel says, determined. "I really want to have a baby, but I was told decades ago by The Agency doctors that I would have a hard time getting pregnant. Now that it happened, though..." She laughs, and it only sounds a little bit broken. "My child will know exactly what their father was, but I will teach them to be better. I might have hated everything I witnessed while being the elder Burgess's pet, but I'm proud of myself for managing to survive."

"Are you kidding?" Hob says incredulously. "Agent Cripps, you're a fucking badass. I was in there for six hours tops and I want to drink a gallon of brain bleach. And you lasted for years? Comic book superheroes have nothing on you. You're an actual goddess. I present thee pregnant people food at the foot of your temple."

"Stop flirting with a pregnant woman," Dream snipes beside him as Ethel laughs. It sounded lighter than her previous laugh, though, which had been Hob's goal all along.

"He wouldn't," Ethel tells Dream, her eyes twinkling. "Not when he has you."

"We're not together," Hob says, at the same time Dream says, "He does not have me."

Ether just smiles at them. "Alright," she says, just as they spot The Agency's helicopters in the distance. "If you say so."

As soon as they drop Ethel and the rest of the half-others who had been kept as pets at Fawney Rig in Medical, Hob and Dream, without a single word, walk together towards Death's office.

Her half-phantasm secretary told them she was in, but that she is currently taking a conference call and would therefore be unavailable for at least another half hour. The secretary then told them that she was going to grab a quick midnight lunch from the cafeteria, and if they want, they could wait.

They nodded tiredly at her as she phased through a wall, and immediately slump on the long couch outside Death's office.

Or, to be more accurate, Dream goes to get a couple of hot bottled tea drinks from a nearby vending machine, bonks Hob's head with one of the bottles to make him take it, and drops gracefully beside him.

Hob, on the other hand, just straight up sits down, exhausted, and slouches like a drunk starfish, his head resting on the wall behind the couch.

As soon as he felt the warm bottle hit him gently on the forehead, he automatically grabs it, then turns his head a little to look at Dream sitting beside him.

He looks tired as well. It had been a draining, two-week long mission, and Hob doesn't think he looks any better himself.

"Do you need aftercare or something?" he asks, because they still may not like each other, but Hob has always been a caring person. And if Dream doesn't like it, then he can suck his dick. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

"Why, are you offering?" Dream asks. It's a testament to how tired he was that his words don't hold the usual sting in them.

Hob grins, unable to stop the fond feelings blooming in his gut and equally unable to stop the fondness from showing on his face. Fawney Rig must have truly driven him nuts. Did he really just think that Dream looks so cute when he's being bitchy?

"Maybe," he says, and Dream catches him with a smile on his face. Dammit. "Why, you wanna cuddle?"

Jesus, Gadling. Get a grip and stop running your mouth.

Dream wheezes. He sounds like a dying goat. "Perhaps," he says. His eyes are twinkling. Hob knows he shouldn't find his laugh endearing, but he does. He probably needs to go to Medical to get his head checked out. Dream gestures to Hob's lap. "May I?"

Hob knows, intellectually, that this is a very dangerous game of chicken they're playing. If they don't stop, Hob is gonna wake up one day with Dream Endless on his bed, lovely in his half-asleep state, Hob with two cups of coffee in his hands (and maybe even an entire breakfast tray heaped with food), and both of them will be wearing wedding rings.

"Sure, go ahead," Hob says, trying to look inviting and possibly only succeeding in looking like a beached jellyfish. "That is, if you're capable of not falling off on your ass."

"You will find," Dream says, as he stands up more elegantly than Hob will ever do in his life, "that I am capable of a great many things." He then plops down unceremoniously on Hob's lap and immediately cuddles up to him.

Despite his words, Hob's arms automatically hold Dream in place to prevent him from falling off. He knows he still smells like blood and gunpowder from earlier, but Dream doesn't seem to mind. "Don't fall asleep on me," he warns Dream.

"Zzzzz," Dream says, like a goddamn bee.

Hob barks out a laugh at that. He's so ridiculous, honestly. Why doesn't he know that? It has literally been centuries since they started working together. He feels like he should know that.

"I hate you," Hob tells him, but his tone is enamored and, strangely enough, having Dream on his lap like this is serving to be a great aftercare for him as well.

"You love me," Dream mumbles, already sounding half-asleep. His knees must be hurting from kneeling most of the night. Hob starts rubbing them gently, but scoffs at Dream's words.

His other hand cards gently through Dream's hair, the motion lulling them both to a deeper, more relaxed state. They're going to have to wake up before Death's secretary comes back, and then debrief with Death. But having Dream in his lap, warm and pliant, feels so good that Hob finds himself closing his eyes as well. "You wish."

'I do,' Dream thinks, before he falls asleep completely, feeling safer than he's ever felt in eons.

Death finds the two of them curled up together on the couch thirty minutes later, and discreetly takes a picture of the two before gently waking them up.

It's regrettable that they have to debrief when they are obviously exhausted, but the earlier it's done, the clearer their memory is.

Dream and Hob peaceably goes into her office and gives their report, but she does not fail to notice how Hob has yet to let go of Dream's hand upon waking. And more than that, Dream is holding Hob's hand with both of his in his own lap. Both of them seem unaware of this new development between them.

Death hides her smile behind her teacup as she sips some calming tea and allows them to continue giving their report.

Bonus:

"Agent Gadling! Do not-- oh, for goodness's sake. If you are incapacitated and captured, I will not hesitate to bench you for a century."

"A century, huh?" Hob's unfairly seductive voice says through the comms. Dream hates it. He always have. And now that Hob knows why he does, he's exploiting Dream's weakness. "You gonna tie me up in bed, too?"

A couple of other tech officers giggle at that. Dream sends a scathing glare towards them, and they quickly scurry away.

"I will tie you next to an anthill."

"Yikes," Hob says cheerfully and ducks behind a wall. "Still not sorry, though. I know you've been wanting to have a petrified pseudodragon egg, so I got you two."

Dream does not swoon. Because that would be undignified.

"You risked capture to get me a couple of petrified pseudodragon eggs," he says in his sternest voice. Not the sexy stern voice that Hob likes, but the I'm-gonna-beat-your-ass-and-send-your-soul-straight-to-Hell voice. He shakes his head. His boyfriend is just so fucking stupid sometimes. "You are aware I cannot simply sit on them to get them to hatch?"

A hail of gunfire interrupts Hob's laughter. Dream watches on the screen, heart in his throat, how Hob evades his pursuers, runs down a garbage-strewn alley, and hitches a ride on a passing delivery truck.

He lets out a breath he doesn't know he's been holding. "I hate you," Dream tells him, so he knows. He must always be reminded.

Hob, through the hidden camera pinned on his lapel, shows Dream the two jet black pseudodragon eggs he got from the villain of the week's evil lair. One of them is pure black, and the other has a line of white running down the middle of its shell. "You love me."

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