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whereismyhat5678 · 7 months

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HEEEEY, PSSST!

(do you have more headcanons???)

Oh yeah *cracks knuckles*

Get ready for some PEPPINO

(OKAY IN ADVANCE- I wrote A SHIT TON below the cut, and I think because of this I have more headcannons for Peppino than Gustavo- SO PREPARE YOURSELVES- Oh! And I also added Pep and Gus mixed headcannons at the bottom so if you just wanna see those you’ll see this emoji: 💕 Alright thanks! And enjoy :00)

- I said this in a reblog-, at this point I think I hc him a lefty, I KEEP DRAWING HIM AS ONE SO FUCK IT-

- Oh sports are his life support, it’s his saving grace HE LOVES SPORTS- mainly football and soccer (he used to play soccer in middle-high school) THIS MAN SCREAMS AT THE TV “GOOOAAAAAAAAAL” WHEN SOCCER’S ON (he’s just like my dad for real- :0)

- He definitely listens to old fashioned Italian music, his mother raised him in it HE WILL DIE WITH IT IN HIS BLOOD. But he also likes other types of music (he mains Depeche Mode-)

- He has the most dankest most messed up shat up car you can ever imagine that’s STILL GOING, he treats his car like his child though, he cleans it and is EXTREMELY careful with his baby (He listens to his songs in there and bobs his head when he has a song he likes, but he looks really serious, like he’s gonna kill someone- but he’s still enjoying himself)

- I should also mention that he SUCKS at driving, man has a drivers license yet he’s dog at it?! This is also why his car is so jacked up because he kept crashing it when he was younger- I think he’s cooled down now but he still can’t park right- This is also why he rather would take his pizza delivery motorcycle or Stick just drives him (since he’s funnily enough the only good driver-)

- His house is pretty small, and a bit tight but it’s okay once you get used to it, he tries to stay organized but at times he does tend to leave clothes on the floor. Of course his garage is the cleanest thing known to man, a bunch of flags (a big ass Italian flag-) and signs that say “Man’s garage” or “Man cave”. He also has another fridge full of beers and sodas.

- Have I mentioned he likes beer?🍻

(- And when Peppino’s drunk he’s either two things, a silly drunk: he’s doing stupid shit-

….Or a flirty drunk 👀🔥)

- He still has his war gear in a closet, he keeps it for memories (the GOOD ones) and just cuz he thinks it might be important still.

- He keeps a shotgun underneath his bed (for protection of course-)

- He also has a punching bag in his basement, a big ol’ red one, and he has it there to take his anger out 🥊🔔

- I think he has a bit of anger issues, not too severe! Just that he can get mad easily if stuff just isn’t going right, which is also why he HATES The Noise and Pizza Head, they’re too chaotic for him-

- When Brick was gonna stay with them Peppino initially just wanted Brick away from him but he ended up like one of those Dads that have their pet on the couch watching TV. He also play fights with him too like: he’ll pretend to punch him or he wrestles with him for fun-

- He’s an asshole when he wants to be, one time he was eating with his friends at a McDonalds and they were getting breakfast, motherfucker ate half his friend’s hash-brown and put the half he didn’t eat outside the wrapper to make it look normal. (He did this when he was a teen but he can still be an ass like this-)

- He uses a lot of Italian hand gestures, he uses his hands A LOT he practically talks with them-

- He speaks very aggressively in Italian, the amount of times people thought he was angry and yelling at them even though he was just telling them to hand him a napkin. It’s hilarious, Gustavo is the only one to understand he’s not angry, he’s just talking- 😂

- This even applies to when he’s talking in English, HE STILL YELLS- Like his voice is a big BOOM, yeah he can calm it down but it’s still relatively loud, he’s only ever quiet when he NEEDS to be quiet-

Okay now for some Peppino and Gustavo together x] 💕💕💕

- Gustavo’s species has their own language but they can pick up on other languages pretty quickly, so when Peppino wanted to teach him Italian he started slowly and BAM 💥 not even a month passed and he’s speaking fluently! Peppino’s jaw dropped literally-

- Gus can speak his species language at times but only ever to himself.. He usually talks in English and Italian around Peppino (Gus when he’s angry talks really fast in his language, it’s best to just leave him be until he calms down…)

- They speak Italian to each other sometimes, they switch between English and Italian regularly, but they speak English mainly. They WILL however yell at each other in Italian, mostly so no one can understand their conversation if there is people around

- AND FINALLY- like I said with the Italian hand gestures, Peppino uses them A LOT, and he mainly uses them with the other Italians and Gustavo, BUT MAINLY Gustavo. He taught him every gesture in the book so Gus knows what he’s feeling just by hand gestures.

Even some…. Special ones 👀…..

OKAY THAT’S IT-

#Pizza Tower #Headcannons #MY HEADCANNONS???#This time with Peppino WAHOO-#I’m so sorry for writing so much my god-#I wrote a whole ass essay down there-#I’m very passionate about every headcannon about Peppino because these were all inspired by my Dad- 💀#I SWEAR THE STORY ABOUT THE HASH-BROWN MADE ME LAUGH-#I am also very passionate about the hand gestures- I’m so tempted to draw him doing Italian hand gestures- I WILL DO IT AT ONE POINT I WILL #Hehe alright I hope everyone likes them I spent a lot of time on this-

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peninkwrites · 5 months

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Hear no evil. See no evil. Speak no evil. - ch 1 of ?

