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littledreamling · 2 years

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Hob Gadling who taught himself how to read in order to become a printer with the first book to ever be printed : the bible. Hob Gadling become knight getting a humanist education, learning Latin, Greek, Hebrew and studying the holy text in every iteration. Hob Gadling who has had plenty to reconsider about his faith throughout his life due to his immortality but never his queerness (and Hob Gadling has found out early on he is not straight), suddenly hearing the bible quoted to support homophobia out of nowhere in the 1980s. Hob Gadling pushing back and campaigning without care that he might be endangering the secret of his immortality against this "new translation". Hob Gadling till present days calling that out, loud and clear everywhere he goes to make sure any queer-secretly-religious or religious-secretly-queer kid (and not-kid-anymore) gets to hear it, because he might have his own quarrels with religion but he also knows how important faith can be to someone and he's not about to let bigots manipulate that against his people !!

Listen I’m a whore for religious Hob and this hits the nail on the head. I’m a little brain dead at the moment as I just got back from a bachelor’s party but I’ll attempt to do this ask justice (and if I don’t, I’ll come back to it because I live and breathe for Hob Gadling and all of his complexities).

The first words Hob ever heard recited to him were out of a bible. Growing up, Hob’s parents dragged him to church every day for Mass, where he would hear the Latin words wash over him like a cool, cleansing water and while he didn’t understand the words, they meant something to him nonetheless. When his parents and siblings died, either from the plague or other natural causes, he made sure they got their last rites, the words that would comfort and strengthen their souls on their journey to Heaven, and he took comfort in the fact that those same words would comfort and strengthen his own soul one day. He saw the priest, solemn and wise, cupping his bible with the reverence he showed to the bodies in the ground, a respect and adoration and dedication that shook Hob to his core.

The first book Hob ever touched was a bible. He still couldn’t read it, he simply placed the type letters where he was told, but the unadulterated joy and pride he felt, holding his very first book, the first book he had ever printed entirely by himself, was a feeling like no other. He couldn’t understand a single word of it, but he could’ve recited it with perfect clarity; he had placed that exact same type in that exact same order countless times, eliminating each mistake one at a time until every page was perfect. It wasn’t fancy, just a simple bible for a local parish, but deep down, Hob always thought of that one bible as his.

The first book Hob ever read was a bible. He had traveled to Venice and Florence, centers of Humanist learning and intellectualism, in the early 1500’s to learn Latin and Greek and Hebrew; to study Ancient Greek and Rome society and culture; to immerse himself in the knowledge of history, language, philosophy, art, and literature; to become educated in translation, letter-writing, public speaking, and military affairs; to study Plato and Aristotle and their texts on philosophy. He studied Jewish and Ottoman thought and better understood his own faith all the better for it (and then spent the next two hundred years unlearning all of the prejudices and biases that he had learned from the Christian-centric and racist tutors). From then on, he made it a point to always have a bible in his house. It was a constant between every life he lived; it was the second-to-last item he sold in the 1600’s (the last thing being his portrait of his lovely and lost Eleanor and his son Robyn) and the second thing he bought as soon as his fortune turned a tide (the first being an apple, an irony that he and Death chuckled over later). Even when England was under Protestant rule, as it would be for a long time, he kept a Latin bible tucked away, out of sight but never out of mind, and when the stresses of his daily life and the mind-bending reality of his everlasting life weighed heavily on him, he would pluck that bible off the shelf (he never had to dust it off, he kept it as clean and pristine as it was when he bought it) and let those cool, cleansing words wash over him once again.

This sounds like a fic, I just realized, and in some ways it is, but it’s also a deep reality of who Hob is and what he holds in utmost importance. I can also offer this little-known tidbit of information (that I think the Sandman fandom would benefit from knowing): homosexual relationships were incredibly common in the early Renaissance, at least in Italy (though if the Italians, with their proximity to the Papacy, were willing to risk it for the biscuit, the rest of Europe was probably jumping on the bandwagon too).

Among nobility, men were expected to marry around the age of 30 whereas women were expected to marry around the age of 15-20. Men were also expected to be sexually experienced in their marriage. So the question is, who exactly are they having sex with? And if you just said “each other” out loud, you’re absolutely correct. In Italian culture, noble men would frequently have sexual relationships with each other prior to getting married to their wives. Now, a lot of these men would never identify as homosexual as we would define it today; these sexual relationships were more along the lines of a gender role to be performed than any real attraction towards men, and it was seen as more of a mentor/mentee situation-the older man in the relationship was showing the ropes of sex to the younger man in the situation and then, when the older man got married, the younger man would then find someone younger to mentor. It was a way of building friendships and bonds, which sound laughable to us now, but were a genuine and deeply respected aspect of society; the feelings they had for each other were strictly platonic in the majority of cases (though gay people have always existed and I’m sure Hob Gadling would’ve reveled in this aspect of society) and would lead to business and family connections later down the line.

I want to stress that these connections were not romantic in nature; it was just a participation in society, but it also means that Hob Gadling has definitely had sex with men before, especially if he had (as I said about halfway through this extraordinarily long post) traveled to Italy for his education. He would’ve first been subservient (as the younger men were) and then moved to a more dominant role once enough time had passed for people to believe that he was getting closer to the age of marriage. He definitely would’ve realized that he was attracted to men then, if he hadn’t already in his hometown as a teenager. What’s more, these men engaged in homosexual relationships were also devout Catholics! Religion had absolutely nothing to do with it, and this would’ve been Hob’s first and lasting impression of homosexuality. Religion has nothing to do with it! It’s simply a part of society, an aspect of the larger culture that most ignored in favor of minding their own business. He would’ve been horribly enraged at the fact that modern Christians took up arms against homosexuality when Christians have had a long (long) (long) history of homosexuality and queerness.

And he’d teach that. In every class where it was relevant, in every conversation where it came up, in every religious debate. He’d make a point of mentioning that history that so many are so quick to cover up because it’s important. It’s important to him and it’s important to other queer people, not because it’s a part of queer history (again, for the vast majority of these men, they were not gay or queer in any way) but because it’s important to understand just how recently Christianity’s crusade against queer communities has cropped up (that’s not to say, however, that the church in any way condoned Renaissance Italian men and their gay sex because they decidedly did not, but it wasn’t an act punishable by death, nor was it punished at all. If anyone had a problem with it, it was their eventual wives, but they had a bigger issue with the prostitutes that their husbands would see on a regular basis even after their marriage).

So yes, to sum up my incredibly rambling post, Hob Gadling 100% has a very unique and deep connection with his religion, though he keeps it very separate from his relationship with his sexuality because that’s how it’s always been. He’s a Godly man and he’s a queer man and the two can coexist.

#thank you for the ask!!#this was such a delight to write #I’ve been ranting to my roommate about this for days and I’ve just been procrastinating writing a post about it #so thanks for the excuse to get it all down!#I don’t have spurces for any of this except for Dr. Clines (my wonderful history professor)#and he has a PhD in Renaissance Italian history so we all take his word as gospel #but I’m sure there are plenty of resources for anyone who wants to find them!#I can also ask my professor for some of his sources and add them if anyone wants them!#but yeah I love queer christian Hob Gadling #I’m so sorry this is so long #the sandman #sandman netflix #hob gadling #queer history #christian history #neil gaiman #sandman neil gaiman

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eyesxxyou · 5 months

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PLZ DO A DRABBLE ON MOVIE HOBIE TAKING READER’S VIRGINITY REALLY SWEETLY

❝ first time ❞ hobie brown x gn!reader

❝ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ❞ taking virginity, soft sex, sappy sex, Hobie is so sweet and reassuring, hand holding

Hobie Brown was your first everything. Your first kiss, your first “I love you” and he was now about to be your first first. The first to know your body with an intimacy no one else has every hand the honor of having.

He had laid you down on your bed, lips peppering across your face from your head to your cheeks, to your nose, and your lips. You trembled beneath him, aroused yet terrified as his cock weigh heavy on your thigh. He was nothing to pass over, length and girth equally impressive as they were intimidating.

“I’s gonna fit, dove.” Hobie reassured you when you questioned if you could take jhim. He eased his lips onto yours, a slender hand pulling up your thigh to hook your leg over his narrow hips while his tongue traced hearts on yours. He soothed your nerves with ease, breath heavy against your lips between kisses.

“‘ve gotcha, okay? ‘m gonna take care of ya.”

Hobie made sure you were properly lubed enough to take him, his fingers prepping you with meticulous care. You shuddered every time they entered you, spreading your walls a little more to accommodate him. You were hot, wet, and tight. Your hole taut, gripping his fingers in a vice.

“Jus’ relax.” He made sure his cock was lubed up enough as well before he brought the tip to your entrance, stroking where you needed him most with the head, tapping where hole until it made a soft, wet, slapping sound.

You thought you were prepared for him to continue but as he began to push into you, his head stretching your hole open to accommodate, your cried out a little, toes curling, heels digging into the little plush on his ass while your hands grip his shoulders. “Hobie!”

“I know, luv. I know, just breathe f’me, yah?” He paused, took the time to let you regain a hold on yourself and adjust to what little he had given you before he continued.

He pushed till he bottomed out and managed to work all 8 inches of thick, long cock into your wet entrance. Your eyes fluttered, rolled and your hands roamed his shoulders and neck, pulling him in and desperately placing sloppy, wet kisses on his lips. “Fuck- it hurts.” You murmur with a pathetic whine.

Hobie let you pepper kisses onto his lips. “Give i’ time. I’ll feel better.”

He was slow for your sake. Pulling back until only the tip remained snuggled within your heated love before sliding back in with a little resistance. He cooed at you, soothing every whine and cry with a stroke of his thumb against your hip.

He was right. With time, it did start to feel better. The stinging pain of being stretched out soon relaxed into pleasure and before either of you knew it, you were moaning instead of crying.

Hobie was still gentle with you, each stroke of his hips saying the same three words “I love you”. His cock split you apart and you were okay with it, in fact, you begged for more.

“Ah~ mhn- fuck H- Hobie. Can you– God… can you hold my hand?” You wanted the touch, wanted more intimacy. You needed him close, needed to smell his soft musk from being out all night patrolling, needed to know he wasn't just using you for your body.

He wasn't. He’d never. Hobie chuckled softly at the way you timidly turned your gaze away from him. He nosed at your jaw. “Look a’ me.”

You turn your head back to him, your gaze catching his. He looked so softly at you, so tenderly. His hand took yours with a gentleness you had only ever known from him as he laced his fingers in with yours and pressed your hand into the mattress. He thrusted his hips into yours and you moaned with delight, nipping at your lips as Hobie pressed his forehead to yours.

