#HOB STOP BEING A FLIRT

[cuubism]

I love your university professors au, the banter is sublime! You did hurt my heart when Dream started walking away after being called "difficult" and we can just tell this must have been something he heard from past partners many times.

ah thank you, i am happy you enjoyed :)

dream's past relationships have been uh.... not the best 😂 he's probably gotten a lot of 'i like you but's in the past. meanwhile, hob is like, *cheerfully* you make my life so complicated! never stop! :D

[hardly-an-escape]

Hope the car trip is going better now! Been thinking about Hob being a teacher for younger kids and single dad!Morpheus flirting with him when picking up Orpheus.

The man overseeing the school pickup line really is unfairly handsome.

Morpheus keeps stealing glances at him as he hovers on the edges of the throng of parents and nannies. He has warm brown eyes and dark brown hair, cropped to his chin, which he keeps tucking behind one ear, where it almost immediately slips down and must be tucked up again.

Morpheus rather wants to be the one to do it; to slip his fingers into the man's hair, to perhaps run the tip of one finger along the shell of his ear. He briefly allows himself to fantasize stepping into the man's space as he does so, and in the fantasy the man smiles and allows him the liberty, and his warm eyes crinkle at the edges.

He is jolted out of the momentary fantasy when Orpheus crashes the full weight of his small body into Morpheus's hip, his oversized backpack bouncing dramatically behind him.

"Papa!!" he says jubilantly, and Morpheus's heart contracts in his chest, the way it always does when his son appears.

The man, whoever he is, seems not to have noticed that Morpheus’s eyes had lingered on him for much longer than was strictly polite, and Morpheus makes his escape.

~

The next time he sees the man it’s a week later, and Morpheus is running shamefully, unforgivably late. Orpheus is the last child left when he leaves his car running in a no parking zone and flings himself across the grass to his son.

The brown eyed man is kneeling beside him, comforting him, but Morpheus barely registers him. There are tears in Orpheus’s eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he says, running to them. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’msorryI’msorryI’msorry,” he hears himself babble. Orpheus sniffles and curls into himself and the man looks up sharply, one hand still soft on the boy’s shoulder.

“You know, if you wouldn’t mind calling when you’re going to be late,” he says, voice chilly, “we can bring Orpheus to the after school program. But we can’t release him to that teacher without parental authorization.”

“No, I know,” Morpheus fumbles. “I was – I’m sorry, I was at an office across town and I – the traffic was extraordinarily bad and I realized I had left my phone behind and – I will call. Next time. I mean, it won’t happen again.”

The man nods, and squeezes Orpheus’s shoulder one more time before giving him a gentle nudge. He stands and walks away quickly as Orpheus crumples into Morpheus’s arms.

“I thought you forgot me,” he wails wetly, and Morpheus watches the stiff line of the man’s back march away and feels hot shame pulse through his veins.

“Never, my darling,” he soothes. “Never ever, you are all the stars in my sky, I could never forget you, it was just the traffic, I promise…”

~

The third time he sees the man, several days later, he dares not meet his eye.

He is early for school pickup – absurdly early, really, as he has been every day since that awful day – and there are only two or three other adults waiting outside the school door, where the brown eyed man is posted with a clipboard. Morpheus stands back with his hands in his pockets and stares at his shoes.

It’s not until another pair of shoes approaches and stops just inside the circle of Morpheus’s gaze that he realizes the man has come over to him.

There’s a soft noise of throat clearing. “Hey,” the man says kindly. “I wanted to apologize for the other day.”

“You do not owe me an apology,” Morpheus mutters.

“No, I feel like I do,” the man says. “I’m not normally that snappish. There was some other stuff going on that day that – well, it doesn’t really matter.” He waves a hand dismissively. “Doesn’t make it okay for me to bite the heads off of good dads who are just trying to pick up their kids.”

“You do not know if I’m a – good father,” Morpheus says, trying and failing to keep the bitter note out of his voice. “You know very little about me. Perhaps I am a monster.”

“I know Orpheus came to find me during library to tell me, as earnestly as a seven-year-old possibly can, all about what a good dad his Papa is, and how hard he works. And that I shouldn’t scold him, because he’s quite stressed right now and doing all the papaing alone. He did use the word papaing, it was very sweet.”

Morpheus is mystified by the turn this conversation has taken. “In… library?” he asks, clinging to perhaps the only part of the man’s little speech that he had understood.

“I’m sorry, I should have introduced myself.” The man switches his clipboard to his left hand and holds out his right to shake. Morpheus takes it dazedly. “Robert Gadling, but the kids call me Mr. Hob. I teach the library elective. You know, check their books out, tidy the shelves and such.”

“Morpheus Aeternus. I – thank you. You are very kind.”

The man – Hob – smiles, and his eyes crinkle at the edges, and Morpheus is forcibly reminded of the fact that his first impression, nearly two weeks before, had been one of almost instant attraction.

“So,” Hob says. “Papaing by yourself?”

“Oh. Yes. My wife… well,” amends Morpheus. “My ex-wife. Returned to her people in Greece some time ago. It has been just Orpheus and myself since then.”

“Sounds tough,” Hob says. His voice is gentle, and his eyes are so kind, and Morpheus would like very much to simply melt into them.

“Sometimes,” he allows. “But Orpheus makes it worth it.”

“Yeah, he’s a star, that one,” Hob smiles.

“He is all the stars in my sky,” Morpheus says seriously, and Hob smiles even more widely.

“Listen, if this is overstepping just tell me to sod off, but would you like to get a coffee sometime? I’m off Thursdays. I only ask,” Hob adds hurriedly, “because I’m not technically Orpheus’s teacher, so we could. If you wanted to.”

The school doors are opening, shrieking children pouring out of the building like a tiny stampede, but Morpheus is transfixed by the hopeful expression in Hob’s eyes.

“Yes,” he says faintly. “I would like that. Very much.”

come and drop a prompt in my inbox and I'll write you a drabble while I’m being a passenger princess on this road trip <3

[gabessquishytum]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[diorchids]

bunny, coriolanus snow.

dead dove do not eat (dddne), dubcon, r is a barrack bunny, peacekeeper!coryo, groping, abuse of power, degradation.

you wear that pink bow in your hair, smacking your gum as you walk in the woods when you spot him.

coriolanus snow. slides right off the tongue.

you'd seen him before in the hob, getting drunk and occasionally giving you a look. he obviously didn't like you. parading yourself around like a whore, in his words.

he made himself known by clearing his throat while his right hand rested on his belt. "are you supposed to be out here?" he slightly shouted, still being a ways away from you.

you'd stopped walking, obviously annoyed by the broken silence. "curfew doesn't start 'till 7, sir. i still have time," you shouted back to him while he walked closer.

his gaze on you was filthy, he knew what you were. bouncing around the barracks, coming in late to see sejanus or any other guy.

"you should get back. you're this far into the woods, if anything happened, we’re a ways out,” grass crunching underneath his boots, he looked you up and down, “but i guess you wouldn’t mind, would you?”

that wasn’t flirting—it was genuine disgust. he’d heard all these things about you, stories other peacekeepers told him.

you’d sucked many peacekeepers off, in an alley or in an empty barrack. you’d be pulled into a room at the back of the hob, getting ruined by one if you were lucky.

he cocked his brow at you while he gripped that steel, metal gun. he wouldn’t hurt you. no, he just wanted an answer. “depends on what you’re talkin’ about, sir,” you quipped when he walked closer, flirting a bit.

he was close now, standing a few feet away before he got even closer. “what do you think you’re doing?” he paused, grabbing the hem of your dress, tugging it down, “a district slut trying to flirt her way out, you’re disgusting.”

you were taken aback, attempting to push him away, “nothing, sir, i didn’t—i wasn’t doing anything!” he gripped your arm tightly, “i could report you. you don’t want that-–do you?” you didn’t. you couldn’t get reported by a peacekeeper. you looked away from him, mouth agape when you imagined the cruel punishments you would go through, even from just a report.

coriolanus, on the outside, was a good peacekeeper. those exams were a breeze for him, and he behaved exceptionally.

he wasn't so good outside of those barracks though. he’d been watching you, it was obvious—not to you of course. “no, sir,” you looked at his boots, subconsciously taking in his smell.

he shakes his head, tutting, “exactly,” he grabbed your chin roughly, forcing your gaze to meet his, “you’re lucky i don’t haul you off right now.” you were lucky. extremely. anyone who had this extreme of a run-in with a peacekeeper would be locked up by now. but you’re different.

“thank you, sir,” you huffed out, slowly creating distance between yourselves. you wanted him badly, your core burning with feverishness.

he wasn’t satisfied, though.

you looked up at him through your fluttering eyelashes, making his pants tighten. he hated this about you, being able to elicit a reaction out of him.

“up against the tree, now,” he was bored at this point, finding any reason to keep you in these woods with him. before you could even complain, he rested his hand on that gun, silently making you comply.

you nod slowly, tears threatening to prickle at your waterline. of course you listened to him, you were somewhat desperate. you couldn’t make a peacekeeper upset.

you were up against the tree when he began to “search” you without warning way too close for comfort. his chest was pressed against your back, and you felt his cock against your lower back. hesitantly, you softly pushed back against it desperately, you needed something.

he broke the silence, “i won’t hesitate to kill you, right here, right now—fucking disgusting.” he dug nails into your hips to keep you still. his hands roamed freely across your body, squeezing your soft breasts while he let out occasional groans and you just whimpered underneath.

he knew it was wrong—you both did—that didn’t stop him.

his hands slid up your thighs slowly, thumb gently rubbing at your inner thighs. he was playing with you. teasing even. “please, sir,” you softly said.

his free hand reaches down to grab his fat bulge, adjusting himself through his pants. his face was flushed with anger and lust as he brought his fingers to your cunt.

he touched your clothed mess through your panties. poor girl, you were soaked. his finger rubbed over your puffy clit, eliciting a whimper from you that made his cock throb. god, you’re pathetic. he smirked, pressing his hips forward onto you even more, rutting against you.

there was this predatory glint in his eyes, not that you could see, it was revolting. he grinned as he watched you shudder under his touch, only whimpering and making incoherent noises. he had barely even touched you, were you actually this desperate?

his fingers continue to rub your clit while his head hung low beside your ear, “you’re already so wet. you’re fuckin’ filthy.” he spat. he hooked his finger on your panties and tugged them down without hesitation.

your eyes had tears in them by now, having to step out of your panties in front of him while he watched.

god, you’re a mess.

inspired by — keeping the peace by @dark-fics-4-you .

[helloalycia]

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐓𝐎 [𝐎𝐍𝐄] — 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐘 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐃

summary: after you hear about Lucy Gray's breakup, you wonder if you'll finally have a chance with her. Of course, your father, the head peacekeeper, can never know you like the 'troublemaker' from the Covey.

warning/s: none i don't think?

author's note: okay so after a million years i finally got this one written, an idea that came to me like a week ago and took forever to write because life lol. I hope you all like it anyway, it’s a three parter and was fun to write :)

something to note - Y/BF/N = your best friend's name and Y/D/N = your dad's name

two / three / masterlist / wattpad

"...and I told him that he shouldn't say stuff he doesn't mean, especially when it's just plain old rude, but of course he didn't care..."

I hummed, nodding along as my best friend, Y/BF/N, rambled about an encounter she'd had with one of her neighbours, but I was also glancing around the hallway casually. It was the end of the school day and I was waiting for Y/BF/N to collect her books from her locker so we could go, but she easily got distracted.

Apparently so did I though, as my eyes fell upon Lucy Gray Baird, a talented musician and outsider in my grade, part of a group called the Covey that everyone either tended to avoid or fell in love with for their musical charm. I always found her fascinating, beautiful, as many others did, but she had a boyfriend which pretty much meant there was no chance there. Still, it didn't hurt to admire her.

She was talking to another member of the Covey, Tam Amber, when she accidentally walked into none other than the mayor's daughter, Mayfair Lipp. It wouldn't have mattered so much if there wasn't a clear tension between both girls.

"If only you could open your eyes like you open your damn mouth," Mayfair snapped at her, making passers-by glance their way, listening in.

"Was an accident," was all Lucy Gray said, and she didn't seem very apologetic.

Mayfair scoffed. "'Course it was. A lot of things with you seem to be, don't they?"

Lucy Gray rolled her eyes as Tam Amber tugged her away, the two girls going their separate ways. Y/BF/N, who had stopped talking to observe the argument with everyone else, tried to stifle her laughter.

"Wow, their hatred for each other does not seem to be going away, does it?" she commented to me.

"Do you know why they don't like each other?" I asked, curious.

Y/BF/N shrugged, closing her locker. "Mayfair's jealous, I think. Dunno why, since she's literally the mayor's daughter and the Covey are just a bunch of weirdos singing for their supper."

"They aren't weird," I corrected her as we walked outside. "They're talented. A little different, is all."

"Same thing," Y/BF/N mumbled. "Don't go saying that to your dad. You know how he feels about them."

I tried not to laugh. "He feels like that about anything fun."

Y/BF/N cracked a smile, before chuckling. "Very true."

My father was the head peacekeeper of our district, a very strict man who was a little too overprotective for my liking. Don't get me wrong, I was grateful for the hard work he put in which meant I could live in the nice part of town and never struggle to have a meal on the table. That was something not everyone in District 12 could count on. But it also meant he hated anything that wasn't to his standard.

He had high hopes for me, hoping I'd land a rare but possible job in the Justice Building when I finished school. It wasn't too far fetched considering I was a straight A student. But he also thought I was a goody two shoes who followed the rules – oh, how that couldn't have been far from the truth. If he ever found out how I snuck out at night to visit the Hob and flirt with most of his unit, I was certain he'd have a heart attack.