The red festival happens, and Tubbo can no longer hear.

crossposted to ao3

Ch 2

Ch 3

Ch 4

Ch 5

Ch 6

Ch 7

Ch 8

Tubbo remembers a burst of color, a snap of noise so sharp he thinks his ears must bleed, and light so bright he must be blind, and pain. And pain, and pain, and pain, and pain, and pain–

Until he stirs, in the soothing darkness of a cave. There’s a soft hum pressing in on his ears, it deviates and drones, pitch changing seemingly randomly. It’s hard to make out. His ears hurt, as does the rest of him, and he almost wonders if they’re stuffed with cotton. He tries to place the sound, maybe distant redstone? Is he at Sam’s base? Why would he be there? It takes him a long time to realize Tommy is there, because even as he sees the outline of a scrawny figure with messy blond hair, even as he feels his bony hand clutching his, before Tubbo identifies his companion, he waits. He waits for Tommy to fuss over him, to panic, to talk way too loudly, for his voice to sound whining and childish in his worry, for him to make some silly comment in the hopes of getting Tubbo to laugh, but no such comment comes.

Tubbo turns to look at this eerily quiet figure, and he sees Tommy. He sees Tommy’s lips moving, apparently saying something emphatically, probably talking a mile a minute, but Tubbo can’t understand a word of it. Tubbo tries to listen, and all that comes back is that dull hum, deviating in pitch. He stares at Tommy’s mouth and connects the dots. That’s Tommy. That’s what Tommy sounds like.

“I can’t hear.” Tubbo understands himself just fine, and for a moment he thinks, in a brief pang of desperate excitement, that he can hear himself, but that’s not it. It’s the vibrations, it’s the fact that he already knows what he’s going to say. He still sounds like he’s talking underwater, but Tommy sounds worse.

Tommy keeps talking to him, eyebrows furrowed in worry, and Tubbo tries to find a shred of familiarity in the hum of his words, to recognize his best friend’s voice by pitch alone. It sort of works, he thinks. But it still doesn’t sound like Tommy, it doesn’t sound like words or even speech, it’s just empty noise. Tommy stands from the little wooden stool beside Tubbo’s cot, holding out a hand as if to stop him from following, as if to leave, and Tubbo clings to his hand.

“Please don’t go,” Tubbo feels the tremor in his voice.

Tommy says something else, and Tubbo panickedly tries to gauge tone, from Tommy’s expression, from the hum of his apparent words, and he thinks maybe his friend is trying to reassure him, and nonetheless he’s trying to leave, and he’s still talking.

“Tommy, I can’t hear you,” Tubbo says more sharply.

The hum gets louder, loud enough Tubbo winces. He stares at Tommy and realizes his friend is shouting at him, pronouncing each word slowly.

“I still don’t understand you, clearly,” Tubbo feels strangely calm, teasing his friend for trying the same thing even though Tubbo feels like he’s made it quite clear. Smiling hurts. Tubbo’s gaze leaves Tommy and wanders down to the rough blanket covering his body, to white gauze wrapped around his chest, and Tubbo’s hand, the one not clutching Tommy’s, goes to his face. His hand jolts away when it’s met with an unfamiliar texture instead of his cheek. And pain. But that is familiar.

Tommy gets down on his knees, so he’s back in Tubbo’s line of sight, holding Tubbo’s hand in both of his and Tubbo almost laughs as it looks like a proposal, but Tommy looks frightened, he’s trying so hard to speak slow enough, carefully enough, that his friend will understand him, he’s pleading. And it doesn’t work.

The calm fades. “Tommy,” Tubbo probably interrupts him, he feels hazy, nauseous. “I’m– I’m getting a little scared now, bossman.”

Tommy says something. Probably something reassuring.

“You’re not saying anything, Tommy!” Tubbo shouts at him, probably louder than he’d first thought from how Tommy flinches back. “It’s– It’s nothing! It’s just noise! It’s just–” Tubbo gasps for breath, the dim room spinning, and he flinches when another figure appears in the doorway. Tall and thin in that wretched coat, Wilbur comes over to the pair of them quickly.

He says something. His pitch sounds different to Tommy’s, but it’s still not words. Tommy says something to Wilbur. Wilbur says something back, something emphatic, the gleam that’s been haunting his shadowed eyes is dimmed into something more familiar, more like L’Manberg; he’s worried, just like his brother. Wilbur is looking at him now, he’s saying something to Tubbo.

“Wilbur, I can’t hear you,” Tubbo says, and he can just barely perceive his own pleading tone, and realize he’s asking Wilbur to somehow fix this.

Wilbur stares back, eyes wide. He’s afraid too. Wilbur is concerned for him, just like he used to be. This won’t stop him from killing himself in a few days time. He says something, only a few words, but it doesn’t matter.

“Why– Why are you– Don’t– Don’t just fucking talk to me! I can’t hear you! It’s just– It’s just noise!” Tubbo screams once again and his throat feels raw, the skin around his neck taut and painful. “It’s just noise!” Tubbo covers his ears, and the hum does not die, instead it is replaced by something more constant. A forever hum almost like machinery, some distant engine. Maybe more like his head is underwater, and there’s no way to come back up for air. The room spins worse and Tubbo feels a jolt in his stomach and he thinks he’s about to puke but instead his head hits the pillow, and he hears that tone, Tommy’s tone, and all he can do is try to hold onto the sound that’s replaced his best friend’s voice as he’s consumed by the black.

