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#but also being perceived is a fucking nightmare
pepprs · 2 years
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lol i hit tag limit but i have more to say so im saying it. im just afraid that if / when i get this job and then we like get existentially threatened or whatever (bc we are at the forefront of a movement that is not widely embraced yet and our entire purpose is to get people to embrace it (except… not as domineering as it sounds) but they don’t and of course are gonna push against it and threaten us) my mom is gonna be like i told you so which is only gonna make me spiral about it even more. lol
#purrs#and im gonna be living at home until the end of this year at least bc i am fucking broke rn and so coming home and having to deal with that#is going to be an actual nightmare. i just want her to be supportive and instead of’s all about how i won’t take her advice like she litera#rally texted me ‘it doesn’t matter what i think’ which is like.. true but also yes it does bc you’re my mom and also you saying that is a#TOTAL guilt trip. everything she says that’s like in my favor is a guilt trip. she will never ever ever see my side and i just have to be#able to cope with that and build my support systems outside of my family so strong to make up for what my family can’t give me but it just#hurts. like i get it you think im replacing you bc theyre like a second set of parents but have you ever considered that maybe that is#happening (and maybe this kind of thing has been a pattern since i was 6) bc there are defiencies in YOUR parenting that you have never#fully done something abt even though the signs have been CRYSTAL fucking clear my whole life. lol. like why do you think i am the way i am#maybe it’s bc every time i have an emotion you shut me down or walk out of the room or say (in effect) that im being selfish or delusional!#maybe the reason i am so happy here is bc the people ive met here have taught me that my emotions are PRECIOUS and my experiences are#PRECIOUS and *I* choose my life and *YOU* don’t and no one can ever fucking take any of this away from me!!!!!! maybe if you listened to me#for like 2 seconds instead of perceiving everything i say to you as an attack (and feeling attacked if i don’t take your advice and follow i#in your exact footsteps or want to) you would understand and the world would burst into rainbows and sunshine and birdsong!!!!! but instead#im fucking doomed bc im hurtling towards coming home to you again and again and again and you forever and ever and ever seeing me as someone#im not when i am trying to change the world and ive already started changing it. lol#delete later#idk what i just even typed im so mad im dizzy from pacing back and forth but i do like actually. have to delete this#ik she’s only saying this stuff bc she thinks i have a lot or give and doesn’t want to see me waste it on something she thinks ive outgrown#and will be unhappy in but like… i am growing and have room to grow and i am happy (except for when im not but me getting this job will fix#so fucking much of it) and she doesn’t believe me bc im just a pischer 😍#when she whips out the ‘Ok Tess’ and you know she’s abt to not talk to you until friday night at the earliest 😍😍😍😍😍😍😍
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marinecorvid · 2 months
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on the endless list of things to do: work out scifi android/cyborg “nonexistent” govt agent who goes rogue and finds her way home to the desert beyond the broad strokes of it
#discussions of personhood. obvs#uhh there’s maybe a relationship between the main character and antagonist#in the sense that they definitely have something going on. unhealthy but it’s there#and then maybe with his daughter as well#OH tension between main chara and her long lost twin sister (well. SHES the long lost one buts who’s counting)#maybe bc of the whole android/cyborg thing…#like desert twin has had dreams of being an androiberg most of her life and perceives them as anxiety nightmares#but then meets her twin and realizes ohhh shit they were have shared psychic dreams#and mechanical twin used to have them blocked with neuron repressors but began having them again after they were deactivated/scraped out#umm not sure how much I want to keep the sotc/journey-esque forbidden lands#I don’t know how much it would fit with the Everything#but something about modern constructs meeting ancient constructs…… hm#might have to shelve the superhero/villain & gods aspect of it for now#reserve it for another story#maybe in the land of all verse (at least the god portions……)#re: the android/cyborg thing: she genuinely doesn’t know which one she is for a while#she starts the story out ‘knowing’ she’s an android#which lines up with all the mechanical implants and whatnot she has#(she also ‘knows’ she’s a prototype to see how extensive you could get with synthetic organic parts)#but eventually learns she’s actually base organic with a FUCK ton of hq alterations to make her seem like an android to others too
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elodieunderglass · 2 months
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Horror isekai where Perceiving the Weird Eldritch Thing gets you catapulted into a nightmare labyrinth of puzzle-solving.
I.e Those Who Perceive The Hunt of the Goblin King Must Partake In The Labyrinth and Can Only Be Freed If They Complete It In One Day and One Night. By Fae Law. For Reasons.
But the definition of “perception” clearly needs to be updated because some normal guy simply films the Hunt of the Goblin King Behind Arby’s, and puts it on Facebook -
No, not instagram or TikTok, it’s important that it be Facebook -
Because the rules are pretty clear, “the rules are the rules” as is carved ominously in elvish runes above the grim gate, and the Contract is Sealed. and so therefore the guy and 25 of their most random real-life acquaintances must run the gauntlet together. It’s Some Guy, their immediate neighbors, their first partner’s mom, their friends from hobby Facebook groups (oh this poor guy and their hobbies; the elderly birdwatchers from Facebook and the young up-and-coming drag king community), their random teen kid niece, college friends, a dog who also watched the video, a couple consisting of a woman who is the guy’s Facebook friend and showed her husband the video, and the husband doesn’t even know Some Guy, so he’s in the labyrinth and absolutely furious about being forced to be involved, and they proceed to break up over the course of the puzzle.
It’s important that the narrative keeps trying to be a sexy dark horror isekai! but within this the comedic reality of Catherine, 52, the guy’s horse-riding instructor, being passionately involved in escape-room-style puzzle solving and grappling with minor goblins. They are in fact speedrunning the gauntlet.
The Goblin King finally has to say: all right, actually, I only really set all this up to fuck with one (1) guy at a time, thanks for your willingness to participate, but I think all 25 of you can consider the gauntlet fully run.
And the group would be quite hurt by that. The rules are the rules. We have a contract, actually. Let Catherine cook.
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myriadblvck · 3 months
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ghost soap who have been married for several years and are playing the “how long until they notice?” game.
Soap thinks it’s quite funny when Gaz tries to warn him about Simon’s… intricacies. “—and as long as you respect his personal bubble and his morning, afternoon and evening tea, you’ll live.”
Soap nods, thinks about how at home he makes Simon’s tea for him and scratches his scalp until he comes online for the day. “Thanks, mate. Honestly, he’s kind of intimidating.”
Of course, they grew even closer after Las Almas. Gaz had started teasing Ghost about having a soft spot for Soap, and they both denied it— waiting for somebody to notice that it was a giant squishy pocket of love.
(this ran away from me. anyway. have this completely unedited drabble/ficlet? idk. merry after christmas.
Soap watches Simon from across the rec room one morning. His husband is completely offline, Soap having been kicked out of his bunk after Simon fought his way out of his fourth nightmare, probably only running on a few hours of sleep. Soap watches Gaz and Price, both doing their own thing, and Soap risks it.
Soap nudges Simon away from the counter. “Go sit. I can make it.” Simon stares for a few moments, blinking long and slow, sleepy and not ready to be perceived by the world. Soap feels the eyes of their teammates on him, and also feels the tenseness of the moment.
Simon inhales, rubs his eyes and grunts, shuffling over to the table and sitting in a chair. Soap makes his tea, making sure the honey is fully dissolved before he takes a sip to make sure it’s perfect. He sees Gaz’s wide eyes in his peripheral vision. Simon grunts again when they make eye contact, holding out his hands for the mug.
Soap sets it carefully in his hands, and Simon breathes in the tea. He takes a long drink and makes a soft noise, a telltale sign of happiness. Soap smiles softly, repeating the noise back at him. Simon narrows his eyes at him. “Quit making fun of me.”
“I’d never,” Soap scratches Simon’s back through the hoodie he’s wearing for a second. “It’s cute,” he whispers, only for Simon’s ears. Soap wants to stay behind him, stay rubbing his back until Simon wakes up enough to function like a normal human being. Instead, he has to go yell at recruits.
/-/
Simon has had a temper since he met him. He gets any sort of negative emotion and it quickly spirals into anger, a leftover fault from his childhood. it’s the worst when he’s overstimulated, too much of everything usually ending in a petty argument when they’re home that has Simon coming back to him not when ten minutes later with his metaphorical tail between his legs and gently apologizing before taking a nap on Soap’s stomach under his sweater.
On base, it’s harder to notice. However, after a mission gone wrong, Ghost is pacing in the rec room, Price and Gaz watching him with nervous glances, waiting for him to lash out.
Soap settles on the couch with a tea, placing it on the coffee table and watching Simon pace back and forth, eventually snatching up the mug and holding it under his chin. A few minutes pass before he runs out of steam, stopping to pivot on his heel and glare at Gaz and Price. “C’mere.” Simon glares at him now, his gaze softening when Soap waves his hand. “C’mon,” he says, soft and gentle, “Come sit.”
Simon follows the suggestion, sitting near Soap, drinking his tea slowly and sinking into the cushion of the couch. “You did good,” Soap murmurs, guiding Simon to rest his head on his chest, “You can rest now, Si.”
“The fuck it look like ‘m doin’,” Simon grumbles at him, turning his head away from the lights and shoving his face in the gap between Soap and the back of the couch. Soap doesn’t bite back his smile, scratching Simon’s scalp gently with both of his hands and soothing the goosebumps that pop up on his neck. “Stressin’ me out, dirty slag,” he huffs a few seconds later.
Soap laughs gently, scratching behind Simon’s ears and kissing the top of his head. “Go to sleep.”
/-/
Soap walks into the rec room, immediately zoning in on Simon watching something on his phone with that intense look— the look he wears when he’s having feelings he doesn’t know what to do with— mask pulled up, covering his forehead in hair.
Soap wanders over, standing behind him on the couch and looking down at the phone. The privacy screen makes the image dull and blurry. “What’re you doin’?”
“Uh,” Simon tilts the phone, and the screen becomes clear, “Lookin’ at Tommy’s snapchats. He’s sending me old shite,” he mumbles.
Soap ignores the way Price’s head snaps up, looking at Simon with a surprised look on his face. Soap rests his head on Simon’s watching the silenced video. A younger, slightly leaner, very pissed off Simon stares at the phone with a blank stare. Tommy appears, a wide smile on his face. “So angry.”
“I literally got home and he had me doin’ shit,” Simon mumbles, scrolling through.
They had met the year Roba happened, early February at a café slash library. Soap had been wanting to finally read the Percy Jackson books again, and Simon had been sitting at the table reading a parenting book of all things. Soap had sat across from him, and they read in silence for weeks before Soap commented on his strange book choices— parenting, self-help, addiction recovery, mental health, fiction, non fiction, drama, romance, history, all in different orders. Soap hadn’t been able to keep his mouth shut when Simon finished a book about Infants and then picked up a queer romance book Soap had read the week prior, “Respectfully what the fuck?”
Simon had smiled into his tea, flirted with him, and Soap had been… embarrassingly attracted to him.
Simon had called him Christmas Eve, rambling on about a fire and his family and Soap had asked, “What are you talking about, we’re out having dinner?” Because Beth had insisted they have dinner together, with or without Simon, before Soap made his way to his own family. And Simon had broken down, rambling on about a man called Roba in a way that had Soap shoving way too much money into Beth’s hands and sprinting to Simon’s location.
Simon had come home different— he had come home after they buried an empty coffin and Soap mourned what could have been the love of his life with Simon’s family— quiet, angry, distant. Hot and cold with Soap, begging for his attention one day before completely shutting him out.
Soap had found Simon trying to fist-fight the first responders— convinced his family was inside and dead— and had to pry him away and calm him down. Simon had packed them up and moved them to Scotland the week before their ‘meet-cute’ anniversary. He had reenlisted with Soap a few months later, after the every-day therapy sessions had cleared him.
Simon didn’t talk about his family— at all— he worried that even with Roba dead there would be another person out there waiting for him to slip up. Anybody who did any digging wouldn’t find any connection. Tommy had taken Beth’s name when they married, Joseph was enrolled under Soap’s (after discovering Joseph’s nursery schedule is what had led the men after Simon to the family) in a private school, and honestly Soap would lie about having an oops baby if it meant Simon would sleep a little better at night.
