#gabessquishytum is her own warning

[mallory-x]

Prof Dream dubcon for the wip game? 👉👈

This one was also popular, as @kydrogendragon and @seiya-starsniper wanted to hear about it as well!

It’s appropriate that you asked about it, Gabe, since it’s inspired by this one of your asks! It’s the first scene of the scenario, where history student Hob discovers that his hot professor knows all about his camboy side-gig. I’m calling Dream 'Professor Endels' in this, mainly due to a typo that I liked so I stuck with it 😂

CW age difference, professor/student, blackmail, dubcon and NSFW under the cut.

“Sit,” says Professor Endels, gesturing to the chair opposite. Hob sits, dropping his messenger bag to the floor and folding his hands in his lap. He rubs his thumb over his knuckles, the repetitive action soothing him as he waits for Prof Endels to explain the reason for the meeting. The professor leaves him sitting there for what feels like an age, the silence of the room oppressive as Hob tries not to let his eyes wander over the crammed bookshelves littered with artefacts from across Europe in both time and distance. He starts slightly when Prof Endels speaks.  “I believe you have applied to study for a teaching qualification once you graduate,” he begins. “That’s right, sir.” Most of Hob’s lecturers prefer the students to refer to them by their first names, but although Professor Endels hasn’t specifically said so, Hob struggles to think of him by anything other than a formal title. “I put you down as a referee, since you’re my personal tutor. I hope that’s ok?” Professor Endels finally looks up from his laptop, steely blue eyes stripping Hob’s confidence from him and leaving him bare and vulnerable. He folds his hands neatly on the desk. “You think I can recommend one such as you for a job working with impressionable young minds? After what you’ve done?” His eyebrows are raised, effortlessly expressing his incredulity and disdain for Hob’s ambitions. Hob’s stomach sinks, weighed down by the cold stone of dread and disbelief that’s appeared at Professor Endels’ icy words. His mouth gapes open as he mentally scrabbles for words to refute whatever it is that he’s being accused of. Did he accidentally plagiarise his most recent assignment? Did he get filmed doing that impression of Prof Endels when he got drunk last week? Did Professor Endels find out about… No. No. He can’t have. Hob has been so careful. He knows he was risking everything, but he was desperate and he needed the money… His thoughts are cut off when Professor Endels turns the laptop around to face him, and presses play on the video on screen. He’s turned the volume back up, so Hob can clearly hear the whines and moans the image of him on screen is making as he works a fat dildo into his arse. He was on his hands and knees on the bed, arranged so his face isn’t visible in the footage, but from the twist of his torso it was clear that he’d turned his head to look over his shoulder and read the comments appearing in the chat.  It was unmistakably Hob’s voice reading some of the comments aloud - “Oh you like that, @BigBoy_69? Well since you tipped so nicely, of course you can have a closeup of my slutty little hole.” There’s a rustling noise as Hob moves backwards on the bed towards the webcam—the picture blurs, then refocuses on the dildo sliding lewdly in and out, lube smeared liberally between his arse cheeks. Hob continues reading. “Looks like @Daddy-loves-sluts wants me on my back - and since you’re paying for it, of course I’ll do whatever you want.” The Hob in the video turns over obligingly, face still out of view, but spreading his legs and stroking his cock lazily. “Is this what you wanted, @Daddy-loves-sluts?” His voice hitches as his other hand presses the dildo deeper inside. “Are you going to let me cum for you? Have I been a good boy?” Professor Endels taps the keyboard and the image freezes, leaving Hob red-faced, not knowing where to look. His tutor stares impassively at him while on the screen, pre-cum glistens as it hangs in the air mid-way between the tip of Hob’s cock and his stomach. Hob opens his mouth but his conflicting thoughts jostle for position in his brain and he can’t bring himself to speak.

[mallory-x]

So glad I’ve helped inspire this!

The best part, for Hob, is when he wakes the next morning. Not so much the headache pounding between his eyes, but the ache in his arse and the way he has absolutely no recollection of what Dream and Destruction did to him the night before.