Tubbo spends the next days isolated and alone. He doesn’t understand what happened when he leaves the room with the cots to find Technoblade standing over Tommy, bruised and furious. He recognizes Wilbur’s high cackle, even through vague tones, but he has no idea what he babbles next. Niki tries to say something to him, and Tubbo can only reply with, “I can’t hear you. I can’t understand it. Sorry.” And Niki stops trying, unsure of where to go from there. Tommy still tries to talk to him, then he stops himself, and Tubbo has started to recognize the way his lips move when he says “sorry.”

He almost misses the war, everyone gearing up to leave and Tubbo hadn’t noticed. He catches up, though, and it’s clear Tommy doesn’t have the heart to stop him, even as they’d dared to try and slip away without his notice. Tubbo resents the idea that he’s too injured to fight. After everything, he has the right to be here. Their ranks have grown, but it doesn’t mean very much to him, because no one says anything he can understand. All he can do is follow them and hope that it’s enough. For a moment it is, for a brief period, Tubbo can stare at their faces, he can follow Tommy into the camarvan where Schlatt shouts in a drunken rage, he even shouts at Tubbo once, not that Tubbo knows what. He can hazard a guess.

Schlatt dies. They win the war. Tubbo is made President, although it takes him a minute to understand that, Wilbur resorting to using his comm to type out his proclamation.

WilburSoot whispers to you: I’m handing the presidency to you. You’re a good kid, and an even better spy.

And Tubbo laughs. The timing was fortunate, because his spying days are over. No more listening around corners, no more tiptoeing into offices to steal a glance at documents, but Tubbo doesn’t find that to be a bad thing. He makes a speech he feels rather than hears, he sees people cheering for him even as he cannot understand what they’re actually saying. He doesn’t understand what’s going on when Techno starts shouting. He can tell from everyone’s faces it’s nothing good, and then Wilbur dies. The ground shakes with explosions that Tubbo feels and hears, however strange they may sound now, but he doesn’t know what Tommy is screaming, he doesn’t know what Technoblade is saying, only that he’s placed soul sand and only one thing can follow. And Tubbo still cannot hear anything beyond muted tones, however loudly Tommy shouts, however sharply the crowd screams.

When it is over and Tubbo stands at the edge of a yawning pit, he jumps when Tommy takes his hand, and the shape of Tommy’s apology has grown familiar on his lips as he pulls away, but Tubbo grabs his hand. He doesn’t want him to go. He’s more confused when Tommy still pulls away, before hesitating.

Tommy makes a circular motion with his finger, gesturing to Tubbo and then back to himself. He hesitates. He motions both fists as if knocking toward the ground. Tubbo realizes he’s saying it aloud too and he’s torn between trying to read lips, trying to copy what he once knew, and focusing on something he’s actually meant to understand, so he misses the next bit, Tommy’s hands moving back and forth, but he focuses in time to see Tommy pointing at the ground between them, indirectly pointing to the crater.

“Do it again,” Tubbo asks. He isn’t sure, but he’d imagine his voice is hoarse from ash and smoke and dust.

Tommy does, slowly, clumsily, even as he tries to be careful and precise. “We can do this,” he signs.

And Tubbo understands him. He thinks. He has the bare bones, many people on the server can at least understand a lot of common signs, otherwise they would be unable to communicate with Callahan, but it’s rare that they would need to sign themselves. Tommy is trying.

“Can you– Can you still be my VP?” Tubbo asks.

Tommy nods quickly, eyebrows furrowed, determined. He hesitates, staring at his hands, as if they’ll magically know how to form words he has no vocabulary for. He says something, although not intending for Tubbo to understand him, maybe just unsure of what to do, before pointing away from the crater and up the hill, toward his own house.

“Um, want me to follow you?” Tubbo asks.

Tommy nods. He doesn’t move yet, hesitantly pointing at himself, before placing his hand on the lower half of his arm, and then the upper half. He signs, “I…” The second sign Tubbo can’t quite follow.

He glances at Tommy’s lips in time to see him definitely mutter, “fuck.”

“It’s alright, you can use your comm.”

He frowns, grudgingly typing it out.

TommyInnit whispers to you: I’ll get better at it I promise

“It’s really alright, Tommy,” Tubbo says it, even as nothing feels remotely alright.

Tommy clearly wants to say something, or at least sign it, but all he can do is type.

TommyInnit whispers to you: the rest of it doesn’t matter. it’s me and you vs. Dream.

“Me and you versus Dream,” Tubbo agrees. “I think this might be a new low for us.”

Things feel even less alright when they make it up the hill to Tommy’s house and Tommy goes to his Enderchest before stopping, looking at Tubbo, suddenly paled and ridden with guilt. Tubbo glances from Tommy to the Enderchest before he understands.

“Oh.”

Tubbo doesn’t look close enough to tell, but he can guess Tommy’s next words are, “I’m sorry.”

“No, really, it’s fine,” Tubbo says numbly. “You should play it.”

Tommy doesn’t move.