“I love ya, bug.”

taglist: @hobs-kiss, @hoe-bie

#{eye's inbox}#{👁️ inbox}#across the spiderverse #atsv #spiderman atsv #spiderman #hobie brown #spider punk #hobie brown x gn!reader #hobie brown x gender neutral reader smut #hobie brown smut #astv hobie smut #spiderpunk smut #spiderpunk x reader

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euphemiaamillais · 5 months

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favourite crime - coriolanus snow

coriolanus snow loves you… but when he learns that he’s being sent back to the capitol—well, he can’t have any loose ends left back in district 12.

dark possessive!coriolanus snow x district 12!reader

cw: 18+//dead dove do not eat!!!//snuff//mentions of loss of virginity//mentions of murder//coriolanus snow’s disgusting inner monologue//murder//strangulation//piv sex//mentions of guns

reader discretion advised!! i do not condone any of these themes, this is merely a work of fiction

IB: @shellxrls

when you’d first laid eyes on private snow at the hob, you never would’ve thought you’d end the night with your lips wrapped around his cock. no, you were a good girl. you didn’t do things like that, and certainly not with strange men in darkened corners. but coriolanus was different. he made your core burn with desire, and your heart skip a beat every time his icy eyes flicked over you.

you spent many evenings with him—friday nights especially—legs spread, letting him touch you in ways you’d never known before. he liked that you had been a virgin; the thought of corrupting this stupid little district girl and turning her into his whore. you belonged to him now, and he’d have you whenever he pleased. you were nothing more than a hole to fill his desire with.

you were head over heels for him—so when he told you he’d been given a discharge to return to the capitol, he’d thought his pretty little doll would be delighted for him. you’d had fat tears streaming down your cheeks, mascara running—you’d worn it just for him, to look pretty—clutching at his arms and begging him to stay.

you couldn’t leave district 12, no. you didn’t belong in a place like the capitol.

the way you were begging was so pathetic; getting on your knees, weeping, voice strained with frustration. he couldn’t believe how he’d done this to a girl—lucy gray was never like this. when he’d left her for you she’d simply resigned herself to singing not-so-subtle tunes about how much of an asshole he was. well, at least before he killed her.

you were different. you were his little doll. his and his only. that’s why you had to return to the capitol with him—he’d have packed you into his bag if there had been enough room. it was a shame they didn’t allow for pretty whores to travel with the peacekeepers.

‘please, coryo,’ you cried out, hands clutching at his trousers. ‘don’t leave me, i- i love you!’

your attempts at flattery were ridiculous, but in a way he knew that you did love him. he didn’t love you, exactly. he loved knowing that he possessed you, that your heart entirely belonged to him. but he could never love a whore from the districts—especially not 12 at that.

‘is my bunny sad that i’ll be going home?’ he cooed, clutching your chin with his large hand. you were so small. he could break you if he wanted to…

‘mhm. gonna miss you so bad, coryo,’ you gazed up at him with wide-eyes—they looked so innocent as they glistened with the tears of your upset.

‘gonna miss your cock, and your tongue…’ you sighed wistfully. ‘gonna miss riding you and having you fuck me full of your cum.’

your lips are turned into a pretty pout, and he wonders then and there whether or not he should get his cock out and shove it past them. make you drink up his seed one last time. or perhaps he could bend you over his bunk and put a baby in you—then you’d always have something to remember him by.

no—that would make you a loose end. and he can’t have loose ends. you can’t know that he shot the mayor’s daughter because she pissed him off too much—or that his songbird, lucy gray, now lay somewhere at the bottom of the lake by the cabin.

he decides he can spend one last night with his little bunny. just one night. but then he’s clearing up loose ends. you’d never assume what he had been planning, no, you’re far too dumb to understand that. you see the good in everyone; and that made his chest burn with fury. how could you be so fucking innocent?

‘bunny…’ his voice trailed off. you nod, awaiting him to tell you something, anything—did he love you too?

‘i’ve got an idea. one last special night, just the two of us, hm? down at that cabin by the lake,’ he stroked your cheek. how sweet you looked like this, all red in the face. ‘i’ll give you a night worth remembering. let you sit on my face.’

you gave him an eager smile, and he knew his little bunny was just too stupid to know she was falling into his trap.

—

this was where he’d killed lucy gray, too. that had been a cold, rainy day. just like this one. you’d been so easy to lure into his trap; meeting him by the hanging tree in your prettiest dress—one with tiny pink flowers that came just above the knee. you’d even tucked a flower behind your ear. how sweet.

you couldn’t wait to spend your last night with coryo. you’d been singing all day, and practically skipped to meet him with a little bag full of some food and your toothbrush. you’d flung yourself into his arms, not caring about the consequences of being caught with a peacekeeper. he’d be gone by tomorrow morning anyways.

the walk to the cabin had tired you out considerably, and so you clung to coryo like a pathetic little bunny, letting him lead the way. you’d miss clutching his biceps, feeling the taut muscle beneath his shirt, the way his dog tags slapped against your face as he pounded your cunt raw.

he delighted in the way he’d get to have you one last time, tonight. that at some point, the only thing warm in your body would be his cum, leaking out of that tight cunt of yours. even though you were stupid, he did have to admit that your willingness was something he adored. the way he could just fill you up at any time, and in any hole—you never complained.

he’d corrupted you, watched you bleed as his big cock stretched you out that first time. he loved the way your eyes swelled up with tears and you begged him to stop—‘it hurts, coryo!’ you had clawed your nails into his back. ‘too big!’—but he didn’t stop. he knew you had to learn to take it, and that you did. you had such low self-esteem, you would practically grovel at his feet everytime you so much as made him frown. you’d do anything for him, and that was the way he liked it.

complete control.

the cabin was warmer than the tender breeze outside, and you were so grateful to get in there, shivering in your little dress. coryo had dressed more appropriately, in his day clothes, and he watched as you shivered. god, you were so helpless.

he set his things down, and when you had laid down on the bed to rest your eyes for a while, bundled up in the ratty old blanket, he checked under the floorboards. there it was—one last gun, wrapped in a green cloth. if you tried to run, he’d use it on you. he’d deliberated over which way to kill you, which way wouldn’t damage that pretty little face of yours.

he thought that one simple shot to the chest would do it—it would be instant too. but he wanted to watch the life drain out of you, watch as you whined and begged for him to save you. watch how your brows would furrow and your eyes would grow wide with fear and realisation that you were just another loose end to him. he’d never loved you. he’d loved the control.

but coriolanus had also debated choking you out—maybe he wouldn’t remove his cock from your throat while he fucked it, and pinch the tip of your nose so you’d stop breathing. how pretty you’d look, trying to take his cock and at the same time, fight for your life. he’d shoot his hot load down your dead little throat once you’d stopped breathing. a reminder that you were his, and no one else’s.

no, he couldn’t let you live.

he shut the floorboards when he heard you stirring—you must’ve fallen asleep. how sweet. in a few hours you’d go to sleep one last time—but it would be an eternal slumber. he wanted nothing more than to bring you back to the capitol and make you his little whore—you couldn’t be his wife; think of the shame and embarrassment that would bring. but you could be at his every beck and call, be there to relieve any tension he had. it was just so unfortunate that he wasn’t allowed.

he’d put your body to rest with lucy gray’s, down in the lake to let your pearly white bones be the fishes’ dinner. he couldn’t bury you out in the woods; they’d find you there, one way or another. instead, he’d let them think you’d just disappeared. people disappeared out in the districts all the time. especially stupid little girls. who would care if a pathetic runt who took peacekeeper cock vanished? he doubted you had many friends, and your parents were both dead.

you wouldn’t be missed.

it was some time later that you woke, and your stomach grumbled. coriolanus was sitting in the rickety old armchair, carving what looked to be a spear with his pocketknife. you watched his muscular arms move back and forth as he stripped the stick of its bark. something about his strength made your thighs burn.

you got up, bare feet cold against the wooden floorboards, and peered into your bag. you’d made enough food for the evening; you had even splurged and gotten yourself a precious block of cheese. you figured it was only appropriate, what with it being your last night together and all.

he looked up from his makeshift weapon—though it wasn’t all that, really—and gave you an award-winning smile. your heart leapt at his sweetness. you couldn’t believe he wanted to spend one last night with you.

‘you’re so pretty, bunny,’ he remarked, watching as you laid out the food.

there was bread, a few flimsy butter knifes—you’d not be able to defend yourself with those; besides you were just so weak. you’d even snuck a bottle of wine at the market when the peacekeepers weren’t looking. you wanted it to be special, to send him off happy and thinking of you.

your chest twinged with a heavy sadness. you wished you could go with him, follow him to the capitol and maybe, stupidly, marry him. you wanted to be his forever. you’d give him lots of children and they’d have white-blonde hair and icy blue eyes. you’d make sure he was satisfied every day, and cook and clean and whatever he required of you.

but you were to remain here, in district 12. marry a man covered in coal who worked himself to the bone in the mines. have skinny little babies who starved from the lack of food, struggle tooth and claw just to put dinner on the table every night. your time with coriolanus had been your only taste of luxury, of richness. he’d told you how in the capitol, there were buildings that reached the sky, and that every night people would feast on the finest food from the districts. you were reminded, with your own hunger pangs, the sacrifice that you had to make.

no, you’d never be good enough for him. future president of panem.

‘coryo, come eat,’ you said, standing proudly beside your food which you’d laid out neatly on the table.

he obliged—he was hungry, after all. he’d not eaten since last night. the food looked tolerable too, and the bottle of wine tempted him to be more considerate. just so his little bunny wouldn’t be suspicious. he doubted you were clever enough to figure out his intentions anyways.

‘i hope you like it,’ you remarked meekly, sitting down beside him and beginning to devour the food.

he opened the bottle of wine, and although it was completely uncivilised, he took a large swig. it was terribly sour, not like the good stuff they had in the capitol. he reckoned you’d never even tasted real wine. how pathetic.

‘how lucky did i get, with my little bunny,’ he smiled, stroking your head fondly.

‘i’m the lucky one,’ you said in your saccharine tone. he wanted to roll his eyes—you were so sickeningly sweet. ‘you’ve been so good to me, coryo.’

‘yeah?’ he asked. he liked how much you sought to stroke his ego. it made his cock hard the way you were just so utterly desperate to please him in every manner.

‘mhm,’ you said, chewing on a piece of bread. the cheese made it taste so delicious; sweet and creamy.

‘does bunny like the way i always give her whatever she wants? fill her up with my cum just like she asks?’ he watched as your cheeks burned red with abashed shame.

‘coryo…’ you whined, pressing your thighs together.

he loved the way you were already squirming, just from the mention of being fucked. what a fucking slut. he bet you had soaked through your panties, just waiting from him to bury his cock deep inside you as you whined for him to go harder. he’d show you harder. perhaps he’d wrap his big hands around your tiny, little neck, and squeeze too hard. god, you’d look so pretty with the air sucked out of your lungs, gasping and panting as he filled you up one last time.

‘oh bunny, don’t tell me you’re wet already?’ he cooed, standing up from his chair.

whatever, he didn’t really need to eat anyways. he couldn’t possibly be hungry when he’d been feeding himself with the own sick ideas in his head. food could wait—he’d need to tend to his little bunny first.

you nodded dumbly, clenching your thighs as the slickness pooled in your panties. you couldn’t help it, it was your last night with coryo. you wanted him more than anything else, more than you ever had done before.

‘p-please,’ you whimpered pathetically.

‘does bunny want me to fuck her? make her cum?’ he laughed, stroking your smooth arm. you were so warm. so full of life.

‘mhm, yes,’ you moaned, slipping one hand between your thighs to rub at your aching clit.

seeing this, coriolanus yanked your hair, causing you to gasp and sputter. how dare you touch yourself? you were his! his to have and do as he pleased with! you felt a few tears spring to your eyes, and he laughed, seeing how stupid you looked, weeping because he pulled your hair. he wondered how much you’d cry when he squeezed at your airways; watching them constrict between his big hands.

