Peak through at a secret garden in springtime. Promises start out so little, just a peek of green things. And then over time — a hundred years, and then a few hundred more — they grow bigger, and unfurling. It would be impossible to guess what color they would be before they bloomed.
When Dream realized he trails off into wide-eyed quiet. Hob was still touching him, his thumb against the corner of Dream’s mouth. Slowly, he leaned in and let the kiss blossom between them.
Happy Dreamling week from @quillingwords and myself ✨ thank you for writing something specially for my illustration my heart is so warmed my friend 🖤
Also again but thank you to @mr-sadman for organizing this event! Seeing all the fandom together for this has been a delight and I’m so happy we get to share in the dreamling fun!
Dream sits outside the fitting room, back against a mirror as he waits for Hob to come out and show him his next choice. They were going to a wedding together, which in itself was fine, but the context behind it…
Dream should have said no. Should have scathingly told Hob to grow a pair and just deal with his family’s judgment. It wasn’t a bad thing to be single, but apparently in Hob’s family, being single at 35 years old, and for the past nine years, was a problem.
Dream had often wondered how Hob had remained single for such a long time, he knew his friend was a catch. Charismatic, wicked smart, and roguishly handsome to boot. Dream couldn’t deny how he’d often catch himself staring at Hob, looking twice at him when they went out with friends, his smile wide and posture loose from a couple drinks. Or while Dream would help him build lesson plans, peeking sideways as Hob’s glasses began to slip down his nose and his hair would fall in his face.
Or while he was trying on suits for his cousin’s wedding. Where they would be attending as a couple.
“Hob…” Dream had given him a flat look, controlling his features into something unreadable while his heart threatened to burst from his chest. “This is absurd. Could we not attend as we are– as friends?”
“That’s the easiest part!” Hob’s eyes were wide and imploring. “We’re already friends! They won’t even question it.”
And then he’d gone on a tirade that Dream was quite familiar with, having been Hob’s friend for so long, about how his family had moved on from being subtle to outright dogging Hob about his love life. Why hadn’t he settled down yet? Who was going to continue the Gadling name, if not their only son? At your age… With your talents and charms… Such a waste… on and on and Hob, understandably, was sick of it.
Any further complaints had died on Dream’s tongue. He should have tried harder to convince Hob that this was a stupid idea. That his family’s opinion didn’t matter. That Hob should keep living as he had been in spite of it all. Because honestly, in what universe could this possibly work? How does this not end with Dream vulnerable and weak and wanting?
Because Dream was head over heels obsessed with Hob. No, he wouldn’t say the L word. It wasn’t like that. He knew better than to fall into that trap again. It was easier, somehow, to be a little more deranged about it. A little unhinged… delusional.
Especially as he watched Hob walk out of the little changing room for the third time now, eyes stuck on the jacket around Hob’s shoulders, broad and strong, accentuating the lines of his arms and back, cinched slightly at the waist. His thoughts tripping and staggering as Hob’s long legs move to a full length mirror across from Dream, unashamedly staring at Hob’s thighs, firm and thick, and up to his ass, which the dark blue slacks hugged so well.
Hob is pulling on the collar, turning this way and that, oblivious to the war raging inside of Dream.
“I don’t know about this one…” Hob is murmuring, tugging now on end of the sleeves. “Not sure if blue is my color.”
Blue is absolutely Hob’s color. Dream wants to say how fetching it looks against Hob’s golden brown skin, how it makes him look regal yet soft. How great it would look on the floor of the hotel room they would be staying at– oh fuck, Dream had forgotten about that. They’d be sharing a room.
Dream stood just as Hob kicked a leg out, looking down.
“And the pants are too long.”
“We can get that hemmed,” Dream kept his face impassive as he stepped up behind Hob, briefly meeting his eyes in the mirror before looking at the jacket.
He brushed his hands across Hobs shoulders, dusting off invisible lint, then down his back, straightening out invisible wrinkles. Before looking up again at the floor length mirror across from them.
They are nearly of height, Dream has maybe half an inch on Hob and can see how he stands behind Hob in the reflection. Can see how Hob has stilled and his eyes locked onto his. How he is staring back at Hob, his pupils shaking slightly, like he’s staring at something delicious. Dream swallows, letting his imagination wander.
He thinks about pressing up against Hob’s back, so his groin would slip comfortably against that perfectly round ass, how it might feel to get his hands on Hob’s waist, pulling so he could feel the way Hob’s shoulders fit atop Dream’s chest.
How Dream’s hands would slip around to Hob’s front, getting his fingers inside the fitted jacket and pressing them incessantly– intentionally, along the soft cotton of the white button down, how Hob’s skin might feel against it. How Dream’s hands would trail up to his chest, undoing those buttons as he went, revealing the thick dark hairs there and getting briefly distracted enough to comb his fingers through that mane, tilting his head to growl in Hob’s ear as he tightened his fingers and pulled just to hear what noise Hob would make in return.