“Really, play it, Tommy. Please. I want you to.” Tubbo insists. Tommy still doesn’t move. “Please, Tommy. I want… I want any of this to feel normal.”

That’s enough that Tommy concedes, turning away briefly to wipe his eyes. They go to the bench. Out of the corner of his eye, Tubbo sees Tommy still hesitating.

“Just play it, bossman.”

Tommy obliges, sitting beside Tubbo.

Tubbo listens. He tries so hard to discern something from the noise, but there’s no music. There are no notes that he can distinguish, nothing he can follow, just the occasional blip in the usual humdrum. He keeps on saying he’s fine, that this is alright, that this can in any way be normal. Tubbo chokes back a sob. He’s shaking. He feels Tommy put a hand on his shoulder but he has no idea if Tommy is trying to reassure him. He just keeps looking at the sunset. One thing that has not yet been stolen from him.

Tommy taps Tubbo’s hand, indicating he should look over at him, and Tubbo obliges. “W-What?” He chokes out, hoping he sounds more angry than grieving. Tubbo knows Tommy is grieving too. Tubbo had lost his hearing, but they had both also lost Wilbur.

Tommy stands, taking the disc out of the jukebox before it finishes playing. He waves Tubbo over, pointing to the ground beside the jukebox. Tubbo moves from the bench to the ground, his muddied, battle stained clothes can’t get any dirtier, and he leans against the jukebox so his back rests against the speaker. Tommy must put the disc back in, before sitting beside Tubbo, his own back resting against the adjacent side of the jukebox, so he can still hold onto Tubbo’s hand.

Tubbo feels the notes resonating in his chest, and it takes him a while, but he begins to find the familiar in it, however much it has changed. He looks over at Tommy. “Blocks.”

Tommy grins, nodding, and Tubbo reads his lips. “Blocks!”

Tubbo is now president of a crater, but he refuses to let it remain just a crater for long. Quackity joins their cabinet, and despite his involvement in the Red Festival, Tubbo is happy to see him. He promises to work on the signs too. He messages Tubbo’s comm and he speaks slowly, enunciating as best he can, and sometimes Tubbo can figure out a few words. He knows it will take a lot longer for him to get any good at reading lips. Fundy says he’ll work on it too, but since Quackity had to message Tubbo that he said that, it doesn’t bode especially well, but he at least seems willing to try.

Tommy doesn’t care much for politics, but he sticks it out through meetings, and furiously signs whenever the others forget, even as his vocabulary and movements are limited and clumsy. Callahan can be helpful when he wants to be, and he’s willing to help them learn, even dumping a few instructional books in a chest inside Tommy’s house before disappearing once more; Tommy messaging Tubbo about the books like he’d been sent drugs, so, with fervent enthusiasm. The first weeks pass in a blur. Tubbo doesn’t need to be able to hear to build. Tommy tends to wander while he does this, he tends to avoid the crater in general, Tubbo not sure what trouble he finds, but he can build on his own. Phil, who has remained around New L’Manberg following his son’s death, also knows sign language. British sign language primarily, but he knows a decent amount of American. “You learn a lot over the centuries,” Phil had signed. Tommy and Tubbo’s experience came purely from Callahan, so they both have learned American.

“W rolling in dirt,” Tommy signs with a grin.

“Yeah, Wilbur is rolling in his grave,” Tubbo laughs. Neither of them mention Wilbur lacking a grave, just like they don’t mention the pale facsimile drifting around in his place.

Tommy laughs too. One of the things Tubbo misses the most is the sound of Tommy’s laugh, but it helps that he can see the way Tommy cackles.

None of this is easy. Not the learning a new language with Tommy, not the fact that so few others know it well enough to communicate with him, not dragging Tommy into politics to act as a translator, not the severe difficulty of lipreading, nor the way people will just keep moving in conversation without even thinking to fill him in, and not the rebuilding their old home over a scar made by a friend he had once trusted. Time passes anyway, Tommy learns to sign swears, Quackity has figured out the basics too, and slowly, Tubbo gets better.

#wahoo #my writing #dsmp #my personal experience is more with the blindness stuff for Ranboo #but i hope my portrayal of deafness is alright!

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honkowo · 1 year

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GUTS POST V1 YIPPEE

---

ok so a lot of this post is labelling and showing off the inner workings of the angels. I'm deliberately leaving out the suuuuper technical details that come with organs and muscles because im not really knowledgable in anatomy stuff (yet) and i mostly just wanted to get my ideas out. just a vague layout so that i(and u guys) better understand angel dimensions and gut stuff yknow?

gif stills under the cut :)

^ bones

^ organs

^ muscles

^ skin

#owo whats this #angel tag!!! wahoo #xenobiology #spec bio #speculative biology #as innacurate as half of this stuff prolly is(mainly muscles) i gotta say those skeletons look SO GOOD #edit: OH OK TUMBLR JUST POST IT THEN #thought i saved this bitch to the drafts buttttt alright then #guts tag for guts stuff yippee

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tavathan · 4 months

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finally got to finish up something on a fictional character's birthday

#portgas d ace #ace's birthday!!!!#my art #one piece #hairy freckly ace my beloved.....#alright first drawing of the year wahoo!!