Being the head peacekeeper's daughter meant that it was out of my hands when he had to attend something important and I, too, had to be present. For example, today was Mayfair's birthday and the mayor had thrown a formal affair in her honour, of which my family had been invited to.

I tolerated Mayfair, but despite our similar stance in society, we didn't share anything else in common. She was too snarky and easily irritated and always killed the mood, so I remained polite with her and that was it. Her party was as boring as she was, full of the mayor's friends, the odd Capitol resident from her dad's circle, and their kids whom I wasn't sure Mayfair even spoke to. If she had any real friends, they weren't here.

Her home was pretty big, for a District 12 house anyway, which made sense since the mayor was the richest in the district, though poor by any other Panem standard. I kept to myself during her celebrations, occasionally chatting with my mum and her friends or picking at the snacks table. That was until a special performance, dedicated solely to Mayfair from her father himself, was announced. An amused grin fell on my lips when I saw who it was.

The Covey.

"Ladies an' gentlemen, how are we feelin' this afternoon?!" Lucy Gray said into her mic at the front of the space cleared in the huge dining room.

Everybody began to clap as I saw the mayor tugging his daughter to the left of the makeshift stage. To say she was angry was an understatement. But if Lucy Gray had any qualms with the arrangement, she didn't let it show.

"This one's for the birthday girl," Lucy Gray continued, smiling widely at the glaring girl in question. "Happy birthday, dear Mayfair."

After the count of three, the Covey were plucking their strings, banging their drums and joining together in a melodious rendition of 'Happy Birthday', and I tried very hard not to laugh as Mayfair was forced to endure it all. To be fair, the Covey were great, and when they performed several songs after that, half the party were cheering them on, either drunk or genuinely amazed by their talent.

Once they'd finished performing for a moment and took a break, Mayfair stormed off with her father in tow, who was attempting not to draw attention to the mishap with his party guests. Again, I couldn't help but stifle my laughter at the turn of events.

Lucy Gray caught my eyes again though, as she was approaching the snacks table I was sat at the edge of, in search of something.

"You guys performed great out there," I said to her when she was close enough, and she glanced up at me, before recognition flashed across her face and she began to smile.

"Why thank you."

"Bet you loved the gig," I said lightheartedly, and it took her a moment to realise what I was implying when she began to laugh.

"It wasn't ideal," she said in a low yet amused voice, "but a job's a job. And technically Mayfair's daddy hired us, not her."

I chuckled to myself. "Hey, it was pretty funny to witness. I'm not complaining."

She shot me a disapproving look as she tossed a grape into her mouth, but a playful smile was breaking out on her lips.

"I didn't know you and Mayfair were so close," she said with intrigue, flipping the conversation to me.

"We're not," I corrected. "Kind of a package deal when my dad's invited to these things. But your performance certainly made this whole thing worth it."

She began to smile, cheeks turning pink slightly. "You've seen our performances enough times now. You ain't sick of me yet?"

I gasped sarcastically. "Lucy Gray, I could never be sick of you. What nonsense are you talkin' about?"

Her smile widened with amusement, before her eyes flickered behind me. "Your daddy's coming. I should go. Wouldn't want him to find out about your sneakin' out and blame it on me."

"As far as he knows, you're a stranger," I played along with a teasing wink, before straightening up and turning around to face my dad.

I heard Lucy Gray walking away behind me just in time for my dad to smile down at me.

"Y/N, how are you enjoying the party?" he asked.

I smiled innocently. "It's great, dad, thanks for bringing me."

He nodded. "Good, I'm glad."

I glanced over my shoulder as he began to talk about what the mayor was saying to him earlier, searching for the Covey girl. Then I spotted her, talking to her family across the room and also shooting me a glance, her cheeky smile on her lips, mirroring mine.

A little flirting didn't hurt anybody, right?

With my father's job came many responsibilities that meant he had a lot of late nights at their base camp, including the weekend when I sneaked out the house to meet Y/BF/N at the Hob and have some fun. It was difficult at first, making sure I timed it right so my mum would be asleep when I left and also generally sneaking downstairs and out the back door. But the more I did it, the easier it became, and soon enough it was second nature.

By the time I reached the Hob tonight, everything was in full swing. The Covey were performing as usual and everybody was up and dancing. I found Y/BF/N at a table, flirting with some boys from our grade. It didn't take long for me to join them, and between the two of us, we landed free drinks just because we played our cards right.

It was so freeing at the Hob, not having to worry about my dad breathing down my neck or about being such a goody two shoes in his eyes. No, here I could do whatever I wanted. The night was always young and nobody could stop me from having fun.

I found myself dancing around with a peacekeeper, Terrence, who had finished his shift for the day and always happened to be around when I did. He'd been flirting for a while and it was easy to play along, have a little fun.

"It's too bad I can't be lookin' for a wife," he said with a boyish grin as he spun me around. "You'd be my first choice."

I tried not to laugh as I wrapped my arms around his neck. "Yeah, that's too bad for you."

"Your dad would kill me if he knew what I was doing," he said, leaning in close for a kiss.

But I tilted his head and pressed one to his cheek instead, before saying in his ear, "Good thing he won't ever find out, right?"

He snorted. "Right."

I smiled contently, before letting him spin me around some more. It was always so easy to do what I wanted here without the fear of it getting back to my father because either everyone was scared of him and what power he held, or they knew it was my word against theirs and my father would never believe them. Besides, I was doing no harm. Some people just wanted a dance and a little flirting, which was exactly what I gave them. What was the big deal?

After finishing my dance with Terrence, I joined Y/BF/N's side again, grabbing her hands and pulling her onto the dancefloor for one final dance for the evening. She laughed, letting me, and we began to chat as we swung about gently.

"How was your dance with Terrence?" she asked with amusement. "You still leadin' the poor boy on?"

"It's not leading him on if he knows it's just a dance," I reminded her. "Besides, it can never happen. He's in my dad's unit. And I don't even like him like that."

"You just flirt with him for fun," she said sarcastically, but I grinned anyway.

"Duh."

Laughing again, she let me spin her around, and then my eyes found sight of Lucy Gray beside the stage. She was talking to her boyfriend, Billy Taupe, the two of them looking awfully cosy with one another. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, knowing it was just an irrational jealousy, nothing more. I'd never even hinted that I'd liked her, and she'd been taken for a while now, but it was easy to wonder what if.

"You're staring," Y/BF/N noticed, before following my gaze. "Ooh, Y/N, you've gotta let that one go. She's trouble, I heard."

"I didn't even say anything," I defended myself.

"You don't need to," she said knowingly. "Your face says it all. And I'm warning you now. It's not worth it."

I rolled my eyes lightheartedly. "Yeah, yeah, just keep dancing, idiot."

She stifled a chuckle and we got back to it, but not without me stealing one last lingering glance at Lucy Gray.

Of course, after that evening, news of her and Billy Taupe travelled all around school. Rumour had it that he'd cheated on her with Mayfair and, as a result, they'd broken up. Of course it was horrible to hear, but admittedly, the first thing I wondered was did I finally have a chance?

Almost two weeks after hearing the news of Lucy Gray's breakup, I was at the Hob again. I'd been watching the Covey perform all evening, though this time without Billy Taupe who was permanently out of the band it seemed. I'd been waiting for Lucy Gray to be free so I could attempt to make a move.

And after what felt like forever, she finally took to the bar to have some water, and I sucked up a breath before approaching her with a skip in my step.

"Lucy Gray," I started with a smile, earning her attention. "You okay?"

She took a sip before nodding at me. "Yeah, just havin' a break."

"Just a break from singing, right?" I asked, making her quirk a brow. I continued, "Because I'd love to ask you to dance."

A smile grew on her lips, matching the sparkle in her eyes. "I've seen you around, Y/L/N. You probably ask everyone that, don't you?"

I resisted the urge to laugh. "Without sounding big headed, they ask me. So, no, not everyone. Just you. I'd like to dance with you, if you'll have me."

She pursed her lips, eyes flickering between mine considerately and in a way that purposely left me waiting, hoping she'd say yes. Finally, she sighed lightheartedly. "Well, I suppose if you'd like it, who am I to decline?"

My smile widened as I put out my hand and she gladly accepted. The rest of the Covey were playing a song slow enough to have us swaying to the melody, joining the other dancers on the floor.

"You're pretty good at this," Lucy Gray mumbled with amusement, hands wrapped around my shoulders and her head looking over it so I couldn't see her expression.

"Can't be stepping on your toes now, can I?" I said quietly, as to not interrupt the momentary peace that had washed over the Hob. "What sort of impression would that make?"

She snickered. "And why would you be tryin' to make any impression, darlin'? It's just a dance, ain't it?"

A smile crept on my lips. "That it is. But you never know."

She pulled back for a moment, honey-coloured eyes glancing between mine as if trying to decipher my words. I thought I was pretty straightforward, but she clearly didn't agree. Finally, her smile mirrored mine and she leaned her head on my shoulder as we swayed to the song.

It was only a few minutes long, of which, despite my apparent calmness, I was a little nervous to be dancing with such a beautiful girl. I hoped she couldn't feel my heart racing between us. It certainly didn't help when she began to hum lowly, clearly knowing the words to Maude Ivory's ballad, and the deep reverberation of her humming echoed in my ear.

When the song came to an end, everybody parted and applauded the band for their song. Meanwhile, Lucy Gray pulled apart, hands moving from my shoulders and to my hands, squeezing them gently.

"Thanks for the dance," I said to her with a suppressed smile.

"Thanks for askin'," she replied.

My smile was permanently fixed on my face as I watched her walk away, back to the stage for her next number. It wasn't until Y/BF/N appeared out of nowhere, patting me on the back, that I was pulled from my Lucy Gray-induced stupor.

"Someone's crushing," she teased, and I simply ignored her as I glanced back at the brunette onstage.

I was lucky she was giving me a chance at all.

After that initial dance, it became almost tradition to dance with her every time I could, and she always accepted, for some reason giving me the time of day. Visiting the Hob had a new, exciting meaning now, and not just to have some fun fooling around.

Getting to know her more, hearing her talk about her love of performing or something that happened to her that day, meant we were growing closer. Not quite friends, but not anything less either. We'd see each other around school and greet each other, or she'd walk past me in the markets and flash me a smile. Y/BF/N thought I was insane to like her, but I couldn't help it.

A few weeks after that initial dance, she was rambling about some frustrating things before her show, including her shoes not tying quite right, or the step on the stage being a little dodgy and making everyone trip up. One of her complaints was about her red lipstick, which had officially ran out and was her favourite one to wear for performing. Lipstick and makeup in general were rare finds, and she must have searched around a lot to get it, but now she couldn't replace it, not for a while anyway, and it was upsetting her more than she let on.

I couldn't help it, of course. I had to rectify the issue. So, I found a way to trade some meaningless things at the markets in exchange for a red lipstick, one that looked fresh from the Capitol and that I knew Lucy Gray would love. Later that evening, after sneaking out of my house, I headed straight for the garage behind the Hob that the Covey had claimed, where they prepared for their shows.

When I entered, everybody was doing different things, from tuning their instruments to fixing their hair.

"Lucy Gray, Y/N's here!" someone shouted in a teasing voice, and I didn't get chance to see who as Lucy Gray suddenly appeared, stealing my attention.

"Hey, darlin', what're you doing here?" she asked with a bright smile, looking as beautiful as ever.

"Just wanted to wish you luck," I told her, returning her smile. "And of course, bring you a little something."

Her dark brows knitted together above confused eyes, and I took the lipstick from my jacket pocket before holding it out to her.

"You were saying how you felt weird performing without it," I explained as she curiously took it to inspect it, "so I got you another one. Can't have the iconic Lucy Gray without her iconic red lipstick, can we?"

An amazed smile grew on her lips as she looked at the colour, and I couldn't stop looking at her.

"Y/N, this... how did you get this?" she asked with a laugh, meeting my gaze.

I shrugged, and she rolled her eyes before hugging me.

"Thank you so much," she said gratefully, pulling back to grin at me. "I... I don't know what to say."

"You don't need to say anything, just wear it," I said.

She laughed again before going up to the mirror hung on the wall, applying the lipstick as she always did before  every show. And when she turned around, I knew I'd made the right choice. As always, she stole my breath away.

"You look beautiful," I told her truthfully. "But you always do."

The pink tingeing her cheeks was contrasted to the deep red of her lips, but she remained confident as she stepped towards me knowingly.

"There's only one way to truly test it," she said, and I didn't get chance to ask what she meant before she pressed a slow but firm kiss on my cheek.

I was dumbstruck, not expecting that at all, and she pulled back with a satisfied smile. Her hand ghosted my cheek, thumb rubbing gently on the inevitable lipstick stain on my face.

"I'll see you out there," she said, dropping her hand but not her smile. "Thanks again, Y/N."

Still reeling at the sensation of her lips on my cheek, I couldn't find the words to reply. She laughed before returning to the Covey, and somehow I found myself walking to the Hob to sit with Y/BF/N. As soon as she spotted the lipstick on my cheek, the laughing and teasing began, but it didn't mean much when Lucy Gray walked out onstage, her matching red-painted lips curved into a grin.

It was easy to fall quicker and harder for Lucy Gray after that, so much in fact that the only thing I wanted to do was kiss her for real.

No matter how much time we spent together, the shameless flirting and banter wasn't enough. I didn't want to be platonic, I wanted more, and I was sure she might have wanted it too.