‘you know my rules, bunny,’ he clucked his tongue in disapproval. you glanced up at him, his icy eyes singed with coolness.

‘i’m sorry, sir,’ you replied. that name made his cock stir. he couldn’t keep himself from devouring you for much longer.

he dragged you from the chair and shoved you down against the bed. you were giggling and gasping like a little fool—it made his blood boil. you wouldn’t be laughing when your heart pumped with its last beat and your legs went still.

‘be a good girl, bunny,’ he commanded, trapping one leg between your thighs to stop you from grinding against the mattress.

you watched as he unbuckled his pants—he was never one for dawdling, preferring to get straight to the point—and eyed his bulge hungrily. you wanted to use your mouth on him, feel him stretch your lips out and fuck your throat as you gagged on his length. you’d miss how big he was—so big that you often ached for days after he fucked you.

he cupped your chin in his hand again, and pressed a kiss to the corner of your jaw. he had no intention of being gentle with you, this final time. you were merely his to use for pleasure. a little fuckdoll to fill up with his cum.

you moaned as he pulled his boxers down and his cock sprang free. you would never get used to the sight of it—the huge, throbbing thing. you couldn’t wait to have him bury it inside of you, feeling it nudge against your most sensitive spots.

‘need you, coryo,’ you panted. ‘need you in me.’

you pulled your panties off, feeling your own slickness pressing at your inner thighs. coriolanus grabbed the base of his cock with one hand, and pushed you down against the bed with the other. he wanted to take you like this, so he could watch the life drain out of your eyes, one last time.

‘gonna fuck you so good, bunny,’ he mused, hiking your dress up and sighing at the sight of your wet cunt. he would miss it, he did have to admit. what a shame it wouldn’t get wet for him anymore in a few hours. but if he couldn’t have you, nobody could.

‘mhm,’ you gasped as he pressed the tip of his cock at your sopping entrance.

god, you were so pathetic. so wet for him, so fucking desperate for his cock. he knew you probably wouldn’t have even let anyone have you, after he left. but he couldn’t bear the thought that somebody could take advantage of you, coax you into their bed and let them bury their cock in you. no, your cunt was his only. nobody else could dare touch his bunny.

he groaned as he pushed himself all the way in, feeling your walls stretch around him. you were still so tight, even after all the abuse to your hole with his big cock, the way he stretched you out, you were still tight as the first time he’d had you. you didn’t complain as much anymore though, not like you had that first time—weeping for days after with the dull ache of being fucked.

coriolanus began to thrust, grabbing your hips with firm hands, bucking into you with lusty vigour. your tits bounced in your dress, and you couldn’t help but gasp and mewl each time his cock bucked into your tight hole. his cock throbbed, feeling you clench around him, the way you sucked him in with your slick want.

he’d never forget this night. the last time he’d have you. the way you were so utterly perfect.

‘taking me so well,’ he grunted, watching as you moaned at the pleasant feeling of his big cock burying itself deep inside you, brushing against your cervix.

‘harder,’ you gasped, clutching at the sheets. you wanted to know you were his.

coriolanus couldn’t resist this, of course. he wrapped your legs around his waist, and plunged himself deeper into you. his balls were slapping against your perineum now, and the cabin filled with the reverberation of skin against skin.

you kept gasping and begging as he drove himself into you. you could feel yourself edging closer—you’d been so wet the whole way here, you were soaking at the thought of him having you one last time.

it was beginning to piss him off, though, the way you were being so loud. normally, he loved it, your moans letting everybody know how well he was fucking you, branding you as his own with his cum. he wondered what you’d do if he choked you right now—would you attempt to run? if you did, he’d get that rifle and shoot you. he couldn’t risk having you running about district 12 when somebody else could get their hands on you.

no more loose ends, he reminded himself.

he reached his free hand out, caressing your cheek, and then trailing them down to your neck. you giggled as he wrapped his fingers around your neck—it was so little that his whole hand could fit you inside of it. he’d choked you before, and so you didn’t assume anything of it. he pressed lightly, and you let out a sigh, body humming with want.

‘good girl,’ he mused, pounding you with his cock at the same time.

you let out a pretty moan, pussy clenching just right around him; he couldn’t help but grunt at how pleasant it was. you’d probably still be tight for a few hours after he kills you. maybe he’d fuck you again, but you wouldn’t be warm, or wet. just cold. he decided against it. he’d fill you up with his cum just as the life drained out of your eyes.

he pressed harder, and you feel your breath catch in your throat. it hurts, and you glance up at him with a worried look, eyes stretching wide. he doesn’t pay heed to this, and merely keeps thrusting, moving your hips closer to his to hit at a new angle.

he saw your breathing go rapid, and your eyes dart about the room in panic. poor bunny. he really didn’t want to have to kill you, but you can’t be his forever, and how can he accept that? if you’re dead, you’re nobody’s but his. especially since he’ll fuck his cum deep into your stiffening body; you’ll have part of him in you forever.

he could hear the sounds of your vocal chords straining as he clasped tighter at your throat. it would be a shame that you’d be left with a rosy imprint of his fingers around your neck, but it made him smile a little, that you’d be branded with his mark until you rotted.

‘coryo!’ you whimpered, clawing at his chest.

‘shhh, be quiet, bunny. take my cock like a good girl,’ he murmured, slamming into you.

it hurt—the way he was crushing your neck, your tendons beginning to strain around his touch. it felt like there was no air left in the world; you were beginning to grow tired, your breaths haggard.

‘p-please,’ you felt tears spring to your eyes, and watched as he laughed, a maniacal grin creeping across his lips.

he shook his head, grunting as your walls contracted around his cock. he was so close, but you were being a bitch and taking too long to die. he clamped down on you harder, causing a gasp to escape your lips. you couldn’t speak—your hands were clawing about desperately, legs flailing about.

you were terrified—what was he doing?! why did he want to hurt you? just minutes ago he was telling you how much he wished you could come back to the capitol with him and be his wife. he wanted to dress you up like a pretty doll and make you grow fat with his children.

‘don’t cry, bunny,’ he laughed, watching as your legs stilled.

you were so tired. it felt like there was no blood in your legs; they grew stiff and numb. your head spun.

‘you’re all mine bunny, forever,’ he smiled as your body grew limp.

you were terrified—eyes beginning to lose their shine, lips trembling with fear. you couldn’t feel your arms now, or the way he was bucking into you. his thrusts were slower now—he was close. watching the life drain out of you made his blood course through his veins with a delicious speed.

you mouthed out a ‘why’ as your body went completely frail. in one last act of betrayal, your cunt gushed around him as he squeezed your neck; airways completely constricted. your lips were beginning to blue now, and he frowned—he had really liked how plump and red they were when you sucked him off.

coriolanus felt himself finish; cock shooting thick loads into your still-wet cunt. he couldn’t help but grunt as he spurted himself into your pretty hole. the way you’d finished just as your heart had stopped beating and your lungs had given out. your final breath wasted on cumming. you really were a whore.

he ran his hands over your body, frowning at the ugly ring around your neck. at least he didn’t have to deal with your blood. that would’ve been so fucking messy. having to mop it up, and the way you would’ve screamed. at least you couldn’t scream when his hand was clamped around your neck.

when he pulled out, he watched with sick delight as his cum spilled out of your pussy. the thick, pearly loads trickled down your thighs. your limbs would be pliable and floppy for another two hours, but he couldn’t bring himself to fuck you again. that was too far, even for him.

he looked at your face, which was stretched into one of fear. your eyes were still, but wet with the tears. so were your cheeks—they still retained that innocent rosiness which he so loved.

he wished lucy gray had looked so pretty when he’d killed her. she’d screamed when his bullet pierced her chest cavity, and she’d bled all over his jeans as he’d held her. you were so docile, even in death. you’d given him one last thank you when you’d came, and he knew you’d be his forever.

darling, dearest, dead. the words rang clear in his head. he’d read them in an old novel. they were fittingly appropriate for the situation. it was so sad that he had to kill you, but it was a bitter and necessary pill to swallow. he had to return home to the capitol, marry that bitch livia cardew, and set his sights on what mattered most.

you were just a little doll he’d had his fun with on his summer vacation—you were just a poor district girl. what did you matter? nobody would miss you, and when he became president, nobody would know that he’d watched the life drain out of three pathetic girls.

that would be terrible for his image. he did what needed to be done. his pretty bunny would be his forever, and he’d secure his place in the world.

no more loose ends.

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cuubism · 7 months

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work is driving me fucking insane this week, so here's this silly self-indulgent thing i wrote to distract myself.

the spirit of this post is here as well XD

coffee shop au, meet cute, literally falling for your crush

In retrospect, forgetting to eat for three meals in a row wasn't Dream's best move. Not that he'd done it on purpose. Hence the forgetting. But taking time to cook always felt so wasteful when he was finally making progress on his novel. He could eat later, whenever the hyperfocus burned itself out.

The only thing that eventually got him out of the house was caffeine. He'd run out of both coffee and tea in the dysfunction of this week, and thus was forced to venture out to the cafe a few blocks away from his flat in search of enough energy to keep him awake for a few more hours.

Technically, there was a place that was closer. There was also a grocery store, where he could have bought coffee grounds. But Dream took the excuse to go a bit further, and not for the quality of the coffee.

He and Johanna, on the occasion she could convince Dream to leave the house and attempt to be part of society, had first started coming to this particular coffee shop because Johanna's girlfriend Rachel worked there. But Dream had to admit that what really kept him coming back, including at times when he wasn't being dragged along by Johanna, was another employee entirely.

Hob.

Hob was, in Rachel's words, "a perfectly nice guy but I don't know why you're so obsessed with him." In Johanna's words, Hob was, "quite fit, I can't lie, but I really thought you'd have gone for someone who's a bit more of an arts gremlin like you."

In Dream's words, Hob was perfect. He always had a smile for Dream, and a kind word or compliment, and he had kind eyes, and nice hands, and was terribly handsome. Dream had never been particularly attracted to masculinity before but Hob was proving him wrong over and over. He looked like he was strong enough to pick Dream up, and that did all sorts of exciting things to Dream's insides. Dream may or may not have had an actual dream about Hob holding his hand.

Hob also made terrible coffee. But Dream didn't care. He took whatever coffee Hob made him, whether the grounds were burnt, or it had way too much cream, or was vastly overbrewed, and drank it quite happily, sneaking looks at Hob all the while. Because Hob's coffee might be awful, but he always smiled at Dream as he gave it to him, and sometimes their hands brushed and it sent a thrilling little shock up Dream's arms. And anything Hob made for him felt made with love, he could tell, it was like a homemade birthday cake with uneven frosting and an undercooked part in the middle.

It was possible Dream should care more about the quality of the coffee and less about the symbolism of it.

In any case, he went to the coffee shop, underfed and undercaffeinated, hoping that Hob would be there, even if it meant he would have to down another cup of extremely bad coffee. Hob should be there, he did usually work Tuesday afternoons, not that Dream had memorized his schedule like a stalker or anything.

He stepped inside, the little bell over the door jingling, and found that he was right, Hob was there. A thrill of delight ran through him. Dream did not often feel anything as carefree or joyous as delight, but he was very sleep-deprived, and Hob was there, so there it was. Rachel was also working, and waved to him as he stepped up to the counter. As she and Johanna were both very aware of his embarrassing crush on Hob--much to Dream's chagrin--she didn't come over to take his order, instead leaving him to Hob.