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valiantstarlights · 11 months

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[Dreamling Week Day 3: Curiosity (killed the cat)] An All-Consuming Kind of Love

This fic is very much within dead dove territory, so please read the CWs and proceed with caution. But if you enjoy that kind of thing, may I shamelessly ask for incoherent yelling in your tags? Please? 🖤

CW: oh wow where do I start 😂 Student!Dream highkey seducing Professor!Hob, Hob cheating on his girlfriend Eleanor with Dream, marathon sex...everywhere, Dark!Dream, drugging someone's food, blackmail, death(?) threats, dubcon, feminization, and equally unhinged!Hob.

If anyone needs assurance after reading those tags, then rest assured that Dream and Hob will end up together and they'll live happily ever after.

The thing is, Dream Endless isn't even Hob's student. He's only sitting in for his sister, Delirium, the one who is actually enrolled in Hob's course, because she had to go to rehab.

The first time Dream showed up, he was dressed in black from head to toe, and stared at Hob so intensely that after class, Hob had to check in the bathroom to see if he had something stuck in his teeth or, god forbid, if his fly was open.

And after that day, well.

Dream still dressed in black, but his style has...branched out. The first time Hob notices the mesh shirt instead of the usual black t-shirt, it took him a second too long to tear his gaze away, and Dream had smirked. His gaze, if possible, became even more intense after that.

And then he started wearing skirts. Plaid black and grey ones that Hob should not be salivating over, especially when Dream crosses his legs.

And after that, the skirt came with fishnet stockings and high heels. Just, full-on embracing slutty schoolgirl core, or whatever the kids are calling it these days.

(Hob isn't that old. He's just 34, and his students are no more than a decade younger than him.)

No one reprimands Dream because apparently, his skirt's length is long enough to pass inspection, and there's no rule against wearing fishnet stockings or heels.

(The people doing the inspection doesn't know that Dream would often roll his skirts up until the hem would fall barely past his mid-thigh.)

Hob supposes that he should count himself lucky that Dream's tops became more conservative when he started wearing skirts. If he had paired his mesh shirt with the skirts, it would have been all over for Hob.

Luckily, Dream's tops are mostly composed of simple blouses, often with long sleeves, accessorized with a long red ribbon tied around his neck, like he was a goddamn present waiting to be unwrapped.

Hob tries very hard not to notice it when Dream pulls one end of the ribbon in class and twirls it around his long fingers. He doesn't do it hard enough to untie the ribbon, but it's enough to keep Hob's imagination churning out incredibly vivid images of what he'd like to do to Dream's pale neck.

Hob is trying very hard to be a good person. He has a girlfriend he loves. He's even thinking about proposing to her once he gets promoted.

A few weeks before Delirium is set to come back, Hob is running late, and accidentally bumps into a student while going up the stairs.

The student falls forward, and Hob barely catches them from faceplanting into the edges of the stairs. The papers they were holding aren't so lucky, however, and ends up scattering around them in a cascade of paperwork.

Hob curses but bends down and starts helping the student gather up their papers. The student, a step above him, bends down as well to start collecting their things.

"I'm sorry, Professor Gadling," the student says, and Hob looks up because he knows that voice. And sure enough, it's Dream Endless, wearing his slutty schoolgirl outfit.

Hob is just about to say that it's fine, he's the one at fault here, when he sees a sliver of the inside of Dream's blouse, and catches a glimpse of a lacy black bra.

His thoughts come to a standstill. Is Dream...also wearing female undergarments under his clothes? For some reason, the thought never occurred to him before, and the revelation has him gawking like a fool in broad daylight, leading Dream to say, "Are you alright, Professor? You look flushed."

Hob nods and keeps his head low after that, intent on just helping Dream gather his things and handing it to him so they could both get to class.

"Thank you, Professor," Dream says after Hob has given him his things. He's looking up at him through his lashes, even when they're roughly the same height. For some reason, Dream always manages make himself look smaller than Hob.

And, fuck, is he wearing make-up? Or had his lips always been that shade of pink?

Dream smiles when Hob remains transfixed, and starts going up the stairs again.

Hob's big mistake is looking up to follow Dream with his gaze.

Because Dream is wearing a thong under his skirt, and Hob can see the base of an anal plug resting between his ass cheeks.

He swears under his breath, and sure enough, Dream looks back down towards him. "Sir?" he asks, sounding demure and shy and tempting. He cocks his hips to one side and Hob could see how the plug twitched, like Dream just squeezed tight around it.

"I'm fine," Hob says through gritted teeth, and speedwalks his way up the stairs and a couple of corridors to reach the lecture hall.

Dream arrives not long after him and makes sure to sit in the very front row, legs slightly open, eyes dark, daring, wanting, allowing Hob to take a look.

Hob spends the rest of the class behind his desk to hide his erection.

Hob can't pinpoint when exactly he admits to himself that he wants to fuck one of his students.

(Again, technically, Dream isn't even his student, but the fact that he's using the word 'technically' already means he knows he's in big trouble.)

Was it when Hob rushed out of the lecture hall the very same day he bumped into Dream on the stairs, his messenger bag placed strategically in front of his crotch area?

He couldn't help it if his thoughts were racing, and his body was quicker than his mind. He couldn't help it if the thought of sliding Dream's thong to the side, removing his plug, and sliding right into his slutty little hole had him locking himself up in a bathroom stall and jerking himself off furiously.

