TheResearcher
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“What the fuck?” Steve blurts. Again. He's starting to lose count of how often it's been. “Who do you even think you are, you fucking weirdo?”
The guy cocks his head in confusion, but only for a second. Then, that infuriating grin slips back on. He's handsome, in a dangerous and rugged way, with his wild hair and bruised lip.
“Apologies, he rumbles. “Where are my manners?”
And then, without getting up off the ground, he reaches out and takes Steve’s hand in his. Steve watches, heart in his throat and eyes wide with confusion, how the guy bends into a dramatic bow and reverently kisses his own blood off his raw knuckles.
“The name is Edward. King Edward of the Woodland Mountains. Also oh-so-aptly known as Edward the Banished, though my friends just call me Eddie. And you, my dear …”
He looks up, all glinting eyes under dark lashes and Steve needs to swallow against the lump clogging his throat.
“You're going to be the one who saves me.”
—--
Or: A story about a reluctant hero, a cursed king, and a love that transcends space, time, and maybe even death itself.
Bookmarked by TheResearcher
20 Jun 2026
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Summary
Hob finds himself in quite the predicament.
Fortunately, he has an attentive boyfriend.
Series
- Part 2 of Finding You
Bookmarked by TheResearcher
13 Jun 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
"I thought you wished to have me? Do you not wish to have me for long?" Dream moves Hob's hips once then holds him in place again.
Hob gasps at the glorious brush along his walls but can do no more than clench repeatedly around Dream, seeking any friction he might get.
Dream's lips part and his eyes grow heavy-lidded, his grip on Hob tightening even more. "Oh, you hold me so deliciously, beloved. Perhaps I shall keep you here, speared open and wanting, fluttering around me as we both slowly go mad with need."
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Could it be that you and me are the lucky ones? by sweet_tangerine_dreams
Fandoms: The Sandman (TV 2022)
12 Sep 2022
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Summary
Another flash of lightning spills past the curtains, and his lights flicker into oblivion, his tv shuts itself off and his entire living room goes pitch-black. Hob sits straighter, looking around his darkened surroundings in stilted confusion when suddenly everything flares back to life again. His TV remains shut off, but his lights blink back on like they were never out at all.
And between pitch-black and bright lights and the roar of thunder and the deafening stillness between it all – Dream materializes out of the shadows.
The man sits on his sofa, suddenly, unbidden, unannounced, and uninvited.
“Hello, Hob,” he says softly.
Hob does what any other person would’ve done when an anthropomorphic personification materializes on your couch; he screams and chucks his glass of whiskey at his face.
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.EDIT: this will be a stand-alone because I don't feel like the other chapters compliment it very well. Sorry for the confusion
Series
- Part 1 of A dreamer, he is
Bookmarked by TheResearcher
12 Jun 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
(Summer is late August evenings, the dead bruised faces of sons, and bloody messes of wives. It’s picking out coffins, it’s holding a still-born baby in his arms. It’s grief and pain and the smell of graveyards and the stink of flowers that clings to the priest’s robe)
Thunder rattles the building, causing the lights to flicker maniacally for a second. Hob just sighs, slinking further back into his couch.
It doesn’t scare Hob much anymore. The most it causes him is anxiety, a pounding heart, and sweaty palms. It used to be much worse, once upon a horrible time, where a simple popping of a bottle had him throwing himself on the floor in a panic.
He’s a lot better at dealing with it now. He supposes it's one of time’s many virtues, her gentle hand guiding the pain to some far away corner in the back of his mind, to fade the scars on his long-lived body so he won’t be reminded of it.
The phantom pains will probably stay forever, the horror of it more alive than dead in his memories and dreams. He lost a leg due to a mortar shell once. Those were a hellish few months.
After the second world war he tapped out. No more wars for him. When the Vietnam war began he turned a blind eye. He was still roaming London like a ghost. Lost, and so incredibly sad. Someone called him shell-shocked once – and maybe he had been. His memory of the mid forties to the late sixties are lost to time, a blank space that remains in his mind, a chasm in him that cuts deeply.
Now, though, the pain is buried underneath a layer of skin, and Hob only took jobs that were soft and needed more than soldiers.
He became a doctor for a while, and delivered a handful of babies before he had to guide a still-born out of a wailing mother’s womb, the whole situation too much like the one he went through himself. He cried himself to sleep that night and turned in his resignation the very next morning. After that, he worked as a store-clerk. Spent some years on the street with a guitar, translated some books from Old English to modern language, and became a chef in a three star restaurant.
...
& bubble baths
& confessions
& love
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What Is Temptation if It Is Not a Dream? by StormEnchanter
Fandoms: The Sandman (TV 2022), The Sandman (Comics)
11 Sep 2022
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“So do not mistake me for a fool, Hob Gadling, I am cognizant of your intentions and your requisition of offering me a drink at another establishment. If it did not break our already agreed upon rules, I would be forced to decline for other reasons alone.”
Dream pulls back, just enough so that he can watch the faint hints of pink spread across Hob’s cheeks, the slight bob of his Adam’s apple in the long column of his throat. Hob inhales a steadying breath to ask, “And what reasons are those?” His breath all but catches in his throat, a delicious shiver rolling down his back when Dream speaks.
“If it weren’t so dangerous for you, Hob Gadling, I would indulge you and you would never be so bold again to think of another, but as it were you will wait hundreds of years more until I make your dreams a reality.”
****
Or: Dream is aware of the type of daydreams Hob Gadling has, the sort where the immortal mortal, pushes Dream up against the nearest wall and kisses him until they're both breathless. Dream of course, being the little shit he is, doesn't reveal that he knows until 1789.Bookmarked by TheResearcher
12 Jun 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
Dream may not be mortal, but he is a god and gods do not grant desires so easily.
So when Dream’s lips quirk in that rare smile of his, that he’s only shown Hob a handful of times. His lips pull, eyes darkening into two twin pin drops of dark ink as Hob involuntarily shudders. His daydreams pulse with want and need and they pulse even louder when Dream lifts his hand, palm settling against Hob’s neck, his fingers as cool as marble, wrap around the column of his throat to brush faintly against Hob’s nape.
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Summary
Morpheus looked at him, gaze unfocused and dark eyes outlined in darker circles. Hob knew in that instant that Morpheus had been running himself into the ground since he last saw him. The ragged, desperate breaths didn’t help.
The hand Hob grabbed was shaking, barely any movement, but it was shaking. Morpheus was the lord of dreams, he did not shake. At least, he hadn’t.
Bookmarked by TheResearcher
11 Jun 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
Morpheus stared at him, eyes searching his face for— for something, Hob didn’t know what, but if he knew, he would’ve given it to him in an instant.
He seemed to find it eventually, eyes finally settling on his own, as one of his hands let go of Hob’s arm. Hob feared for a moment, but Morpheus’ hand was back quickly, grabbing hold of Hob’s own. There was something in his hand, Morpheus was pushing something into his hand, and—
“What is this?” Hob asked, staring down. It was a key, black and skeletal, covered in so much rust Hob had half a mind to worry about tetanus.
“Open any lock with this to enter the Dreaming, straight to my chambers,” Morpheus explained, and Hob froze.