And while Dream’s lips were at Hob’s ear, he’d trail them down to his neck, biting into the unmarked flesh, tasting the salt and aftershave with his tongue, peppering kisses even lower as he pulled the fabric of the shirt and jacket off his shoulders completely and imagining the eager, wanton grown that would tumble from Hob’s lips as he tilted his head back, getting his own hand around the back of Dream’s head to pull him in for a sloppy kiss–
Dream blinked and found himself still standing behind Hob, who was fully dressed and looking back at him and– was he breathing heavy?
The daydream only lasted a second, just a flash of a fantasy Dream indulged in, but now he wonders if he’d been too obvious. He’s staring back at Hob, pupils dilated and lips parted slightly, like a panting dog about to pounce.
Dream clears his throat and looks down the length of the mirror, accidentally settling them on the seat of Hob’s pants and distractedly averting his gaze again to Hob’s back, the dark blue fabric before him.
“You look good, Hob.” Dream manages to force the words out, his voice lower than usual, hungry. “I think this is the one.”
“Yeah.” Why does Hob sound breathless? “Yeah I like this one.”
Dream nods and forces every cell in his body to step back, away from Hob and allow him to turn back to the fitting room. He keeps his gaze down, waiting until Hob is conveniently out of sight before he allows the heat he can feel crawling up his neck to make its way to his face.
[for @watercubebee and our shared obsession with seeing Hob in nice clothes and wanting Dream to tear them off of him *handshake*]
Hi guys!! *shows up three days late with a Starbucks, two immortals and an old lady stuck in an elevator*
It was June 7th. Not THE June 7th, not the big one, they’re a few years off from that yet, but a random rainy 7th of June, and Hob was off doing errands. He’d have been a lot more disgruntled about slogging half way around the city in a pelting downpour if he hadn’t known that Dream would pop up somewhere, he always somehow managed it on this specific date.
But it’s still a surprise when he suddenly comes into being just as Hob is about to hop onto the lift at stop #2 on his to-do list.
Hob shoots him a grin. “Fancy seeing you out and about on such a miserable day.”
Dream replied with the small smile that seemed to be his grin-equivalent. “I thought you could use…assistance holding your umbrella?”
There was a ding as the doors slid open, and then began to close behind them as they stepped inside. Suddenly, Dream’s arm shot out, inhumanly quick and totally lacking the primal human fear of getting one’s fingers squished.
The doors sprang back open, revealing a stooped and wrinkled figure shuffling along behind a walker. Her gray hair was bundled into a messy bun, and gray eyes were magnified enormously by the thickest glasses Hob had ever seen.
Her name was Gladys, they would soon come to find out.
She didn’t seem to notice that Dream somehow knew what floor to push for her without asking, just crackled, “Oh, thank you kindly, dearie!” and Hob stifled a snicker. Dearie.
The lift began to rise. They made it to the sixth floor before the power went out.
Gladys sighed and pronounced with feeling, “Oh bugger!”
Gladys was eighty-two years old, never trusted elevators, but was delighted to be stuck in one with “two such handsome young men!”
“Er…I’m sure the power will be back up in a tick,” Hob said. Gladys settled comfortably on the seat of her walker, seemingly very content with her lot.
“So romantic, eh boys? Just like those little stories my granddaughter likes to write!” She gave Hob a wink. Dream’s head tilted and he took on the far-away look he got whenever he was accessing his mental metaphysical Google, or whatever it was he did. Hob could tell when he finally found what he was looking for, because his eyebrows shot up so high they nearly cleared the top of his head.
Fifteen minutes later:
“Well lads, thank the good Lord I had a piddle before I came or we’d be in dire straights right about now!”
Standing behind Gladys, Dream reached into his coat and produced his pouch of sand, giving Hob a look that he could only translate as is it really necessary for us all to be stuck in this box?
Hob wasn’t sure how to telegraph we cannot throw sand at a little old woman and teleport her out of a lift because she will have a STROKE with nothing but expressive eyebrows so he just shook his head and shot Dream his sternest look. It worked on his students…usually. Dream signed and put the sand away obediently.
Another fifteen minutes:
They had heard about Gladys’ late husband, her three grandchildren and how lovely the cardiologist was that she’d been on her way to visit before her morning got derailed. She rummaged around in her purse. “Like a mint, dears?”
Hob swore under his breath at his phone. “Connection is wretched in here. I can’t get through to anyone.” Dream patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. Hob could FEEL him restraining himself from pulling his sand out and dangling it in Hob’s face.
“I’m sure everything will be fine, lovie. I think I have a deck of cards about, somewhere…” More purse-rummaging. “Oh, and a sandwich! Bless, I forgot that was there.”