Was it when Dream came to class eating a red lollipop so lasciviously that even a couple of students stared at him in lust? Was it after, when he coldly turned down the Corinthian twins' offer to fuck him?

Was it when Hob was having sex with his girlfriend one night and almost moans out Dream's name when he came?

Or is it today, when Dream is sucking on a popsicle in the quad, in plain sight of Hob's office window? When Dream deepthroats the popsicle while gazing lustfully into Hob's eyes?

Is it when Hob tilts his head just so, beckoning Dream to come to his office? Hob's consultation hours just finished, after all, and he's just about to head home for the weekend.

When did Hob realize that thoughts of Dream have consumed him? He doesn't know.

But perhaps it was on the very first day Dream came to his lecture hall and their eyes met. When Hob thought how cute Dream was and how unfortunate that he was his student. And then delighting, afterwards, when he finds out that Dream isn't his student, at least not officially.

Hob pins Dream against the door as soon as he enters his office and fucks his tongue inside Dream's still slightly cold mouth.

"Fucking tease," Hob mutters against Dream's lips, almost ripping his white blouse in his haste to put his mouth on Dream's bra. On Dream's tits.

"Professor Gadling," Dream moans breathily, not even pretending he doesn't want this. One of his long fishnet-clad legs is already hooked around Hob's waist. Fuck. This flexible little minx. Hob wants to see just how far he could bend Dream in half. "We shouldn't--ah, here--"

"Then where do you want me to fuck you, hmm? In my car in the middle of the parking lot? In the apartment I share with my girlfriend?" Hob bites Dream's throat and soothes the skin with his tongue. "Or maybe you want me to fuck you raw in your dorm room. Do you have roommates, baby? Do you want them to watch?"

Dream squirms in his arms, panting, trying to dissuade Hob from stripping him naked. He looks absolutely delectable, and Hob is intent on finally untying that damn red ribbon from his neck and marking him up with his teeth. "I..." Dream licks his lips and runs delicate fingers against Hob's stubble. "My family has a cabin. It's about an hour's drive away. We could--"

"You want me to drive us to your family's fancy cabin for a fuck?" Hob asks and grinds his erection against Dream's, watching in rapt attention how he keens and throws his head back against the door in pleasure. "When I can just take you right here against the door?"

Dream shakes his head. He's blushing so prettily, suddenly so shy, that Hob leans forward and gives him another filthy kiss.

"Professor!" Dream protests, and actually pushes him back a little. Not enough to dislodge Hob's body against his, but enough so they could talk face to face. "I was thinking...maybe...for the whole weekend?"

Oh, fuck.

"You want me to fuck you for an entire weekend?" An eager nod. "In your family's cabin?" Another eager nod, and a hopeful, chaste kiss to his chin. Dream is so fucking sweet and sexy at the same time that Hob doesn't know what to do with him. "Baby, I don't think I can drive like this." He grinds his cock against Dream again, and Dream responds this time by reaching between them and fondling Hob through his slacks.

"It's okay, Professor," Dream says, smiling impishly. "I'll take the edge off for you."

Despite Dream torturing Hob with his slutty outfits for what feels like several months already, Dream proves that he can be a very good boy when he wants to.

"You should call your girlfriend, sir," he says, lips slick and red and tempting, Hob's cockhead resting against his lower lip. Hob has already cum in his mouth once, and true to Dream's word, it has taken the edge off. Hob could think more clearly now. "So she wouldn't worry. Tell her you have a conference or something."

Hob chuckles and smears his cum across Dream's lips more. "How considerate of you to think about my girlfriend worrying about me when I'll be spending the entire weekend fucking you."

Dream pouts, not even saying anything in reply to that, and Hob immediately caves.

Hob calls Eleanor to tell her about a sudden teacher's conference being held this weekend while Dream warms his cock.

He mouths 'good boy,' to Dream, who blinks coquettishly up at him, but part of Hob thinks he's the good boy in this scenario, just doing what Dream wants him to do.

He doesn't get to say 'I love you,' to Eleanor because when he was about to, Dream sucks him so good that he had to hang up and muffle his groan against his fist.

Halfway through the drive, Dream makes Hob stop the car so he could suck his cock again.

Barely a couple of miles after that, Hob stops the car so he could fuck Dream's thighs in the backseat.

Once in the cabin, they barely make it to the bed, but make it they do. Hob wants Dream to be comfortable when he takes Hob's cock in his ass. Hob knows he's much larger than average, and he would hate to see Dream in pain.

He's not a total monster. Sure, he may lie to his girlfriend so he could fuck his student's brother for an entire weekend, but he's not going to treat said student's brother badly. He's better than that.

Hob eats Dream out twice before he even enters him, sucks on his nipples until they're red and swollen as they fuck, and finally gets to mark Dream's neck with his teeth.

He fucks Dream's hole until he's gaping and leaking cum because he's unable to clench his hole closed enough to stop the flow. Hob teases him that they should perhaps switch to a larger plug to accommodate his loose pussy, but does no such thing. He likes it when Dream has to concentrate and keep clenching his ass in between rounds so he could keep the plug in place.

All the while Dream begs for more of him. For everything.

And Hob gives it to him.

They fuck the entire weekend. On the bed, in the bathroom, against the walls, Dream bent over various furniture, on the rug in front of the fireplace, against the kitchen counters, outside on the front porch, on the hood of Hob's car...