In Price’s eyes, Soap laying his head on Ghost and talking about his family probably seemed out of character. Simon opens the camera, and Soap smiles widely for the picture, Simon typing out a quick message before sending it off. “He’s gonna fuck up our 600 day streak if he doesn’t fuckin’ text me back.”
Soap cackles, walking to the pantry to get a snack.
/-/
“So,” Gaz says carefully, looking over his shoulder before scooting closer, “You and Ghost seem pretty close.” Considering we’re married, Soap thinks cheekily. “Got people callin’ you the Ghost-whisperer. You’re the only bastard who can take food off his plate and not see the wrath of the devil himself.”
Soap throws his head back with a laugh. “Ach, naw, he’s a sweetheart. Real nice.” Soap watches the recruits in front of him with a smile. Almost a year and a half into Soap being with the team, and nobody had even thought about them knowing each other.
Gaz chews on his mouth for a few seconds. “Mate, I gotta be real honest right now, and feel free to tell me to fuck off, but I heard that he was married. Like before he was Ghost—“ Gaz mimics tugging on a mask. “Price says he wears a set of rings on his tags— three real nice ones, too— do you know how in love you have to be with somebody to drop that much money on a wedding, engagement, and promise ring?” Soap did know, he was the one who had all of them custom made three years ago. He had agonized over the designs, Tommy stoping him from chickening out several times, and had a dent in his savings for months after. “And I noticed you guys kind of… you know. I just wanted you to know.”
“Ye think he’s cheating on his bird with me?” Soap asks, playing up the shock. “I mean… I sort of fancy him ‘nd all, but he never said anything about havin’ a girl at home.”
Gaz gives him a pep talk and a look of sympathy.
Later, Soap sneaks his way into Simon’s office, twirling the ring on his middle finger with a grin. Simon looks up before ignoring him for the report on his computer. “What’s got you lookin’ so smug.”
“Gaz knows you’re married.”
Simon raises an eyebrow, looking up at him again. “Uh-huh. So the game’s done, then?” Soap honestly thinks he looks pretty with his mask gone, grease smeared on his waterline, glasses held between his fingers.
“No. He thinks you’re married to a woman,” Soap says excitedly, “He thinks we’re havin’ ourselves an affair. I’m gonnae wear my ring on my wedding finger. See if any puzzle pieces fall into place.” Soap slides his ring off and hands it to Simon, watching his husband twirl the ring between his fingers. Soap holds his hand out, and Simon smiles gently as he slides it on the finger it goes on.
Simon looks at his hand, gently swiping his thumb along Soap’s knuckles. “I wanna take you out for dinner when we get home,” he mumbles, “To that diner you like. Take you shoppin’.”
Soap smiles, unable to contain the squishy-fluttery feeling Simon gives him.
/-/
Nobody notices Soap’s ring moving fingers.
They kick up their flirting several notches, drop hints, but nobody seems to pick it up.
Soap is packing his bags for leave, when Simon sneaks into his bunk. Soap smiles when he feels Ghost wrapping his arms around him and rocking them side to side. “Hey, baby,” Soap says, looking over his shoulder at Simon.
“Garrick asked if my wife knew about us.”
Soap really does feel like a gossiping wife when he gasps, “What did ye tell ‘im?”
Simon snorts. “I said yes. He just looked at me in disbelief. I think I traumatized him.” Simon leaves gentle kisses along his shoulder, squeezing him closer. “I Imagine we’re goin’ to have a chat with Price soon. Considering it’s illegal and all that.”
Soap hums.
/-/
The next day, they are called into Price’s office. Gaz is sitting guiltily on the couch, and Price looks more stressed than usual. Soap drops his duffel on the ground next to a chair and drops into it, followed by Simon.
“Reason yer callin’ me in here before my plane?” Soap settles in the seat, twisting his ring as a habit. He sees Price’s eyes catch on it, and he feels giddy about people noticing it before he realizes why they’re in here.
“I’m sorry,” Gaz blurts, “I just can’t have it on my conscious that Ghost has a girl back home and you’re… doing whatever it is you’re going.” He gestures between them.
Price drags his hand across his face, and Simon sighs dramatically, “Looks like the jig is up, Johnny.”
Soap slaps his hand against his forehead, because out of everything he could have said, that was not it.
“I mean— how could— you have a wife, Ghost!” Gaz gestures, clearly fighting his loyalty and his morals.
“I do have to admit, cheating isn’t something I expected of you, Simon.”
Soap decides to try and break the tension with a dramatic turn, “You’re cheating on me? After all I’ve done for you?”
Simon glares. “Yeah, I’m sick and tired of you not feeding the damn cat.” He sits up, counting on his fingers, “Your meatloaf is dry, you have a secret love child—“
“Joseph isn’t even blood related to me, you dramatic fuck, he’s only using my last name for his school!”
Simon scoffs.
Soap rolls his eyes, kicking Simon with his foot, “Gimmie your rings.” Simon takes off his dog tags, slides the rings off the chain and hands them over to Soap. Soap fits them together, leaning onto Price’s desk and leaving them there. He digs into his own duffel, pulling out his engagement ring and sliding off his wedding ring, fitting them together with Simon’s. He showcases it to Price. “Simon and I are married.”
Price looks baffled. Soap realizes what Simon said and— “You think my meatloaf is dry?”
Simon scoffs. “No, Johnny, your meatloaf isn’t dry. I could eat a whole pan of it but you don’t let me because other people need food too or some BS.”
“You’re married to each other?!“ Gaz looks shocked and relieved at the same time. “You let me warn you about how strange he is!! And you went along with it!”
“I honestly thoufht you would have realized by now…” Soap rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Sorry.”
They get scolded, and then Soap is congratulated for putting up with Ghost for so long. And then Ghost is congratulated for keeping Soap from killing himself via microwave explosions.
Everything is fine, in the end.
(Simon takes Johnny out for dinner when he joins him on leave, and takes him shopping. They’re in love.)
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0097linersb · 6 months
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I See Red (m)
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ONE SHOT
Pairings: San x Reader
Genre: Smut (basically pwp)
Word count: 5.1k
Warnings: Jealousy, dom!San , he spits in your mouth at some point, slapping, choking, overstimulaton, edging, the whole deal really, name calling, oral, fingering - This is just pure filth I’m sorry. 
A/N: this was originally an nct jeno's fic but I thought it matched San so well so here u go
Follow me on twitter for updates, previews, spoilers: wooyosgfreal <3
You didn’t know what finally set San off.  
Sure, you haven’t been on your best behavior lately but it’s not like it was your fault; Ever since he decided to go on little gym dates with Yubin and just casually mentioned it to you one day, like he was talking about how sunny it was outside and not about how he was hanging out (almost daily) with a super hot girl, alone - and in minimal clothing too.
You couldn’t even trick yourself with “she’s not his type” because that woman was everyone’s type, damn, she was even your type.
It’s not like you didn’t trust him or felt insecure about yourself - it made no sense, really. It’s like people say: Jealousy is a little green monster that ate your insides and got you to unreason things. You just couldn’t help feeling slightly annoyed, you mean, try knowing your boyfriend is hanging out for hours with a blonde goddess with a six pack AND be happy about it.
So, since he decided to be a pain in the ass, you decided to become what you were born to be: His worst fucking nightmare.
But in all fairness, you didn’t know exactly what tipped him over the edge. It could have been you casually hanging with his roommates in the shortest skirt you could have possibly found, it could be the way you kissed Wooyoung (just a small peck) so the boy would stop playing around and annoying the others with his over-the-top signs of affection, it could even be the way you asked Seonghwa to massage your shoulders because you were in pain but too annoyed to ask your boyfriend for it. He sure must not have liked the way you were dancing with Mingi at the party last Friday or how he got home on Monday to you wearing one of Yunho’s shirts - but he was San, of course he said nothing about it. Plus, he knew you better than that.
It didn’t help when Wooyoung and Mingi asked what was going on between you two and you shared your boyfriend’s gym adventures, of course you could trust those guys to join in on making their friend’s life living hell. It was just open game then, Mingi playfully flirting with you and complimenting you whenever he could and Wooyoung teasing your boyfriend about it.You were always careful to not cross any lines, though. Only doing things that you knew weren’t actually going to upset San and would be perceived by him as one of your little games, which is what they were. You also kept it subtle and spaced out - which is why you were expecting to be playing for a long time, or at least for a bit longer than you actually did.
Your plans were ruined on Wednesday afternoon, when the black-haired boy came out of the shower to a Jung Yunho pulling you to sit on his lap, his arms going around you to show you how to play the video game. Your boyfriend quietly sat down next to you two, saying nothing and staring deeply at the Tv screen but, the look on his face and his clenched jaw were sending a shiver down your spine.
Damn you for refusing to have sex since you found out about San’s gym buddy, this pent-up frustration was not helping you at all.
Thanks to the distraction that was your boyfriend, you couldn’t focus on the race going on and lost at the easiest level, resorting to whining to Yunho, who simply patted your thigh in a comforting manner and let out a soft, “It’s ok, baby.”
Your pouting soon morphed into a face of shock and your little fit was interrupted as your boyfriend hastily stood up, groaning a “That’s it. Room, now!”
You looked up at him confusedly but not done with being annoying yet, you decided to try one last jab, sending him a challenging look, “I don’t really feel like it.”
San simply raised an eyebrow at you, his whole aura shifting, making you coward immediately under his cold gaze, “Care to repeat that?”
“I said- Nothing.”
“That’s what I thought. Now, move.”
You repeat what your boyfriend said in a mocking tone but obey, leaving an amused looking Yunho behind as you wondered where the fuck did all your confidence go to. You really couldn’t keep the character up when San lowered his voice - you liked playing with fire but you weren’t crazy enough to jump in it.
As you entered your boyfriend’s room, your heart was beating like crazy. You felt like a kid again: When you knew you did something wrong and your mother was about to punish you for it. The anxiety did not sit well with you, maybe you should start being nicer to the man.
“San, I-” You tried reasoning as soon as he entered the room, closing the door behind him.
“I don’t give a fuck, sit down.”
Damn.
You were happy to comply, legs getting wobbly as his strict tone had a weird effect on you. You sat on the edge of the bed and San was quick to stand up in between your legs, you tried to look anywhere but at him, but that was proven impossible as his hand softly but confidently grabbed your chin and tipped your head up so you were forced to stare at him like a deer stuck in head lights. You could hear your own pulse throbbing inside your ears. 
Well, no use acting all innocent now, you really did bring this upon yourself.
“Had fun?” He asked, his voice could cut you right open. You didn’t know what to answer, nervous of any extra consequences that may come if you did, but your silence was clearly not accepted as his grip on your jaw tightened, “Speak.”
“Yeah.”
He hummed, eyes slowly skimming over your face as his thumb softly brushed your cheek, “So pretty. Too bad you don’t know how to behave, huh? I think it’s about time for me to put you back in your place, don’t you agree?”
You close your eyes and enjoy the smooth circles he was tracing with his thumb, not sure where he was going with this - your heart was trying to leave this room, though, by the way it kept pounding against your ribcage- but knowing you wouldn’t get a lot of soft moments from this point forward.
“Did you think I would find it cute?” He sternly asked, his tone contrasting with the light touches on your face. He knew your answer to that and you knew he was just playing your cards, and well, it was working.
“No.”
“So you acted like a brat on purpose?” He tried giving you a chance, knowing you really had no way out of your own mess.
“At your service, sir,” You joked as you rolled your eyes, trying to lighten the mood, maybe make the man laugh a bit so he would forgive you.
“Watch it,” He spat out and you kind of regretted saying it when his hand flew to the back of your head, pulling on your hair harshly so you were forced to look up.
Ok, San was mad mad.
His cold expression didn’t faze at the way you groaned in pain, neither did his grip on your hair as he bent down so his face would be right in front of yours as he warned, “You brought this upon yourself. Clothes off.”
You had it in you to fight a bit, but honestly, you were already aching between your legs and curious to know how all of this would unroll. You quickly undressed, leaving your panties on since he didn’t say anything about it, your eyes not leaving the floor as you did it. You then stared at your boyfriend, who was now sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting for the next instructions. San simply looked at the place between his spread legs, signing where he wanted you. As you sat down, you noticed the man had placed the full body mirror he owned right in front of you while you were undressing.