All he knows is that he was thoroughly used, and from the way they’re both doting over him, bringing him water and painkillers and a cool damp flannel for his head, he must have been a very good boy indeed.

okay babe i just remembered that post from a bit ago where you mentioned you want more intox kink around here so! a thought!

this could work with a few diffenrt parts -- definitely including the corinthian -- but mallory's recent fic has me craving more of dream and destruction playing with hob so i'm going in that direction i think. so. hob being immortal means he doesn't have to worry about pesky little things like. you know. alcohol poisoning. so maybe sometimes his partner likes to play with that a little bit. hob's probably more of a "fun drunk" type by nature, but with a little coaxing? he'll turn teary and needy and absolutely desperate to please.

so! imagine! they're in the new inn after hours, hob's been closing up, and destruction is eager to play with his favourite little unbreakable plaything. so the moment hob's finished? he's pinned against the bar, helpless to do anything but brace his hands against the wood, as he feels something cold and hard press against his hole. it's not the first time destruction's fucked him with a wine bottle, though he admittedly... doesn't normally bother fucking hob with the neck? but hob figures it's probably just a warm up, and soon enough he'll find himself being stretched wide by the base of the bottle.

instead, destruction hauls him up onto the bar, chest down and ass up, with the bottle still in place. and hob realizes it... wasn't an empty bottle. was probably full, or close to, considering how much liquid hob can feel pouring into his guts. and all hob can do is lay there as destruction starts fucking the bottle deeper and deeper into him and hob's head starts to spin.

once he's good and drunk, destruction helps him down off the bar and sends him wobbling off to dream, who loves to coo over their sweet little pet when he's all flushed and dizzy and desperate to be a good boy. even when destruction's got him plugged with a full beer bottle, ready to spill more alcohol into his guts the second hob tips too far forward.

-🐈‍⬛

EEEE it's so sweet of you to send this!!! I am an absolute fiend for intox (and I am also VERY obsessed with mallory's fic which I will link here - everyone mind the tags, pls).

So yes!!!! I think we definitely need more of Hob being Destruction & Dream’s lil unbreakable sex toy. He likes it when things get weird and disgusting and a little dangerous.

He loves it particularly when Destruction manhandles him, gets him slung across the bar-top like he's no more than a ragdoll. Hob can squirm all he likes but he's going nowhere until Destruction lets him up.

The wine is cold inside his body, and he can feel it rushing into all kinds of places where it ought not to be. As it's made such a direct path into his guts in such a short space of time, he can feel the impact almost immediately. The wine sloshes around inside him and his head gets fuzzy as his eyes start to tear up. He goes from giggling and squeezing his hole around the bottle, to whimpering and begging for mercy as his limp body squirms and hiccups.

Poor Hob can barely walk back up to the flat but Destruction makes him do it - so he can stumble right into Dream’s arms and complain incoherently about what's been done to him. Of course Dream pretends to be sympathetic, rubbing his cold hands against Hob’s trembling stomach. Hob crawls into Dream’s lap and hiccups and whimpers and before long, he's rutting his half hard dick against Dream’s hip. Poor baby can't even manage to get completely hard because he's so full of alcohol.

Destruction makes sure he stays topped up and full - while Hob is squirming around in Dream’s lap, he's inevitably tipping more of the drink into his body. At this point he doesn't even notice - he's just incoherently mumbling about how hot he feels and how much he wants to be good.

And his lovers never want to deny him an opportunity to be a good boy. The bottle is quickly replaced with something much, much bigger, forcing its way into Hob’s trembling hole. As always Destruction's cock is just a little bit too big to be comfortable, but Hob is past the point of pain. He's just eagerly humping against Dream (and accepting the large mouthfuls of the wine that Dream presses to his lips... just to make sure he doesn't get too thirsty, or too sober).

His body is so loose and trembly he can barely keep himself sitting up, by the time Destruction is finished with him. A perfect little fucktoy, sloppy and drooling and barely conscious. He's absolutely everything that his lovers could possibly want (and of course, they nurse him through the killer hangover that follows).