Hob is surprised at himself. He's not that young anymore, but give him one Dream Endless and he feels like he's at the peak of his youth again.

Hob tells himself it's only his desperation making him vigorous. He's only going to get Dream this weekend, and after that, who knows? When Delirium comes back, would Dream still feel the need to sit in on Hob's class, or is this it? Is Dream going to move on to seducing someone else?

No.

Every time Hob thinks that, Dream seducing someone else, another professor, another man, he pushes himself and fucks the boy harder.

Unacceptable. Hob is going to ruin him for everyone else, just like how Dream has been set on ruining him from day one.

Dream sometimes says, 'I love you,' to Hob when he's getting fucked so good that his eyes roll up to the back of his skull, but Hob thinks it's just something Dream says without knowing he's saying it. Many people say things during sex that they don't mean.

But when Dream says, "Mine," right after the two of them collapsed in bed after yet another round of fucking, Hob says, "All yours this weekend, yeah."

And Dream says, "Well see."

It's Sunday night and Hob is supposed to drive them both back to civilization. Dream has insisted upon dinner before leaving, though, and Hob is loathe to reject him because Dream has been working hard, cooking throughout the day in between their rounds, and Hob knows he's going to miss this.

(Dream has banned him from the kitchen as he cooks. Hob thinks he's adorable but follows his instruction anyway.)

He feels something warm in his heart as he sees the spread of food that Dream has been preparing. Roasted lamb, venison pasties, fruit tarts--all of them Hob's favorite.

('How did he know?' a tiny voice in Hob's mind asks, but is quickly ignored in favor of taking in Dream's shy smile.)

"Did you cook all this from scratch?" Hob asks, awed. Eleanor doesn't cook. It's either Hob cooks for them both or they order in. He doesn't feel bitter about it. It's just the way they are.

"Yes," Dream says simply. "I want to be able to cook well for you."

Oh. Oh. An uncomfortable feeling rises in Hob's stomach.

Dream loves him.

Actually wants to date him.

This is a very bad idea.

"Dream..."

Dream ignores the tone of Hob's voice and sits on one side of the table. Hob belatedly realizes that, although there is a lot of food on the table, the table itself is small enough to be intimate. Like the two of them are on a date. "Let's eat."

"Dream," Hob says in-between bites of the really excellent pasties. "You know I have a girlfriend."

"I do," Dream says. "I even asked you to call her, didn't I?"

"And you know that I love her."

A pause. "Sure."

"So this, between us-- You know it can never happen again, right?" Like Hob isn't the one dead set on ruining Dream for any future lover.

Dream shrugs and sips his wine. He has barely eaten, but Hob saw him tasting the food earlier, so he figures Dream made all of this for him, and is just enjoying seeing Hob eat. Hob is the same sometimes, so he cannot fault Dream for having the same habit. "If you say so."

Hob wakes due to the early morning sunlight hitting his face directly.

He's confused for a second, because his bedroom in the apartment isn't facing east, before the events of last night came rushing back to him.

The delicious dinner. Dream drinking wine. Feeling increasingly dizzy. Dream rushing towards him so he wouldn't fall to the floor. Passing out with Dream telling him everything's going to be alright.

Hob thought it was strange that Dream wasn't panicking or rushing to grab his phone to call the hospital.

And now, Hob is tied to the bed, naked, arms and legs bound to the bed posts with silk ropes. Gagged. He tries tugging on the ropes to no avail. Whoever tied him up knew what they were doing.

He is alone in the room, but not for long.

Dream enters a few minutes later, probably alerted by the sounds Hob had been making in his bid to escape his bonds, wearing only a short fluffy bathrobe. He's holding Hob's phone in his hands

'Dream!' Hob tries to say. It comes out muffled through the gag.

"Good morning, Professor," Dream says, smiling. He leans over and kisses him on the cheek. "Will you be good for me today?"

'What the fuck are you playing at! Let go of me!'

"That doesn't sound like a 'yes,'" Dream remarks. "Maybe you need a little incentive to cooperate?"

Dream climbs on the bed then, sitting his naked and already lubed-up ass against Hob's member, which did not get the memo and is currently growing thicker despite the predicament Hob is in.

Dream flips over Hob's phone to show him the screen, and Hob sees his 'incentive' to be good.

It's a picture of Dream, curled up naked in his arms, asleep. One of Hob's arms is looped around his body in a possessive hold, and the other is holding the phone up for a selfie. Hob's face isn't shown, but his students would know his chin and neck and hair. Eleanor would know his chest and arms.

Hob's blood runs cold. It was an impossible shot that wouldn't be possible if it's only him and Dream in the cabin, so there must another person who helped Dream carry Hob, arranged the two of them in bed, and took the photo while propping up Hob's arm to make it look like Hob is the one taking it.

Hob remembers the large, muscled, red-haired man he saw once or twice in campus with Dream. At first, he thought it was Dream's boyfriend, but finds out from overhearing a couple of students that the man is one of Dream's brothers. Hob isn't sure who the older brother is between the two.

Dream sits patiently on top of him as he's having these realizations. "Should I send this to your girlfriend, Professor?" he asks, when he sees Hob's eyes focus on him once more. "Or are you going to be good for me?"