"Hey, it's Dream, right?" said Hob, wiping off his hands on a towel and leaning on the counter, looking at Dream with a smile. He knows my name, Dream thought with a heady rush, then remembered that Hob was obligated to write it on his coffee cup, and that Dream came here often, and it didn't have to mean anything. "Dark roast with almond milk and caramel?"

How Hob could be so diligent about remembering his order and so terrible at making it, Dream didn't know. "That's correct," he said.

Behind Hob, Rachel mouthed keep going, which Dream took to mean that if he wanted to get anywhere he had to attempt to engage Hob in slightly more conversation than his usual coffee-ordering script. This was unfortunately true, particularly since Hob had already nullified half the sentences Dream would usually say by predicting his order.

"You remembered my order," he said, which felt like a reasonably normal response, definitely better than do you want to see if you can pick me up? which would probably be creepy. Rachel gave him a thumbs up.

"Of course. You're quite memorable," said Hob, and winked at him. Was he flirting? Dream would like to think so, but he wasn't usually very good at picking up on that sort of thing. Why would Hob be interested in him anyway? Perhaps he meant that Dream was memorable in a bad way, that he was annoying or weird, or--

Dream still hadn't responded.

"I am not trying to be," he said, and behind Hob, Rachel sighed. It was true, though. In most areas of life Dream preferred to go unnoticed. It was only Hob's attention that made him feel all bubbly inside.

"Task failed successfully," said Hob, "because I can't stop noticing you."

Was Dream... still succeeding at the conversation? That was truly unexpected, that he hadn't already turned Hob off by being utterly unsuitable for human society.

"Is that a good thing?" Dream asked.

"Is it?" asked Hob.

Undoubtedly it was. Dream liked the thought of Hob noticing him. He liked the thought of Hob remembering his name, and his coffee order, and when he came into the cafe, with as much detail as Dream had memorized his schedule. He did not normally like having people's eyes on him but he liked the thought of Hob looking. Of Hob caring about what he saw. It made him feel interesting and worthy, and sort of giddy and lightheaded--

Oh. No. That wasn't Hob's attention. That was the fact that the last meal he'd eaten had been a sleeve of biscuits for breakfast two days ago, and that he'd been on his feet for a long time, or what constituted a long time when one had only had a sleeve of biscuits two days ago to eat. And he hadn't slept, and he'd had quite an exciting few minutes just now, and apparently this all meant that his body had decided it needed to check out for a moment, thanks, goodbye.

Inconvenient timing, Dream thought, as everything went sort of spinny and blurry. He was making such progress! He really thought Hob might even like him, and falling on the ground was not going to help his case.

Inevitable now, though. The last thing he saw before he passed out was Hob's face, expression shifting from amusement to concern, and really, there were worse ways to go out.

He woke up not much later, or at least it felt like little time had passed, to find himself lying down on a couch in what seemed to be the cafe's back office, as best as his overtaxed mind could gather. And Hob was crouched beside him, looking at him worriedly, Rachel leaning over his shoulder, face likewise creased in concern.

Dream wondered how he had gotten to the couch. Had Hob carried him there? It was a pleasant thought, though he wished he could have experienced it in person.

"You know," said Hob, "there are easier ways to get out of talking to me than blacking out." The words were light, but he sounded genuinely stressed out about it.

Dream immediately felt bad. "I'm sorry."

Hob chucked him on the cheek, a light touch that felt fond. "Not what I meant. Are you okay?"

Dream carefully pushed himself up to sitting, Hob watching all the while, hands hovering over him but not touching. Dream sat up. His head didn't spin. "I am okay," he said.

"Probably didn't eat anything today, huh?" said Rachel. She didn't look quite as concerned as Hob did, she was used to Dream's habits. Meanwhile, for all Hob knew, Dream had a brain tumor and would imminently die.

"No," Dream admitted. "I was... occupied."

"Will you be okay here for a sec?" Hob asked, brow scrunching as if he truly thought Dream might just collapse again onto the floor without him. "I'll get you some water. Something to eat, too."

It was worth fainting in a public place, Dream thought, just to have Hob look at him with such care.

When Dream nodded, Hob hurried away to do just that.

Only now his crush was going to be one million times worse, and certainly not reciprocated, not after the scene he'd caused.

Beside him, Rachel was laughing, hiding it behind her hand.

"Is my suffering humorous to you?" Dream asked, but there was no heat in it, he was too busy looking after where Hob had disappeared.

"You should have seen it," she said. "He launched himself over the counter to catch you. Oh my god, I wish you could have witnessed it."

"Surely Hob would aid any customer in distress," Dream sniffed. But something turned over in his stomach, a little flutter of hope.

"Yeah but not literally vault the counter. It was terrific. I was worried he'd break a hip."

"I'm not that old," said Hob, coming back around the corner and crouching beside Dream again, water bottle and what looked like a chocolate muffin clasped in his hands.

Rachel was unrepentant. "You're lucky you didn't wind up on the floor, too."

"You caught me," said Dream, staring into Hob's eyes. He had such pretty eyes. Rich brown, like coffee with a dash of cream.

Dream might still be a bit lightheaded.

"Of course," said Hob, and uncapped the water, handing it to him. Dream took slow sips, realizing as he did that he hadn't drank any water all day. "I'm fond of you, you know. Can't let you hit your head on the floor."

Fond. Dream might faint again.

"Should I take you to hospital or something?" Hob asked, still so concerned it was making that floaty feeling bubble up again in Dream's chest.

"I will be fine here," he said.

"He just fell for you, that's all," said Rachel, and Dream glared at her. She just smiled back. "Swooned and everything."

"I did not swoon," Dream protested.

"You kind of did, actually," said Hob. "I've never seen someone just crumple so dramatically."

"Oh, have you seen many people faint, then?"

"No, but--"

"I'm going to man the till," said Rachel, patting Dream on the arm. "I don't think I want to be in the middle of this. Let me know if you want me to take you home, Dream." She winked at him. "Unless you'd rather Hob do it."

Johanna was never this meddlesome, Dream thought bitterly. She just made fun of him and left it at that.

Then he was alone with Hob, which was both an exciting and anxiety-inducing state of affairs. He clutched his water bottle for balance.

"Um. I got you this," said Hob, and handed him the muffin. "Made them this morning."

Dream was really quite hungry, so despite Hob's poor coffee record, he took a bite of the muffin.

And this was how he learned that Hob was utterly lacking in coffee-making skills because all his talent was in baking.

The chocolate was so rich, it tasted more like cake than a muffin. the chocolate chips melted on his tongue, and he had to force himself not to just immediately take another huge bite. He really was so hungry. Perhaps, now that he knew he could get such things here, he would have a reason to visit the cafe other than just Hob -- and a reason to eat breakfast, too.

"Good?" said Hob, and Dream nodded, licking the melted chocolate from his lips, and he didn't fail to notice Hob watching the movement of his tongue. Perhaps Johanna and Rachel were right, and it wasn't hopeless, even if Dream's best attempt at flirting back was collapsing onto the floor.

He did not know what possessed him then. Perhaps it was the chocolate. Perhaps it was the worry still lingering in Hob's warm eyes, or maybe he had just hit his head and forgotten about it. Either way, he leaned forward in his seat, and kissed Hob on the lips.

His lips were so soft. Just as Dream had dreamt they would be. Hob made a sound of surprise against Dream's mouth, and caught him by the arms so he wouldn't fall out of his chair. Which was a definite possibility, though now the lightheadedness was not caused by a calorie deficit but rather because he was kissing Hob.

Hob who was kissing him back, too. Softening against his mouth, licking the remaining chocolate from Dream's lips. Would Hob hug him, too? If he had already caught him? Dream had fantasized so much about being hugged by Hob.

Only one way to find out. He leaned into Hob's arms, and Hob caught him again, wrapping his arms around Dream's back. He was so warm, and strong. He was wonderful.

"It is a good thing," he said into Hob's shoulder.

"What is?"

"You noticing me."

Hob chuckled. The sound rumbled through Dream's chest. "It's not hard to do. I've been eyeing you for a while, you know. I always hoped you'd talk to me more."

"I am not very good at talking more," said Dream.

"I think I've got that now." Hob pulled back to look at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiled. "Falling over is more your style."

"I only faint on occasion," Dream protested, which only seemed to amuse Hob more.

"Well. If talking is a bit tough, maybe we can go for a walk sometime?" He tucked a strand of Dream's hair behind his ear, and Dream shivered. Hob clocked it, too, and let his hand rest on the back of Dream's head, fingers curled in his hair as his gaze flicked to Dream's lips and back up. "Or. Something else?"

Dream thought something else might make him spontaneously combust. That might have to wait a bit, at least until he could cope with Hob looking at him like that without feeling like he was about to explode in a flurry of butterflies.

"A walk, if you will hold my hand," he said, and Hob smiled, and took his hand, and Dream learned that all dreams really could come true at once.

#this is SO silly #hob is literally the most average guy and dream is salivating with lust and completely ferally obsessed with him #it's mutual tho dream is literally a gremlin and hob is like 😍 wow he's beautiful he's like an angel #and then they lived happily ever after #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #my writing #sex scene between these two would be funny as fuck i think hob would touch dream once and he would come instantly and maybe also faint

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linddzz · 6 months

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Latest idea floating around in my head: a twist on the Hob saving Morpheus from the time-out ball, except that's where they first met each other.

Hob's still immortal, it's just that Death was the one who came and gave him the deal of meeting every 100 years

(is this also bc I'd love Death being Hob's centennial buddy? Her being way less reserved and straight up telling him who she is. Her delight at his delighting over life. The rage in him when Eleanor and Robyn die. Death took them and she wouldn't even say anything to him when she did it. Also I'd like to see him just immediately choke and squirm like a bastard as soon as he starts explaining his new shipping business to her in 1789. Yes and hell yes gimme Hobsie and Death as bros.)

So Hob is trying out new stuff again. He's never tried out being a magus and gets himself in as a member of Burgess' order and eventually an acolyte.

And then he's introduced to the "devil" that Burgess keeps in the dungeon. He's to help study up on strengthening the wards around the sphere and all that. And boy is he deeply, super uncomfortable with the sight of this frail man trapped in a cage.

("Don't let his pretty face fool you." Burgess will tell him, "the thing is a demon who would destroy us all if given half a chance."

To be fair, Morpheus does not help his case at all and his expression clearly says "you fuckin bet I will")

And Hob is Hob. So while he's working on studying up on wards (which so happens to involve a lot of careful, detailed study of the wards around the sphere) he's chatting at the thing in it. He complains about the boss, talks about the War, tells the demon about his day while the demon either glares at him or makes a hilariously big show of not paying attention. Sometimes Hob straight up shirks work (with a winking "you won't tell the boss right?") And just reads books.

And he nearly shrieks in surprise when he's reading some new novel called The Hobbit out loud and looks up to find the demon watching and obviously interested. So of course Hob is gonna keep reading him stories and keep studying those binding spells super closely.

