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You do realise this is a Cat & Mouse game, don’t you? by LapisLazuli13
Fandoms: The Sandman (TV 2022)
19 Sep 2022
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Summary
“If so, then Morpheus is surely the cat,” Hob chuckles fondly.
To which, Johanna snorts loudly. “So does that make you the mouse?”
“No, I want to be the cat’s owner.”
“Don’t let Morpheus know your dirty little desire, or else he’ll stop talking with you.”
“Fine. I want to be the cat’s worshipper, then.”
“… I don’t want to hear another word about this ever again.”
Series
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 2,377
- Chapters:
- 2/?
- Collections:
- 1
- Comments:
- 24
- Kudos:
- 245
- Bookmarks:
- 19
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- 2,092
Bookmarked by TheResearcher
31 Jul 2026
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And I suppose you need to take History 101? by LapisLazuli13
Fandoms: The Sandman (TV 2022)
11 Sep 2022
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Summary
“I mistake your class for mine and teach it for almost an hour before you walk in.”
Series
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 4,036
- Chapters:
- 2/2
- Collections:
- 1
- Comments:
- 64
- Kudos:
- 623
- Bookmarks:
- 39
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- 4,585
Bookmarked by TheResearcher
31 Jul 2026
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Summary
Dream of the Endless does not have a secondary gender. He is not human, has never been human, and has no intention of starting now. This is a fact he has been comfortable with for the entirety of his billions of years of existence.
It is also, as of today, no longer true.
This is Hob Gadling's fault. Dream is almost certain of it.
Bookmarked by TheResearcher
25 Jul 2026
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Summary
Hob asks Dream to fufill a kink and fantasy of his. It just happens to be related to religion but not in the way one would normally think.
Bookmarked by TheResearcher
24 Jul 2026
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Summary
This is actually a sequel to my other fic, Black Sands.
This work can be read by itself, but I'd highly suggest reading Black Sands first to get some context for what's going on.
****Hob is rewarded for bringing Morpheus into the waking world. What other sweet reward can there be, than to be by Morpheus' side as his wedded wife and watch the destruction that Hob was wrought onto humanity?
Series
- Part 2 of Emerging From the Black Waters
Bookmarked by TheResearcher
23 Jul 2026
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Summary
When Hob Gadling moves to the Italian countryside to study under a legendary painter, he never foresaw himself struggling to create art.
When one night, he gets a mysterious knock on his door, and a strange request to create a sculpture, Hob's life is forever changed as he struggles under the weight of madness and the monster that desperately wishes to be free of its prison...
****
Now featuring a sequel! ConsecrationsSeries
- Part 1 of Emerging From the Black Waters
Bookmarked by TheResearcher
23 Jul 2026
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Summary
A collection of moments across the century in which Hob Gadling finds himself distracted by Dream's skin.
Bookmarked by TheResearcher
22 Jul 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
“You cheeky bastard!” Hob hisses so loudly that even with the few other patrons in the pub engrossed in their own things, they turn their eyes upon him. Hob’s cheeks flush a bright shade of red as he ducks his head, leans in close to the table and points an accusatory finger at Dream. “You cheeky bastard,” he repeats again. “You’ve been doing this on purpose for ages!”
Brows lifting just a fraction of an inch upon his face, Dream’s lips curl in that way of his that reminds Hob of his feline-like nature. “What ever could you be implying, Hob?”
“You know what I’m implying, Dream. That you’ve been doing this for centuries, this—this—” Hob waves a frustrated hand in Dream’s direction, more specifically at his bare ankle propped up on his knee. “—the bare skin. All of it, the exposing your ankles and wrists at me over the centuries just to get me hot beneath the collar.”
Hob clamps his lips shut, the moment Dream’s brows rise further up his forehead, just a fraction of an inch more than where they’d been before. His face smoothens out, the light that filters into the pub catch on his eyes and make them twinkle brightly for a moment; too bright, Hob thinks, in a way that reminds him of a star burning brightly before its death.
And then there’s the smile, the slow pull of lips on Dream’s face that makes him look a bit human-like compared to the usual expressions that he gives.
“And…did I succeed in my endeavors?” Dream asks and Hob refuses to dignify that question with an answer.
They both know it has…
…it always has and it always will.
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Summary
Eight dreams and one awakeness of Hob Gadling.
Bookmarked by TheResearcher
27 Jun 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
Same as Не более, чем ноль, but longer and better developed?
..
You esoteric twat, Hob thinks with aching tenderness, allowing himself to be drawn closer.
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Summary
Восемь снов и одно бодрствование Хоба Гэдлинга.
Bookmarked by TheResearcher
26 Jun 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
He sits at the stranger's feet, resting his head on his lap like a faithful dog. Sensitive fingers run through his hair—Hob, who is here-and-not-here, is glad that in his sleep his head is not only clean but also completely lice-free.