Oh, boy.
You two locked eyes through the mirror and he calmly asked, “What’s the safe word?”
And that’s when your brain stopped working, knowing you had really fucked up. San has always been a little bit more on the rough side in bed, even kind of dominant sometimes, but never like this. You two had never used a safe word before. He noticed your struggle and suggested in a soft but strict tone, “Is Apple ok?”
“Yeah,” You muttered and he nodded in acknowledgement before harshly forcing your thighs open with his hands, making you gasp. His chest was pressed against your back, but you couldn’t feel his heart hammering crazy like yours was.
San slowly moved his hands higher up your thighs, getting goosebumps to erupt all over your body. He ever so lightly traced one single finger against your clothed slit as he said, eyes still locked with yours in the mirror, “I want you to watch yourself being a slut, maybe then you’ll be embarrassed and learn how to behave.”
You whined, not sure if it was at the tip of his finger barely grazing over your clit or at his words. Honestly, who the fuck was this man?
You could see the wet patch of fabric between your legs in the mirror and San caught you staring at it as his middle finger rubbed slow circles on you, only smirking at you in response, clearly satisfied with the effect he had over you.
It was embarrassing how quickly you were squirming under your boyfriend’s touches; your bottom lip was almost bleeding from how strongly you were biting it to keep your whines inside your mouth as you tried to move away from his finger because it was soon becoming too much. He was having none of it and his other hand firmly found its place  on your jaw once again as he grunted right into your ear, “Be a good girl for once and take it. We have barely started.”
You did whine at that, his stare not fading for one second as he tightened his grip on your face and pulled your head back to the front every time you tried to look away from the mirror.
“Look at you. I haven’t even touched you properly yet and you’re already a mess, what happened to all that attitude, huh?”
He was right, he had only touched you through your panties and you were already so close. Guess you really were all bark and no bite – But to be honest: You were dripping, your underwear was soaked and his finger drawing shapes against your clit just felt so good you didn’t care about your little personality problem at all.
Your thighs were quivering from the stimulation and when he sped up his movements they tried to fly shut, but his voice stopped you midway, “Don’t you dare.”
You grabbed the fabric from his pants harshly, “San, I’m-”
“Only talk when spoken to.”
This new side of San, his heavenly (or devilish) finger teasing you plus his hard dick throbbing against your lower back, got you spasming in record time. Your nails carving shapes on the skin of his thighs as your whole body shook when you orgasmed. San continued tracing your clit through your high, until you were jumping from sensitivity and whining at him to stop. He lightly pushed you so you would stand up and you struggled to comply with your shaky legs, but tried your best.
You stood in front of your boyfriend, expecting him to then order you to suck his dick or something and this would be all over with, but were surprised when he pulled your panties down your legs with delicate fingers. Goosebumps filled your skin again at the mere touch of his knuckles against your lower abdomen. It was weird how he touched you so softly while his eyes burned holes into you, you had never seen San so worked up before, you felt like he could explode at the wrong move of a finger from you.
He slowly kneeled in front of you, eyes locked in yours. His hands were on the back of your thighs and you felt cold and warm at the same time, nipples hard with the shivers that ran up your spine. San didn’t comment on your shaking frame, giving your clit a soft kiss as he stared up at you.
“San, I-“ You began, trying to inform your boyfriend you were too sensitive from just cumming.
“I’ll make you cum once for every time you flirted with someone this week, and now once more for disobeying me,” He simply informed before going back to work, tongue doing wonders against your swollen clit.
You cried out at his words.
The man pulled your legs slightly apart so he could go all in, his wet lips and warm tongue playing with you until the sensitivity turned into pleasure and you were entering a place of euphoria, trying to not moan too loudly since his roommates were right outside. He noticed you were trying to contain your noises and tskd, eating you out more fervidly. When it became too much again, your hands grabbed his hair for support, which only resulted in you receiving a firm look, “No touching. If you want to act like a whore, I’ll treat you like one.”
Ouch.
You tried balancing on your feet, but your body was quivering at San’s ministration and he wouldn’t let you go. Not managing it anymore, you let your body fall to the front, supporting your hands on the bed, thanking the heavens your boyfriend didn’t complain about it. You wanted to tell him you needed his fingers inside of you but didn’t want to disobey his order once again, only letting moan after moan leave your lips. San simply looked animalistic kneeled in between your legs and you forced yourself to close your eyes, throwing your head back in pleasure.
You were not recognizing yourself but that thought was far from your worries as you released once again against his tongue, hand gripping  the sheets so tightly you were afraid of breaking your fingers. San stood up, holding your waist so you would do the same as you breathed hard, “This one was for rubbing yourself all over Mingi at Yeonjun’s.”
You could see the way San’s cock was throbbing against his pants, but he seemed to pay it no mind as he pushed you down into the bed on your back. He hovered over you, slightly brushing his lips against yours before telling you, “I’m giving you 10 seconds to recover.”
One, he counted out loud before kissing your cheek. Two, he mouthed just below your jaw. Three, he whispered and sucked on the side of your neck, making you twitch in bliss. Four, he licked your collarbone. Five, he kissed between your breasts, your back automatically arching. Six, he brushed his fingers against your hardened nipple, loving the sound of your mewls. Seven, he left an open-mouthed kiss on your stomach. Eight, he did the same to your navel, feeling your abdomen tense under his fingers.
Honestly, this was not helping you calm down at all. Shivering this much couldn’t be healthy.
On the count of nine, his nails scratched the inside of your thigh and on the count of ten, he plunged two fingers inside of you with no warning. You chocked around nothing, biting the back of your hand so you wouldn’t legit scream. You had never been so wet in your life and the way his fingers were slowly rubbing so good against your walls, had you out of your mind.
“Put your hand away, I want to hear you,” He ordered, eyes locked on the way his fingers disappeared inside of you. How did he even know you were biting on your hand?
He continued pumping and curling his fingers, speeding up when he felt your walls tightening. You started feeling your third orgasm approach you even faster than the first one, tensing your legs so you wouldn’t close them because of the sensitivity.
San smirked at you, “Look who’s being a good girl for once.”
You didn’t even care anymore, everything felt so good you couldn’t even remember your name and you were sure you sounded like a porn star, having no control over your voice. You were so close, knuckles white again at the force you were holding onto your pillow. So, so close.
And then it all stopped.
You whined loudly and San simply ordered, “Use my fingers.”
When you gave him a confused look, hoping you hadn’t understood what he said right, he nodded at you, “You heard me.”
You groaned and dropped back down, San easing three fingers into you and waiting still, patiently. This was humiliating but when he gave you a pointed look, you simply forgot about your pride and pushed yourself against his fingers until you were ready to explode again, and as promised, San didn’t do a thing, letting you make yourself cum only using his fingers. It didn’t take long, considering how fucked out you were already (and you weren’t even actually fucked yet). A few more bounces and you were done for, wanting to cry at how good it felt.
“This one was for getting my friends hard, prancing around in those mini clothes of yours.”
You couldn’t help shutting your legs now, body spasming every 2 seconds. San said nothing about it this time as he stood on his knees, undoing his belt with one hand, groaning he couldn’t take it anymore. He dropped his pants and boxers, letting his cock out and your heart pumped faster at how hard and swollen it was.
Your boyfriend roughly opened your legs, positioning himself on top of you and entering you in one harsh thrust, not even waiting for you to adjust (not that you needed it much, considering he was just 3 fingers knuckles deep into you). Real tears started to run down your face at the oversensitivity, your mind couldn’t form a single comprehensible thought, “San, I can’t-“
“I’m not stopping unless I hear the safe word, you can take it,” He snapped, voice as harsh as his thrusts inside of you. He had never fucked you this hard, the whole bed shaking and complaining. There was no way people wouldn’t know what was going on by now.
You trashed under him, it felt like too much but at the same time you didn’t want it to stop. San’s hand was quick to wrap around your throat, squeezing on the sides to hold you down so you would stop moving.
“My pretty princess crying over getting fucked after acting like a slut for days. That doesn’t seem right, now, does it?” He groaned, not faltering his speed or strength one bit. “Tell me, if I didn’t give you the attention you wanted, would you have let one of them fuck you?”
You whined, nails digging harshly on his back (which he thankfully allowed). You thought about answering but you couldn’t really mutter any words with the way San was drilling into you and he knew it.
“I asked you a question,” He hissed, tightening his grip around your neck, cutting the blood circulation from reaching your head.
The lightheadedness didn’t help your case and after another few seconds without an answer, you felt a sting from the slap San gave right across your face. He had never done that before and as a strong independent woman, you didn’t expect to like it as much as you did it.
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”
“N-no.”
“No what?” He demanded. The neighbors must really hate you from the way the bed frame kept hitting the wall, but nothing else really matter besides how you were being so pleasantly destroyed.
“Only you can fuck me.”
“That’s right, you’re mine. Open up.”
You were not sure what he meant, embarrassed of doing what you thought he was implying and being wrong, but when he stared you down so intensely that you got actually scared, you slowly opened your mouth. He gave you a wicked smile before slowing down his thrusts a bit, his hold on your neck still strong and when he slowly lowered himself and spit right into your mouth, your body betrayed you and you came all over the place without a warning, not even giving you the chance to brace yourself.
“Good girl,” He caressed the place he had slapped you with his thumb, stopping his movements to let you calm down for a bit. You were not even sure your brain would ever go back to working normally. He silently and slowly sucked marks on your body until your breathing somewhat resembled something normal again.
“Come look at yourself,” He called, tone a bit gentler. Maybe your tears softened him up a bit.
You tried to obey, carefully dragging yourself to the edge of the bed so you could stand up in front of the mirror where he wanted you. As soon as you tried standing up, your legs gave out, but San was right behind you to catch you, holding you up by your waist and pointing to the mirror, “Look.”
And you did. You had purple bruises on the left side of your neck, on your breasts and on the inside of your thighs. Your hair was clearly all tangled up, there was dark mascara running down your face and smudged around your eyes. You looked absolutely wrecked already.
“So fucking pretty,” He whispered, littering your shoulder with soft kisses. “All of you. Every single part, and they are all mine.”
You shakily nodded. At this point, if San wanted you to walk around wearing his hand as a necklace you wouldn’t even complain.
“It’s all of my friends’ wet dreams to fuck you, I don’t want to ever hear you moaning Seonghwa’s name or see you kissing Wooyoung again, understood?” Your boyfriend told you, placing two of his fingers on your lip for you to suck. You wrapped your mouth around him, sucking on it gently and drawing your tongue along the length of his fingers, feeling his still hard cock against your lower back. He had no reason behind that action, he just wanted to show he could do whatever he wanted with you, whenever he wanted, and you would enjoy it.
“It was a joke,” You breathed out once he retrieved his hand, referring to the kiss your boyfriend was talking about.
“I know baby girl, but let’s not give them any hope. I want them to know who you belong to,” He quietly told you, his breath hitting your ear. “Get on all fours.”
Your body stiffened, “San, I really can’t-“
“Did I ask?” He cocked his eyebrow at you and you took a deep breath before shakingly obeying.
As you crawled in bed, your boyfriend finally took his clothes off before positioning himself behind you. At least this time he pitied you enough to at least start fucking you slowly.
A hiccup escaped your throat, almost sure you couldn’t handle it anymore and San caressed your lower back to comfort you as he grinded his cock inside you, “Only one more, princess.”
You were in heaven and hell at the same time, your pussy was so sensitive that every thrust felt like you were right on edge, you had never experienced anything like that before. Your arms gave out quicker than your attitude dropped, left side of your face pressing against the sheet and staining it with your mascara and tears. You were honestly not even sure you were moaning anymore, not being able to hear yourself, but with the way San sped up his movements you figured you were.
“Hands,” San asked and you complied, like being used by him was your sole purpose in life.
He grabbed both of your wrists and held it together on your back, the bruising tight grip and the low groans leaving the man’s mouth brought you closer to reality.  If you were in a normal state of mind, you would wonder how your boyfriend could last so long, he had been hard and throbbing since he locked the door earlier - But since your mind was floating somewhere far away, your only reaction was to sob in pleasure and overstimulation.