[five-and-dimes]

Sunbeam

Part 1 of 4

Using the Dreaming Bingo Adoptable prompt: Cat Ears

Rating: M

Ship: Dreamling

Warnings: Past abuse (not explicit, just implied past warprize things)

Additional Tags: Cat!Dream, Cow!Hob, King/warprize, hurt/comfort

Summary: King of the cow Kingdom, Hob is given a cat person as a warprize, and he'd give him the very sun if he could. But perhaps some sunbeams will be good enough.

Read on AO3

It takes a village to make an au like this- It all started on our fav @gabessquishytum 's blog (specifically these posts), plus a lot of inspo from discord, and Hob's design based on the amazing art of @amielot. Thanks for feeding my obsession with this au, friends! 🤘

~~~

By the time Hob makes it back to his room, finally released from a dull morning council meeting, it is nearly afternoon. And Dream is kneeling on the floor.

It’s been a little over a week since King Hob was gifted the cat person now staying in his private chambers. When Dream had been presented to him, Hob remembers feeling a mix of emotions- rage and sorrow and confusion and offense. The bovine kingdom did not trade in people. 

(Not anymore.)

He had wanted to refuse the ‘gift’ out of principle. But he had looked down at the wounded, far too thin creature in front of him and knew immediately that he could not let him go back with his captors. So he had accepted the offering with the minimal amount of politeness to not start a war. He had beckoned the cat to him, and learned that his name was Dream, and that he was too weak to make it up the stairs to Hob’s room. His body was withered and wasted, starved and neglected, even a short walk leaving him panting and shaking. Hob had waved the guards away and lifted him up into his own arms to carry him the rest of the way.

Dream had trembled against him, no matter how Hob tried to reassure him. Part of him still wonders if it was a mistake to bring the poor man into Hob’s own chambers, to lay him on his own soft bed when his fears were so obvious. But Hob could not bear the thought of leaving him alone and scared in some strange room in the palace. In truth, he wanted desperately to care for him himself. Some part of his heart had been given to the cat the moment Hob saw him, and he was determined to see him healed. 

The first night was hard, and Dream continued shivering even as he drank from Hob’s chest, falling into a fitful sleep in Hob’s bed after being tugged away guiltily to ensure he didn’t make himself sick drinking too much too fast. In the days since, Hob has left him in his room as he went about his business throughout the day, returning to check on him and feed him, and always finding him in the exact spot on the bed where he left him. Until today.

It had been raining for much of the week, but today the sun was streaming through the open windows, the light falling vibrantly across the floor in the center of the bedroom. Dream was crouched at the edge of the thick rug placed beneath the bed, reaching one long arm out to dip just the very tips of his fingers into the light, his face full of equal parts longing and trepidation. 

It is a look Hob remembers on his own face when he was a young calf, sneaking into his mother’s study and standing on the tips of his hooves to admire her golden collar and bell. He would tap it, giggling at the heavy chime, feeling mischievous as he imagined a day in the future when the beautiful adornment would be passed on to him. He also recalls getting caught, his mother admonishing him sternly yet fondly, and the way he never once felt fear of her.

He put his grimly little child’s hands all over literal gold, and he never felt anywhere near the blatant terror he sees now on Dream’s face at being caught reaching for a sunbeam.

“I apologize, my lord,” Dream scrambled frantically back onto the bed, folding his limbs to kneel and forcing his hands to release his robe, laying them in his lap meekly. It broke Hob’s heart every time, the way he so clearly wanted to hold the robe closed around his body and just as clearly expected it to be torn away from him.

He had been given to Hob naked.

The robe he wore now was meant for a calf, too short and too wide and still the best fit they could find for the cat until the tailors finished the custom robe they were working on. Dream had been near tears when he was presented with something to cover himself, bowing his head and offering anything and everything of himself in thanks. So grateful. All for a robe that didn’t even fit.