Hob nods decisively. He'll say he's gonna be good. But the moment he gets free, he'll grab his phone from Dream, delete the picture--

Dream smiles and grinds down on him a little. His cock twitches and oozes out precome, which Dream scoops up from Hob's lower stomach and licks from his fingers, humming in delight at the taste. "My brother is nearby," he says, pleasant as anything. "If he sees you harming me, you're not even going to make it back to your car. And before you ask, we have already siphoned the gas, and removed the car battery."

Hob feels tears pricking his eyes. What the fuck...who the fuck are these people?

"Do you understand now, Professor?" Dream asks. "I said you're mine. And I'm not in the habit of lying. Or sharing, come to think of it."

Hob nods, timidly this time. How the fuck has this gone so wrong? Was there even a warning sign that Hob should have noticed before it came to this?

Dream smiles and kisses him chastely on the chin. "Good. Now, Professor, I want you to be very, very well-behaved for me..."

"Professor Gadling!" Dream squeals, thighs opened wide and shaking, his breath stuttering as Hob fucks him hard from behind. "O-oh gods, please, your cock feels so good!"

"You like this, Dream?" Hob says against his ear, enjoying, despite everything, this sick sadistic play. All he has to do is play along, and he's going to be fine. Everything will go back to normal. He's going to go back to his job, to his girlfriend, and put all this behind him. Maybe he'll request a transfer next semester. Somewhere as far as they could send him. "You like me splitting you open like a whore?"

Dream nods frantically and lets out a high pitched whine. "Y-yes, sir. I love...I love being filled with your cum. I love sitting on your cock all day." He gasps as Hob starts stroking his cock in time with his thrusts. "Professor, please..!"

"Please what, darling? What do you want? Tell me." The endearment slips out of him accidentally, and he feels Dream squeeze him thrice in quick succession as a reward. He curses and pounds him harder. "So fucking tight. Best damn cunt I ever put my cock in."

That line wasn't part of the script.

Dream moans at that unexpected treat and turns his head to the side, begging for a kiss. Hob grants it to him. He fucks Dream's mouth with his tongue and uses his free hand to cup one of Dream's tits. A perfect fucking handful. He twists the nipple and imagines milk squirting out of it. Imagines Dream's milk-heavy tits leaking in class, his eyes filled with tears because he can't wait for the hour to be over so Hob could nurse from him right on his desk. Imagines Dream pushing him down on the desk so he can ride him after Hob drinks his fill. Imagines him pushing aside his lacy panties and holding his skirt up as Hob fucks up into him, giving him his daily dose of cum.

"Gonna breed you, baby," Hob says. People say things they don't mean during sex. It's perfectly normal. "Not gonna let you out of this damn bed until you're round with my cum, and then I'm gonna marry you so you can be my slut forever."

Dream shrieks and cums at his words, and as Hob continues railing him to overstimulation, he gasps out, "Yes, yes, please sir--want you to marry me--I'm yours, just yours--ah--"

Hob pushes in deep and cums inside again, moaning Dream's name out loud, then peppers his sweet boy's tear-streaked face and pale neck with fervent little kisses.

Maybe he's just as fucked up as Dream is, and maybe he always has been.

There is a red light blinking in the corner of the room, recording.

Only one of the room's current occupants know that it's there.

To: Eleanor

I'm with someone else now, and he's better than you ever were. I love him and we just got married. I'll send someone to get my things.

Hob sends that message himself, but he sends a different photo than the one Dream threatened to send. It's of Dream wearing all white lingerie. Bralette, lacy panties, garter belt, stockings--the entire thing, but he's also wearing a beautiful wedding veil, and he's holding a bouquet of white roses. He's kneeling in bed and is splattered with Hob's cum from forehead to groin, looking incandescently happy, smiling up at the camera with eyes full of love.

Hob turns off his phone and throws it to the side, intending on going back to bed to ruin his baby boy even more.

Dream welcomes him with open arms, smile shy but looking so goddamn happy.

"You're all mine now, aren't you, baby?" Hob asks, pushing his husband back on the bed and spreading his legs so Hob could see the mess he made earlier. He grips one cheek and watches as a dollop of cum oozes out of Dream's hole and onto the bedsheets.

Dream leans up and kisses him, winding his long stockinged legs around Hob's waist and welcoming Hob's cock back into his fucked out hole once more. They are surrounded by white rose petals from the bouquet. Dream must have plucked and scattered them throughout their marriage bed while Hob was sending his last message to Eleanor. Always so fucking romantic. Hob can't wait to reward Dream for being so good to him.

"All yours forever, Professor Gadling."

#??? ?????#trust me idk either #i was supposed to write for the synesthesia prompt 🥲 it was supposed to be fluffy #anyway have another dark spicy fic from me #i'm sorry eleanor but in this au you deserve better #(chokes upon seeing the wordcount) what do you mean this is 3500 plus words worth of filth unedited #good job my thumbs #like holy shit very good job 👏👏👏 you deserve a wahoo 🎉🎉🎉#dreamling #DreamlingWeek #DreamlingWeek2023 #the sandman #my writing #dream (pouting at destruction): help me seduce del's professor #destruction: ok but what will I get in return?#dream (rummaging through his things): I have a ball of string and a coupon so you could adopt a dog from the shelter #destruction: alright deal

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