“Do you remember the safeword, baby?”
You shut your eyes tightly and nodded your head desperately.
“Tell me,” San asked.
“A-apple.”
“Good girl. We’re almost done,” He told you and you could feel how his thrust were getting shallower and messier. You were so close too.
After another few minutes, San let out a loud moan with a broken whine and shot inside of you (something else you two rarely do, both of you enjoyed it but the pregnancy scares were always too much), you could feel his cum hitting your walls and you loved it. He continued to fuck into you for a whole minute, riding out his high as the hottest sounds left his lips. You clenched around his sensitive member, signaling you were close and he hissed, suddenly pulling out.
You whined like you had never whined before and he simply shushed you, slowly gathering his cum dripping from your hole with his fingers and pushing all of it back inside. You cried out, using your now free hands to hold onto the sheets as he pumped his finger into you – You honestly wouldn’t be surprised if the sheets were ripped by the end of the day. He was teasing you, knowing you wouldn’t be able to reach your high with the speed he was using. You tried pushing back into his fingers but he was quick to hold your hip still, “I don’t think so. Sit down against the wall.”
You wanted to scream.
“San, please,” You sobbed.
“What? You’ve been teasing me with Mingi for almost 2 whole weeks and I can’t even tease you for a few minutes? Don’t you think that’s a little bit unfair?” He asked, stopping his fingers only when he felt your walls spasming around him. “Now do as I say.”
You accepted your fate, trembling as you followed his instructions, surprised when he got out of the bed and sat down on his desk chair, calmly looking at you.
“Touch yourself,” He instructed. “But don’t cum, or else we will go for another round.”
“You said we were almost over,” You wail.
“And we are baby, just do this one more thing for me.”
You opened up your legs, letting your fingers rub against your clit. You were so wet and San’s cum just made you more lubricated. Since you were already so worked up, you had to trace less than 5 circles against yourself before becoming a noisy mess, ready to let it all go.
“Stop,” Your boyfriend’s strict voice cut you off.
You opened your eyes, which you hadn’t even noticed you had closed, and stared at San in shock, halting your motions.
“Now do it again while looking at me.”
You held the sob that wanted to escape down your throat, shakingly nodding and obeying, just doing anything he wanted so you could cum already. You touched yourself while you looked into San’s stern eyes, your cheeks burning at the fact he had never seen you so vulnerable before.
“I can’t hold it any-“ You stuttered, your eyes stinging again.
“Stop.”
The sob that you had been trying to hold back escaped, ripping through your whole body, you had no pride anymore, or shame, as you let your tears spill freely as you begged, “Please, San. Please. I ca-can’t-“
San silently got up and crawled into bed, positioning his head in between your legs.
“It’s ok, princess. You can cum now,” He told you gently before lowering his head and sucking on your clit. He only had to do that three times and you were seeing colors you never had before. The wave of pleasure hit you so strongly that you tough you passed out for a second or two, seeming lost when you managed to open your eyes again.
“Hey baby, it’s ok,” San comforted you softly, quickly getting up on his knees to hug you with one hand while drying the tears that wouldn’t stop soaking your flushed face. “I got you, it’s all over now.”
He was fast to embrace you tightly, bouncing you gently like people do to calm babies down as he muttered praising words after praising words against your ears. It all filled your heart with warmth and pride.
“Want to take a bath?” He asked you in his baby voice and you managed  to form a small smile, remembering that was the same man who was slapping you across the face and spitting in your mouth a few minutes ago.
You nodded and the boy ran into the bathroom so quickly you didn’t even process his absence.
“I’m only preparing the bath, baby. I’m here,” He assured you when he wasn’t back after a minute or so. You were thankful he understood how vulnerable you felt in this moment and how it was something new to you.
He eventually came back and cuddled you until he felt like the tub was full enough. San carried you easily to the bathroom and tested the water temperature before placing you down with care.
“I used your favorite bath bomb,” He smiled and you returned the gesture, appreciating the warm water around your muscles and the gold glittery appearance of it. “I’m just going to go grab our towels, ok? I’ll be right back.”
You waited for a while, playing with the water and taking deep breaths to inhale the vanilla scent coming from it. The water looked so creamy and you slowly rubbed your face with it, trying to clean all the make up and dried tears. You were content, you just had the best sex of your life and San was proud of you.
You were almost falling asleep when you heard your boyfriend’s voice, “Honey, are you covered?”
You looked down confusedly at the opaque water, the man had just almost chocked you to death, why was he worrying about your modesty now out of all times?
“Yeah, why?”
“Wooyoung and Mingi are being a pain in the ass, they want to make sure I didn’t kill you.”
At that you laughed and just let yourself slide down the bathtub, letting the water drown you in shame.
    ____________________________________
“Babe?” You called, watching the way San played with your fingers. When the boy hummed at you, his chest pressed against your back making your body vibrate, you continued, “What finally set you off?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like, I’ve been trying to get on your nerves for days-“
“Oh,” He laughed and then sighed in embarrassment at his confession, “Yunho called you baby, only I get to call you that.”
You turned around from where he was holding you on the tub, trying to see if he was serious, only to find your boyfriend pouting.
“I can’t fucking believe you, Choi San.”
Pt. 2 (a little extra, not a continuation or necessary for the plot)
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cuubism · 1 year
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thinking about that meta about the endless not really transforming into different forms but rather being all forms simultaneously and just being perceived differently from different points of view. and yeah
--
"So, Death was telling me something interesting about you yesterday," Hob says, sipping on his coffee.
Dream pouts, though he would probably deny that that's what it is. "You are gossiping with my sister behind my back?"
"You know we talk."
"Gossip," Dream mutters again, steps taking on a pace adjacent to an irritable trudge. "What unseemly things does she say about me?"
"Why do you think she says mean things about you?"
"Every time we speak, she calls me an idiot," Dream says, and Hob lets out a startled laugh.
"That's what siblings do," Hob reminds him. "You know she loves you."
"Hmm." Dream plucks Hob's coffee from his hand, taking a ponderous sip. "What praises does she heap upon me, then?"
Hob shakes his head in fond exasperation. "She says that you -- Endless, that is -- can like... change your appearance for different people? Or creatures? Like. If you met a cat you would appear as a cat to them?"
"You do not quite have the right of it," Dream says. He hasn't returned Hob's coffee, despite having insisted that he 'did not require mortal sustenance' when Hob had offered to get him his own.
"What's the right of it, then?"
"It is not for human minds to comprehend."
Hob groans. "At least humor me and try to explain? Do you turn into a cat or not?"
"I do not turn into anything," Dream says, offended. "How base and common."
"Shapeshifting is base and common, I'll make sure to tell all the shapeshifters I know," Hob tells him seriously.
Dream lets out a sigh that Hob recognizes as meaning fine, I will answer your inane questioning about the nature of my existence. The funny thing is, now that they've gotten over the six hundred year barrier of what's your name and what do you do for work, Dream delights in talking about his creations. He will speak at length about his work given half a chance.
It's the personal -- whether that's something as mundane as how he takes his tea or as fundamental as what an Endless even is, exactly -- that's been hard to get at.
"I am a cat," Dream explains.
Hob stares at him, looking up and down at the very man-shaped figure walking beside him as if he needs to double-check. "You're definitely not a cat."
"Yes, I am," Dream says. He does not appear to be joking.
And apparently Hob is still thirteen years old all these centuries later, because he says, "Prove it."
"You cannot see it because you are not a cat," Dream sighs, as if this is truly a tragic occurrence.
"Maybe I am a cat," Hob suggests, tucking his hands in his pockets, all casual. "How would you know?"
Dream gives him a sidelong look. "You are not a cat. Though perhaps you would be more peaceful as one."
"Doubt it. But wait, so, if I was a cat I would be able to see your cat form?"
"In essence, yes. But. You speak as if I would be donning a coat. These are not forms. Merely fragments. Simultaneous angles on a whole."
"Fragments," Hob repeats. He works it through like a particularly hard math problem. "Hang on. So. You're also a cat now. If we met a cat they would see a cat."
Fuck, this is getting weird.
Dream looks proud of Hob for getting it. "Yes."
"Could have attempted to explain that instead of just saying I am a cat," Hob tells him. "I also still maintain that you are not actually a cat."
"I am as much a cat as I am a human," Dream says.
"So, not," Hob says.
"No," Dream agrees. "Because I am Dream."
"You're a nightmare, is what you are," Hob mutters, and Dream smirks.
"That, too."
They've been walking in silence for another few minutes when Hob asks, "What's your real form?"
Dream frowns. "All of my forms are real, Hob."
"Sure, you look like this or that to different people. What do you look like to yourself?"
"All of my forms are real," Dream insists.
"So what I'm seeing now isn't some kind of default? Are you just always different? Is this like that we don't know how other people see colors 'cuz everyone's eyes could be different thing? Or is there any internal consistency to you?"
"I don't know what thing you're referring to."
"What I'm trying to find out is did I invent this version of you in my head?" Hob asks, getting stressed about it now. Did his subconscious somehow decide this was what Dream should look like? Presumably Dream knows what he looks like to Hob. What if he doesn't like it? "Did I just decide yep that's what dreams should look like in 1389 and you've been stuck wearing black ever since?"
Dream chuckles. Probably amused Hob would ever think he had that much power. "No. There is what you call internal consistency in my appearance. Different creatures, cultures, and so on will see different aspects of me, but there is not a different aspect for each person. It is not infinite."
Oh, thank god. "So, you want to look this way."
"I suppose."
Never a straight answer with him.
"Well, just for the record," Hob says, "I fell in love with the entity but I happen to quite like the shape as well."
"The shape," Dream repeats, with a smile.
"Here's where you're going to tell me you're also a triangle or something."
Dream is silent.
Fucking hell.
"I'm not even going to ask," Hob decides, forcibly moving on. "I have another question."
"You have many," Dream observes.
"That's what you love about me," Hob says, and Dream tilts his head as if conceding the point.
"If there was a human culture that thought of dreams as represented by cats," Hob starts, "they might see you as a cat?"
Dream sips at Hob's coffee, considering. "I suppose."
"And was there ever one?"
"No."
Hob lets out a long breath. Dream is frustrating as hell to talk to sometimes, but Hob can't say he doesn't enjoy it anyway, doesn't enjoy the puzzle. "Was there ever any culture like that, though? That saw their dream representation as something other than a person?"
"There was one that thought dreams lived in bubbles, therefore I was the reflection of light along a bubble's curve," Dream says, expressionlessly. As if that isn't wild and fascinating. "However, that civilization has since disbanded and morphed into different forms."
"Which civilization was that?"
"You would not know it," Dream says.
Hob tips his head back and groans. "God, you're like an edgy teenager who knew that indie band before they were cool. Oh, which band? No, you wouldn't know them, they're too niche, too underground."
"Underwater," says Dream. "It was a civilization of dolphins."
Hob trips over a crack in the road and just manages to catch himself. Dream stops by his side, watching him with some concern, like he worries Hob might break himself in his clumsiness.
"The way the world looks to you must be insane," Hob says, staring at Dream.
Dream's lips tip up in the faintest smile. "Human perspective is narrow."
"Clearly. I wish I could see all your other forms. Must be amazing."
"You wish to see them?" Dream sounds surprised.
Hob scoffs. "Of course. But it's not sounding very possible."
Dream inclines his head in agreement.
Then a thought occurs. "Wait." And god, Hob has said a lot of stupid-sounding things in his life but this is about to be one of the worst. "If I pretend to be a cat, can I see your cat form?"
Dream can never answer a simple question directly, but apparently this absurd query is fine. "I suppose it is possible in theory for you to see it. But pretending is not enough. You would have to wholly assume the perspective of a cat. I do not know if it would be possible in practice."
Hob's never needed much more encouragement than that to try something. "Alright. Hold my coffee."
"I am already holding it," Dream points out.
"Hush. I'm being a cat."
How he's supposed to do that, Hob doesn't know. He paces back and forth before Dream, squinting in the sunlight. He looks at him from every angle. He tries to imagine what cats might dream of. Mice? Freedom? Sleeping in warm places? Their dreams must be feeling and instinct-driven, not intellectual.
Hob crouches down, looking up at Dream from as close to a cat's height as he can manage. Dream merely raises an eyebrow.