And ok that's where I gotta admit the story doesn't have a solid conclusion in my head yet (besides obviously Hob is gonna bust Dream out and then get kissed a LOT) but I do have one bit where Morpheus first talks to him and of course it's just cryptic weird shit. Because Morpheus has started watching this shit-wizard who won't shut the fuck up back and can tell that something is OFF about him.

So just imagine Hob is yammering away about how he thinks the masters kid and the gardener have something going on, and he nearly shits himself when the "demon" presses a hand against the glass and says

"Death has touched you. I see it now. My siblings marks upon you. Is that what you are here for? To report to them? To let them see how low their family has come? So they do know what has come of me then, and they have sent you to chatter away and truly make it clear that they will do nothing."

Hob's just like. "WHAT?? SIBLINGS?! You TALK??! Hang on you know Death???!" But Morpheus already is back to curling in on himself in a furious pissy sulk

#dreamling #fic cooking #i imagine after Dreams outburst theres a lot more talking going on #idk if i have this fleshed out enough to fully write i just liked the idea of Hob reading Tolkien to the thing in the ball #and Morpheus being wooed with stories #the tension is ruined by me knowing that all it took was smearing the circle kdjfkd #maybe Hob purposely falls asleep to let Morpheus get out via his dreams

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10moonymhrivertam · 1 year

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I feel like there is untapped potential in “Dream collects names like other people do friends” and Hob having sort-of-accidentally nicknamed him for convenience and Dream loving it and integrating it happily into his lore.

#do I know what Hob should call him?#no #but when he’s telling people about His Old Friend and realizes how weird it is that he has no name #he just throws a random one in there and it accidentally sticks #so when he tells random friends; coworkers; Eleanor; the 1989 bartender #he always uses that one #and then accidentally one day uses it to Dream’s face #or is telling someone at the new inn about him not realizing he’s right there #and Dream being delighted when he realizes it’s referring to him #dreamling #the sandman

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just-j-really · 7 months

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Another Dreamling fic I'm probably not going to write: amnesia AU, but played for comedy/fluff. Hob forgets everything from the night he met Dream onward because of some sort of curse. Dream decides to look after him until the curse wears off, because he is Being a Good Friend.

So from Hob's perspective, a Mysterious Hot Guy told him he'd see him in 100 years time and then he woke up in the future, with the Mysterious Hot Guy refusing to let him out of his sight.

Hob is under the impression he's being kidnapped/seduced by some fey creature, and "show him the delights the future has to offer" is just how this guy flirts.

Hob is not opposed.

Meanwhile Dream is being dragged along on a whirlwind tour of the year 2023 by a Manic Pixie Dream Medieval Peasant who wants to see absolutely everything there is to see in the future right now immediately.

(I am a little bit thinking of the festival dance scene in Tangled, with Hob as Rapunzel. Only instead of Festival Activities he is enthusiastically dragging Dream around to the various Sights of modern London.)

The Sights in Question are this bizarre mix of 'things a modern person would consider an attraction in modern London' and 'entirely banal parts of modern London' and Hob is having the time of his life. The future has stores full of more food than he's seen??? And types of food he's never seen??? And spices and off-season fruit just sitting there??? And fabric is so soft now???? And medication and pest control are just??? Available??? Life is so rich!!!!

(And on the other hand like. This man was excited about playing cards. Someone please show him an arcade. He is forcing Dream to play every multiplayer game available. Especially the driving ones. Neither of them knows how to drive.)

(Dream takes him to a museum and he's staring at a display from the 14-1500s marveling at how futuristic the technology is. He's actually more excited about that stuff than he is about the whole 'computers' thing because it's close enough for him to have some point of reference.)

(Also sidebar from the comedy- Maybe Dream shows Hob the ruins of the White Horse. Hob stares at the building for a long time, then starts crying. Not outright sobs, just tears steadily slipping down his face like he's not really aware of them. Dream panics and tries to comfort him, mentally kicking himself for showing Hob the one connection to the life he knows in ruins. But Hob, laughing now, explains that this was the first time it really hit him? That he's actually 600 years in the future, not in some fairyland Dream created. And that means that all the disease and starvation and war and world-ending horror he was staring down 600-odd years ago didn't. He was going to grit his teeth and live no matter what but the fact that the world made it here along with him? That humanity's still here? And managed to create antibiotics and planes and chimneys in the meantime? That's a goddamn miracle.)

And Dream is getting dragged along with Hob, at first reluctantly, but slowly falling for Hob's enthusiasm throughout the day/week/whatever. And this version of Hob is like. Outright flirting with him. He's outright flirting with a lot of people, fair, but Dream especially. And of course Dream's having a feeling about it, because of course the version of Hob who doesn't actually know him, doesn't know how cruel he was over the centuries, is the one who'd be interested in him.

The Manic Pixie Dream Medieval Peasant Tour of London ends up taking on a decidedly romantic note, after a few days. And one night, after an evening in a restaurant that Dream knows is one of Hob's favorites, where everyone around them was silently willing them to get a room because the tension between two people who are very carefully sitting on opposite sides of the table and not actually touching, just talking to each other, was far too palpable, Hob caves, and drags Dream into a kiss the second they get back to his flat.

It's a good kiss, and Dream lets himself enjoy it for a moment, because he'll never get to kiss Hob again so at least he can have the memory of this one. Then he gently breaks the kiss and tells Hob, equally gently, that they can't. That Hob doesn't remember the majority of their relationship, how cruel Dream has been to him. That his present self doesn't feel the same way.

And then Hob, who's been staring starry-eyed at Dream this whole conversation, says "I do, though."

And Dream is like "Yes I know you like me now with but the you with your memory intact does not."

And Hob's like "No, I do. I got my memory back right when I kissed you."

And there is, unfortunately, more confusion (Hob explaining that yes he has always liked Dream it's just that 600 years have made him minutely less reckless and also the current him remembers that they are friends and doesn't want to ruin that. But no, Dream is wrong on all counts, he remembers every moment of their friendship and he does like Dream the same way and holy shit??? There is a 'same way'???? Dream wanted to keep kissing him????)

And then they clear all that up and live happily ever after.

(Yes it was a True Love's Kiss thing)

#dreamling #hob gadling #my fic

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wordsinhaled · 2 years

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dream overworking himself and sulking and stressing everyone out in the dreaming until he basically gets sent on an enforced vacation, so he's all, well, i suppose i must go to the waking then. who do i know in the waking?

which of course results in dream showing up on hob's doorstep entirely unannounced, probably in the middle of the night too in true dream fashion, like, "i will be here a fortnight." and hob is all, okay, on the one hand, it is 3 in the morning and what the fuck, but on the other hand—delighted! this is lovely! this is amazing! because dream, who, miracle of miracles, just came back to him, is now back again and it hasn't been a hundred years, it's been a month. hob hadn't thought "come back anytime" would be taken with any sort of seriousness at all, and of course he's happy to open his home to dream (and also his heart, but he's very resolutely not thinking about that. at all)

so hob is all, "of course, love. my home is your home," totally also not dwelling on the fact that he's never actually called dream "love" before except in his head, and he ushers dream inside, and shows him around, and laments the fact that it's getting to be the middle of term so his flat is a bit of a mess. he gallantly offers dream his bed, no matter that his back is going to be protesting something fierce after two weeks of sleeping on the couch, it's dream, he should have the bed

and then hob remembers it's the middle of term and he actually has to work... he explains this to dream and assures him he'll try to be there as much as he can, and dream momentarily looks like hob's job had not occurred to him at all, but then adopts a look of utmost unaffectedness

hob told him my home is your home so dream just... hangs about in hob's flat while hob is at work. going through his refrigerator and trying all the random bits of things hob has in there, not because he actually needs to eat but because no one has offered him this type of hospitality before, their space, their home, and all the things in it. reading books from hob's bookshelves. talking to hob's plants. flicking through hob's vinyl collection; putting on random records. (incidentally, this is how he discovers glass animals...). drinking all the sparkling water hob has. feeling the dream-history of hob's presence in the space and in his possessions, and it feels almost like... being held by hob, even though that's never been something they've done

on the first night when hob wanders into his bedroom to use the bathroom at 1 am he learns that dream doesn't even sleep; he just sits up against the headboard and reads with the bedside lamp on or he literally... sits in the dark... and stares off into space, eyes glimmering faintly, like he can see things in the shadows that hob can't see

dream sticking his head out from beneath the blankets of hob's bed in the mornings, watching as hob meanders into the ensuite to shower before work and swears when he realizes that he's running very late for his first lecture. hob rushing out of the bathroom with just a towel around his waist and a hair-tie in his teeth. hob forgetting entirely in his haste that dream of the fucking endless is in his bed and is not actually averting his eyes. dream watching hob pick out his work clothes and making dry commentary; hob most assuredly not blushing about the fact that dream is unashamedly watching him get dressed from their bed like they're some kind of lovers when they're most definitely not that

hob comes home from work each day and his flat is slightly rearranged, but also marginally tidier than it was before, and he's a little taken off guard but also... he'd meant it that his home was dream's home and it warms a part of hob that's ached for far too long to mention to just... have dream here, to have evidence that dream has been here, even if it's temporary

hob also has to contend with the fact that apparently dream of the endless likes to go around barefoot in just skinny jeans and a t-shirt when he's neither centennial nor a stranger anymore, which is... a whole thing, a whole situation, dream's apparently got arms and a clavicle and ankles and lord... hob still remembers when dream had been buttoned up all the way to the throat centuries ago and looking at hob like hob was a fascinating specimen of insect pinned to a board, but now dream is here asking him about his workday and he has to focus on making dinner for them to regain some of his sanity about all of this

they watch a film together one evening a few days into dream's stay and at first dream is stiff on the couch but over the course of the movie he gradually relaxes into the cushions and the next time hob looks over dream's got his legs crossed and a throw pillow tucked against his chin resting on it and hob has a litany of i'm fucked i'm fucked i'm fucked just playing in his head because seeing dream for a few hours every century is one thing, but having dream in his home? having him just there? the first time dream laughs??? to have dream's coat hung up in his hall closet and his boots at the foot of the bed??? fucked

the two of them talking late into the night after the movie is over, until hob falls asleep and tips over onto dream, and he wakes himself up on the jarring boniness of dream's shoulder and the soft brush of dream's t-shirt against his cheek. hob opens his eyes to see dream's hand hovering over his head as though he'd been about to touch hob's hair, and he smiles before he can think better of it, and dream smiles, and it's so disarming... because now he knows what dream's smile looks like not just in the warm light of the new inn but also in the bluish light cast by the DVD pause screen in this small gentle moment - a tiny angular smile, so fleeting that looks like it exists just for this moment alone, but hob will remember it long after it's gone

hob also realizing dream said he would be here two weeks only so his time with dream is Finite, and reminding himself he should absolutely not get used to making breakfast for two people or to being able to just come home and tell dream things instead of jotting them in his commonplace book

dream realizing he likes being made breakfast, and he likes hob's little flat full of plants and books and music and old things lovingly preserved and curated. he likes hob's big bed covered in blankets and quilts and pillows. he likes the way the sunshine streams in through the windows of the flat. he likes the way hob makes his tea for him and the way the heat of the mug feels. he likes feeling not-alone even when he's by himself at hob's place because traces of hob are everywhere

dream realizing he likes hearing all the little things that happened in hob's day, even the things hob hesitates to tell him because he worries they're boring compared to the broad strokes highlights he used to give dream during their meetings every hundred years. he... likes... the way hob looks in the mornings, sleep tousled and yawning; and the way he looks focused and thoughtful when he's rehearsing a powerpoint presentation for a staff meeting; and he likes the way his voice sounds when he teaches zoom class; and he likes... a surprising number of things about hob gadling, really

to his immense surprise dream likes feeling like part of the human life hob gadling has built for himself

dream and hob both feeling like Something is Happening Here and not wanting to name what it is but also not wanting it to end. feeling like... something has happened but nothing even has happened, they've just been sort of... listing towards each other... and it's been no time at all but also feels like it's been all the time in the world

hob feeling upset with himself because once, he would have given anything to have two entire weeks with his stranger and now he feels like it wasn't enough. dream feeling reluctant to return to his responsibilities and unsure how such a short time around hob has unspooled him like this. it was supposed to be something that would ground and center him so that he could return to the dreaming and be his usual collected kingly self, and it has grounded him but perhaps... it has grounded him a little too much

I JUST NEED THEM TO BE DOMESTIC AND FALL IN LOVE .....glfkjlh AUGHHGHGHG

#I'M NORMAL ABOUT THEM COMPLETELY NORMAL #the sandman #dreamling #dreamling domestic vacation

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mayhemspreadingguy · 2 years

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Alright, for those who want to hear more about this, I'm gonna explain what I had in mind while drawing this dreamling in the fishbowl AU :).