One evening at the Hob, we were both sat at the bar chatting. Well, she was chatting and I was very much distracted by the sharp curve of her jaw and the curly ringlets of hair that kept spilling into her eyes and the way her mouth moved with each word she spoke and–

"You're not listenin', are you?" she asked lightheartedly, humoured smirk on her lips, matching the quirk of her brow.

That seemed to be the final straw for me, and I couldn't help but lean in, kissing her. Only as I did it did I realise the insanity of my actions, the carelessness, and I pulled away just as quickly. Before I could even scold myself for acting so recklessly, endless apologies on the tip of my tongue, something caught my eye from behind her.

My eyes widened when I recognised the person who had just walked into the Hob. It was my father, the head peacekeeper who hated coming in here because he believed it was a distraction and a bad influence. He was here, and he'd just walked in with some of his peacekeeper friends.

And I was sat in here, a little too close to a girl he also deemed a bad influence. Oh, shit.

"My dad," was all I could get out, before I forgot everything that had happened with Lucy Gray and immediately threw myself over the bar, hiding behind it.

"What are you doin'?!" Lucy Gray leaned over, looking down at me with a puzzled expression.

I couldn't have hunkered down anymore if I tried. "Dad. Doorway. Now!" I whisper-shouted, as if he'd suddenly hear me from all the way across the room.

She must have looked and recognised him as her shadow disappeared and she was no longer trying to talk to me. As I formulated a plan to escape, hoping the full house and loud music would be the perfect distraction, I heard a familiar voice nearing.

"Commander Y/L/N!" Lucy Gray exclaimed loudly, and my heart sank at the possibility of getting caught. "Hi!"

He hesitated, before responding, quite literally just above me. "Lucy Gray, right? The Covey. You performed at Mayfair's birthday a couple of months ago."

I could practically picture the grin on her face as she answered enthusiastically, "The one an' only!"

Sounding a little more laid back than usual, he said, "It was an excellent performance."

"Why, thank you, sir," she replied kindly.

It was quiet between them for a moment, as he ordered a drink with the bartender who thankfully seemed to understand why I was hiding right next to his feet, but he mustn't have left afterwards, as Lucy Gray spoke up.

"Oh, they'll bring your drinks to your table, sir."

"It's fine, I'll wait," he said dismissively, and Lucy Gray merely hummed in response, but I didn't hear her leave.

My heart was racing as I didn't dare move a muscle. My father was stood right next to me, only a bar between us, and I was sure he'd kill me if he knew I was here. Why the hell was he even here?! This was so unlike him!

But no, I couldn't think about that right now. I could only focus on leaving before he discovered my presence.

"So, are you performing here?" my dad asked Lucy Gray in an awkward attempt at filling the silence. He was never good at small talk.

"Uh-huh," she responded just as awkwardly, and I appreciated that, despite my previous mistake with her, she was still willing to keep my secret.

"Nice," was all he said. "I look forward to it. The officers say you're really good."

She didn't reply, must have smiled or nodded or something, because the conversation ended and I was back to hearing the blood rushing in my ears.

After what felt like forever, I heard the bartender serve my dad his drink, and then the latter wished Lucy Gray a good evening before leaving. I didn't dare move, not until I was certain, but Lucy Gray banged the top of the bar to get my attention.

"He's on the other side talking to some officers," she assured me.

"I need to leave out the back," I said, not showing my head just yet. "He'll kill me."

"Okay, just wait," she instructed, and I did just that until I realised she had rounded the bar and was holding her hand out to me. "Come on."

Accepting her hand, I let her keep a look out before she dragged me through the back and out the door, away from my father's prying eyes.

A sigh of relief escaped me as I was in the clear, and Lucy Gray was laughing at my expense.

"That was close," she said between laughter, glancing back as the door closed behind us.

Straightening up, I nodded in agreement. "It was. Thanks for the assist."

She settled on an amused smile before her eyes met mine and her expression softened. "You know, you were in the middle of somethin' back there."

And just like that, the mortifying realisation of kissing her returned to memory, and I was instantly about to apologise.

"Yeah, I–"

She cut me off with a kiss, just as abrupt as mine, but unlike me, she didn't pull away, and I was left to melt into her lips, savouring the warmth of her skin pressed to mine. Her hand cupped my cheek, fingertips pressing down gently, and I sighed into her lips as she began to pull away for air.

"That was... unexpected," I muttered, lips still tingling.

She tried not to laugh. "As unexpected as you kissin' me before?"

I exhaled, slightly embarassed, and she licked her lips before taking my hand and squeezing it gently.

"You should probably head home before your daddy finds you out here," she said, a hint of humour in her voice.

"Home, right," I agreed, before meeting her eyes. "I'll see you at school tomorrow?"

She grinned. "See you then."

I smiled softly before kissing her hand and leaving. It was safe to say I couldn't sleep the rest of the night, my only thoughts of the curly-haired Covey girl who'd stolen my heart.

[theaceace]

In the same way that Morpheus creates dreams and nightmares to assist in his function, as life continues to flourish throughout the worlds, Death creates reapers to help her in her function

One of those reapers is Hob Gadling, former human, now technically dead but also kind of immortal while he's got this job, and honestly that's good enough for him. It's not bad work, if you can get it, yknow? He gets to travel! He meets all kinds of interesting people! He's already seen the horrors of plague and battlefields so not much really shocks him (or so he thinks, at first. He's wrong)

So he's still new to the job, he's getting the hang of it he thinks, but then the next soul he goes to help isn't anywhere he's been before. He knows it's the Dreaming - turns out you know a lot of things you didn't expect, once you're dead - but that's never happened to him before

Weird, but oh well. He's got a job to do, and he's going to do it

Death, meanwhile, has a twofold agenda. The first is that she's in a snit with Dream, and doesn't want to see him until they're both ready to, if not apologise, then at least move on from whatever is grinding both of their gears

The second is she wants Hob and Dream to meet, because it will either be catastrophic or the best thing to ever, but either way she will enjoy it very much

Of course, Dream is also in a proper mood with Death, so when this absurdly cheerful new Reaper shows up in the Dreaming to collect a soul, he has to turn up and make the poor guy's (after)life miserable. Hob, who is not a man predisposed to being made miserable (especially not by this beautiful being who may or may not be a concept of the universe personified and also his boss's brother, hard to be sure considering Dream tells him absolutely Nothing), is bright and breezy and the soul in question is much happier going with him than staying in the Dreaming with the very grumpy looking guy in black

Hob is, obviously, enamoured. He takes one look at Dream and is absolutely gone. If he didn't have a soul to guide right there he'd have been on his knees there and then, and he'd worry about the consequences never later. As it is he flirts a bit, grins a lot, and inadvertently insults both Dream and Dream's favourite sister

Dream is obsessed fuming. He isn't going to stop this upstart little reaper from doing his job - he respects Death and her purpose far too much for that - but he is going to turn up and make Hob's job very difficult every time he arrives in the Dreaming

(this is so much better than Death could have ever imagined)

They get into this habit for the next 600 or so years, Hob arrives to find Dream already lurking ominously with the soul, they talk a bit, Hob charms the soul and off they pop to the Sunless Lands - that is, until Hob dares to insinuate that maybe he knows Dream, and maybe Dream even sort of likes coming to see him. Maybe Hob could even come and visit the Dreaming when he hasn't been called there for work!

Honestly, after the tantrum Dream threw about that, Hob's very surprised to be sent to the Dreaming again. Death had been handling the souls there for quite a while now - but there's a world war on, Hob supposes. She probably too busy to go around scooping up the souls that die in the Dreaming

But when Hob arrives, the Dreaming is cold. Quiet. There's no sign of its contrary monarch, and it seems that the colours are all a little dull. Drained, somehow, and lacking vitality

Well, the world has been dreaming of war and pain and death for years, he reasons. That'd be enough to make anyplace a bit less pleasant. And Dream is probably busy, or just miserable with everything that's going on. No problem. Hob will just have to try to mend this bridge next time

Next time comes and next time goes, and still no Dream, and the Dreaming looks even worse. And again, and again, until Hob actually starts to get worried. It isn't until Lucienne - who he has never met, but knows a little bit by reputation - finds him and tells him that no one has seen Dream for years that he realises something may be very, very wrong

He goes to Death to ask her about it, but she only grimaces and says she's not allowed to interfere unless her brother calls for her. Hob thinks that's ridiculous, first of all, but also he isn't bound by these rules! Surely if she just gave him a hint, he could interfere with whatever is going on!

Death doesn't appear to agree, at the time - but then Hob is sent to collect a soul from the Waking for the first time since 1916. He arrives in the basement of Fawney Rig to find the raging soul of Roderick Burgess, a magic circle he can't cross, and Dream of the Endless watching him from a glass prison

The boss wouldn't have sent Hob here if she didn't want him to do something, he's pretty sure. Even if it means abandoning his duties, forcing his way into the Dreaming, leading a charge of dreams and nightmares and dead souls on Fawney Rig

(or maybe Death doesn't send him for Burgess - maybe he remains, in the crumbling realm of dreams, guiding souls and never quite managing to shake the fear that the next hand he will have to take is that of the Dream king himself)

Either way. Reaper Hob, who is still mostly indistinguishable from Human Hob. Who loves (the after)life. Who loves his friend, who just so happens to be the grumpy younger brother of his boss. Who, when the Dreaming is finally restored, simply can't stop himself from flinging himself at Dream

Reaper Hob

[7-wonders]

8 - "You look like you were jealous" - Subtle Smut Sentence Starters - Morpheus/Dream.

Morpheus never worried about men flirting with the reader because he knows his lover has a preference for women. Lately, a woman in the workplace has been not only flirting but also dreaming about the reader, and that makes our emo kitty jealous. Morpheus starts looking for the reader at his workplace saying that he has important things to talk/do with her, but in fact he knows that this woman wants to ask the reader out on a date, which is why he always appears and intervenes.

You can say that this woman has all the characteristics that the reader likes in a woman. Reader would obviously be bi/pan.

I don't know if that's how it works, forgive me if something is wrong or confusing, I don't speak English. You can obviously change whatever you want. 💓💓💓💓

A couple of months ago, I wrote about the reader being jealous. Now it's Morpheus's turn, and I giggled the whole way through writing this. Enjoy!

•••

As the King of Dreams, Morpheus is privy to the dreams that each and every being with a consciousness holds dear to them. Though he is not in charge of desires (that’s his sibling’s department, and it’s one he’d like to stay far away from, thank you very much), dreams and desires often share the same space and are sometimes even the same thing.

This is how he finds out that there’s someone, a mortal, nonetheless, that is interested in you romantically.

Jealousy is not a feeling that Dream of the Endless has been overly familiar with during his long, long life. Possessiveness, yes, but for the most part, he has had no reason to be jealous (except for the Killala affair, the first, and probably only, time that he had ever been genuinely jealous). Not to sound pompous, but he is Endless. What need does he have for an emotion as petty as jealousy? In fact, if one were to ask him, he would say that he had never actually been jealous before and that if he had, it was so long ago that he did not remember what the emotion felt like.

No, he’s not familiar with jealousy, but what else would he call this…odd, simmering anger that threatens to eat him alive? After all, it had only started when he had sensed you, or rather, a version of you, in someone’s dreams, and found said version of you engaged in sexual intercourse with a dreamer. It was only after Morpheus declared the dream to be over that he went in search of the offending dreamer, only to discover that it was none other than Johanna Constantine.

As you would say, Morpheus shot himself in the foot. After all, he was the one to introduce you to Constantine when the occultist was having trouble summoning and speaking to ghosts. You just so happened to have the abilities of a psychic medium and were more than willing to help out when the situation had been explained to you. You worked well together and ended up continuing your professional partnership after the original job was finished. At the time, Morpheus had prided himself on a job well done. Now, he was wishing that he had forced her to make a costly deal with his sister if only it meant that she would stop meeting up and working with you.

It certainly doesn’t help that Constantine was a naturally flirtatious creature, calling you “gorgeous” or “love” whenever she talked to you, or teasing that she would be ready and available should you finally decide to leave Morpheus. Worse is the fact that, when it came to women, Morpheus knows that Johanna is what is referred to as “your type.”

He distinctly recalled a night spent with you and Hob Gadling, listening as you recounted the follies of prior relationships. Hob had just finished explaining speed dating in the eighties when you told him that, after years of denial, you had had the startling realization after your last relationship that you did actually have a type, with that type being “brunette girls with an attitude.” Unfortunately, that was very much Johanna.

Morpheus doesn’t understand why it is that he’s feeling so upset, so jealous, over this situation. He knows with every fiber of his anthropomorphized being that you are loyal and faithful to him and that you are just as obsessed with him as he is with you. But as Johanna’s infrequent dreams of you take on a more romantic tone, he cannot help but become a slave to jealousy.

Morpheus had to do something. He could not, he would not, lose you to anybody, but especially not a mortal, and definitely not a Constantine.

So he begins to…appear spontaneously when he knows that you and Johanna will be working together. Matthew calls it “staking his claim,” and perhaps that’s what it is. What else would he call showing you affection in front of your coworker, affection that he is not good at giving when in public, for no reason other than to remind said coworker that you are very happily taken? It’s a rather genius plan, he believes. Subtle, too. If he were to be questioned as to why he shows up at the most inopportune of times, he would simply claim that Time works differently in his realm, and therefore it is impossible to know what is considered a “good time” to see his beloved.