Hob approached the bed slowly, smiling gently even when he wanted to cry for the poor creature, “You’ve done nothing wrong, sweetheart.”

Dream shivered, keeping his gaze downcast, “I should not have moved without your permission, master.” 

Hob flinched at the title. As king he was accustomed to being referred to as lord and sire and majesty- it was only appropriate, and he did expect to be given the respect due his station. But he was no one’s master.

Right now though, he had to choose his battles. “You are free to move about the room, Dream,” it was true that Dream clearly needed rest, but his heart ached to think of Dream sitting stiffly wherever Hob ‘put him’. He turned and gestured at the sunlit spot, “You may even move some of the pillows or blankets from the bed, should you wish to lay in the sun.”

Dream looks horrified at the very idea, ears pinned back in fear, “I would never, sire,” his voice nearly pleading for Hob to believe him, as though he is being tested.

Hob feels his own ears droop, before straightening with resolve. He keeps his motions clear, walking to the bed to gather an armful of pillows. Dream keeps his head down, but his eyes follow Hob’s movements as he begins arranging the pillows on the floor where the sunlight is hitting. He adds a few blankets to the pile too, until he has a little nest in the middle of the room, soft and sunlit. 

Dream still hasn’t moved.

“Come here, Love,” Hob keeps his voice soft and soothing, but Dream still tenses when Hob scoops him up into his arms easily, so frighteningly light, “You must be hungry. Breakfast feels like ages ago.”

As much as Hob wishes he could sustain Dream with his milk alone, they had begun introducing some light foods- small morsels of fish, and select vegetables that the royal librarian deemed safe for cat people- into his breakfast and dinner. In between though, Hob fed him himself. Hob was used to being responsible for an entire kingdom, to making decisions that were far and long lasting and praying that he might make his country even a little bit better each day. And he was proud of his position, he would not trade it for anything. But there was something so special about being able to hold this one person in his arms and see the good he was doing. 

It still took some encouragement. As he settles into the nest, leaning back against the pillows and facing the window so that Dream can sit in his lap in the direct sunlight, Dream is still tense and trembling. Hob shushes him gently, slipping his shirt over his head before placing one hand at the back of Dream’s head to guide him to his chest. He remembers how confused Dream had been the first night when Hob had fed him, opening his mouth wide like he might for a different part of Hob’s body, unsure of what was expected of him. He had allowed himself to be maneuvered without any resistance until Hob was finally able to get a few drops of milk onto his tongue. He had watched as Dream’s eyes had widened, pupils dilating as he licked his lips in something like disbelief. 

After that it was a little easier. He is still nervous and hesitant, but Hob is able to press his mouth to his nipple and say, “Drink,” softly, more of a request than an order even if Dream does not yet recognize it as such. Hob shivers at the sensation as Dream begins to suckle, biting his lip to hold back a groan. He turns his gaze up to the ceiling, trying to distract himself from the sensation. Dream shifts in his lap and Hob has to mentally recite every trade detail he’d been given at his morning meeting in order to restrain himself from moving his hips.

The first night, Dream had looked so resigned when he finally noticed the hard prick in the lap he was sitting on. Hob had just pushed him back, not wanting him to throw up what was most likely the first substantial meal he’d had in who knows how long. He had looked so sorrowful, gazing longingly at Hob’s chest, and then he leaned back and gasped, Hob’s cock hard and hot against his hip. 

He had seemed to wilt, any relaxation Hob had coaxed from feeding him vanished, and he spoke like he was reciting a script, “How shall I repay you, master?”

Hob had felt his blood run cold at the title, “There is nothing to repay, sweet one,” he promised, his smile more of a grimace. Dream had stared at him in blatant disbelief, and as much as Hob wanted to keep holding him, he knew his body’s response was not helping the situation. So he had moved Dream off his lap, tucked him under the bed covers to sleep off his meal, and then gone and taken a long bath to take care of the problem.