Ten more minutes:
“So,” Gladys said, “How long have you two been together, eh? I’d have been celebrating fifty years with my Bert this July.”
Silence. Distantly, Hob could hear the rain pounding against the building, echoing down the elevator shaft.
“Er…” he began, eloquently.
“That is…” he continued.
“Oh go on, it’s all right,” Gladys chirped. “My grandson, the one at university, he’s got himself a nice boyfriend. I said to myself, I said, Gladys, you can tell when two lads are sweet on one another, so don’t go challenging anyone to strip poker.” She pulled the deck of cards out of her purse and winked. “Yet.”
“Um,” Hob said.
“Sometimes it feels like six hundred years,” Dream intoned.
Gladys cackled and bopped the Immortal Endless King of Dreams and Nightmares on the arm with her purse. “Oh, listen to this one here!”
“It is…our anniversary,” Dream added.
He reached over to nudge Hob’s jaw shut with a little click, and then tugged Hob into his side like…like it was just something they did. And yes, that was definitely a smirk.
The power chose that moment to come back on.
“Oh…bugger,” Hob said.
——————————————-
They made it back down to the lobby with little incident. Gladys shuffled off to call her daughter, she said, since her doctors appointment was a bust. But first, she gave Hob a surprisingly crushing handshake and thumped Dream on the shoulder and said, loudly, “Well, thank you for the LOVELY time, boys. Let’s hope that the next time you’re stuck in a lift on your anniversary it’s not with an old bird like me hanging around, eh?” She executed a frankly indecent eyebrow wiggle, and shuffled away, humming to herself.
Hob stood for a moment watching her go, and realized he didn’t have the patience for any more of that day’s to-do list. He was to-do’ed out, as it were. Except for one thing. He glanced up at Dream and tried hard to control the idiot grin attempting to take over his face.
“We need to talk,” Hob said.
“That was partially my intent when I came to visit you today,” Dream said, still smirking, the bastard.
“Partially?”
“I must admit, I’d hoped that talking wouldn’t be our only activity.”
Hob sighed. “Right. I’m not hiking back to the tube in this weather. Get back in the lift, dearie. This time you can sand us all you like.”
It's a fluffy sick fic featuring eldritch goo Dream of the Endless idk what else to tell you
CW: if you're fine with Dream being an eldritch being, then absolutely nothing. 😊 Enjoy! 🖤
Hob stares at the large black puddle of goo that flooded most of the living room. He just got back from work and found Matthew perched on a branch near his flat, looking as frantic as a raven could get.
Said raven is now perched on Hob's shoulder, eyeing the mess on the floor gravely.
Hob had been warned that Dream is 'in a state,' but he didn't exactly expect that 'state' to be liquid.
Because it is Dream on the floor, Hob can see that very clearly. Though the goo simply looks like dark glittery slime poured over the floor to the uninitiated, Hob recognizes a couple of nebulas on its surface. There, by the telly, is the Horsehead Nebula, there by the bookshelf that contained none of Shaxberd's works is the Trifid Nebula, and just by Hob's feet is the Lagoon Nebula.
"Darling?" Hob calls out, unsure if he's going to get an answer. This is his first time encountering Dream like this. "Are you alright?"
No answer.
He looks at Matthew a bit helplessly. "Do I just...scoop him up with my hands?"
Matthew fidgets. "Definitely don't vacuum him."
"Why the hell would I--"
"Well, why are you asking me? I don't know this shit! I was literally a human a year ago!"
Hob pinches his nose. They were like blind drunks stumbling down the street together. "Is he even sentient like this?"
The dark puddle vibrates, and Hob feels Matthew's talons dig into his shoulders from the jumpscare. He himself almost drops his suitcase. "I can hear both of you," the puddle grumbles, "and you are making too much noise for my liking."
"Oh, sorry, love," Hob says, his boyfriend instincts suddenly awakened at Dream's sulky morning voice. "Did we wake you?"
"I want some of your chicken pot pie."
"Chicken pot pie." Hob repeats. His brain is still processing the fact that his boyfriend is a literal puddle of goo on the floor. "Yeah. Okay. Let me just get some ingredients from the shops real quick. Can you get to the bedroom while I'm gone? I don't want to step on you when I return."
--
He leaves Matthew...not in charge, but overseeing goo Dream's long and arduous trek to the bedroom.
He hears the raven mutter something about this being like hell all over again.
Hob ignores that because he has a different set of problems to tackle.
--
Hob's panic sets in as soon as he gets out of the car carrying all the ingredients for chicken pot pie, as well as some other food and drinks good for sick humans.
Once the pie is done cooking and cooling down a bit, how will he feed Dream? Where is his mouth? Does Hob just...pour it on the goo and hope for the best?