It's 1989, the day Hob and Dream are supposed to meet each other. Dream doesn't make it, so Hob returns home, shattered and drunken he passes out on a couch while thinking about his Stranger. Meanwhile, Dream is aware of the passage of time and grieves over not being able to meet Hob Gadling in the White Horse. He lies on the harsh cold glass of his cage and daydreams about freedom, Hob's endless hope and will to live on, Hob's warm smiles, and bemoans the unfortunate end of their last meeting. As Hob sleeps something is pulling him toward a familiar presence, curious and hopeful his sleeping mind follows the pull. Dream senses a sliver of brightness and specks of hope right behind the reach of his confined self. He turns his mind towards the bright light, gazes at a vibrant sunflower, and reaches for its warm embrace. As both Hob's subconscious mind reaches for Dream and Dream unwittingly reaches for Hob, Hob is being pulled into the universe created by Dream's self inside the confines of the cage. That's how Hob finds himself kneeling in a glass sphere with his bewildered Stranger. Hob is delighted that he found his Stranger and horrified as he grasps the situation. They both seek forgiveness, Hob attempts to comfort Dream and tries to keep his rage on Dream's behalf under control. Dream allows himself to be embraced and soothed by Hob but quickly regrets it as he knows that he can't keep Hob beside him infinitely. He manages to muster the resolve to cut the connection between himself and Hob's mind. He struggles through the words that are meant to send Hob back into his sleeping body, yet his voice breaks on Hob's name as his grief and unwillingness to fall back into the cold loneliness seeps through. And the last thing he sees, before his world dims again, is Hob's shocked face as he's abruptly and forcibly torn from Dream... Hob wakes up with a start. Alone on a couch. Still trying to reach for his Stranger. It took long minutes to calm his racing heart and sort through his scattered thoughts and hazy memories. However, not long after, he sprang into motion, he had a rescue to plan after all.

oh my, this was something. I've probably spent way more time on this than I should have, but I've had a blast. exhausting? yes. fun? totally! And yeah, I've decided to repeat myself and chose a sunflower to symbolize Hob (for those that haven't seen my previous post - sunflower symbolizes devotion, optimism, adoration, etc).

and I apologize for my English - not my first language. aand I'm bad at putting ideas into words in general ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#mayhem art #dreamling #dream of the endless #morpheus #hob gadling #robert gadling #the sandman #the sandman netflix #hob x dream #dream x hob #centennial husbands #fanart #illustration

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avelera · 2 years

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I want to clarify that as much as my heart fucking breaks for Dream getting imprisoned like that there's a part of me that doesn't blame Desire one bit for wanting to take this guy down a peg because holy fuck when I went to rewatch the Hob episode and I saw Dream in the 1300s literally delighted at the idea of torturing Hob with immortality, just so he can gloat about how horrible life is, all while behaving like the worst kind of self-important goth-y edgelord towards a guy who literally does nothing to him but offer his friendship, I too am left with a desire to do whatever it takes to teach this guy some fucking manners

#the sandman #dreamling #i mean the imprisonment is horrific and WAAAAY disproportionate to the lesson Dream needed to learn #but my GOD what a bastard he is at the beginning of Hob's episode

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sb-essebi · 2 years

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thinking about... Dream telling Desire to stay away from Hob. Telling them that he'll forget they're family if they hurt Hob or mess with him somehow. Not because Desire has done anything to Hob in almost 700 years he's been alive, but just in case. Because Dream loves Hob, actually, he loves him so much he won't say a word about it because obviously Hob would never be interested and besides Dream's love is ruin yadda yadda so he'll be damned if Desire is the one to bring about Hob's doom just because Dream was clear enough that Hob is off-limits.

Desire just... shudders in disgust and is like. No. Don't worry, not going anywhere near that one. Never been, never gonna. Not happening, thank you very much.

And Dream is just completely befuddled because Desire sounds... actually 100% honest? So Dream replies with the most confused and high-key offended "Why???", because why wouldn't Desire mess with Hob? Can't they see that Dream loves him desperately? can't they see that Hob is fucking perfect, actually, and he's Dream's best friend and Dream's whole world can't revolve around him but it's a close thing? how dare they not consider Hob worthy of being messed with?

(yes, Dream is so caught up on being offended that Desire doesn't seem to see how important and perfect Hob is that he doesn't realize that Desire being uninterested is ideal and literally Dream's desired outcome)

So Desire explains that they literally couldn't stand being in the same room as Hob. Ugh. Just perceiving him, his desires, his heart is vomit-inducing. Hob tastes of unconditional devotion to Dream. He reeks of pure unbridled scorching-hot lust for Dream. His heart has a Dream-shaped hole in it and has Dream's name written all over it. He desires the tiniest scrap of Dream's attention with the same intensity he desires Dream's hand in marriage. He'd be great if he were just greedy for life and food and drink and sex but nooo, he takes those just enough for granted these days that he desires nothing but Dream's company, Dream's smiles, Dream's touch, Dream in his home, Dream in his dreams, Dream's lips and the feel of Dream's hair and the smell of Dream's skin and the taste of Dream's- listen, it's just Dream Dream Dream in that guy's head all day every day and Desire. can't. stand it. It's not the too much desiring that's the problem, it's the too much desiring Dream that is. Desire WISHES they could just cut Hob off from their realm so they could stop feeling it, but they can't!

Anyway, this is how Dream finds out Hob loves him, and he has to excuse himself immediately to process the double delight of "he loves me back" and "this very fact makes Desire's existence absolutely wretched"

Of course, Desire's existence is about to become even more miserable as Dream satisfying some of Hob's desires is like a dam breaking open, if he wanted Dream when he thought it would never happen then watch Hob want him now that it's within his grasp. Desire never knows peace again.

#dreamling #desire of the endless #text #my post

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euphemiaamillais · 5 months

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cry, kill, die part 3 - coriolanus snow

after seeing you with sejanus, coriolanus decides that he just has to do something about you… and he will stop at nothing to get what he wants

cw: 18+//piv sex//blowjobs//fingering//alcohol//victim-blaming//sejanus slander (from coryo obviously)//hate fucking

part 3 was inspired by this ask

you’d had such a lovely night with private plinth at the hob, in spite of the protestations of a certain coriolanus snow. however, when you woke up the next morning to find said man in your living room, talking to your father in a hushed voice, your stomach sank.

‘sweetheart,’ your father nodded at your presence.

you were wearing one of your little pink nightgowns, and could see coriolanus trying to eye you discreetly—he wanted nothing more than to rip it off you.

‘daddy, what’s private snow doing here?’ you bit your lip, anxious to figure out what he was plotting. he was always planning something; just so he could get to you.

your father cast a disappointed look, his brows furrowed in frustration. private snow looked serious too, and their gazes flickered from you, back to one another. your father stood up, walking several paces to where you stood, and grabbed you by the shoulders.

‘darling, private snow has informed me of what happened last night,’ your father began. your brows cocked, watching as a schadenfreude grin crept across coriolanus’ lips.

‘last night?’ your mouth rounded into an o of surprise. had he seen you kissing private plinth. it was all very innocent.

‘why didn’t you tell me? i’d have dealt with it immediately,’ he began to rub your upper arm, eliciting surprise in you. when did he ever show this much affection?

coriolanus shifted a little, eyes dancing with sick delight as you struggled to figure out what happened. your father took your frantic gaze to mean that you were still upset, and so took the liberty of spelling it out to you.

‘private snow informed me of how his comrade…’ your father dropped his voice. ‘took liberties with you.’

you could hear a pin drop in the room. your heart pounded, and you watched as coriolanus tried not to laugh. you knew private plinth would never dare to try anything—in fact last night you had to beg him for a kiss, what with him wanting to be proper and all.

coriolanus must’ve been there and seen how close you two had been all night. you knew his jealousy ran deep, but you didn’t expect for him to stoop so low as to accuse his friend of defiling you.

‘daddy, please, it isn’t true!’ you felt tears pricking at your eyes, but your father only offered a sympathetic frown and sat you down on the couch.

‘you don’t have to defend him, sweetheart. private snow has been very helpful in the matter. i just can’t believe one of our own would do this… and to my daughter of all people!’ his voice boomed throughout the room, and you felt yourself shrink into your seat.

why? why would he do this? poor private plinth, he was so sweet. he’d never in a million years think of touching you, not unless you were married. on the other hand, private snow had been the one to take liberties with you—twice. you wondered what your father would think of him, ploughing you while you begged him to go harder.

‘daddy!’ you cried out. ‘please don’t shoot him…’

you scrambled to make a defence, but realised it was in vain. he’d likely have him hanged, and so you settled on pleading for mercy over truth. what use was truth when private snow had been so convincing?

‘oh pumpkin, i’m not that harsh,’ he laughed a little, stroking your hand. ‘no, i’ve decided he can serve the rest of his peacekeeping days in eight. they need all the men they can get out there, and he’ll be far away from my little lamb.’

coriolanus smirked, and you cast him an angry look. how dare he? you were at least relieved that sejanus wasn’t going to be killed, but eight? you’d never see him again, and you’d hoped that maybe your relationship would progress a little.

but of course, coriolanus had to have you all to himself.

‘you should really be thanking private snow,’ he dropped his voice. ‘i think he has good intentions, sweetheart.’

you looked like a lamb at the slaughter, trembling a little while your brain tried to comprehend the situation. there he was, coriolanus snow, laughing. laughing at your misfortune while your father sent the only man who had shown you some semblance of kindness, away.

‘private snow, i’d like to see you back here at 1800 hours,’ your father commanded. snow rose, and saluted your father, stiff as a board.

you furrow your brow. ‘what for, daddy?’

‘well, i thought you could let private snow take you to dinner, as a thank you.’