Morpheus is able to delude himself into thinking that this is all working perfectly until after the third time he tries this act. You’re excited to see him when he interrupts your and Johanna’s research into whether the entity she’s dealing with is a ghost or a poltergeist, and you eagerly accept the kiss he offers to you. Still, he notices the look that you and Johanna share when he asks if you might be willing to end your meeting early, and he becomes uncomfortable at the thought that you both know what this is. No, Morpheus tells himself, he’s covered his tracks extremely well.

“Well, Jo? Think we can continue this tomorrow?” you ask upon getting the hint that Morpheus would rather be anywhere but here. “We have been at it for a while now.”

She sighs in faux petulance before nodding. “Aye, could use a break, let you and Sandy get on with your marital activities.”

Morpheus glowers at the exorcist, but you just snicker under your breath and remind her, “We’re not married.”

“Yet.” Johanna glances at Morpheus and winks. “Better hurry up with that, else someone might swoop in and steal your girl.”

“Thank you for the sage advice, Constantine,” Morpheus bites out before turning to you. “Are you ready to depart?”

You nod and take his offered arm, allowing Morpheus to sweep you away to the Dreaming faster than you can even think about saying goodbye to your friend.

When you land in his chambers, you grab his arm before he can try to escape based on the pretense of needing to return to tasks that are apparently pressing, but not pressing enough that he couldn’t escape to see you for no real reason. “Wait,” you say. “Can we talk?”

“What about?” Morpheus asks, for he is not about to deny your request.

“You’ve been acting weird.” You pause. “Weirder than normal. And you only act this way when I’m working with Johanna.”

“I do not believe that has been the case.”

You grin, and he knows that you’ve figured out what he has been doing. “Morpheus. Are you…jealous?”

“That is preposterous,” he says immediately, trying to dispel the notion from your mind.

“Really? Because, to me, it sure looked like you were jealous.”

“I am no such thing!”

Instead of trying to argue with him, because there’s no point to that when you both know that he’s lying, your triumphant grin softens to something sweeter. “It’s okay to be jealous, you know. It’s a very human emotion.”

“I am not human.”

“I know. But you do carry the entire subconscious of humanity, so it makes sense that you’d feel our petty human emotions.”

“Suppose I am…jealous,” Morpheus says the word as if it pains him to do so. “That would not upset you?”

“No! If anything, I’m just curious why you’re jealous. And why it’s Johanna that you’re jealous of.” 

The fact that you have no idea why he feels this way makes Morpheus feel even worse about the jealousy that he’s experiencing because it’s obvious that, to you, he has no reason to be jealous. Morpheus so badly wishes to manufacture a crisis somewhere in the Dreaming so that he may escape having to talk about his feelings.

“I am aware of your proclivity of women that are much the same as Johanna Constantine,” he says instead. “I am also aware of the affection that she harbors for you, an affection made obvious in her dreams.”

“Johanna doesn’t have a crush on me! That’s just how she is, she flirts with everyone!” you argue.

“I can assure you that she does. I will let you see her book if you wish.” He knows that you’re not doubting him in the slightest, but he also wants you to know that just because he’s jealous does not mean that he’s making things up.

“No, if you say it’s true, then I believe you. But what do you mean, my proclivity towards women–” you mutter the last sentence, trying to figure out what Morpheus meant when suddenly you remember the exact same conversation as him. “Huh, I did say that, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

It clicks together for you now, and you grab Morpheus’s hands so that he can’t run away. “Yes, girls like Johanna have traditionally been my type. But lately, my type has changed.”

“It has?” He knows what you’re going to say, but he wants to hear you say it. If Morpheus is going to be indulging his more human emotions, then greed may as well join that list.

“My type is you, Morpheus. Not people like you, but you.”

“Thank you,” he says sincerely, leaning his forehead against yours. Morpheus straightens after a moment when fear runs through him like lightning. “You will not tell her of this, will you?”

“No, I wouldn’t talk about our private conversations to her. Plus, it’s embarrassing enough to have a crush on someone that you know is taken. I don’t want to call her out and make her feel bad about it.”

“You are wise,” Morpheus praises.

“Then might I wisely suggest that you allow me to show you just how little you have to be jealous about?” you ask, already leading him back towards the bed.

He smirks. “You may.”

His secret bout of jealousy, he’s relieved to discover, will remain safe with you.

[thebitchesterbrothers]

Remember this?

I couldn’t stop thinking about about it, so …

I wrote something. Here it is.

_____________________________________________

Hob was waiting at the bar for about forty minutes now for Dream to finally show up for his shift.

It was a friday night and the inn was already packed with party loving students.

His employees were busy waiting tables and handing out beer at the bar…except for one employee. Dream.

When Hob had reopened the inn, after completely renovating it, he had hired Dream as a bartender right away. He had experience, his drinks were amazing and a hit with the students and it didn’t hurt that he was easy on the eyes too. Not that that was the reason Hob hired him in the first place but hey, Hob had eyes.

Eyes that just loved watching Dream shake his drinks and look bored while doing it.

Before starting to work at the inn Dream was working for an expensive restaurant in a posh part of London. Hob should’ve been suspicious why a guy like Dream would give up that job for the inn.

Now he was convinced that Dream must’ve been close to being fired for his missing work ethics at his old job.

He was constantly late for his shifts without any explanation or excuse for his boss. He drank his fair share of shots while working. He went home an hour before his shift ended without saying anything to anybody.

He ignored customers he didn’t like. He smoked cigarettes in the kitchen and weed behind the building.

But still Hob couldn’t bring himself to fire him.

Every time he planned to confront him and have a serious talk with him … he just couldn’t bring himself to actually do it.

He would make up random excuses in his head for Dream's behavior. Maybe he was going through a hard time? Maybe he didn’t know better? Maybe he wasn’t feeling comfortable around his coworkers?

And despite his problematic attitude the customers loved him. They were all too happy to spend their hard earned money on fancy and more expensive drinks instead of cheap beer just so they had the chance to talk to the hot bartender.

Dream would gift some of them with a playful smile and get a ridiculous amount of tips in return.

It drove Hob absolutely insane. It drove him insane that he would do the exact same thing to make Dream smile at him like that.

He was well aware of his stupid crush on his employee. He knew it wasn’t very professional.

He was aware that this crush was the real reason he had not fired Dream yet. He wasn’t proud of himself, thank you very much.

Dream was in his twenties and more beautiful than anyone Hob had ever seen. He had that mysterious aura and eyes to get lost in.

Meanwhile Hob was a history professor in his thirties who spent too much time in his own bar ogling his employee. He was quite a few years older than the object of his desire and not nearly as attractive as Dream. He never would have a chance with him and he had accepted that months ago. It still hurt sometimes.

Not that he knew what exactly Dreams' type was. Women? Men? Both?

As much as everyone flirted with his bartender, Dream never took anyone home as far as Hob had noticed.

„Nice of you to finally show up, Dream!“, one of his waitresses interrupted Hobs thoughts.

Dream had just come through the back door, tying a black apron around his slim hips, looking bored and not apologetic at all.

„Dream! A word?“, Hob turned around towards his office without waiting for an answer. As expected, Dream followed slowly, clearly not in a hurry.

Hob sat on the edge of his cluttered desk, crossing his arms, watching Dream closing the door behind him. Did he lock it?

Before he could say anything, Dream beat him to it.

„What is it, boss?“ God damn, that voice.

„Dream, you’re almost an hour late. Everyone was waiting for you. You do whatever the hell you want. I should fire you, you know“, Hob sighed.

At that Dream smirked, stepping closer to Hobs desk and between his outstretched legs.

„Yes, yes you should. So tell me…why haven’t you fired me yet? Hmm, Hob? Why do I still have my job?“

Hob didn’t have a satisfying answer for him. Dream came even closer, his legs touching the inner side of Hob's clothed inner thighs. He could still feel the warmth of the other man through his jeans. How was he supposed to think like that?

„Hob…I mean boss…I think we both know why I still have my job. You just enjoy watching me behind the bar a bit too much, don’t you?“

Oh how Hob hated this arrogant little prick. How he hated that he was right.

„Oh Hob“, Dream smiled and tucked a strand of Hob's hair behind his ear. If Hob would just tilt his head a little to the left his nose would touch Dreams slightly stubbled cheek.

„Dream, this is highly inappropriate…“ Hob managed to force out. He should stop this. He should push him away. He was the boss, Dream was his employee.

Dream‘s eyes crinkled with mirth and raised his dark eyebrows.

„Very inappropriate, yes. Seems like you have to fire me after all, boss.“

Before Hob could react to that, Dream had cupped his face in his hand, his other surprisingly strong arm snaking around Hob‘s waist, pulling him closer into his chest before their lips met in a kiss that made Hob lose every single thought he just had.

Dreams' lips tasted of rum and irresponsibility and Hob decided that he would never get enough of it.

‚I never was a good boss anyway‘, he thought to himself before pulling a laughing Dream up the stairs into his flat. Dream was late anyway, what difference would a few more hours make?

[daddycassie]

Do you think you could write a smut fic with sub!Lucy gray and dom!fem!reader where Lucy gray is flirting with someone purely to piss the reader off so she takes her home and fucks her brains out or smth?

❤️Pure Rage❤️

Pairing: Sub! Lucy Gray Baird x Dom! Fem! Reader — 1,252 words

Warning(s): Explicit smut, possessive/jealous reader, Lucy gray is honestly a little shit, degrading, use of a strap, teasing/edging, multiple organisms, organism denial, mention of drunks, biting, rough sex

——————————————

That’s what you felt. Staring across the bar. You knew what she was doing — she wanted you jealous, protective and angry. She wanted your attention and goddamn, it was working way too well in her favor. 

You watch them slowly lean closer to each other, Lucy Gray’s dark eyes gazing deeply into yours rather then that strange man she insisted on being so close to. When his hand brushes her arm and tilts her chin up it’s suddenly way too much. You see red as you stalk over to the pair menacing fists clenched and shaking. Lucy Gray grins and the man follows her eyes to you.

You watch with a certain sadistic satisfaction as he pales and cowers away into the mass of drunks. Lucy Gray opens her mouth to speak but before anything can get out she’s being pulled out of The Hob by none other then you. The moment you’re out you want to shove her against the brick wall and squeeze her, bite her, fuck her.  The peacekeepers around prevent you from such public harlotry, so you begin dragging her home by the hand.

“Ya sure seem mad darlin’.” Lucy Gray purrs to you teasingly. You grit your teeth. “Shut your mouth.” Lucy Gray smirks. “Make me.” You chuckle darkly. This little brat.

You unlock the door to your shared house and shove her inside. Your lover stumbles forward before looking back at you in shock. “What? Expected princess treatment?” She pouts. “You’re meant to carry me inside.” You step into the house. Assuring to shut and lock the door after you. Lucy Gray’s all yours now. She couldn’t get away, nowhere to run, no one to stop you.

You look down at her and imagine rutting your big strap into her tight little—

“Not after that little stunt you pulled.” You speak, subtly sifting through your belongings, all held in a large wooden box. Your girlfriend frowns quietly, clearly frustrated with the lack of attention you give her despite her great effort — she didn’t even like that guy after all. Lucy Gray walks into the kitchen area as you take the strap out of the box. Your gaze follows her as she leans on the counter with a heavy sigh.

In moments you’re behind her. She glances back, sensing your presence but you’re quick. You grab hold of her and rearrange her position. You bend her over the counter’s surface and force her legs to spread, pressing her body down against the wood with your own. Her breath quickens and she squirms against you, trapped.

You grip her tightly, making her stay in place as you undress her. Her high pitched, hot whine only riles you up further and you tear the cloth from her body. Lucy Gray moans under you. You remove your own clothes, and slowly, torturously put on the strap.

From the way she starts wriggling more desperately you can tell she knows what you’re doing. You run your hands over her breasts, down to her hips trying to hold yourself back as she looks back at you with wide, pretty eyes. Leaning close to her ear you whisper, “Is this what you wanted you little slut?” Lucy Gray screws her eyes shut and leans her forehead against the surface beneath her.

Hesitantly, she nods, mouthing a ‘please’ to you. “Are you gonna be good for me? Not a damn brat?”She nods again, more eagerly. “Good, that’s my girl.” Your words arouse you both, Lucy Gray releasing a heated, shaky breath from under your weight. Your girl. Not some guy at the Hob’s. Yours, and you both liked it that way.

Taking your time you slip your girlfriend’s underwear down below the sharp dip of her hips. They were bony from the struggles of district 12 — her weight was a concern to you both. Far too malnourished. You’d make sure to cook her something nice to eat later.

Lucy Gray whines again at your teasing on her bare skin. You bite her neck and tug her underwear down the rest of the way. She gasps, but it’s quick to melt into a moan when you press the strap between her legs.

“Y/n.” She mewls, “Please. Don’t tease me. It feels s’good.” You run the length through her achingly wet folds. Distantly you hear her whimpers and you slide it back and forth. The sounds of her desire make you want to tease her further, but that’s what your lover would expect.

With a wet slam, you thrust into her sensitivity. Lucy Gray cries out, so you make her spread further as you set an unrelenting, rough pace. She looks back at you with lustful teary eyes. Begging, just begging for more. You smirk and slowly halt, hilted inside her.

Lucy Gray groan and her legs tremble. “You’re so desperate. Whoring around for my attention.” The brunette glares at you and begins to speak, but you kindly shut her up with a circular grinding motion. Her eyes lull back and she squeezes tightly around the toy. Lucy Gray’s moans are enough to drive your hips faster. You wrap one arm around her waist and start teasing her throbbing clit with the other.