"Are you going to meow at me?" he asks mildly.
"Meow," Hob says, and Dream's mouth pops open in a round o of surprise that is one hundred percent worth the indignity of kneeling on a public street and meowing. "What do cats dream about, anyway?"
"World domination," Dream says solemnly.
"Haha," Hob says, but Dream doesn't take it back.
"Alright, I'm channeling megalomania," Hob tells him, shutting his eyes. "I'm channeling my inner despot."
"And an imposing one at that," Dream observes, looking down at him.
"Quiet, subject, can't you see I'm in the middle of ruling with an iron fist? Or paw?"
"I am quaking in my boots," Dream says. "Please, show mercy."
Hob squints back up at him. God, he's really trying, but it's hard. Cats live close to humans, but they are still so alien. Off in their own worlds, their own battles and hierarchies.
"Will it work if I lick you?" he asks. "Like how cats groom each other."
Dream blinks at him, once, twice, slowly, catlike, which he must be doing intentionally, because he's a bastard like that. "This is, as I believe you would say, getting odd."
Yeah, it is getting fucking odd.
"Perhaps you should try imagining my female form," Dream suggests, and if Hob weren't already on all fours on the sidewalk he'd have fallen over. "It is human, and may be easier."
"You have that?" Hob squeaks, scrambling back to his feet. "But I thought it was like, a species perspective thing? Do women just see you as a woman, then?" Then he shakes his head. "No, that's way too simplistic."
"Women can see me like this as well," Dream says. "Or however their culture dictates."
"So why would someone see you as one gender or another, then? Just a culture thing? Preference?"
"Why do some people see God as a woman?" Dream asks the air.
Hob groans. "You are impossible."
Dream smirks.
"Or maybe you just like being unknowable," Hob guesses.
"Perhaps."
"Perhaps. Yeah, perhaps. I'm sure." Hob cracks his knuckles. "Alright, my unknowable cosmic entity of a significant other, let's see if I can turn you into a woman."
Dream stares at him flatly, but Hob can see the slightest uptick at the corner of his mouth.
Hob still doesn't know what exact perspective he needs to see Dream as a woman. Maybe if he just believes really really hard he can make it happen. Force of will. It's how he'd always planned to make himself immortal, anyway, absent a fortunate encounter with one prickly dream entity.
He stops looking at Dream, and tries to look through Dream. Tries to imagine how it feels to see the true depths of his eyes, how the cosmos in them go straight to infinity. He tries to see around the way the light reflects off of and shapes Dream's form to the shape within, like a sculptor seeing the body in the marble before it's carved. Hob is no artist, but he tries.
And he knows Dream. He may not know all these angles on his form, but he knows Dream, the entity, the person. They have had a long friendship, Hob and the concept of dreaming.
And just like that, the perspective shifts. For a split second, Hob sees an infinity before him, the eternity of all existence condensed in all its brilliant, glowing facets--then his brain skids around it to avoid going mad, latches onto an angle, and slams back to earth.
Hob sways, rubs at his eyes, and then laughs hysterically. "Fuck!"
"Hob?" Dream sounds uncertain now. "Are you well?"
"I think I just glimpsed cosmic knowledge never meant for my mortal eyes, or whatever," Hob tells him, somewhat maniacally. His ears are kind of ringing, eyes swimming in the afterimages of a very bright light. "You're incredible, do you know that?"
"As you judge," Dream says.
Hob finally drops his hands from his eyes.
And immediately slaps them over his mouth, letting out a sound so high-pitched and manic he hadn't thought his vocal cords could manage it. "Holy shit."
Dream frowns. "Are you well?" he asks again. "Perhaps I should not have allowed--"
"I fucking did it," Hob whispers, mostly to himself. "Oh my God. You're a woman. I think? You look like one. I guess?"
Dream looks down at himself. Hob wonders what he sees--does he see what Hob sees? Or does he see the incomprehensible mass of everything that he truly is under the human trappings?
"Ah," he says, and presses a single fingertip to one of the breasts that he now has, prodding it curiously. "It appears that I am."
Okay, so he can see what Hob sees. Good to know.
"Yup," Hob says. He can't seem to steady himself whatsoever. "Yup, yup. You are."
"Impressive, Hob," Dream remarks, looking up at him again with a smirk. His jaw is narrower now, his lips plusher, but God, it's that same fucking smirk that drives Hob insane.
Hob wonders if Dream's female form is also bound by some limitations on appearance the way his usual form is. He hopes so, because it if turns out he managed to manifest Dream's tits to fit his own subconscious desires, he might just have to choose Death at last.
Hob still has his hands over his mouth. He makes himself drop them.
Dream frowns at his silence. "Are you not pleased?"
"I'm very shellshocked and reorienting my view of the universe," Hob tells him. "Also, you're very beautiful and it's just a lot all around."
That smirk again. Whatever minor amount of immunity Hob has developed over the centuries is obliterated by the new shape of him. "Ah."
"Ah," Hob echoes. "Can I kiss you?"
"You may."
Hob does so with his usual enthusiasm, perhaps more, as he does so love novelty. Dream tastes much the same, feels much the same to his hands, and yet not, like Hob's different perspective on him has altered the angle of his touch. Hob runs his hands indulgently over the softer curves of him, settling them on Dream's waist.
"Dear heart," he murmurs into Dream's mouth. "Most beautiful thing."
Dream makes a soft sound and rests his face against Hob's.
They stay there for a long moment, frozen in the middle of the sidewalk. Then Dream asks, "Would you have still kissed me if I was a cat?"
"On your little furry head, yes," Hob says, and pecks his cheek. "I thought you were a cat."
"I am," Dream says.
Hob groans. "Enough, I'm getting confused again. Let's stop with the metaphysics and go home and do something less headache-inducing."
"Like playing with the new toy you've found yourself?" Dream asks, raising an eyebrow, but obligingly lets Hob wrap an arm around his waist and tug him along down the sidewalk.
"Pretty much!" Hob agrees. "If you're amenable."
"I suppose I can bear it," Dream says solemnly, as though being kissed and coddled and worshiped is the greatest hardship of his eons-long existence.
Then he says, quietly, "You are singular, to perceive me thus."
"As..." Hob looks at him as they walk, looks at the elegant cut of Dream's cheekbone and the sweep of his eyelashes, the longer fall of his hair. "You mean, in more than one... facet?"
Dream nods. "You... see me. The truth of me. And still, you look upon me kindly."
"What other way is there to look at the one you've loved your whole life?" Hob asks, throat tight.
Dream leans into his side, and Hob presses a kiss to his temple, holding there for several steps. And he continues to hold him close as they go on, keeps his unfathomable boundless entity within the circle of his arms, where he can keep on fathoming him.
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here2bbtstrash · 2 years
Text
party on you (explicit)
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genre: SMUT SMUT SMUT with an extremely small side of fluff lol
pairing: hoseok x reader
summary: the only thing stronger than your social anxiety is your big dumb crush on hoseok - and you're certainly not expecting it when he tells you the real reason he threw this album release party.
word count: 9.8k
contains: explicit sexual content aka PORN !!!! idol-verse, literally takes place at the JITB album release party, friends to lovers, erotic hand holding, they're both cute and dumb, a studio hookup 👀 dirty talk, thigh riding, cunnilingus, a single pussy slap lol, taint touching (?), HOBI EATS ASS, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, throat fucking, reader gets a facial, and a lil bit of cum eating, it's cute 😌
A/N: so, hi, i went to hobipalooza lmao. this is actually lowkey a songfic ??? charli xcx was one of the earlier acts on hobi's stage and. my god. seeing her live was a religious experience, and when she performed party 4 u i was like hnnnhghg this should be a fic. and now it is !!!! and i hope u enjoy 🥺🥺 i tried some new stuff in here, both soft and freaky lmao so i'm nervy to share!!! as always your support and feedback means the world to meeeee ok ilysomuch bye~
read on AO3 !
~*~
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You collapse back against the cushions of your couch with a soft whine of distress.
The whole thing is really so ridiculous. You told yourself when this started that you could be chill about it. People get crushes every day. It doesn’t have to be a huge fucking deal. You’re a sane, rational adult, perfectly capable of admiring a man quietly from afar while doing your best to be a good friend to him.
And, yes, maybe also obsessing a little too much over what to wear when you hang out, and what to post on Instagram in case he might see it, and dear god, how long his hair is getting. All normal crush things.
But now, as you press your phone to your chest with both hands and sigh forlornly, you wonder if it might actually be possible to yearn yourself to death. To like somebody so much that your heart just fucking explodes. If anyone could be capable of inciting spontaneous combustion, it is absolutely Jung Hoseok.
And he wants you to come to his big fancy party– has specifically sent a day-of reminder text, like you didn’t already receive a formal invitation weeks ago.
You purse your lips, fighting to keep a smile off your face despite being alone in your apartment where no one can perceive you. Hoseok is always so good at keeping in touch, even when he’s in an insanely busy season of his life. You can picture him now, probably bustling around his place in a robe, getting ready while simultaneously sending everyone their own personalized message.
Everyone– when you last chatted about the party, he rattled off enough of the guest list for you to know that easily half the industry will be there tonight. And even Lizzo has gushed about how great of a texter he is. You try to ease yourself off the ledge with the comforting thought that this has to be just one courtesy text of dozens, his pretty painted thumbnails working overtime to send gratuitous emojis out to every idol in the city.
And somehow also to you. Because your big fat crush made you stupid enough to say yes to what is arguably your worst nightmare: A party full of cool famous people, where you will know no one except the guest of honor.
Skipping the party is not an option becomes your internal refrain as the hours tick by. You have to remind yourself of this even more emphatically when you wind up on the floor of your bedroom, having tried on every article of clothing in your closet and having decisively hated it all.
Skipping the party is not an option, you think again, grabbing your phone to check the clock. Your heart sinks when you realize how much time you’ve wasted being an anxious wreck– you had planned to be ready to leave five minutes ago, not laying half-naked on the floor, hair and makeup still undone.
But skipping the party is not an option. A pre-party cry, however, might be on the table.
Pushing yourself up to sit on your heels, you force the tears back while you aimlessly sort through a pile of clothes. You’re barely looking at what’s in front of you, but you pause to do a double-take as your hand passes over a particularly enjoyable texture.
When you manage to extract the item, you realize it’s a dress you’d forgotten about entirely– something a friend made you buy a lifetime ago that you’ve never worn because you’ve always been uncomfortable with how short it is. But it’s smooth baby pink satin, and as different from your usual as it may be, you recall not being mad about the way it stuck to your curves like water.
Fuck it. You’re already late, and if there’s ever a party where you can take a fashion risk, it’s one thrown by Hoseok. You can only imagine what he might have on tonight; it honestly wouldn’t surprise you if he showed up in the same fucking dress.
The thought of seeing him is enough to make your heart leap in your chest, and you do your best to speed through your usual makeup and hair routine despite the way your hands are starting to tremble. By the time you grab your purse and make it out the door, you’re thirty minutes late. That thirty minutes quickly stretches into a full hour before you’re stepping off the elevator onto the 19th floor of HYBE headquarters, feeling like an asshole.
Gorgeous idols and various other famous people stream in around you, dressed in clothes that appear casual but you’re sure cost double your monthly rent payment, looking less than unbothered about showing up late. You do your best to slip in unnoticed and stick to the perimeter of the massive room, feeling like an absolute fraud.
Thankfully it’s only a few steps before you find a table taken up entirely by pre-filled flutes of champagne, and you eagerly grab one, mostly just grateful for something to do with your hands.
It occurs to you how little you know about celebrity culture, because the party doesn’t even seem to have started yet: early 2000s R&B is bumping through the speakers, and it feels like every few minutes the elevator chimes to let another group of people trickle into the space. You find an unoccupied section of wall to lean against as you sip your drink slowly, hoping that if you try hard enough, you might actually manage to become one with the wallpaper.
Tipping your head back for another sip of champagne, you nearly choke at an unexpected voice from over your shoulder.
“You look like you hate parties as much as I do.”