—

you had been dreading that evening all day, praying that you’d catch a cold and even going as far as to stand too long in the sun. but it was summer, so of course a cold was out of the question. it seemed that you had to go.

it wasn’t that you completely despised snow. you couldn’t. your mind circled back to how good he’d made you feel with his tongue, his cock. you hated how your core burned at the thought of doing it all again. you’d really only kissed sejanus to make him jealous.

only you hadn’t expected him to go this far. you thought it would just be a little game, like last time, where he’d chase you into your house while your father was out, and show you who you really belonged to. it was cruel of him to spread such falsities about private plinth. he was sweet to you, a kind soul if there ever were any among the peacekeepers. it broke your heart to think of him, alone now in eight. there’d be no getting out now. 20 years of hard service in the second-poorest district. your heart throbbed.

coriolanus arrived at your house at 6 o’clock sharp, which pleased your father. he was always one for punctuality. coriolanus had even made an effort to look nice, wearing his cleanest set of commissioned day-clothes and a pair of well-polished shoes. of course he was trying to impress your father, appear as if he was the innocent one in this situation and not poor sejanus.

if only your father knew what coriolanus had done to you—and in his own home. he’d have him hanged.

‘good evening, commander,’ coriolanus greeted him with a salute, and your father gave a curt nod.

you were sitting on the couch, dreading the evening, but you attempted to look nice, wearing another sundress, this one covered in tiny blue flowers. coriolanus drew a breath when he saw you, and the way the dress hugged your curves in such a way that he couldn’t help but think about how well he knew what lay underneath.

‘darling,’ your father called to you, snapping you out of your idle reverie.

you put on your best smile though, not wanting to displease your father, and greeted private snow with an innocent smile. your father hadn’t mentioned what happened between you and private plinth, but you could see how cautiously he was eyeing you, watching for if you so much as gave the eye to coriolanus, or blushed too much. he would have to keep a tighter leash on you now that you’d been spoiled by one of his own men.

‘private snow,’ you said dully, watching as his brow quirked up, and a small frown crept at the corner of his lips.

‘miss hoff,’ he remarked curtly. ‘what time do you want her home, commander?’

you hoped your father would save you from having to spend the entire evening with coriolanus, but he smiled—a rarity even towards his own daughter—at coriolanus and answered him in a suspiciously jovial tone.

‘i trust you to keep a rein on my daughter, private snow,’ he watched you like you were the suspect in some act of treason—after all, private snow had acted with such decorum; it was his own daughter that he decided to flirt too much and end up with one of his own men between her legs.

‘have her home by midnight, at the latest,’ your brows quirked up; he’d never let you stay out that late, not even when he’d approved of sejanus. you were always to be home by 9:30 sharp. any later and you’d be on dawn wake up for days on end. it was particularly hell in the summer.

you attempted to hide your scowl, but coriolanus could see it clear on your face. he pursed his lips, and the two of you bid your father goodbye before you could raise any suspicion of your disdain. after all, you’d rather face the wrath of coriolanus, than your father. even if neither were ideal, at least you could get him sent away if he proved too bothersome.

you walked in silence until you were past the gate of the barracks, dragging your feet in the hopes that they’d give out before you could make your way to the hob.

‘you’re very quiet today, bunny,’ coriolanus remarked, lacing one hand around your waist as you attempted to walk ahead of him.

‘i’m not exactly in the best mood,’ you scowled, glaring at him.

‘aren’t you excited to go dancing?’ he quipped wryly. he could see the distaste stretch across your face.

‘you know why i’m upset, coriolanus,’ you retorted, trying to foist off his hands from your waist.

it only made him grip harder, and your mind was cast back to the way he had grabbed your hips as he bucked into you. damn him for being such a good lay—you had to admit it, you’d been thinking about him at night for the past week, fantasising about him climbing through your window and fucking you as you tried to keep quiet so your father couldn’t hear. the thought sent a thrill through your body.

‘hm,’ he mused, voice trailing off as he kept his gaze away from you. he felt, guilty perhaps. not that he’d admit it, but you could see it from the way he refused to look at you, appearing far too interested in the dirt on the walking track.

‘why did you do it?’ you asked, waiting for his response.

he was silent for a moment, as if he was musing upon his thoughts, and you wondered if he might refuse to answer. you tried to keep your frustration at bay, and began to curl a lock of hair around your finger to distract yourself. he met your gaze again, but stopped you both in your tracks, unlacing his hand from your waist.

‘i had to have you all for myself, bunny,’ he hummed, stroking your chin. ‘couldn’t let sejanus touch you like that.’

you shook your head. ‘it was a kiss, coriolanus.’

you two had begun to walk again; nearing your way to the town centre—you were nearly at the hob.

‘mhm, but your daddy doesn’t know that. thinks private plinth got you drunk and took you into an alleyway. told him i heard you screaming and begging for him to stop—that it hurt. he’s furious that his daughter’s a little whore now.’

your heart dropped—what would your father think now, that you were some kind of slut who gave it away after a few drinks? you’d thought that coriolanus had been more polite with his words, but it seemed he had veered to vulgarity to underscore how dire the situation had been. not that anything had actually occurred. he had a knack for fabrication, you figured. perhaps he got off on the thought of sejanus’ misfortune.

‘and i wonder who’s fault that is,’ you snapped, eyes burning with fury.

‘you’re lucky i didn’t tell your daddy that you enjoyed it. imagine what he’d have done if i said you were begging private plinth to go harder, and that you were telling him how well he filled you up?’ coriolanus laughed, lips quirking into a wry smile.

‘you’re cruel.’ you spat, feet moving to storm off, but he caught your wrist.

‘maybe so, bunny. but i needed to remind you who you belong to.’ he remarked, pulling you flush against him.

‘i don’t belong to anyone!’ you yelled, stepping on his toe. you watched as his eyes darkened, but you knew he hadn’t felt anything in his combat boots.

‘oh bunny, you’re so dumb. you’re all mine. you belong to me, no one else. can’t let your daddy know you were begging for my cock, hm?’

‘you wouldn’t!’ you gasped, shoving his arm.

‘what should i tell him, hm? that you were on your knees, pleading with me to fuck you because you’re a little slut?’ coriolanus’ breath was hot in your ear now, fanning against your ear. you felt something tighten in your chest, and your legs buckle a little.

your body sought to betray you. even when you despised him, wanted him dead, your body still warmed to the thought of his touch, the very thought of his cock pounding inside of you.

‘please coryo, no,’ you shook your head, eyes welling up a little.

‘calling me coryo now?’ he chuckled. ‘i don’t think you despise me as much as you think, bunny.’

you crossed your arms, but realised you couldn’t walk away from him now and make a scene in front of all these people. you could hear the hum of music coming from the hob, and the sound of feet stomping to one of the covey’s tunes.

you supposed if you had to tolerate him, you’d drown yourself in cheap moonshine and pray that you had sobered up by the time you got home.

—

he kept a close rein on you, and when he saw you standing to close to anyone else, he immediately drew you back to him, clamp on your wrists, or waist, tightening.

you stumbled a little, body weakened by your slight inebriation, and he took note of this. while you were making a fool of yourself, it would be far easier to get you on your knees when you weren’t scowling at him.

‘private snow,’ you drawled. ‘come to take me away now, have you?’

he shook his head, looking at you with a scrutinising eye.

‘i have a mind to, if you don’t start behaving. you’re acting like a fool,’ he snapped, dragging you away from the crowd.

the music dulled, and you felt your heart pounding in your ears. your head swam, and your thighs felt sticky as you became more aware of the touch of him; his cool hands pressing against your pulse point.

‘oh, so you want to punish me?’ you teased.

clearly you’d lost control of your own ability to seethe at him, instead teasing him.

‘you’re practically begging for it, bunny,’ he mused, breath fanning your cheek.

he pulled you further away from the crowd, down the damp hall, and you wondered if he’d really dare to fuck you up against the wall? you’d be caught by anyone of the peacekeepers, who’d report you to your father. especially if they saw it was a fellow private who’d gotten his hands on you.

‘private snow, we really shouldn’t,’ you huffed, trailing behind him like a little puppy as he slid open the door to some back room.

you’d not seen it before, but it was far away enough that you’d not be spotted. it appeared to be a store room of sorts, but your thighs burned with such want that you didn’t even bother to wish for a couch or somewhere pleasant to let him touch you.

you’d not intended on it, not wanting him to have the satisfaction of fucking you again, but the drink had gotten to you. even if you despised him for what he did to sejanus, you couldn’t help but think about how good it felt, being stretched out with his big cock.

‘you want it,’ he sighed, thumbing the soft expanse of your cheek.

you shook your head, but the truth was in the way your skin danced with want, and how your breath hitched as he pressed you up against the wall.

‘poor bunny,’ he clucked his tongue. ‘what am i going to do with you?’

he leaned in to kiss you, and you submitted, hands lacing around his neck. his tongue was quick to make its way between your lips; he was hungry in his ministrations, and you couldn’t help but moan as he pressed a hand flush against your clothed cunt.

‘please…’ you sighed, tongue sliding over his, hips grinding into his touch. he was teasing you, hand ghosting over the fabric of your sundress. he didn’t even have the decency to touch you through your panties.

‘please what, bunny?’ he mused, smirking at the way you had once again become putty in his hands.

‘need you,’ you admitted, face burning with shame. in spite of all he’d done, your body still ached for him, to feel his cock stretching you out.

‘what a little whore,’ he cajoled. ‘you just can’t keep away from me, hm?’

his breath fanned your ear, and you found yourself reaching desperately for his hands, bringing them up against your bare thighs. he was cool to the touch, fingers skimming up the apex of your thighs, groping at the soft skin. you let out a whimper, core throbbing with need.

no matter how much you denied it, you needed him.

‘don’t tease me,’ you whined as he slipped a finger past your panties, feeling the slickness of your cunt around him.

‘fucking hell,’ he guffawed. ‘so wet and i haven’t done a thing.’

you gazed at him with wide-eyes, knowing you couldn’t put up a fight anymore. you were aching for him, soaking around his finger as he pumped it into you. you mewled, and begged him to add another, which he did, feeling you stretch around him.

‘please… need your cock, coryo,’ you pouted, the use of the familiar appellation causing his blood to burn.

it was like music to his ears; sweet and golden as were the whimpers you made as he fucked you with his fingers. he pressed a thumb against your clit, causing you to cry out—you looked like a pathetic mess, writhing up against the wall.

‘look at you, begging for it like a little slut,’ he sneered, rubbing his fingers against your clit, sending your head into a whirl.

coriolanus removed his touch from you, causing you to groan with dissatisfaction. you attempted to pull him back against you, but he gave your wrist a tight squeeze, his bicep muscles tensing beneath his overshirt—a reminder just how much stronger he was than you.

‘if you’re going to act like such a whore, you’ll have to do as i say,’ he commander, putting two hands on your shoulders and pushing you to the ground.

your legs buckled a little, but you found your place on your knees, seeing clearly with your eyes what he wanted you to do. his cock strained against his pants, and your mouth watered at the thought of taking it in your mouth again—all eight inches of it—until he came down your throat.

coriolanus grabbed your chin, forcing your mouth open, and you parted your lips willingly. he bent down, eyes meeting yours, and without a word, spat into your mouth.

‘swallow,’ he demanded, and so you obliged, swallowing his spit down your throat and offering him your open mouth again.

he undid his pants, pulling them down along with his boxers, and presenting his hardened cock to you. you pressed your thighs together at the sight of him; he was red and aching, the tip threatening to spill with precum.