Quickly, you drive a new, deeper pace, thrusting slowly to push your lover to the brink before stopping in favor of pinching her intimacy. Lucy Gray whimpers all the while and sobs in pure sexual frustration. You watch her try to press back, attempting to fuck herself on your strap. “Please.” She whines again, “Don’t do this to me, I need it.”

The power you hold over her is pleasing and makes your mind feel terribly fuzzy. You’re clouded with the need to pound her over and over. To make her feel good. You stuff the strap back into her cunt and she moans louder. The moment you speed up you know she’ll finish.

With a deep breath you go faster, ramming into her while thumbing her clit. Lucy Gray’s whimpers and whines make your heart pound. You lean down to the side of her neck to give her a few kisses. Her breath catches in her throat and her eyes roll back further. The tight tugging on the strap indicates how close she is.

When you bite her she jerks, writhing and screaming with pleasure. You speed up further to prolong and heighten the release. ‘Mine mine mine’ echos through your head like a broken record, or a chanted prayer to your beloved. She may have finished multiple times by the time you stopped but it was hard to tell since you felt so foggy.

It wasn’t like you could ask either, Lucy Gray’s voice had been reduced to whimpers. Your lover’s legs had long since given out, so you supported her with that arm around her hips. You pull out, electing a final whine from the girl. You remove the toy and place it aside.

Once that’s dealt with you cup Lucy Gray’s face in your hands and caress it softly. “You did so good. I love you baby.” The words seem to bring her back to reality and she turns to you. “I love you too… that felt amazin’.” You give your girlfriend a smile and an affectionate kiss. “Don’t think I can walk though, you’ll have t’ really treat me like a princess now.”

This time, you gladly oblige. Though… as you carried her to the bed — you knew you weren’t done yet.

——————————————

Note: ANON I ENJOYED WRITING THIS SO MUCH!!! I definitely pushed out of my comfort zone and I feel pretty good about it — I finished it this morning on paper but didn’t have the chance to type it out till tonight so I hope you can forgive the delay and you’ll request from me again soon 🫶🫶🫶 lemme know if you enjoyed!!

@noooooooop-e @torturedcoveydepartment

[cuubism]

every day i see some random shit online and immediately go 'you could make a fanfic out of this', i saw a tiktok of a woman talking about how much money she made working at hooters and instantly i'm like:

au where dream works at his family's megacorp, he fucking hates his life and everyone around him especially when all the bro-ey upper management colleagues arrange an obligatory "team bonding" event (excuse to get drunk) at the local hooters-type restaurant. dream didn't want to go but he had no choice, and the whole time they're there he's like 'this is gross, objectifying and uncomfortable' and he intends to spend the whole experience just scowling down at the table and drowning himself in wine.

that is until their skimpily-dressed waiter arrives like 'hi i'm hob what can i get for ya? :D' and dream just fucking bluescreens. he's blushing. he's so flustered. he told himself he wasn't going to objectify the wait staff (even if that's kind of the whole schtick of the place) but he can't stop staring at hob's tits.

hob of course clocks it immediately (man knows exactly how to get tips) and pays a disproportionate amount of attention to him, flirts with him, winks at him after he takes his order. dream wants to disappear, he's so incredibly embarrassed, but he equally wants to beg for more of hob's attention. this is the worst day of his life. he orders something a lot stronger than wine.

his colleagues are losing their shit cuz they've never seen dream display even a tiny bit of emotion in the whole time they've had to work with him so they're all teasing him and talking about whether they should bribe hob to flirt with him more and so on. contrary to dream's general misanthropy they aren't actually complete assholes but they are having fun at his expense. dream wishes he were dead.

for hob at first it was just a way to get tips but later he finds himself going soft on this pretty, shy, flustered guy who's clearly having one of the weirdest days of his life, especially because customers often behave inappropriately with him but dream never does, he's actually very polite to hob, he's just blushing furiously the whole time. he's very cute, hob is getting kind of obsessed with how easy it is to make him blush, and he's pretty sure that if he let dream so much as touch his chest dream might actually combust and it would be quite lovely to watch.

at the end of the night dream leaves him an absolutely insane tip of like 300% of the total bill (which was already substantial) and hob chases him down at the door to make sure it wasn't a mistake (normally he's not that honorable about it but he can't risk there being a huge amount of trouble) and dream's like 'no mistake *blushing so badly* your service was impeccable, hob' and hob's like fuck it i'm gonna shoot my shot, 'i'm not sure it was quite at that level, anything else i can provide for you??'

3 days later destiny is reconciling company expenses and yells into dream's office WHY IS THERE A 10,000 POUND CHARGE FOR HOOTERS ON THE CORPORATE CREDIT CARD but dream still has a hickey on his neck and hob's number in his phone so he finds himself utterly remorseless.

[dino-cattivo]

Pray for me, cos I won't pray for you

My fic for the @the-centennial-husbands-bigbang!

The amazing art for this fic was done by @jeniidrawsshit and oh my god I love it so so much. It is just so amazing.

LINK TO THE ART!!! GO CHECK IT OUT!!

Pairing: Hob/Dream

Rating: mature

Word Count: 40,657

Tags: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Happy Ending, Eventual Happy Ending, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, gore like the dinner episode, The Corinthian is His Own Warning (The Sandman), Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Attempted Sexual Assault, Blood and Injury, Alternate Universe - Mob, Organized Crime, Hob joins the mafia, Self Confidence Issues, Hob Gadling Loves Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, POV Hob Gadling, Hob Gadling Needs A Hug, Misunderstandings

Summery: After their fight in 1889 Hob falls in with a bad crowd thanks to a boy that reminds him of Robyn. He tries to stop his descent into crime not wanting to be reduced to being nothing more than a murderer again. But eh fails. Compared to all the live he ends helping to guard a basement is tame. If only Corinthian, the right hand man of his employer, would stop flirting with him despite being turned down multiple times already.

Chapter 1 under the cut. Will repost the next chapters as reblog because of word limit.

~1889~

“You knew Lady Johanna. You know, Lushing Lou. You know everyone, don't you?” Hob asked in wonder. He may not know who or rather what his stranger was, but he could never help but be amazed by everything he could do. Sometimes when he laid awake, unable to catch sleep, he came up with the wildest theories about the man. He imagines him being a vampire, a fae, and even considered an old god from Greece. But he would never know, as his stranger never revealed anything about himself, not even his name. 

It felt unfair in a way. Him knowing everything about Hob, while Hob got nothing. It had crossed his mind to be petty, to keep things to himself, go against their deal in a way. But Hob couldn’t stop himself from telling the man whatever he could when they saw each other, eager to be able to share.  

“I saw her again, you know.”

“Who? Lady Johanna?” Worry flared up. He knew his stranger was fine, sitting across the table from him. He also knew the man was strong enough to protect himself. But he couldn’t help wanting to be there, to protect, to keep his stranger safe, even at the cost of his own freedom.

“She undertook a task for me and succeeded admirably, I might add.”

Jealousy, burning hot, filling his veins. He tried to tamper it down, to net let it get to him, but he couldn’t help himself. All the time he had wanted nothing more than to get close to his stranger, to prove his worth, and now he had offered that chance to someone else. He had chosen someone who had hunted them down and tried to do harm instead of someone he shared centuries of friendship with.

It hurt. 

Although, could he hold it against his stranger? The man knew Hob for so long, knew what he has done, knew all his failures during his long life. So it was no wonder he didn’t trust Hob enough to ask him for a favor. His voice was filled with self-loathing as he spoke. “That might be the only thing I've learned after 500 years. People are almost always better than you think they are. Not me, though. Still the same as ever.”

“I think perhaps you've changed.” Hob’s heart started beating faster at the other’s words. Did he really think so? Hob wished it was true. He wants to change, to be good, worthy of his stranger.

“Well, I may have learned a bit from my mistakes. But, uh… doesn't seem to stop me from making them. I think it's you that's changed.”

“How so?”

Hob should shut up now and be content with what he had, seeing the man he had fallen for every hundred years. He should not press the issue, no matter how desperate he was to be acknowledged by the other. But Hob had never been smart when it came to things he desired.

“I think I know why we still meet here, century after century. It's not because you want to see whether or not I'm ready to seek death. I don't think I'll ever seek death. By now, you know that about me. So, I think you're here for something else.”

“And what might that be?” His stranger looked curious at that. Hob liked the look as it meant he had done something to surprise the man.

“Friendship. I think you're lonely.” And in true Hob fashion, he managed to put his foot in his mouth. He knew the moment he had spoken, he had made a mistake. It was the truth, but the wording was just unfortunate and way too blunt. And not at all how he had planned to breach the topic.

“You dare…”

“No, look, I'm not saying–,” Hob tried to backpedal, but it was too late. “You… dare suggest one such as I might need your companionship.”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

Maybe despite Hob’s foolish approach, there was a chance all of this still had a good outcome, and they would get closer. “Then I shall take my leave of you and prove you wrong.” Or maybe not. Hob sprang up from his chair and chased after his stranger as the man strode out of the tavern. The man couldn’t do this. If he wanted or not, they were friends. You didn’t just storm off and leave your friends behind.

“I'll tell you what, I'll be here in 100 years' time. If you're here then, too, it'll be because we're friends. No other reason, right?” He was met by silence as his stranger didn’t seem fit to answer and just disappeared. 

“Fսck.” 

~1897~

He was pissed, absolutely livid. Who did he think he was? He had no right to speak to Hob like this, no matter how powerful he was. That was not how things worked. You couldn’t be an asshole like that and expect people to stick around. Hob didn’t need him. They saw each other only every hundredth years, and even then the stranger often didn’t have time for Hob and fucked off with someone else. So what if Shakespeare was famous now? Hob would still have been better company back then. No, he didn’t need the man. He would make new friends. Better ones.

~1936~

Okay, so maybe mistakes had been made and Hob should have chosen his words more carefully. That was on him. His stranger still shouldn’t have exploded like this and should rather have tried to talk things out like a grown up, but still – Hob hadn’t been entirely blameless in the situation.

When they saw each other the next time he would have to apologize and maybe then they could laugh together about the stupid fight. Or well, Hob had never seen his stranger laugh, couldn’t even imagine it. He would settle for a smirk then.

~1983~

Anxiety was settled deep in his chest. What if his stranger proved him wrong. What if he didn’t show, determined to not give in. Hob had no way of finding him. He didn’t even know who he was looking for. What would Hob even do? Nothing besides showing up in the White Horse every hundred years and praying at some point his stranger would forgive him and come for him. 

Once more, he felt powerless in their relationship. It was the whole reason why he had even started the fight, wanting to know more, anything about his stranger. He didn’t want to be on equal footing, knowing it would never be, but he wanted something that was his. He didn’t want to be just another amusement the man had, but to mean at least something to the other. 

Tears sprung to his eyes as he hit his desk in frustration. It was unfair. The stranger meant too much to him, was such a big part of his life, and Hob didn’t even know if he was the only immortal he kept. Maybe Shakespeare was out there under a new name, living his best life and meeting his stranger more often than every hundredth years. And there was nothing Hob could do about it, no way for him to even find out.

Knowing he wouldn’t be able to concentrate on any more work, he gathered his documents and put them in a briefcase before leaving the empty office and making his way through the dark street. They were in the progress of having the gas street-lamps replaced by electrical once, but it was slow progress. And during it many streets stayed dark, since repairing gaslights when they were about to be replaced was a waste of resources according to the major. Hob didn’t care too much, he didn’t fear the dark.

He should have.

A dark figure stepped in front of him, barely noticeable in the moonlight. Turning around to run, he saw another figure blocking the other exit of the street and walking towards Hob. A flash of metal in the dark, a weapon. Hob swallowed, not because he was scared, he had survived much worse, but because it spelled trouble, and he couldn’t risk anyone finding out he was immortal. Not with times changing and hiding who he was becoming more and more difficult.

“Your money or your life,” Hob had to suppress a snort at the nasal voice. Ah, criminals, always the same no matter how many centuries passed. He remembered the time well, when he was in the other's position, stopping the carriages of rich folks and demanding the valuables. He had used the exact same words. Although, he guessed there was no much need for flair when it came to such simple matters.

“Alright, I will give you what I have. Please don’t hurt me,” Hob held up his hands, talking calm and trying not to provoke them. He couldn’t die, sure, but being stabbed hurt like a freaking bitch. Hob would rather part with some cash he had on hand and his watch. Nothing holding real value to him, and easy enough to replace. 

So very slowly and telegraphing his movement clearly, he reached inside his coat and pulled out his wallet, holding it out until it was snatched from his fingers. Next was his watch that got the same treatment. And still Hob was well-behaved, not struggling, calm and cooperating. He gave no reason for the situation to escalate, giving his robbers all chances to just leave now with their loot.

Which was why Hob was so surprised when pain exploded at the side of his head. He stumbled, his knee hitting the pavement, his palm getting scratched as he caught himself. Blinking, he tried to lift the haze from his thoughts as he looked up at the two shapes hovering above him. 

It was only instincts, honed through centuries with conflicts, that saved him, his head ducking automatically as he heard the swish of metal through the air. But just because the knife didn't slash his face didn't mean he was safe, as he was not as fortunate in avoiding the kick to his side. He cried out as pain exploded in his ribs. Every fiber of his being wanted him to curl up and protect his soft belly, but he forced down this instinct with gritted teeth. 

No, if you wanted to survive, you had to fight with everything you got. Using the momentum of the kick, he stumbled back to his feet, and got some distance between himself and the attackers. Despite the throbbing in his head, he now could see them more clearly, that was not the face of someone just messing around. No, they wore big smiles, and were enjoying his pain. They wouldn't stop. At least not on their own. 