You manage to not inhale your drink, instead giving a polite smile as your eyes drift across the crowded room. You’re too nervous to immediately steal a glance at whoever is speaking to you, though you’re sure it just makes you seem rude. “Hate isn’t exactly it.” You have nothing against parties, or people who enjoy them. “I just… haven’t figured out what I’m supposed to be doing, exactly.”
“I think talking to people is generally expected,” the voice quips. “So, hey, you’re doing great already. Keep it up and they might even think you’re an extrovert.”
You exhale a soft laugh, a slight heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck.
“But Hobi said I didn’t have to meet and greet if I didn't want to. So I’m taking that as full permission to enjoy free alcohol and read webtoons on my phone.”
Your gaze snaps over at the familiar nickname, and your mouth goes dry as you realize you’ve been casually conversing with none other than Kim Seokjin, who is absentmindedly fiddling with the thin green strap of the bag slung over his shoulder.
Fuck. Embarrassing yourself in front of random famous people was exactly what you were trying to avoid when you picked this wall to lean against. You’d figured the other members would all be out mingling in the center of things, not hiding in a corner. Who knew celebrities were just like you?
“I-I’m sorry,” you stammer, immediately dropping your gaze to avoid making eye contact when Jin looks up. He probably assumed you’d sidled up next to him on purpose, like some kind of creepy fan. “I’ll leave you alone, I actually really didn’t mean to–”
You glance up again only to realize Jin is laughing, shoulders shaking slightly.
“Wow, I’m so bad at this. That wasn’t me telling you to fuck off. I was just trying to sympathize.” He gestures lazily towards the stage at the front of the room. “Thankfully it looks like you don’t have to suffer my conversation any longer.”
A Jack in the Box graphic has started to flash, projected onto the screen. After a few seconds, the image stills, and a spotlight clicks on, following Hoseok as he emerges from backstage. You lean forward to set your drink on the closest table so you can join in the applause for him.
Hoseok looks as effortlessly cool as he always does, but even more so tonight, like someone has cranked his charisma up to the max setting. A real fucking popstar, a rockstar, even: baggy clothes, multiple layers of necklaces, chunky black boots, dark hair pushed back with a few strands falling into his eyes. He somehow even manages to make wearing sunglasses indoors look cool– probably because they’re immediately offset by the wide, sweet grin of his mouth as he addresses the crowd. You can hear that he’s nervous by how hard he’s trying to keep his voice even, and it’s enough to make you feel the flutter of butterfly wings in your throat.
As you pick your drink back up for another sip, you can’t help but wonder if Jin can literally see the hearts in your eyes, or a nervous little teardrop floating above your head like an anime character. You do your best to hide your smile behind your glass.
“J-Hope is pretty cool, huh?”
You bite down on your bottom lip, answering Jin’s question with a shy nod.
Hoseok descends the stage as the lights lower, and then the album intro is starting and there’s no more time for conversation. You watch from across the room as he drops down on the large built-in stairs next to Jungkook, who immediately wraps a supportive arm around his waist while Hoseok laughs like he’s embarrassed. You’ve always been in total awe of the way Hoseok can light up and command the energy of a room easily, then squirm away from it at the next second.
Jin gets waved over and gives you a small nod as he departs, and then you’re alone again with the champagne in your hand and the wall against your back and Hoseok’s music thrumming through your nervous system.
The album is nothing like you expected– you didn’t know what to expect, really– and you absolutely love it. You’ve always felt like you have a stupidly limited vocabulary when it comes to talking about music, particularly around Hoseok, but even you can manage to string together the thought that these songs are fucking special.
But then again, so is he.
In what feels like the blink of an eye Hoseok is taking the stage again to giggle through his thanks, bent slightly at the waist in overwhelmed appreciation, and then the pop playlist is switched back on and the lights are dimmed and you suddenly feel your palms start to slick up against your champagne flute.
You can’t help but wonder what the fuck you’re supposed to do now.
The obvious choice would be to finally go talk to Hoseok, but of course, he’s the man of the hour, so every other person in the room seems to have the same idea. You choose to hang back and watch as he weaves through the growing crowd, putting on a bored expression to pose for pictures, laughing excitedly as people shake his hand and speak to him in hushed tones, and flashing thumbs ups and peace signs left, right and center.
It looks exhausting, you think to yourself with a small smile. And this is why you’re not famous.
For the second time tonight someone manages to sneak up on you, and this time it’s accompanied with a gentle call of your name. You nearly drop your drink as you whip around.
When you find yourself face-to-face with Park Jimin, it takes a few seconds for you to remember how to close your mouth. What is going on?
“I thought that was you.”
You double-blink, unable to find any words at all. You have never met this man before in your life. Seen him dozens of times on your TV screen, sure, but certainly never formally introduced.
“I’m Jimin,” he says, and you have to swallow the urge to giggle in his face because, yeah, no shit.
“Hi, Jimin.”
“Hoseok is going to be excited that you’re here.” Jimin scrunches his face up a little, like he knows he shouldn’t be telling you this. “He kept asking me if I thought you would show or not. He really wouldn’t shut up about it.”
You find yourself stammering again, trying to figure out how the hell to respond. Why, out of everyone on the guest list, would Hoseok be concerned about you? And he’s talked to Jimin about you enough for him to know who you are, that he can recognize you on sight alone? Your head starts to spin, despite the fact that you’re only halfway through your glass of champagne.
“Since you don’t like parties,” Jimin says, like it’s common knowledge, as if it’s totally normal for this very busy and famous kpop idol to keep tabs on your socialization preferences.
You nod dumbly. “I, yeah. I’m just not very good at them.”
Jimin nods, pushing up the sleeves of his white Chanel sweater. “You just have to get comfortable with talking to people about boring shit. Did you try the food?”
You shake your head– the very thought is enough to make you feel a little sick. “I get, like, a nervous stomach?” You hate that it comes out like a question when it clearly isn’t.
“Aish, you and Hoseok are so alike,” Jimin rolls his eyes, hands on hips, but you can see he’s smiling a little. “I haven’t been able to get him to eat anything all day. And we ordered so much food, I don’t even know why. Like half the people in this room aren’t on fucking diets.”
“Jimin-ah!”
Both of your heads snap up at the sound of Namjoon’s voice from the other side of the room, distorted slightly by the thudding bass.
“Ahh, they’re doing pictures,” Jimin says with an exaggerated sigh, like it’s just so hard being desirable and photogenic. “Do you want to get a photo?”
You shake your head as emphatically as possible. “No, nope, absolutely not.”
Jimin pauses, squinting at you for a second in a way that makes you think that if you were closer friends, he’d be dragging you across the room regardless of your answer to the question. You watch as he clearly attempts to restrain himself.
“Well, don’t drink too much on an empty stomach, okay? I’ll make you a to-go plate of food before you leave.” He starts to walk backwards away from you, raising his voice a little so you can still hear him. “And please talk to Hoseokie when we’re done! Maybe then he’ll calm the fuck down!”
You can’t hide the smile that blooms across your face, and Jimin wiggles his eyebrows for emphasis before turning around and pressing his way through the crowd to the photo wall.
The members take turns passing Hoseok around, punctuated by the snap of the camera: pinching his cheeks, leaning into him, clinging to his shoulders, wrapping an arm around his neck. You laugh out loud when Taehyung hikes a leg up high on Hoseok’s hip and tips back, a hand draped across his forehead, eyes shut, so fucking dramatic.
Hoseok stares down the camera like a professional, only to immediately dissolve into giggles between shots, tongue poking out between his teeth like he can’t quite handle all the attention. It’s enough to have you nearly fighting for your life.
The members crowd in for a few group shots, posing cutely until Jimin finally waves everyone back off to the dancefloor. He keeps Hoseok behind with one hand gripping his bicep, and your heart drops into your stomach when Jimin leans in to whisper something in Hoseok’s ear.
Oh, fuck.
You try to calm yourself down, reasoning that he could be talking about any number of important things, but then Jimin pulls Hoseok’s sunglasses off his face, turns him unmistakably in your direction, and gives his shoulders a hard push. It’s clear Hoseok doesn’t quite know where he’s going as he stumbles forward and squints at the party lights, so you throw back the last of your champagne for some assistance, set the empty flute on a table, and force yourself to be brave.
You run your palms nervously over the sides of your dress, trying to focus on the feeling of smooth satin as you cross the room to meet him.
“Hobi.” His eyes find yours and you watch as his face, still in party mode— all perfect straight lines and severe grace and supermodel apathy— softens, brightens.
“Oh thank god, you made it,” Hoseok huffs a disbelieving laugh. “Come here.”
He pulls you in for a hug, not the lazy one-armed greetings you’ve seen celebrities give each other all night but a real, solid embrace, both arms crossed firmly over the small of your back. You press your nose into the crook of his neck, the thin fabric of his tank top brushing against your skin. Heat radiates off of him in waves, and he smells so good, like expensive cologne. It’s dizzying.
“Hi,” you murmur, and it’s punctuated with a soft giggle when you realize you’re speaking directly into his collarbone. You move to extract yourself, but his grip tightens.
“Five more seconds,” Hoseok says with another half-laugh, and you gladly allow yourself to melt back into his arms.
He sounds slightly hoarse, you notice, probably from talking all night. You think for easily the millionth time that you have no idea how he does it, but this moment of softness makes you wonder if being the life of the party is a little more difficult than he lets on.
Hoseok hums a little, and the feeling rumbles through your chest, buzzing all the way down to your fingertips like an electric current. When he finally releases you, it’s with a soft sigh, something that almost sounds like reluctance. Your heart backflips at the thought.
The lights flash waves of rainbow color over his face, each one painting his perfect features with a slightly different energy: pink, blue, orange, green. You momentarily forget how to talk, but Hoseok doesn’t miss a beat.
“Are you having fun?”
You nod as decisively as you can. “I’m just awkward, but that’s not your party’s fault.” He giggles, gaze flitting nervously around the room, as you continue. “Seriously, it’s a great party. And I’m not just saying that because you have free booze.”
“Did you want more?” He asks quickly, then seems to think better of it. “Or, well, how much have you had? Do you need water?”
You smile a little despite yourself. “I’m fine, Hobi, thank you. You have better things to do tonight than look after me because I nursed a single glass of champagne. And besides, Jimin already tried to mother hen me earlier.”
A look of serious anguish crosses Hoseok’s face, and he glances back over his shoulder, but Jimin has evaporated into the crowd of beautiful people. “God, I specifically told him to leave you alone.”
You shrug. “It’s not a big deal. He was sweet.”
Hoseok’s gaze lands back on you, and it feels like your chest lights up from the inside out. You almost can’t look directly at him– it’s not unlike staring into the sun. You blink up at him once, twice, more than dazed, and then he laughs again, nose scrunching slightly as if to cringe at himself.
“Agh, I feel awkward. I don’t know what to say.”
You’re smiling, too. “That’s okay,” you say, because it is. You’re perfectly content to just stand here with him, unconcerned with the chaos of the party around you.
“I’m really glad you’re here.”
“Me too.”
“And– well, I guess you’ve never been here before, right? Can I give you a tour? I can take you downstairs and show you my studio.”
Your cheeks start to burn from all the questions, from how fixed his gaze is on you. It’s overwhelming. “Hobi, this is literally your party. You should stay here. I was doing fine holding up the wall over there.”
“Come on, I really want to. Please?” He leans in towards you slightly, glancing around as if to make sure he’s not being overheard. When he speaks into your ear, his voice drops to a lower register for privacy, and you can’t ignore the chills that dot up your spine. “I can’t talk to one more person that isn’t you right now.”
You nod, every nerve ending in your body now hyper-aware of how very close he is to you. “If you’re sure. I’d like that.”
“Thank you,” he says softly, and you breathe a soft giggle at how ridiculous it is that he’s the one thanking you at this moment. Before you even realize what he’s doing, his hand finds your hand, delicate fingers intertwining with yours. The skin of his palm is soft and warm. “Let’s go.” He chases the words with a gentle squeeze.
Hoseok leads you into the elevator and presses the button for a lower floor. You’re a little surprised when he slumps back against the wall with a heavy sigh as the doors close, still holding your hand.
“Oh, I’m tired.” He says quietly, almost like he’s talking to himself rather than to you. “It just hit me now. That was a lot.”