‘now bunny,’ he stroked your chin. ‘you gonna be a good girl and suck my dick?’

you nodded, veering your head forward and pressing a hungry, open-mouthed kiss to the tip of his cock. he watched, mouth twitching into a grin at the image of you on your knees, desperate for his cock. you looked so perfect like this, eyes brimming with want, pretty lips curved as you pushed the head of his cock past your lips.

coriolanus let out a groan as your flattened tongue glided across his shaft. he grabbed your hair in his hand, tugging on it so hard you could feel your skin tingling. he began to buck his hips, desperate for satisfaction—if you were going to behave like such a slut, he might as well treat you like one.

his cock pressed right against the back of your throat, and you gagged, struggling to take him all in. he throbbed in your mouth as your saliva trickled down him, his eyes flickering over his girl. you looked so perfect, taking him all even though tears were pricking at the corner of your eyes.

‘fuck,’ he cried out, thrusting his cock against your lips.

you gripped at his hips, bobbing your head up and down as best you could, fat salty tears trickling down your cheeks. his balls slapped against your chin with each rut, and the fire between your legs grew even more. you needed him, more than anything in the world. in fact, you felt that if you didn’t have him right then, you’d die.

‘taking me so well, aren’t you,’ he cooed, feeling himself edging closer to his release. he didn’t want to let go, however, wanting to finish as he fucked you.

he pulled himself out, cock dribbling with precum, and watched as you whined, wanting to feel him cum down your throat. your lips ached a little from the stretch, but when he hoisted you up on your feet again you could hardly complain. he was about to give you exactly what you wanted.

‘gonna cum inside your pussy, hm?’ he teased, hands rucking your panties down to your knees, and then hoisting your dress up.

your cunt was dripping wet when he’d gotten your dress around your waist, and as he pressed you into the wall, he dragged his tip teasingly along your wet hole. he wanted nothing more than to shove himself in, but what fun would it be if he didn’t watch you squirm and beg for it?

‘please coryo,’ you whined, fingers clutching at the base of his cock, attempting to push it inside of you. ‘i need you, please…’

he laughed, and slapped your pussy with the aching tip of his cock, causing you to let out an exasperated gasp.

‘that’s what you get for being a fuckin’ slut,’ he scolded, finally shoving himself into you.

you gasped as he pressed his entire eight inches inside of your wet cunt, giving you no time to adjust to him. you clutched at his back, knees buckling a little from the feeling, head swimming with desire. it felt so good, but your body was humming from the shock of it all.

‘and sluts,’ he mused, grunting as he began to thrust into you. he was already halfway there, balls throbbing and aching to be emptied. ‘don’t get to cum. especially not when they’ve been whoring themselves to other peacekeepers.’

you sighed, dizzy with want, but his words still cut at you nonetheless. your heart stung a little.

‘coryo…’ your voice went soft. ‘i promise, sejanus never did anything.’

he grunted, the mention of sejanus’ name earning a hard thrust, and you whimpered as his cock stretched out your tight walls.

‘really, huh? you sure you didn’t get on your knees for him like you did with me? suck his cock til you were gagging?’ he taunted, and you shook your head, cheeks burning.

were those tears in your eyes that he saw? how pathetic. tears from a whore, at that. he couldn’t believe your gall, it was obviously for show. the translucent droplets trickled down your cheeks, and you felt your heart stab with the pangs of frustration and disappointment.

coupled with the feeling of his cock pistoning in and out of your wet cunt, it was throwing you through a loop. it was all too much, and you couldn’t help but begin to full on sob—why did it feel so good; the way his golden tone taunted you, the way the sound of his sighs echo melodically in your ears if he was being so cruel?

‘coryo,’ you wept, feeling your cunt clench around his cock.

you were just so perfect—sobbing and yet your body was yielding itself to him. he wouldn’t give you the satisfaction of coming though. he found his own pleasure begin to give way as you cried, your pretty eyes wet, lips plump from the salt mingled with the way he’d used your mouth.

‘can hardly speak, can you? fucking you so good that you’re too dumb to even remember your name,’ he groaned as he looked down at his cock, seeing the way your hole gripped him even as he slid in and out.

‘please let me cum,’ you whined, fingers tracing the nape of his neck.

he shook his head, silencing you with his lips. he was too close now to let your helpless pleas distract him. he focused all his willpower on coming, rutting into your tight hole, your muffled whimpers straining against his mouth.

you let him kiss you, surrendering yourself with a hopeless passion, whining as you took him further inside of you. your clit ached dully as you yearned for your own finish, to spill around him, but he sought to spite you; punish you for something you had not done.

coriolanus finished with a heavy grunt, the sound of his cock slamming in and out of your wet cunt echoing in the back room. you felt spurts of his sticky, hot cum coat your walls, and trembled as he continued to thrust. his body was humming with overstimulation, but the way your tight cunt clenched at his cock made him more determined to continue fucking his load into you.

‘you’re all mine now, huh?’ he murmured against your lips. ‘who’s going to have you now that i’ve fucked you full of my cum—certainly not fucking sejanus. no, he’ll never touch you again, i’ve made sure of that. you belong to me.’

you moaned as his lips trailed from your lips down the smooth expanse of your neck. he began to suck at the skin, marking bruises into you as your heavy breaths sounded in his ears. your forehead beaded with sweat, hairline sticky with the stuff due to your exertion.

you winced as he sucked a little too hard, and when he pulled away he looked proudly at the round, dark bruise he’d left right against your clavicle. there was no hiding that. even your father would see. the purple, shameful thing.

coriolanus slid out of you, sticky cum dripping down your thighs now, and brushed your hair away from your neck, admiring the mark he’d left on your neck. his branding.

‘nobody’s ever going to touch you again—nobody but me, huh?’ he scowled. ‘you, bunny, are going to be mine forever.’

#coriolanus snow #tom blyth #coriolanus snow x reader #tbosbas #hunger games #smut #coryo x reader #the hunger games #the hunger games x reader #the hunger games smut #tbosbas x reader #tbosbas smut #tbosbas fanfic #coriolanus snow smut #tom blyth fanfiction #x reader #female x reader #peacekeeper!coryo #the hunger games fanfic

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cuubism · 19 days

Text

I've been sitting on this little happy ficlet for absolute ages because there was a time I thought I might incorporate it into another fic. That seems increasingly unlikely though, so here it is.

The Dreaming was beautiful when Dream was happy.

It wasn’t always beautiful, though Hob would never say those words to Dream. It was always magnificent, always awesome in the old sense of something grand and beyond understanding. It was terrifying sometimes, too. But in Hob’s opinion, the Dreaming was really only beautiful when Dream was happy.

Like now.

Lying on his back in the wildflowers, bare arms thrown back above his head, dressed down in a black t-shirt and long flowy skirt, feet bare. Happy crinkles at the corners of his closed eyes, the barest hint of a smile that might have been bright as the sunrise for how it looked on Dream’s usually subtle face. The bumblebees and dragonflies that kept landing gently on him and brushing off again in cheerful spirals, as if delighted by their creator’s presence.

Hob had never been to this part of the Dreaming before, which, admittedly, wasn’t saying much when the Dreaming was effectively infinite. Dream had brought them to an expansive field of yellow grasses and rowdy wildflowers of green and teal and mauve and a hundred other colors one would never see in the waking world. It wasn’t Fiddler’s Green; it was wilder than that: rock bluffs dotting the fields in the distance, an endless grey-blue sky that was clear for now but threatened to tip towards rain at any moment, sweet warm wind that tugged on Hob’s hair with grabbing hands. A fierce, untamed landscape holding itself gently, for now.

That was the way Dream was beautiful, Hob thought.

He leaned on his elbow, looking down at Dream’s peaceful expression where he lay beside him. As he watched, an iridescent wasp lit upon Dream’s nose, its six sharp legs stark against his pale skin. Hob moved instinctively to scare it off, before remembering that this was the Dreaming, and stilling his hand.

The wasp didn’t try to sting Dream, of course it didn’t. This dream space lived on the border of danger, but wherever it touched Dream, it turned soft, indulgent, adoring.

Dream opened his eyes to look at the wasp. He didn’t say anything to it, at least not in any way that Hob could understand, but he stroked a very light finger along one filigree wing, and it flitted off again, away back to its hauntings.

In its absence, Hob traced a fingertip down Dream’s profile, in much the same way he had touched the wasp. Dream’s eyes fluttered shut again at the touch.

“They all love you,” Hob said.

Dream hummed. “I feel a particular accord with this landscape,” he said, a ghost of a smile on his lips at Hob’s words.

“Yeah, it reminds me of you. More than the Dreaming as a whole usually does.”

“Oh?”

Hob sat upright and tugged Dream up with him, brushing strands of grass from Dream’s hair. Then he kissed him softly on the lips and said, “Constantly on the verge of thundering.”

Dream grumbled under his breath, something about making it rain in Hob’s flat later. Hob just kissed him again, this time on the cheek, saying, “That wouldn’t be the most fun way to end a date, darling.”

“I suppose not.” Dream leaned back to meet Hob’s eyes, his expression now glinting with mischief. “I did have other plans. But if you insist on thundering.”

He blinked, and the sky split open with a tremendous crash, rainwater pouring down in a torrent that soaked them both immediately to the bone. Hob noted with amusement that Dream was letting himself get wet, too. His shirt was sticking to his narrow frame, skirt clinging to each bend of his legs. And his normally fluffy hair was unmentionable.

Hob grinned widely at him, water streaming over his nose and lips, dripping into his eyes. “The things you will do just to have your way.”

Dream’s eyes narrowed in challenge. “Must I have you struck by lightning, as well?”

“C’mere, you.” Hob dragged him into a hug, wet and sticky and clinging, as the rain kept pounding down and sinking into the grass around them. Flowers were nodding under the weight of the droplets, and the corners of the sky had gone dark and grey — but Dream was happy, was the thing. Hob could tell by the way he let Hob manhandle him into the hug, pressed the side of his face against Hob’s, the twitch of a smile on his lips that Hob could feel against his cheek. Storms in the Dreaming were so often indicative of Dream’s sadness or rage, and it was thrilling to be caught up in one that was born of playfulness instead.

The rain was even warm.

“You’re so beautiful,” Hob told him.

“Everything you say is at random,” Dream complained, somewhat hollowly considering he still had his fingers clutched in Hob’s dripping shirt.

“Nah. You just don’t understand the incredibly complex workings of my mind.”

He could sense Dream’s eye roll without having to see it.

“Isn’t it simple enough to just know that I always think you’re beautiful?” he asked, quieter now and almost hushed out by the rain. “It’s like the sky. It’s really always beautiful, but sometimes you catch it at a certain angle and you think, oh.”

“I am, in fact, also the sky in the Dreaming,” Dream said — just to be ornery, Hob thought. But then he said, softer, “You have a gentle perspective of me.”

It was true, Hob thought, that most might not look at this tempestuous landscape with generosity, might not be so easygoing about its overbearing rain. But Hob saw Dream smile and all he wanted was to tip his face up into the storm.

He ran his hands through Dream’s sopping hair. “You can count on that.”

#i post happy fic to cheer myself up 🥺#i need dream in a skirt i need it so bad #dreamling #my writing

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