"I miss them so much," Hob says into his skinny knees, "I miss them so much."
Fingers snake behind his ears, down his neck to the scruff of his neck, and Hob reaches closer for the touch.
...
The eighteenth century suits him impermissibly well.
The waistcoat does absolutely inappropriate things to his shoulders and jawline, and the bow in his hair begs to be pulled, untied, and let it fall down his back and shoulders. Hob, with all the dispassion he can muster—which, frankly, isn't much—looks him over from head to his thin ankles, encased in stockings—black, of course, where did he get them?—and sighs dreamily before extending his hand.
Towards the end, he smiles at him with a smile that for the first time captures his eyes, and Hob takes this smile with him to Statham, to his bed and his sleep.
...
:7 — 1989:
He doesn't come.
Hob does not dream.
Hob wakes in the middle of the night, sweat beading on his forehead and a sticky, acrid certainty that something is deeply, fundamentally wrong.
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Summary
“It’s been a long time since I’ve done this –” Dream mutters into his hair, thick and laced with experienced hurt “ – since I’ve properly courted someone. Most of my… Entanglements… ended in misery and pain. I do not wish to experience any of it again.”
“Let’s just take the chance anyway,” Hob whispers, caressing Dream’s sharp cheekbone with the tips of war-built fingers. Dream inhales sharply. “Pain is inevitable, but so is this.” He dips down, lips brushing Dream’s in a quite-not kiss. “Please, don’t deny me your love. Not after all these years.”
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.Or; morning afters, dates, churches, and Dream's terrible communication skills
Series
- Part 2 of A dreamer, he is
Bookmarked by TheResearcher
23 Jun 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
“Fish and chips?” Dream suggests, because however kingly that man is, his food tastes are that of a three year old human child.
Hob sighs deeply, kissing the thought of the amazing beef wellington he was going to order at the restaurant goodbye, and settles for the already distant taste of fish and chips. “You really want me to make you fish and chips?”
“And chicken,” Dream confirms.
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Tags
Summary
Экзорцистам сон неведом. Зато Сон ведает их.
Bookmarked by TheResearcher
23 Jun 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
" Don't move ," Morpheus commands (there's no other way to describe this manner of speaking) when John raises his head and looks at him. He always speaks in this tone, only rarely revealing how gentle he truly is. Over the years of their communication, Konstantin has learned to brazenly crawl under the thick shell—it's not guarded in any way and doesn't even resist when lifted. It's just there for show.
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Summary
“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.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 100,928
- Chapters:
- 15/15
- Comments:
- 640
- Kudos:
- 531
- Bookmarks:
- 140
- Hits:
- 12,484
Bookmarked by TheResearcher
20 Jun 2026
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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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Summary
“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.
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Tags
Summary
The morning after Hob and Dream meet at the New Inn. And all that it entails.
A sequel to Absent Friends and second in the trilogy.
Series
- Part 2 of Absent Friends
Bookmarked by TheResearcher
09 Jun 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
"You were distracted."
"I'm not distracted now," Hob challenged.
"Oh? And is your head clear now?"
"Not the least bit foggy."
"Perhaps I should put you to the test, make sure you're still in charge of all your faculties."
Oh, so he was going to take that tone? That smug but playful 'you want me and you know it' tone Hob had trotted out once or twice himself. Well, it was true. Hob did want him and he was more than happy to demonstrate that right now.
Hob planted a kiss on Dream's lips. The amused chuckle that rumbled through him told Hob he'd been expecting it. Then the kiss deepened and Hob held back a sigh. While they kissed, Hob slipped his hands under Dream's shirt. Hob ran his fingers over his stomach, and he could feel Dream smiling against his lips.
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Summary
In which Dream worries about being an ungrateful boyfriend and lover. Pillow talk and damage control ensues.
- Language:
- English
- Words:
- 1,092
- Chapters:
- 1/1
- Collections:
- 1
- Comments:
- 38
- Kudos:
- 1,423
- Bookmarks:
- 129
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- 8,668
Bookmarked by TheResearcher
07 Jun 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
Of course Dream is already lucid and sound, as if he hasn’t dug his nails into the meat of Hob’s back and panted his name upon being brought to the edge over and over again and kept there for until a good five minutes ago with Hob inside him. Inhuman refractory period and everything. As for Hob, he still needs some time to confidently tell apart left from right after each round.
...
“Alright love, time for damage control.” He reaches out to take Dream’s hands in between his, wondering for the umpteenth time about the softness of his skin. “First and foremost. Even if you were just using me for your own pleasure, I would thank you for it.”
“You cannot say such things.” Dream interrupts immediately, anxious disapproval clear on his face. “You cannot mean it.”
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Summary
He was there. Eyes like twin stars, skin as luminous as the moon’s surface, looming over Hob’s supine form.
“Hello sweet Dream,” Hob murmured, a smile split across his face.