You squeeze his hand back, and his eyes flutter open to look at you. You press yourself up against the wall next to him. “You sound like me after any social event. And here I was thinking all night that you made it look so easy.”
Hoseok smiles. “I’m good at faking it. But I always collapse after stuff like this.” His eyes drift away from you and he stares into the empty space in front of him, his expression darkening slightly. “I just really hope they liked it. It’s so hard to tell what people think, or who’s only bullshitting you when they tell you it’s good. I’d rather they be honest with me.”
“Well, if it means anything, I loved it.” You say softly, your eyes searching his face. “And I’m not a bullshitter.”
Hoseok blinks, then nods once, his eyes not meeting yours. “You’re not. I appreciate that.”
The chime of the elevator seems to snap him somewhat out of his headspace, and he tugs on your joined hands to pull you through the doors as they slide open. “It’s just at the end of the hall.”
There’s something about Hoseok that comforts you all the way to your core, laps gently at the edges of your shyness until it recedes a bit. He just makes you feel like you can say anything without fear of judgment. Conversation comes easier with him, like this.
“How do you feel about it?”
“The album?” He asks.
You shrug. “Everything.”
“I’m very nervous,” Hoseok answers immediately with a bright peal of laughter, squeezing your hand again for emphasis. “I’m working really hard but… it all feels like uncharted territory. It’s so different to do it alone.”
His eyes jump from studio door to studio door as he leads you down the hallway. “I don’t know if people are going to like this side of me or the things I have to say. I don’t know if anyone will still care now that it’s just me. And ugh, I’m so unsure about the music festival. I’ve never done a whole show on my own before. I practice so much every day and I still don’t know if I can do it. Or if it will be any good.”
When he stops you outside of the final door at the end of the hallway, he seems to remember himself. “Wow, look at me. You were probably only being polite and I threw so much at you. This is just what goes around in my head. Every day and every night.”
“You sound stressed,” you say softly.
Hoseok purses his lips for a second. “I guess. I just really want to do well. I don’t want to disappoint anyone. I would– what?”
It isn’t until he asks the question, regarding you with a confused expression, that you realize you’re shaking your head. The smile that has crept across your face is a mixture of disbelief and appreciation.
“I’m sorry,” you’re practically laughing. “Please, keep going.”
“No, no, what is that face?”
You chew on the corner of your lip, trying to figure out the best way to word it. “I just… I don’t want to dismiss your concerns, because I absolutely understand all of them. And I would be shitting a brick, no question. But you…” Hoseok’s eyes widen a little as you pause, drinking him in, the way concern tugs down the corners of his mouth. “You just have no idea. No idea what it’s like to watch you from out here. And I wish you could see yourself the way I do.”
He pauses as if to consider your words. “What do you see?”
You don’t even have to think about the answer. It feels as steady and honest as the beat of your heart behind your ribs. “I see a fucking star. I see somebody who was born to do exactly what he’s doing. And, I mean, I think being nervous is a good thing, and I don’t say this to try and invalidate how you’re feeling at all. But I don’t see any possible future where you don’t succeed, Hoseok. It’s just... not an option. You’re going to get up there and kill it, I know you are. Because it’s you.”
Hoseok’s hand slips out of yours, and you can feel the warmth of his palms as he presses them to your waist to pull you close. Anticipation sparks through you. His eyes search yours intently, like he’s looking for something. “You really feel that way?”
“Completely. There’s no doubt in my mind.” Your gaze drops to his mouth, the way his full lips are parted slightly, and it occurs to you that maybe you’re talking about more than one thing now. “It feels predestined, to me… I don’t know. Inevitable.”
Hoseok makes a soft noise as he continues to close the distance between you. “Inevitable?” You tilt your chin up towards him, every cell in your body humming. “Like this?”
The way he kisses you is so gentle and sweet, you swear your heart leaps into your throat. You allow a second, maybe two, to move your mouth against his and get lost in it, and then you force yourself to break away, your mind reeling.
“I’m sorry,” he says automatically. “I’ve been wanting to do that all night.”
“Hoseok,” you murmur, eyes squeezing shut as you attempt to navigate the discomfort of being vulnerable. “I– you should know that I really, really like you.”
“Really?”
The shock in his voice makes your eyes snap open again, and you can’t help but make a face of utter disbelief. “I thought it was obvious.”
“Looks like I’m not the only one who doesn’t realize how other people see me. You’re actually very hard to read.” Hoseok slips one hand off of your waist to push down on the door handle behind you, then gestures for you to step through. He keeps talking as he follows in after you, letting the door shut behind him. “I second-guess myself all the time with you. Jimin is so fucking tired of hearing about it.”
“Wow,” you say dumbly. “I had no idea.”
“You didn’t even text me back about tonight! I had no idea if you were coming.”
You start to laugh as the realization washes over you: you’d been so busy sighing forlornly and stressing about what to wear, you’d forgotten to actually reply to his messages.
“Okay, this time was actually an accident. But…” You sweep your gaze over his studio, trying to think. “I don’t know, I just always feel like I’m bothering you. Your life is so big and important. Even now: you should be upstairs being the star of your own party. Not down here with me.”
Hoseok shakes his head immediately. “I don’t want to talk to anyone up there the way I want to talk to you. I was such a wreck today when you didn’t answer.”
You can’t believe what he’s saying, even as he takes a step in towards you, his mouth invitingly close to yours again. “Why? I am quite literally the least important person on the guestlist.”
“Because,” Hoseok pauses for a second, then sighs. “I like you, and I was scared that you’d decided not to come, when I…” He’s practically grinning, and the tell of his scrunched up nose makes you realize– he’s embarrassed. “I threw this whole party just to have an excuse to see you.”
Your jaw drops open. “You what?”
“Please don’t make me say it again.”
“Hobi.” You both start to laugh as you stare in disbelief, trying to process the most ridiculous statement you’ve ever heard in your life. “You could have just called me.”
“I tend to overthink these things.”
He’s close enough that you barely have to move to slide your hands up his chest and grip the lapels of his white button-down.
“I think I can help with that,” you murmur, and then you tug him back down into a kiss that makes your head spin.
The sweet nervousness of your first kiss has been replaced with urgency now, Hoseok’s mouth moving over yours like he’s hungry for it. You tug gently on your fistfuls of his shirt to move him towards you, stumbling backwards until you find purchase against the door of the studio.
Hoseok moves skillfully, tongue licking into your mouth while one of his strong thighs shifts to tease your legs apart and press between them. The quick succession of the two is enough to make your breath hitch, and it seems to encourage him more. The rough denim of his jeans grinds into your center, and your already-short dress has ridden up enough that the pressure drags hot sparks right over your core.
Your jaw goes slack as your focus slips, and you tip your head back against the door with a soft whine, circling your hips for more friction. “Fuck, Hoseok.”
His lips drop down to the exposed skin of your neck. The warmth of his mouth has your back arching, your nipples rubbed into stiff peaks under the thin fabric you couldn’t wear a bra with.
“You look so fucking good tonight,” Hoseok groans. “Driving me crazy in this little dress.”
There’s the soft brush of a hand on your thigh, and he teases the hem of your dress up higher and higher as your hips keep moving; his tongue darts out to lick a languid stripe over your collarbone. His other hand slides up from your waist to cup your breast over satin, deftly rolling the bud of your nipple between his long fingers, pinching with just enough pressure to coax a moan out of you.
“I like the sounds you make. Don’t want you to be shy with me.” Hoseok murmurs over your skin before he starts to suck deliberately at your neck, right on your pulse point. You couldn’t stifle the sound his mouth pulls from you even if you wanted to.
With all your attention drawn to grinding your clit against his leg and the warmth of his palm cupping your breast, your grip on the fabric of his shirt has loosened. Moving in a haze of pleasure, your hands fumble at his denim jacket, attempting to push it down his shoulders. Hoseok pulls back slightly when he realizes what you’re doing, though his fingers still lazily squeeze at your nipple.
“Let me just– hang on–” Hoseok untangles himself from you entirely with a sheepish grin, and you take the moment to collect yourself, your chest heaving in shallow breaths. You can feel the way your panties are soaked through as you press your thighs together, desperate for continued friction.
He’s moving quickly as he slips out of his oversized jacket and button down beneath it. You can clearly see the wheels in his head turning as he lays the pieces over the back of his desk chair, then immediately scrunches his face up as if to think better of it.
“Agh, sorry, sorry, one second–” Hoseok shakes out the jacket, then the shirt, folding both in quick yet precise succession before stacking the neat rectangles together and gently setting them on the small couch next to his desk.
Even in the dim studio lighting you can see his face is flushed pink with embarrassment as he returns to press you back against the door.
“I just– I don’t want wrinkles,” he says softly, and you’re very grateful that you no longer have to suppress the urge to take his face in your hands and kiss him.
“I like you so much,” you giggle into his mouth, and it’s punctuated with a squeak when his hands slide down to firmly grab your ass. The fabric of your dress is so thin that it hardly feels like it’s there at all.
Hoseok must have the same thought, because he releases his grip only for as long as it takes to push the skirt of your dress up over your ass; now there’s nothing separating his fingers from your skin when he squeezes you again.
“Like you,” he agrees, his voice husky. “Want to taste you.” Your core aches for his touch, clenches around nothing when he releases his grip and cracks a hand over the soft flesh of your asscheek.
“Please, Hobi.”
You find his mouth with yours again for a needy taste of a kiss, tongues sliding together. Your arms wrap around his shoulders in an attempt to pull him impossibly closer.
In one swift move he presses you flush against the door, and his hands slip to hitch your legs over his waist before moving back to your ass, hoisting your hips up to properly straddle him. You whimper at the grind of his erection through his jeans, right over your rubbed-sensitive center, and at the thought that he could fuck you just like this, up against this door.
Hoseok’s mouth doesn’t leave yours as he turns and carries you the short distance across the room, hands sliding to your hips so he can set you down on the desk. His lips are full and kiss-bitten red when he pulls back to look at you, pupils blown dark with lust.
“Sure this is okay?”
You meet his gaze, reaching up to dust strands of hair out of his eyes. His mouth chases the heel of your hand so he can press those soft lips into the center of your palm, chaste and sweet. 
“It’s so much more than okay,” you murmur.
He’s smiling as he leans forward for another kiss, only pulling back to press his forehead to yours once you’re both breathless. “I have wanted to do this for so fucking long. You have no idea.”
His hands hook under the backs of your thighs to scoot you gently forward until you’re perched at the very edge of his desk, and then he sinks to his knees. Your legs that were slipped around his waist find new purchase thrown over his shoulders and you tense a little when your high heels scrape over his back.
“I can take these off,” you start, but he’s already shaking his head as his palms encourage your thighs apart.
“I like it.”
You’re nearly gasping for breath with anticipation as his long fingers slip under the band of your panties and you lift your hips up so he can pull them down. You manage to extract one leg to drape back over his shoulders, leaving the lacy fabric to dangle off the other as you open up for him.
Hoseok’s thumbs press to either side of your pussy, gently spreading your lips apart to admire how soaked you already are. Anyone else examining you like this would have you squirming away self-consciously, but there’s just something about Hoseok that’s different. You want him to know every part of you fully, intimately.
“God, you are so gorgeous.” His breath is hot over your skin, makes your cunt tighten needily as if to beckon him closer.
You lean back to brace your forearms on the desk behind you and Hoseok’s gaze jumps up to meet yours. He doesn’t drop eye contact as he leans forward to press an open-mouthed kiss to your slit, both of you groaning at the contact.
His mouth moves just as it did against yours, and you let your eyes flutter closed as pleasure sears through you like a hot knife. Hoseok grunts a little, low in his throat when he adds tongue to his kisses, licking softly but deliberately to part your slick folds.
“Hobi,” you whine, rolling your hips up into him as he starts to apply more pressure with his tongue. “Fuck, ah, feels so good.”
Hoseok pulls off of you with a throaty gasp, like maybe he was so focused on eating you out that he didn’t quite remember to keep breathing. When you look down at him, his lips are wet and glossy, spread in a wide smile. “You taste so fucking good.”
You don’t even have time to ask for more before he’s hooking his biceps around your thighs and tugging your hips towards him, pulling you even closer to bury his face between your legs. This time he licks a stripe straight up to your swollen clit, pulling the bud into his mouth to suck on.