One of them, heavy dark coat, spindly frame, soon ran towards Hob, knife in hand. Amateur movements. Hob stepped forward, getting close, deflected the blade by smacking the other's arm. His knee meets the other's stomach, sending him down. Before he could make sure he stayed down the other man, this one smaller but wider, jumped on him, and they tumbled to the ground.

That was fine. Hob knew how to wrestle and had the other in a chokehold in seconds. Still two against one, but he kicked out the legs of the man running towards him to tear him off his friend.

The body was suddenly in free-fall, arms whirling trying to get back balance. 

Then a sickening crunch and Hob froze.  

He had heard it often during his lifetime. He had sworn he would no longer be the cause of it. 

Looking over, he didn't need to see the neck bend in an awkward position to know the man was gone. 

Hob had killed him. He hadn't meant to, it had been an accident. But he had killed someone. 

After all the lifetime he had lead and all the killing and dying he had done, he had wanted to be done with it. He just wanted to live in peace and do let others do the same. But now he had ripped someone else out of their life. How could he live with himself knowing what he had just done. 

“Chris,” the man, Hob was still entangled on the ground with, cried out and struggled to free himself. Hob helped him as best as he could now that he was no longer in danger of being attacked. 

Getting up himself, he saw the man kneeling next to the body crying, shaking it and begging for Chris to open his eyes. The man didn’t. They never did. Once someone was gone, there was nothing you can do, no matter how you cried out to your stranger to spare them. 

Suddenly the man got up, swinging at Hob, but in his grief it had become uncoordinated and Hob easily stopped the punch. 

“You murderer! You killed him!”

He hadn’t meant to. And it wouldn’t have happened if they hadn’t attacked him. But pointing that out wouldn’t help, as the man would not listen to reason. He wanted someone to be angry at, to blame, to lessen his own guilt. And Hob was the perfect target. Hob stopped the other punch and just held on as the man cried. It was the least Hob could do.

There was the sound of footsteps in the distance, spooking the man, and he ripped himself free and started stumbling away. Hob didn’t stop him, just sitting down on the ground next to the cooling body and waited. He should probably call the police, but he couldn’t bring himself to move, so he just waited. How long he didn’t know, but at some point steps came closer and when he looked up Hob could see men in uniform entering the alley. The police has arrived. 

Hob didn’t resist when he was dragged up and cold iron snapped around his wrist. Neither when he was pulled away. Everything was a blur. He didn’t remember how they made it to the station, just that he found himself in a chair, an officer sitting on the other side of the desk staring him down.

He was asked questions he can’t answer, the full name of the victim, their relationship and most of all why he did it. All Hob can say is, it was an accident, I didn’t mean to, they attacked me first, I just tried to defend myself, then he fell. Over and over, he repeats it like a mantra. Something to hang on when everyone wants to make him believe he did it on purpose. When their words make him question himself. 

I didn’t mean to. It was an accident. I was just defending myself.

He didn’t know how much time has passed, there was no clock in the room nor window. His voice was rough and black spots dance on the edge of his vision, they hadn’t bothered giving him a glass of water. The blood in his hair from the first swing he took was dry and flaking off every time he shakes his head in denial. His ribs throb with every breath.

He was about to just nod, accept whatever they said if it meant he will be thrown into a cell where he could lay down and close his eyes. It would ruin his life, but wouldn’t that be right after what he had done? A few years of suffering was the least he deserved. Especially since he unlike others had the option to start anew after faking his death.

His downward spiral was stopped by a man bargain in, under loud protests of some officers. The man’s briefcase hit the desk hard, and Hob flinched back at the loud noise.

“Don’t say anything,” sharp blue eyes drilled into Hob’s making him cower at the imposing figure in front of him. The man commanded respect, not because of the nice suit he was wearing or the expensive jewelry or because he was even taller than Hob, but in the way he held himself, his presence filling the whole room. 

So Hob shut his mouth. It was not like anyone was really listening to what he had to say anyway. And not speaking would be good for the scratching in his throat. His fate now would be decided if the new person was a friend or someone wanting to drag him down. Hob didn’t have the strength to fight anymore.

“You,” the man whirled on the officer, making him duck on instinct, only to puff up and try to make himself more imposing when he noticed. “Tell me how it comes that you had him in here for 8 hours and couldn’t even be bothered to give him a glass of water nor give him medical attention? Where are we? At the witch trials,” Hob flinched hard at the words, remembering the trials only too well. Back then he had broken as well, admitting to anything as long as it meant the pain would end. 

To his surprise, the stranger pushed his briefcase further on the desk, blocking Hob’s slumped form from view and gave him at least a bit of privacy as he fought with his demons.

“He killed a man! What do you expect? A fluffed up pillow and a three-course meal?”

“Human decency!” The officer was now absolutely cowering under the pressure, despite his best efforts. “Or are you that desperate you couldn’t take the 10 minutes to have him checked over? Maybe because you know you don’t have a case?”

“Bullshit! I know you love to put your nose where it doesn’t belong, Mr. Henderson. He killed the guy. We found him next to the corpse, and he admitted it was him who made the deceased fall.”

“And wasn’t he also quite persistence that the deceased and another man were the once attacking him, and he was just defending himself? Or are you just going to ignore that? So I suggest instead of harassing the victim, you should rather be out there looking for the second attacker.”

And the officer, despite his complaints and grumbling, got up and left the room. There was no way to know if he was really searching for the other attacker, and if there was even a chance to find the man with how little information Hob had been able to give, but getting a breather was enough for Hob.

His head laid on the desk, the cold helping against his headache, and he just rested his eyes for a moment. He heard movement but ignored Mr. Henderson for now. Or at least he tried to, but the man kneeled down next to Hob’s chair and his hand laid on Hob’s knee. 

Blinking his eyes back open was an effort, but Hob managed and looked down at the concerned eyes looking up at him.

“Mr. Gadling, I wish could say it will be alright, but your situation doesn’t look good. But rest assured, I will do anything in my power to get you out of this.”

“I don’t think I have the money to pay your commission,” Hob was not poor. But the last years after he had fought with his friend, he had let himself go. Gambling, and throwing money at unnecessary luxuries just because he could. When he had pulled his head out of his ass, he had already spent most of his fortune and was now living like the middle class. Not bad, but not enough to pay a man wearing jewelry that could feed a family for at least a year.

“Don’t worry about money. Just focus on getting through this.”

Hob snorted, so either once he was out the man would make demands to be paid back another way, forcing Hob into his servitude, or he was just plain stupid. Saying that straight to the man’s face was not the best idea, but the man just laughed.

“Personally, I see myself as someone just trying to do the right thing, reforming the misdeeds in the justice system.”

So, delusional. But Hob could work with that. And having a delusional lawyer was better than not having one at all, so accepting the help would be best.

“The biggest problem is all we have to confirm your story is your word. Even if the police showed an ounce of competence and finds the other robber, he will tell his own story.” Hob knew all that. He didn’t know why the other even bothered, since there was no way he would get out of here. Not with everyone in the station being hellbent on making sure he went to prison. But at least he got to go to a holding cell for now and take a nap until Mr. Henderson would return the next day. 

And return he did with a big smile on his face. The police had not found the other robber, but they had found a woman hanging around the alleyway, and with a bit of pressure she had admitted to seeing the whole thing backing up Hob’s story. The officers complained and tried to poke holes in his defense, but in the end they had no other option but to accept that his actions had been to defend his own life. 

Things dragged on, Hob being pushed from one cell to the other as people discussed his fate. Mr. Henderson, please call me Edward, was there every step of the way and the only reason why Hob didn’t fell apart. 

Still, Hob couldn’t believe it when the judge finally spoke the words not guilty, and he was stepping into the sun. Till the last moment he had waited for the second shoe to drop, for someone to jump out and present new evidence sending him to jail.

Turning to Edward standing beside him, smiling brightly, he couldn’t help himself, but pulling the man into his arms and thanking him under tears. The man had been there for him, like a true friend, and if he ever needed it, Hob would be there for him in return.

He had lost his stranger, but he was not alone. There were good people out there, just waiting for him. All Hobs had to do was open his heart and accept them. 

With this being over, Hob could move on with his life. Things finally looked up. Or they did until he found out he had no longer a job because of his long absence and his old boss was unwilling to hire a killer despite Hob being proclaimed not guilty. Hob didn’t understand it, but he was unwilling to start a fight. He could find someplace else. Only words of his case had spread through the whole city, and no one was willing to hire him. And without a job there was no money which meant he would be unable to pay his upcoming rent.

But nothing he tried worked. The only positions willing to hire him wouldn’t even make a dent in his rent, even if he had three jobs. And with the housing shortage, there was no place else he could live that would be cheaper. He could move, somewhere no one knew him. But he couldn’t bring himself to leave London. This was his home, where his only friend lived. And he had to be here in a few years to be at the White Horse in case his stranger returned. 

He could ask Edward for help, but he didn’t want it to seem he was just after the other's money. Especially with Edwards business taking a major hit after a person he was defending was proven guilty. Hob tried to help as best as he could behind closed doors but knew he couldn’t do more since it wouldn’t look good on Edward if he was seen with Hob. 

It was a major point of friction. Edward didn’t care about his reputation and had no trouble inviting Hob out for dinner or even hiring him. But Hob refusing frustrated him, especially when Hob even declined his money, despite Edward knowing how much Hob was struggling. He just wanted to support his best friend and being unable to do so and just having to watch how he made himself smaller and smaller, shrinking under all negative attention focused on him angered him.

Their love for each other made them want the best for each other. And it tore their friendship apart. They were unable to spend time together without a disagreement, and then their friendship ended in a big fight. 

And it was Hob fault. He always said the wrong thing, turning away the people he cared about. First his stranger now Edward. Maybe he was meant to be alone.

But the world didn’t stop for his emotional turmoil. The rent needed to be paid, now especially since there was no longer a friend who would have a place on their sofa for Hob to sleep on. And Hob really needed to keep a roof over his head. 

He was terrified of ending back on the street. He did it once, and it was the worst time of his life. Just a nightmare of pain, suffering, anger, blood, and a desperate fight for survival. He knew getting back up once you were so far down was almost impossible. He couldn’t let it get this far. Not if there was something he could do. Even if it means he had to let go of his pride.

The first time wasn’t planed. Was just walking, trying to clear his head and finding a way out. The window was open, everything else dark, and no car in the driveway. He knew it was wrong, he should be better than this. 

He climbed the fence and slipped through the window, heart beating fast as he listened for any sign of life inside the house. Nothing. Sneaking around, he grabbed anything of value. 

Ten minutes later he was out, pockets heavy, and on his way to the pawnshop. It was not enough to pay the rent but enough to satisfy his landlord getting another week before he would be kicked out. 

It made him think about how easy it had been. And how little effort had taken to get the money. And it was not as if he hadn’t tried other options. It was them, society, not giving him a choice. If they had just given him a job, he wouldn’t be in this position. It was their fault, not his. 

And it was not as if he had hurt anyone. A few valuables were gone. And? They could replace it, their house had been nice enough they could afford a small loss like that.

Yes. It was the least all of them deserved for letting him down like this. He would just take what he needed to survive. And it was only temporary until he was back on his feet. They all thought he was a murderer, a bit of stealing was nothing in comparison.

It became a routine, going on nightly strolls and returning with his pocket full. He was good at it. Always knew when someone was home or not, avoided being seen when he made his way inside, and didn’t spend a second longer inside than he had to.

No one had to know what Hob did. Well except, the pawnshop owner, but he didn’t say anything and just gave Hob a price much under the actual value of the items. Hob was fine with that. Paying hush money was better than being ratted out to the police. Especially since the police so far had no idea he even existed. There was always breaking and entering, and he chose his targets so far apart there was no connection. The cops had better things to do than chasing a criminal that didn’t cause real harm. And Hob liked things that way. He had managed to avoid prison once, he didn’t want to risk it, especially since this time there would be no Edward bailing him out.

His rent was paid, he had food in his belly and a new coat. Life was good. Or it should be. There was still the guilt nagging at him that all of this wasn’t his. That he had stolen it and it was wrong. But with every failed attempt to find another source of income, he fell deeper into his ways. It was just too easy. Until weeks passed by without him searching for a legitimate job. 

~1989~

He started hating the man he was becoming. Or rather, he was returning to. He had thought he had become better, had changed. But now he was back at square one. Just a lowlife surviving by harming others. He didn’t want to be like this.

But there was still hope. One last chance to turn things around. Hob may not have the best moral compass – if he had any at all- but his stranger always knew right from wrong. Even before society or law. It had taken him to tell Hob for Hob to realize slavery was wrong. Today it was unthinkable, but back then it has just been how things were. And even then his stranger had known it was wrong. Hob just had to tell him, and his stranger would set him right and correct Hob’s course for the next 100 years.

Yes, all Hob had to do was meet his friend and things would be okay. So he drove to the White Horse in a car he had stolen, full of excitement in the prospect of the weight leaving his chest. He would do better, become good. To get his stranger approval.

But the longer he sat there, alone, the worse he felt. It looked like this was his stranger's answer. They were never and never would be friends. Hob was alone, on his own. There was no one who cared. No one who had any expectations, everyone had given up on him. Why should he even try? If there was no one to judge him, why not make things easy for himself?

Things escalate from there, as there is nothing holding Hob back. So what if the houses he breaks into now are not from some rich fucks but middle class as well? They had shunned him just as well. And their security was a lot laxer. Also, less to steal, but it was enough. And then there was someone home, but the house was way too good to pass up on. But it was okay, he would just be quiet. 