“Hello,” Dream returned in his low reverberating tone. He grew over Hob like a shadow crawling up the wallpaper, knees and elbows caging the other man in against the mattress.
Bookmarked by TheResearcher
06 Jun 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
“When we are together, I would command your full attention,” Dream’s voice turned sharp and demanding, eyes full of threat and danger. He fit their hips together and rocked hard against Hob. The motion pulled a stuttered moan from between Hob’s lips, and he shivered under Dream’s unwavering gaze. “I suppose I shall have to make it so your mind is unable to wander.”
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lonesome nights are over by thewalrus_said for neverwrites
Fandoms: The Sandman (TV 2022)
08 Sep 2022
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Summary
Hob's restraint broke at the one-year mark, six months since the start of their odd, circumstantial friendship. "Tell me truly, Dream, have you ever paid for a drink in your life?"
Dream blinked, looking down at his half-empty glass. "What?" he asked, a rare loss of words from him.
"Every month, someone pays for your drink for you, and you've never taken them up on it," Hob said. "Were you really not interested in any of them?"
"Interested?" Dream's brow furrowed, like he was trying to understand and couldn't. "Interested in what?"
Bookmarked by TheResearcher
06 Jun 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
Hob learned two things about Dream that night, when they made it back to his flat: one, that Dream kissed like he smiled, surprisingly and thrillingly; and two, that the slope of his back when Hob had him on all fours in his bed was possibly the most beautiful mathematical equation Hob had ever seen.
...
“You’re very free with your compliments,” Dream said. The faintest hint of a blush touched his cheeks, gone almost before Hob could notice it.
“You seem like a boy who hasn’t been complimented enough,” Hob said, before he could really think it through. Dream just blinked at him, though, so Hob added, “You also seem like a boy who’s never made his own breakfast before.” Dream looked amused but didn’t deny it. “I’ll give you a lesson in the morning, and we’ll see how that goes before we talk about dates.”
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Tags
Summary
Dream is given a second chance. Terrified by loneliness and drowning in humanity, he goes to find the only fixed point he has ever known. Hob Gadling.
Dream found himself explaining everything, the words tumbling out of him in a halting confession. The Kindly Ones, the choice to end or change. His siblings’ intervention.
“They… found a compromise. This form, it is mortal-adjacent. I must eat, sleep and breathe. I feel the cold. I grow weary.” He looked down at his own hands, pale against the dark fabric of his trousers. “I am, in all ways that matter now, very much like you, Hob Gadling. My body will not age. It cannot die. Unless I choose to accept my sister’s gift. I am… suspended. Between what I was and what men are.”
Bookmarked by TheResearcher
05 Jun 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
His body no longer served as a canvas for his vastness. It was simply a container for his consciousness.
...
The street held various commuters, their minds unknowable to him now because he could no longer slide through the Dreaming to see their sleeping selves. He had only his observation, like any stranger. That realisation stung. He would have to ask people questions, speak to them, and offer to introduce himself.
How tedious.
...
“I… I did not realise,” Dream said, his voice hushed, trembling slightly with the force of his epiphany. “I did not recognise these feelings. In you… or myself.”
He met Hob’s embarrassed, hopeful gaze, and the last of his confusion fell away. “But I believe… I am beginning to understand them now.”
Dream set his glass down and prowled across the sofa on his hands and knees, the cushions dipping beneath him, the wine-softened room spinning slightly as he closed the scant distance between them.
Hob stared, completely stupefied, his mouth parted, breath hitching and his cheeks blazing apple-red. Fear and hunger warred in his wide eyes. His fingers tightened around the stem of his glass until Dream worried it might shatter.
Something primitive took hold inside of Dream. Desire surged through him like a tidal wave, overriding caution and eroding centuries of restraint.
His new body moved with fluid, reckless certainty, as if it had been waiting for this moment since its first breath. He reached out and laid his palm on Hob’s thigh. The denim was warm and coarse beneath his fingertips. He pushed upward, slowly and deliberately, following the hard line of muscle.
Hob’s reaction was a strangled squeak that curled into something dangerously close to a moan. His eyes fluttered shut, then snapped open again, pupils blown wide.
“Forgive me for riling you,” Dream murmured, his voice rough with need, fingers pressing more firmly, testing the flex of Hob’s thigh. “For making you uncomfortable.”
He leant closer, his breath fanning across Hob’s cheek. “Yet I find I cannot be sorry that you desire me. If I have anything to say about the matter, I would have you desire me still.”
His hand slid higher, skimming over the seam where thigh met hip, drawing a shiver from Hob.
...
Then Hob’s mouth touched him.
It was not a tentative brush. Hob Gadling, with nearly seven centuries of life and love etched into his bones, knew exactly what he was doing.
His lips sealed around the crown, hot and wet and perfect, and his tongue swirled a devastating pattern over Dream’s sensitive slit.