It is a routine he has kept ever since. Dream no longer asks what Hob wants in return, though he still looks at him expectantly, and Hob smiles and pets him and then excuses himself to the bath to spend as much time as he needs pleasuring himself. And if he spends that time imagining the soft pads of Dream’s hands, or his sandpaper tongue, or the few glimpses he’s gotten of Dream’s enticingly barbed cock, well, no one needs to know.

Glancing back down at the cat in his arms, Hob is drawn now to Dream’s ears. His own are soft, yes, but they are also thick and sturdy. Dream’s are so thin. Even with the blackness of his fur, the sun seems to shine through at the very tips, a soft glowing pink with little veins just barely visible. Almost without thinking, Hob moves the hand on the back of Dream’s head to lightly grip one ear between his fingers.

Unsurprisingly, Dream startles, a frightened chirp escaping him as he releases Hob’s teat. 

“Shhh,” Hob soothes, nudging Dream back towards his nipple, “It’s alright, you can have some more.” He has to be careful not to let Dream make himself sick, he had been warned by the palace physician what to look out for, but they were nowhere near that point yet. Dream shyly begins suckling again, eyes glancing up at Hob through his eyelashes for approval. “Good boy,” Hob praises, and Dream’s eyes flutter shut, relaxing minutely.

In his hand, he runs his thumb across Dream’s ear. So soft, so delicate and paper thin. He feels a strange compulsion to put it in his mouth. Not to bite, like he did with his playmates growing up- Dream feels too frail for that sort of roughhousing, and Hob does not ever want to hurt him. 

No, he wants to hold his silky ear in his mouth like a delicacy, wants to lick and suck at it as gently as Dream does to his teat until the gossamer fur is wet and warm from his tongue.

For now, he settles for simply rubbing the skin between his fingers, stroking the velvet softness in a feeble attempt to distract himself from his own lust. Eventually, too soon for his or Dream’s liking but in accordance with the doctor, Hob must gently push Dream away, his chest feeling emptier and yet still too full. All he wants is to feed Dream until he is fully sated. It hurts that, for now, he cannot.

Dream has become more accustomed to the routine, and so his whimper is nearly inaudible when leans back in Hob’s lap. Hob can feel the way his ears go from lax contentment to physically pressed down, tense and flat against his head. Or trying to be, at least, in the case of the ear still in Hob’s hand. 

“I’m sorry,” Hob coos, “I know you want more, just have to wait a couple hours, Love.”

“You have been more than generous, master,” Dream replied shakily, and Hob suddenly realizes that he does not want to run away to sequester himself in the baths. 

At the moment, his body is not betraying him, at least not so much that his robes do not hide it. And so he shushes Dream again and turns him in his lap, easy as a doll, until they are both facing the window. He nestles Dream between his thighs, bracketing him between thick, warm fur and tugging him to lean back against the softness of his belly. He feels Dream’s breath hitch as he brings his free hand around to rest softly on the subtle swell of his stomach. 

“Relax,” Hob whispered, one hand on his ear while the other rubbed his stomach soothingly, helping encourage his starved body to digest the meal it’s been given, “Just relax.”

As he strokes Dream’s trembling belly and pets his ear, Hob cannot help but tilt his face into the sun. He thinks perhaps he has taken this warmth and light for granted. How many times has he awoken and scowled at the light streaming across his bed? How often has he walked past these sunbeams, stepped across the warm fibers of his extravagant rug, and not even spared them a glance? Now, feeling his body warm- feeling Dream’s body warm- in the glowing light, he feels a pang of regret that he has not appreciated this simple pleasure before.

Well, he is appreciating it now. He smiles to himself as he feels Dream slowly relax under his ministrations, body melting back against him and sinking into Hob’s abundant, pillowy flesh. Hob thinks that if he could, he would keep Dream here, surrounded by his body, soft and warm, forever. 

Maybe he can’t hold him forever, but he can hold him now. And maybe it is too soon to mouth at Dream’s silky ears and press his tongue to them like a salt lick, but he allows himself to press a fleeting kiss to the one in his hand. 

Dream doesn’t flinch. And that is more than enough for now.