A good plan if not for the man of the house stepping out of his bed to get a glass of water just as Hob was clearing out their silver drawer. They looked at each other frozen, and Hob was glad for the hat and the scarf hiding most of his face. 

Before the other could too much than let out a shocked shout, Hob had jumped over the counter and tackled him to the ground, choking him until he lost conscious. When the wife appeared in the doorway, he was prepared, knocking her unconscious.

He used things found around the house to bind them to two chairs and gag them, before taking his time emptying their whole house. They would call the police anyway, Hob could at least make it worth it. And worth it, it was. He left the pawnshop with a big bundle of cash.

And if he spotted some rich folks taking a shortcut through a dark allay, well then it was their own fault, since they had begged for it. You couldn’t blame Hob for standing there with a knife demanding their valuables in a sick play on the situation that had started this whole thing. But other than his attackers back then, he was just after the money. Once he had what he wanted, he let his victims go unharmed. 

He didn’t kill. That was a line he would never cross again. And if he had to attack someone or render them unconscious, he did it with causing as little harm as possible. It was something which baffled the police and press alike, as they couldn’t decide if he was a monster or a gentleman thief. It was kinda amusing reading about people losing their mind trying to figure him out. Especially since it was that easy. He was just someone no longer following societies rules and just living by his own codex, doing whatever he pleased.

Even if this codex was completely screwed. Like right now, still blood on his knuckles from having to knock someone out who resisted, but being offended by a bunch of teens ganging up on a gangly little thing. It just strokes him wrong, seeing something like this. 

But it is not his problem. There is no need to get involved.

Or at least it wasn’t until the boy rose his head and looked straight at Hob. Dark brown eyes, with hair of the same color. But that was not what stopped Hob in his tracks. He looked just like Robyn. Well, not exactly, it was more the vibes he was giving up. But Hob couldn’t stop seeing his son laying there on the ground beaten and bloody, his tormentors surrounding him.

He moved before he really thought about it. 

His fist connected with the nose of the guy to the left. The bone crunched under the impact and the guy stumbled back, shouting in pain. That got the attention of the rest of his group, who instantly stepped in to avenge their friend. With no option to back out of this anymore, Hob just went with the flow and beat everyone getting into punching distance. They had the numbers, but they were untrained and rather stood in each other's way than taken advantage and overpowering Hob. Which leads to Hob standing between fallen bodies, breathing heavy and blood on his shirt but mostly unharmed beside a few bruises. 

Walking over to the fallen boy, he saw him flinch. Hob hadn’t meant to scare him, although the display of violence must have been frightening. But he didn’t feel comfortable leaving him sitting on the ground with unknown injuries, especially since his attackers would get up soon. 

He wanted to gain the boy's trust, but Hob had forgotten how to be comforting and soft. Hadn’t had need for it in years. Even for Edward, he had not managed to bring back that part of himself. Which was just as well because Edward liked his brash and direct way.

But now he tried, crouching down, holding out his hands and speaking softly. “It's okay. I took care of them,” well, he tried. He failed miserably, sounding more threatening than reassuring, but he had tried. How had he managed to deal with Robyn without frightening the child? He couldn’t remember. And wasn’t that sad? Not remembering this everyday life with his son, only holding some special memories close to his heart while the rest faded?

Knowing that his presence would only distress the boy more, he got up and turned to leave. He would just call the police to check things out, once he was far enough away. Only there was a tug on his pant leg and turning he saw the boy grasping the fabric with shaking fingers. The big teary eyes looking up at Hob broke his heart, and he couldn’t stop himself from leaning down again and pulling the boy into his arms. Crying and wailing filled the alley, but the boy clung to Hob desperately. 

Carrying him into his arm and towards Hob’s apartment, reminded Hob of the times Robyn had been unable to sleep and Hob had walked through the whole house with the child in his arm to keep him calm, while Elenore watched them with a smile. He had forgotten it until his actions pulled the memory back up.

Entering his building, he sat the boy on his sofa and retrieved his extensive med-kit. Being unable to die meant treating injuries yourself that would bring up questions, going to the hospital. He didn’t need much of it to treat the boy. The injuries had looked worse than they actually were. A bloody nose, bruising, scratched hands and knees, a gash close to his hairline that luckily didn’t need stitches, and a cracked wrist. 

Once the task was done, Hob looked at the boy awkwardly, not knowing what to do.

“You want tea?” You could never go wrong with tea. The boy nodded and Hob set to work, returning with two mugs of tea.

“Thank you,” the voice was shy and soft. But at least the shaking had stopped as the kid started to relax.

“Don’t worry about it,” Hob meant it. Neither the tea nor stepping in had been much trouble, and Hob had done it for his own piece of mind. There was no need t thank him.

Hob swirled the tea in his mug, not knowing what to say. Should he give the kid money for a taxi? Take him home? Offer him the sofa for tonight? Hob didn’t know. 

Luckily for him, the boy was not as incapable of social interaction as he was.

“My name is Georgie Baldwin. What about you.”

“Hob,” he didn’t give a last name. The less the boy knew, the better it was for him with the life Hob lived.

“Thank you for saving me, Hob,” the boy put down his empty mug, hugged Hob and then left the apartment before Hob could compose himself. He looked at the closed door not understanding what exactly had happened, but then he just shrugged. Another weird day in his weird life. No need to think deeper about it. It was not as if hew would see the boy ever again.

After cleaning up the medical equipment, he laid in bed, unable to sleep. 

The encounter had brought up memories of a happier time. It made him realize just how lonely he felt. There was a gnawing emptiness in his chest, where his heart once was. He wanted someone to be there for him, to greet him when he got home, to care if he made it home. He didn’t want t be alone anymore. But every time he tried he messed up and ended up back alone. It was better to not try, and be disappointed rather than to suffer.

But knowing that didn’t fill the emptiness in his chest and no matter how much he tried he didn’t find any rest. Which left him cranky and short temperate when he stomped to the door, mug with extra strong coffee in hand, to tell whoever was on the other side to fuck off. Throwing the door open, he came face to face with the kid from yesterday.

The door banged close, as Hob didn’t have the patience to deal with whatever bullshit this was. Instead, he took a big swing of his coffee, cursed as it burned his tongue, and debated if a nice fluffy omelet was worth the effort of actually making it. 

His doorbell chimed again.

Hadn’t he been clear enough in his dismissal? But no, when he opened the door, the boy was still standing there smiling at him. What a prick. But not stupid, as he held out a bag that smelled heavenly of backed goods as bribery. 

With his stomach grumbling, Hob admitted defeat and took the bag, leaving the door open as he stepped inside. The boy had already been here, it wouldn’t do any harm to let him in. But Hob was not in the mood to play good host right now and didn’t offer any tea or coffee. Ripping open the bag, he found muffins and chocolate croissants. All things considered, it was a good bribe.

Humming happily, he dug in as the boy sat down watching him carefully. 

“So what so you want kid?” 

“It’s Georgie,” the way the kid pouted was kinda cute. He must have old ladies want to feed him all over town. “I want you to teach me how to fight.” Hob choked on the bit of croissant. He couldn’t say if it was his immortality or Georgie slapping his back that prevented him from entering the sunless lands. Whipping tears out of his eyes, he looked at the kid as if he had lost his mind.

“Are you completely crazy? Why would you ask me?”

 “The way you fought was amazing. Please, I want to be able to do it too.”

“Hard pass. Why the heck should I teach a brat?”

“I can pay you,” the kid dove for his pocket and placed a stack of bills on the table. It was no small amount. So, a rich brat. Well, it was not as Hob really needed money with how well his business was going. And he would rather not involve the kid by accident. If he went down for his actions it was one thing but dragging a kid down with him was completely different. And if he gave in now, he just knew the kid would one day rob houses side by side with him.

“Pass. Go home kid. You are young and have a bright life ahead of you. There is no need to get involved with the likes of me.”

“But what if they come back?! I need to be able to defend myself,” Hob just groaned as this was just playing unfair. Especially since it was a fair point. The bullies had found him once, and there was no guarantee they wouldn’t do worse when Hob was not close by to step in. It was just unfair. Hob was not responsible for the kid, could barely remember his name. But he had made it his responsibility when he stepped in. The least he could do was see things through now.

“Okay fine. I will teach you self-defense. Nothing more. And you will stay out of my business.”

“Deal,” the kid smiled brightly as he held out his hand for Hob to shake. Knowing that one day he would regret this Hob took the offered hand.

[orionsangel86]

Subtext Glorious Subtext! A Dreamling on Netflix analysis in The Sandman - Part 3

1589

Insert distracted boyfriend meme here...

1589 is when the queer coding starts ramping up a notch. Let me tell you how I am fascinated by their choice of actor to play Shakespeare - a twink with stars in his eyes - amazing. Bravo. Not even Hob manages to look at Dream like he wants to be utterly ruined by him the way this actor looked at Tom Sturridge. Here on Tumblr.com I am sure we are all very much aware of the theories and speculation about the actual Shakespeares sexuality with the consensus being that he was probably bisexual, and my GOD have they decided to lean into that on this show.

There is a lot to analyse in this scene. Hob’s dialogue about what he has been up to is almost word for word the same as the comic, but Ferdie’s delivery is perfect with its mix of flirtation and desperate need to impress. Look at this dramatic fool:

Dream’s curious reaction to his bragging is almost as if he is trying to figure him out, but unlike the comics/audiobook, the conversation between Shakespeare and Marlow is interspersed with this one, with Shakespeare pulling Dream’s attention before Hob has even finished talking. This adds extra tension to the scene and raises the emotional stakes. In the comics, Hob had already finished talking when Shakespeare gets up and starts reciting Faustus to the point that he draws Dream’s attention prompting Dream to ask Hob who he is.

One of the interesting changes made is the removal of Hob’s description of Kit Marlowe as “bent as a pewter ducat.” A wise choice as it comes across as somewhat homophobic, but its removal also serves to not “other” Marlowe and therefore “other” the idea of homosexuality as something different to Hob. The other similar change to the show was the removal of Shakespeare flirting with the waitress whilst Marlowe claimed he’d “stick to boys, my horned “actresses”.” 

It’s funny to me that by removing the moments in this scene that canonically confirm one characters queerness, the show also removes any interpretation that could “no homo” the other characters, ultimately making everyone appear much gayer in general!

(My giffing skills are woefully inept so have an image of Shakespeare's heart eyes instead)

When Dream approaches Shakespeare in the show it is insanely heated. The music swells with mystery and intrigue, Shakespeare stands and stares at Dream in complete awe. Enraptured by Dream’s gaze. The whole

“Have we met?”

“We have, but men forget in waking hours.”

Sounds like the ultimate pick up line. It's basically a play on One Upon A Dream from Sleeping Beauty in my opinion! This line is in the comic, and also in the audible book, but the delivery of the line in the show is the only time it comes across like a come on. Tom Sturridge please explain yourself?!?

In fact, all the acting choices here blow my mind. Seriously. I wanna know what the director told these two. Its really easy to see Dream’s proposition to Shakespeare as something beyond a business transaction. With the mysterious and rather romantic music, the soft candlelight, and the cameras keeping in close up of the two characters as they hold each others gaze... It’s a moment where you raise your eyebrows and wonder if the show just implied that their lead character just took THE Shakespeare off for a one night stand passionate enough to inspire the entire “Fair Youth” series of sonnets.

Joking aside, it doesn’t help the extremely queer undertones when the camera cuts back and forth between Dream, Shakespeare and Hob looking on at them with an expression one can only describe as hurt.

(Gif link)

It’s the editing in this scene that really sets it apart from the comic and audible book. Dream is distracted throughout Hob’s talk, and continues to look over at Shakespeare much to Hob’s apparent distress. When he eventually gets up to leave, he holds a hand up to stop Hob talking and simply walks away. Which only causes to further upset Hob and heightens the emotional intensity of the moment. As Neil Gaiman said in the episode 6 watch party - Hob is having to watch his date get up and leave him half way through. It’s specifically framed in a way to emphasise the hurt Hob feels, as well as the envy towards Shakespeare.

This is far more subtle in the comic and practically non existent in the audible audiobook where Dream actually tells Hob “Excuse me” before approaching Shakespeare. I found this funny because where the audiobook interpreted Dream’s behaviour in the comic as rude and clearly sought to attempt to change that, the Netflix show makes his behaviour worse by framing it as Dream abandoning his date. Playing up the emotions of the moment and making the whole scene come across like a live action distracted boyfriend meme!

I do encourage every Sandman fan to listen to the Audible audiobooks, but fair warning, the tone is NOT the same. The meeting with Shakespeare is played completely straight (in both senses of the words). This is in no way a criticism of the audiobook, but it is an excellent indication of director decisions and how different elements in different mediums can convey certain tones. I find that the show in general plays heavily into Dream being other and oftentimes it is very easy for other to be subtextually layered alongside queer (see the entire history of queer coding in cinema and why gay people love the horror genre). Interestingly, the audiobook doesn’t give Dream this same vibe. People such as Hob, Shakespeare, Constantine, etc, they just treat him as a bit of a posh lord. His otherness isn’t heavily emphasised in scenes set in the Waking World, indicating he is better at blending in than he is in the show.

So after Dream goes off to ravage Shakespeare - ahem - make a business arrangement with Shakespeare, the final 1589 scene is Hob’s final reaction. The line is the same across all mediums.

“Everything to live for, and no where to go but up.”

In the comic, the final panels here do not give any indication that Hob is upset by Dream’s leaving. He get’s distracted by the joys of having white bread. Simple pleasures please comic!Hob far greater than mysterious black clad lords.