What if that were the equivalent of dumping hot soup on his boyfriend's lap?
--
"Any improvement?" he asks Matthew, who has kept an eye on Dream while perched safely on the back of the couch.
Hob checked, and Dream's form is thankfully all contained in the bedroom, still looking like a lake of stars.
"Nope. But he says he wants you to make extra crusts because he likes that. I would also like some extra bits to snack on, if that's alright."
"Sure." Hob goes to do just that. Chicken pot pie for the boyfriend and a lot of extra crusts for the boyfriend and his raven.
No problem. This is all totally normal and fine.
--
"Dream? Darling? The pot pie is done."
The puddle looks a little smaller in size, and Hob can see a couple of hill-like formations near the middle of the mass. He hopes it's a sign that Dream is slowly getting better.
At his words, one of the islands move closer to him, like a shark. Its progress sends ripples throughout the lake.
"Finally," the island nearer to him says. Its peak splits open to reveal the inside of Dream's human mouth. "Feed me."
At this point, Hob isn't even questioning anything anymore. All he knows is how to be a good boyfriend, so he's gonna do just that.
He sits down at the very edge of the lake near the hill with the mouth, and scoops up a portion of the pie, making sure to blow on it before feeding it to Dream.
The hill hums in appreciation.
"Good?"
"Delicious," Dream's mouth says, before opening once more, like a baby bird waiting to be fed. "More. I want a larger portion of the crust this time."
Hob couldn't help the smile that bloomed on his face and obediently gets more of the crust for the next bite.
--
"What kind of juice do you like?" Hob asks, a few hours later. The goo now looks less like a puddle and more like gelatine that didn't set properly. It was on the couch, bundled up in one of Hob's soft knitted blankets, watching an earlier season of Game of Thrones with Matthew.
"What kinds do you have?"
"Uh, orange, apple, and pineapple. Oh, and I still got some banana milk from the Korean grocery store, if you prefer that. Or almond milk."
"All of them."
Hob and Matthew share an alarmed look behind gelatine Dream's back. "What, an equal amount of all those drinks together in a single glass?"
"Yes."
Hob looks heavenwards and prays for a little more sanity before complying.
And just for fun, he goes down to the Inn and gets a blue cocktail umbrella and a heart-shaped drinking straw to put in gelatine Dream's very questionable drink.
Gelatine Dream hums in delight and tells Hob he loves him.
Hob beams and kisses the top of the gelatinous mass, while Matthew chokes, very possibly because the scene on TV is Hodor...doing his thing, and that always gets to Hob.
(Matthew chokes because he is disgusted, he is revolted--)
--
Something thick and long, like an anaconda, slithers into bed with Hob, and it is only through his 600 plus years of living in this world does he calm his frantically beating heart and open his arms so big ass snake Dream can curl up next to him.
"I hate being sick," the snake hisses, its huge dark head tucking itself under Hob's chin. "I can't hug you like this."
'Please don't wrap around me and squeeze me to death,' Hob does not say. "I think you're adorable," he murmurs instead against Dream's coils, and kisses the nearest scaled skin in front of his face.
--
Dream is mostly back in his human form come morning, but he still dripped viscous dark liquid wherever he goes. It reminds Hob of Howl Pendragon from the Howl's Moving Castle Ghibli movie.
"How are you this morning, darling?"
"Wretched," Dream says as he drips onto his fry up. Hob mentioned preparing porridge for him as they got up earlier, only to be informed by Dream that he fucking hates porridge and would hurl it into the sun if he could. And so Hob cooked some fry up instead. "Must you go to work?"
Hob, already running late and in the process of putting on his shoes, stops and looks back at the pathetic picture Dream makes. He is sadly looking down at his perfectly cooked eggs, dripping dark sludge on the sun-yellow yolks.
"I'll call in sick," Hob decides, and takes his phone out to do just that. The department head is going to verbally flay him alive for only giving notice at the last minute, but nothing is more important to him than Dream. Hell, they could fire him over the phone and he'd be fine with it.
Dream hugs him around the middle as Hob puts his briefcase down, ruining his white dress shirt. Hob hugs him back and kisses the top of his head.
It's fine. He'll just buy another shirt, or get another job. But Dream is irreplaceable.
--
"Have I told you that you are the best thing that has ever happened to me?" Dream asks him a couple of days later, when they're both lying in bed after two rounds of fantastic sex, celebrating Dream's full recovery.
Hob kisses him on the nose and cuddles him closer. "Maybe once or twice in the last 24 hours," he says. "But it never hurts to tell me again."
--
Dream shyly hands him an unbreakable ceramic mug made from the sands of the Dreaming. It says, "The best boyfriend across all of time and space," in Dream's handwriting.
It takes Hob a solid month to stop grinning like a fool.