The audiobook follows this along to the letter. Audible!Hob is joyful, laughing and happily reminscing about killing for bread (NGL I don’t particularly like Hob in the audiobook. No offence to Mathew Horne but 1. I can’t separate his voice from Gavin in Gavin and Stacey, and 2. I just think he comes across as really laddish and I find it offputting.)

In the show, Ferdie gives an absolute brilliant performance with just the right mix of hurt at being ditched for a young twink, and hopeful optimism for the future. Gone is any mention of killing for white bread, and in it’s place is a thoughtful Hob who looks at the spread of food laid out for his Stranger, and accepts it almost as a consolation prize. He’s gonna eat through his hurt and try to forget about this for the next century, but we all know he won’t forget at all.

Follow on to Part 4 to read my analysis of 1689

[gabessquishytum]

Sneaking back in here to say hi! Glad to see you back and better than ever! Speaking of, I'm back on my usual bull.

Mob/flowershop au?

The New Inn is Hobs pet project. A hybrid between a restaurant and a green house. With vegetables and such being grown in house for the dishes, and flowers for the patrons to by if they want. He's put a lot of time and effort into making it what it is, maybe going to school for both botany and cuisine, so when there are talks of other shops in the area getting shaken down by the local gangs, he's worried about the future of his baby.

Little does he know, the local gang has already been by to shake him down. They thought it was just another restaurant, but the minute they stepped inside they were in awe and too busy admiring the ambiance and enginuity of the place. They report sheepishly to their boss, who has to go in for himself.

Dream is charmed by the atmosphere, care, and quality that went into building such a place, but what really catches his eye is the handsome man who seems to be both host, head chef, AND head gardener. He may not be getting that shake down money any time soon, but at least he has a new place to go where both the food and,,,,,,service,,,,,is impeccable.

I may write more

💳 anon

This is actually so cute, i am genuinely in love with the idea of Dream’s gang just having the best time ever at Hob’s restaurant where they're supposed to be scaring him - Cori scoffs at the idea of vegetables initially but he is RAVING about the food within minutes of sitting down. He and Matthew practically drag Dream to the restaurant and he is admittedly... curious.

For a hot minute Hob thinks that Dream is some hot-shot restaurant critic. But he catches on to the fact the pretty man is mobbed up when he sees the gun strapped to Dream’s thigh. Well, Hob can only hope that the veggies, fruits, flowers and pastoral atmosphere work their magic. Oh and he does have a trick or two up his sleeve...

Dream is enthusiastic amused by the way that Hob flirts with him all evening. Hardly anyone is every bold enough to make a move on Dream. But Hob is smiling and chatting, touching Dream at every opportunity, and perpetually filling up his glass with the wine (which is of course made with Hob’s homegrown grapes). Dream begins to begrudgingly flirt back, and accepts an offer to come and see the greenhouses in the back.

Hob pays his "protection" money in full that evening as far as Dream is concerned. He pushes Dream against the greenhouse and kisses him practically from head to toe before sucking him off. He doesn't even seem bothered by the gun - in fact, he kisses that too. Dream blushes the same colour as Hob’s prize winning tomatoes, and stutters something about how he'll be back. Soon.

Dream gets a gorgeous bunch of Hob’s home grown flowers delivered to his office the very next day. He can't stop staring at them... and thinking about Hob. He'll REALLY have to find some way to stop by the restaurant again already. Not to shake Hob down, but hopefully to shake him out of his clothes...

[valiantstarlights]

Your personal trainer Dream is a gift that keeps on giving. And Hob being cutely oblivious and innocent about how Dream wants to break his back like a glowstick (in responsible manner of course). How would Dream react to;

A. Hob working out while wearing the #3 jacket

B. A gymbro, ignoring all survival instincts, and hitting on Hob while he's on the treadmill without Dream around

I love your work lots ❤️ 💕 💖 ♥️ 💜 💗

Thank you for the hearts 🥰 and for making me laugh with responsible back breaking. 😂 I'm glad you like my gym AU. 🙇‍♀️

A. Hob working out (or just being in the Endless Gym) while wearing Dream's 03 letterman jacket

Girl (gender neutral) you know Dream is going to be so smug about this. That's his (future) boyfriend right there, and no one can contest it, because Hob is already wearing his clothes and everyone knows what that means. 😏

He thinks he's super sneaky, and thank goodness Hob is as oblivious as he is, because if he catches wind of it, he'd become even more of a blushing mess, and would try to return Dream's clothes to him because he doesn't want to cause any misunderstandings. And that's the last thing Dream wants.

The staff would definitely start treating Hob differently. Not that they're treating him badly or anything, but they'll start treating him like he's a VIP.

And anyway, he's so sweet and nice and if anyone deserves to be treated like a VIP, it's him.

(IDK if I've mentioned this in the fic yet, but Endless Gym is a ✨️super fancy✨️ gym, and famous people actually go there to work out. The staff are used to treating actual VIPs, but they'll treat Hob like he's a tier above them, maybe just a step below the Endless siblings.)

Hob doesn't know why the staff is suddenly super extra nice to him, but he's happy about it and treats them super extra nicely in return. It's a very wholesome cycle of niceness, and through it all, Dream is so proud of him, internally yelling, 'That's my (future) boyfriend!'

B. A random gymbro hitting on Hob while Dream isn't around

CW: sexual harassment and rapey vibes, but nothing bad actually happens because the gym's staff are amazing and dream is very protective (understatement) of hob 🙏

Now why would Dream be absent? 👀 Meeting Hob is like, the highlight of his week.

Anyway, let's pretend that he's sick or smth and learns about what happened from Lucienne, who always keeps an eye out for potential bullying or sexual harassment cases.

I imagine that Dream would demand to watch the security footage (bc he's insane), so he'll see exactly what happened.

He'll see Hob just minding his own business, running on a treadmill, following the lesson plan even without supervision, just basically being a very good boy for Dream 😏, when this fucknugget man smiles smarmingly at him, hopping on the next treadmill and flirting with him.

Hob just looks confused, but Dream sees him just nod politely and return to his workout. Dream sees the man flirting harder, and Hob just not engaging with any of it, and he eventually leaves when the set time is done.

Dream is breathing fire when he sees the man move to follow Hob to the showers, but thankfully a couple of undercover guards (pretend it's a thing) walk up to the man and very politely tell him to stop it. The man is rude to them, but he doesn't push back and leaves when the guards keep their eye on him and loom menacingly near the showers.

Dream tells Lucienne to commend the two guards and give them a bonus, and focuses on recovering so he could return to work quicker.

When he gets back and sees fucknugget man working out (Hob isn't around because it's a day when he doesn't have a session with Dream), Dream walks up to him and says, "I heard about what happened the other day."

"Yeah," the man grumbles. He looks validated, because oh wow Dream Endless is talking to him. No doubt he'd be on his side. "I was just complimenting someone and some douchebags told me to quit it." He scoffs. "Man wasn't even worth it, to be honest. Just looking for someone to suck my cock, you know how it is, and he looked pathetic enough to want to do it."

Dream inhales, exhales, and smiles like he doesn't want to tear this man's throat out with his teeth.

He is going to ruin this man's life. He has already read through his file when he was still sick, and has contacted one of his private eye connections to investigate the man for anything that would get him in trouble. The bigger the dirt, the more Dream will pay.

"You should be careful," Dream says.

"Ha! Yeah. I'll corner him somewhere quieter next time. Do you think he'll come by later?"

"I mean," Dream says, still neutrally, even if there is a bit of a snarl in his voice, "you should be careful, because everyone has secrets."

(Dream blacklists him on the spot for his words about Hob alone. He then takes his anger out on a punching bag.)

(...He may have destroyed the punching bag.)

(I imagine Dream's private eye connection finds some shady embezzlement stuff on the guy and gets him fired, leaving him next to nothing after his company fired and sued him. The private eye thanks Dream for the tip because the company gave them a reward, but honestly Dream doesn't care about any of that because all he wants is for the man to never bother Hob again.)

[witchybitchycrybaby]

i'll see you in your dreams

Pairing: Dream of the Endless x reader

Summary: In which you and the Dream Lord read books until you fall asleep.

Genre: fluff, i guess

✨✨✨

There was a bond between you and Morpheus; you could feel it like a gentle tug of a string.

From the moment you first laid your eyes on his silhouette in the New Inn, you knew he was the one. Your beginning and your end.

You've been an immortal being, just like your closest friend, Hob. He was older than you, actually. Only a few decades (and what were decades compared to eternity?), but it still made him point out to you that he was an adult in this friendship, whenever he could.

And so it was Hob who one day introduced you to Morpheus. Bless this man, he was so proud of himself watching the two of you not being able to take your eyes off of each other. If he had only known that he had just linked two parts of the same soul together, he probably wouldn't stop babbling about it till the end of time.

You and Dream couldn't stay long without being in each other's presence. You were both intrigued just why from the start you were so drawn to one another. So whenever you were asleep he took you to his realm; he'd shown you the palace and its surroundings, introduced you to Lucienne, Cain and Abel. You even went with him to see Moirai. That's how you found out that you were soulmates, that a rare and beautiful bond was connecting you.

And on a few occasions when you weren't sleeping and he had a spare moment in between his ruling and taking care of all dreams and nightmares, he came to your human world.

"Are you completely sure you don't want tea or cacao with this book?" You asked, your head peering through the kitchen door to your living room. Morpheus was busy picking a book from one of the many bookshelves, but looked over his shoulder to lock his loving gaze with yours.

"I am." He nodded his head. "You know that there is no need for me to eat or drink in your realm, my love."

"Very well then, but you have absolutely no idea what you're missing out on."

You disappeared into the kitchen once more for only a minute. When you came to your living room, the fragrant smell of wild berry tea came in with you. You placed your favourite cup on the coffee table and joined Morpheus at the shelf.

"Have you decided what are you reading tonight, darling?"

You stood right behind him, hugging him tightly and resting your head on his shoulder. A shadow of a dreamy smile danced on Morpheus' lips as he intertwined his fingers with yours.

"I think I'm going to check this one." His long finger tapped the spine of one of your favourite books, "Hobbit."

"Very good choice" you murmured softly against his shoulder and began searching for a book for yourself. After a few seconds your hand reached for the one you'd been currently reading and somewhat couldn't finish.

Armed with your books you sat on the couch; Dream like a normal human being and you next to him with your legs over his. From time to time, he, ever so slightly, stroked your leg with his hand. The movement sent shivers down your spine and he knew that judging by the sparkles in his eyes when he looked at you from under his dark, long lashes.

After a while you could no longer focus on your book; words were merging into one as you completely lost interest in it.

"Can we trade? I like your book better and this one is making me sleepy."

You looked at him with that special pleading gaze you knew he couldn't resist. You smiled softly too, for the better effect.

Morpheus lowered his book; there was something mischievous in his eyes.

"Y/n, if you want to go to bed, just say it."

I blinked. Apparently, the King of dreams was also the King of flirting.

You cleared your throat and closed the long-forgotten volume.

"Well, if you insist on going to bed with me..."

You began to get up from the couch but suddenly you felt strong arms wrap around you. You squeaked as Morpheus carried you to your bedroom in bridal style.

"You didn't have to carry me all the way here, you know?"

"Yes. But it's always a pleasure to do so."

You felt a soft pillow under your head and a warm blanket that Morpheus thoroughly enveloped you in, and you immediately drowned in your bed.

"Will you stay?" You asked dreamily, feeling your eyelids becoming heavier and heavier.

"Of course, my dear."

Dream turned off all the lights and came back to you. The bed squeaked quietly when he laid down. You were barely awake but still registered gentle kisses on your forehead, both of your closed eyes and finally on your lips. You opened them a little to deepen the kiss, but in response you only heard a low chuckle.

Annoyed, you let out a groan but didn't open your eyes.

"Just sleep, Y/n." He said, once again wrapping you in his arms, so that you were as close to him as possible. As he spoke, you felt his warm breath on your temple. "Goodnight love, I'll see you in your dreams."

[tatortart]

OC round up! Info under the cut. I wanted to give the rise!style a shot, but these guys predominantly exist in a 2003/IDW mashup.

Geraldine and Slash Mason are a pair of siblings that roam the South as their hunting grounds for supernatural and occult activity. Functionally immortal thanks to the legion of celestial beings bound to her, Geraldine acts as the bruiser of the two while Slash focuses on research. The two eventually find themselves up in New York City hunting down a potential threat—and unfortunately run into the turtles as antagonists rather than allies

Geraldine’s here to get the job done, not play nice. Whatever she’s gotta do to accomplish that, she will. And Slash, as much of a sweetheart as he is, is here to bolster up his big sister. (For now.)

Gordy Morrison was once human, but wound up a mutant thanks to a mutagen bomb going off at a political rally he was attending. (Thanks, Old Hob.) He’s still feeling out this whole mutant deal and its limitations, but nothing’s going to stop him from collecting old punk records, DIYing and building up radical community aid.

He misses clubbing tho. :’) And theater shows and punk shows in miserably hot little basements and vastly overpriced bad booze. Flirting with Leo when they cross paths helps a lot.

Finally, Moriko and Takumi! A pair of escaped lab rats discovered by Mikey—the two soon build bonds with the turtles. Thanks to the help she gets from them and Splinter, Moriko grows a bond with her son that can’t be broken. Takumi’s gonna grow up well loved and cherished. :’)

As long as he stops biting her tail. And Splinter’s. And the turtles in general. He just wants to nibble.