“Oh my god,” you gasp, digging your nails into the desk beneath you as sparks shoot through you and your clit twitches in his mouth.
Hoseok hums steadily around you, as if to once again encourage you to be vocal. He starts to nod his head as he sucks, his nose pressed flush against your pubic bone. Your hips fall in time with his rhythm, grinding back down on him.
“Yes, yes, yes,” you whimper. “Shit, Hobi.” Your voice catches on a dazed, disbelieving laugh. “You’re gonna make me come if you keep doing that.”
He doesn’t let up, squeezing his grip on your thighs that much tighter when you start to quiver beneath him. Your arousal coils tight and hot in your core as he works more not-so-shy noises out of you, breathy moans, needy whines.
You cling desperately to the edge of his desk, teetering equally on the edge of your own release. The wet slick wash of his tongue is lush, decadent, lapping at your clit between pulses of suction, and it’s all too fucking much.
“Yes, Hoseok, fuck!”
You cry out, your heels digging into the hard plane of Hoseok’s back as he works an intense, shuddering orgasm out of you. Your cunt throbs over and over as you come, a rush of arousal painting the crux of your thighs.
When you catch your breath it’s in uneven, shaky gasps, and the movement of your hips sharpens into jolts as you become hypersensitive to Hoseok’s mouth. He releases you almost reluctantly, still hovering close, continuing to dart his tongue out to gently lick up your folds.
“I don’t want to stop,” he says with a shy, blossoming laugh, the light catching the shine of his lips and chin when he glances up at you.
You’re dazed, beyond blissed out, unable to believe that any of this is real. You like him so much.
“Can I keep going?”
Just that sentence is enough to make you tighten all over again with anticipation. “I–” you laugh a little too despite yourself. “I want that. But I think my clit needs a second.”
Hoseok’s touch is featherlight as he circles a digit lower, over your entrance, as if to ask permission. “What about here?” Your pussy lips twitch even under so gentle a touch, but you ache for more; you like that it’s overwhelming.
“Yeah, yes. There, please, fuck,” you babble. He’s added a second finger to tease now, and you whimper when they finally press together into your sensitive cunt.
Hoseok is watching his fingers intently, and you can hear the way your pussy squelches as he pumps them slowly, can feel the tremors of your orgasm still shuddering through you, causing slick to drip from your center. You can only imagine what his view must be like, how you must look: dripping, needy, trembling for him, fingers gripping the desk and head lolling back.
“So pretty,” he murmurs, his voice low and soft, and then he dips his head down to lap below your entrance, tasting the juices that have leaked out of you. He pulls back to smack his other hand over your whole cunt, light enough that you barely feel the tap, but just the visual of it makes you squirm beneath him.
“So cute,” he smiles. His fingers rub circles into your front wall, becoming more insistent, and you breathe in shaky waves as you start to grip tightly around him.
“Hoseok,” you breathe, letting your eyes drop closed. Arousal blossoms through you like a heavy weight, your second climax already building, when you feel his other hand cup the join of your ass and thigh.
A soft whimper spills out of you as Hoseok starts to massage below your entrance, thumb working at a new bundle of nerves, like nothing you’ve ever felt. It’s pleasure that makes you hot all over, makes the muscles in your legs shiver and tense when it’s paired with the crook of his fingers still working your pussy.
“Fuck,” you pant, “Hobi, what are– that feels so–” You’re starting to lose a grip on your words, sentences going incoherent as your head spins. It’s hard to think over all the sensation, the way your body is lit up like a live wire, and the sound of your cunt gushing around him as he fucks into your g-spot.
“Has anyone touched you here before?” He asks softly, thumb tapping at the thin bridge of skin between your pussy and your ass. His head dips down for a chaste kiss there, then a second, adding a languid lap of tongue.
“N-no,” you whimper, toes curling in your shoes as he continues to drag his tongue over this delicate, sensitive place. “Keep going.”
Hoseok pulls back, a string of saliva still connecting him to you, and he lets it loose with a swipe of his hand over his mouth. His fingers slip out of you as he pairs a question with a smile. “Turn over for me?”
Your legs would be shaking even if you weren’t in fancy party heels, and you do your best to be graceful as you unsteadily spin, one arm keeping the fabric of your dress hiked up over your hips.
“Brace yourself on the desk,” Hoseok instructs, and you do, leaning forward until your stomach and forearms are flush with the wood, your bare ass hanging off the desk, presented for him. You spread your legs apart again and can feel the way your pussy drools arousal down your thighs. “That’s it,” he coaxes.
His fingers massage firmly into the flesh of your asscheeks, and your back arches up as you groan at the feeling. He spreads you just a little, enough for cool air to tease at your slick center; your hips wiggle towards him on instinct.
“Pretty back here, too,” he murmurs. “Tell me how it feels, okay? Won’t do it if you don’t like it.”
You clench for him in both places, even your fists grip tight in the fabric of your dress. “I’ll like it. Please, baby.”
“Baby,” Hoseok repeats back with a shy exhale. “I like that. I like you.” He leaves a sweet kiss pressed halfway up your thigh.
“Hobi–” you choke out a whine of his name as his breath ghosts over you, hands still firmly keeping you spread. His tongue returns to your perineum again, licking a hot, slow stripe that keeps moving up, up, until you feel the tease of warmth and wetness over your ass. “Oh, fuck.”
You’re so sensitive here, just the lightest drag of his tongue over your rim makes you moan, feet kicking listlessly as pleasure shudders through you.
“It’s good–” you manage to whimper, voice muffled slightly as your forehead drops against the desk, too, your whole body pinned down by his mouth. “–ngh, really good, Hobi.” Your cunt throbs when he does it again, as he falls into a consistent pace of long, steady laps that set off fireworks behind your eyes.
The ache in your core begs for touch, friction, and you oblige needily, tucking a hand under the weight of your hips pressed into the desk, a sweat-slicked palm for your mouth-wet clit.
Hoseok doesn’t miss a thing. It’s only for a second that he pulls off of you, but you whine at the loss of his tongue, sated slightly by the gentle brush of his lips over the small of your back. “Gonna get yourself off while I eat you out?”
You grind a circle down with your hips, hissing at the white-hot pulse against your hand. “Yes, baby, please.”
He doesn’t need any more encouragement to dive back in, fingers gripping harder to spread you and tongue licking deliberately, tracing patterns that work more arousal out of your pussy. You’re unraveling fast from humping against your palm, hips jolting forward to make your clit twitch and backwards to press towards Hoseok’s mouth.
You’re already wound so tight that you’re too desperate for words, reduced instead to little breathless gasps– “ah, ahh”– as you speed up the rub of your hand, your hips. Hoseok’s tongue never falters, firm pressure laved over and over your sensitive, flexing ass.
With a soft hum of effort, you feel him press a little harder, tongue barely dipping in past your tight ring of muscle, and the sweet stretch of it is the final push you need.
You roll your clit just right over your palm a final time and then you’re shaking and moaning as everything starts to pulse. The all-over clench pushes a fresh wave of fluid from your cunt, rolling down the backs of your thighs, fat droplets of arousal that Hoseok chases with sloppy kisses as the waves of your orgasm shudder through you.
It takes a moment before you can say anything, do anything, limbs too heavy and brain too fucked-out dumb. You do your best to slide gracefully off the desk, but your legs shake with aftershocks that betray you, and you stumble.
Hoseok is quick to wrap his arms around you and guide your hips down to the floor next to him. You collapse in a heap of giggles, him tangled over your waist, the skirt of your dress still pushed up, your bare ass on his studio carpet.
“Are you okay?” Hoseok laughs, and you bury your face in the fabric of his tank top as an answer, not convinced your coherency has returned to you yet.
“Too good,” you murmur, words slurring. “Fucked me too good.”
“You’re so hot.” You can tell he’s blushing just by the tone of his voice, and you start to come to a little, slow-blinking back to reality and rolling over to look up at him. His dark eyes shine as he smiles. You don’t want to come all the way down from this dazed, happy place yet, you realize, and you curl a finger into the loop of his jeans, tugging him closer.
“My turn.” Your hands start to fumble to undo his belt buckle. His jeans are oversized, but not enough to obscure the print of his hard cock pressed against his thigh.
“Let me take you home,” he says softly, running a fingertip along your jaw. “This should be– I want you to be comfortable. I want it to feel good.”
“It all feels good,” you say earnestly, sitting up to tug at the button of his jeans, undeterred. “And you can take me home. But you’ve been so good to me, Hobi.” You manage to work his fly open, and you lift your gaze to meet him. “Let me be good to you.”
You resume your work, wriggling Hoseok’s jeans down his thighs until his hands cover yours and he takes over, stripping himself of his shoes as well. He reaches back between his shoulder blades to pull his tank top over his head, and your eyes sweep over his body, taking in his lithe figure and smooth, hard muscles. You trail the tips of your fingers down the defined lines of his chest.
“Fuck,” Hoseok starts to smile self-consciously, one hand drifting over his dick straining against tight black briefs with a slightly darker spot in the center where he’s left a kiss of precum on the fabric. “I don’t have any condoms here.”
You sit up on your knees in front of him, considering this. “Use my mouth.” The high of your orgasm has subsided enough now that you’re not quite shameless anymore, and heat blooms in your face as you continue. “Like, fuck my throat.”
He tries and fails to suppress a groan, and his delicate hands reach to cup either side of your face, thumbs rubbing circles into the hinge of your jaw. “You–” he laughs softly. “You can’t just say things like that.”
“I mean it,” you say simply.
“But you really want to?”
You nod, half play-acting your shyness now, letting your lashes flutter as you blink up at him. “I’ve done it before. I like it.”
“Fuck,” Hoseok breathes. “I want to do everything you like.”
“Please?” You ask sweetly, and Hoseok is already getting to his feet, one hand still cupping your jaw.
“Pretty,” he murmurs, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “So pretty when you beg to suck my cock.” You’re smiling, your fingers slipping under his waistband to slide his briefs down his legs.
“Take your dress off, baby,” Hoseok instructs as he steps back to finish pulling off his underwear. “Don’t wanna ruin it.”
You do as you’re told, staying on your knees to pull it over your head, your heart squeezing again when he takes it from you and treats it as gently as his own clothes. It’s oddly domestic to watch him fold the smooth fabric with shaking hands, naked except for his jewelry, his hard dick leaking against his stomach.
When he turns back to you, you take the opportunity to properly admire him. His cock is as flushed and gorgeous as the rest of him, thick and dripping wet from his tip. You duck down to press a kiss to the sensitive spot under his head, then slide your lips up to gloss over his slit, slicking your mouth with his precum.
You look up at him, hands gripping the backs of his thighs; Hoseok’s eyelids are heavy with lust as he watches you work, tongue toying at the corner of his mouth. He groans a little as you pop just the head into your mouth and swirl your tongue over it, tasting the salt of him.
His hand slides to the back of your head, tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck, and his adam’s apple jerks in his throat as he swallows.
“Tap my foot if you need to stop.” Hoseok’s voice is quiet but firm, and his socked toes wiggle, brushing against your knee pressed into the carpet. “Okay?”
You hum your acknowledgement and maintain eye contact as he holds you still and slides his cock into your mouth. He starts off at a gentle pace, and you hollow your cheeks around him, pressing your tongue flat so it drags over his shaft as he starts to pump in and out of you.
As much as you want him in control, there’s a part of you that can’t help yourself– you lean forward, eyes fluttering closed, wanting to prove to him how much you can take. The head of his cock starts to stretch down your throat and you focus on breathing steady through your nose, your muscles jumping around him in a half-swallow.
“Fuck,” Hoseok groans, his voice dark and rough-edged. You can feel drool starting to leak out of your mouth, and the mess just makes it better. “You take it so well.”
His hips keep rolling, withdrawing his cock into the heat of your mouth only to push it back down the tight clutch of your throat. It gets easier as he starts to move faster, the weight of him pressing bright on your gag reflex in shorter and shorter bursts. It’s just enough to make tears well up in your eyes. They eventually spill over, staining your cheeks until your face is slick and wet, like the sounds of him hitting the back of your throat, all of it obscene and hot.
The hand in your hair tightens as he pulls you all the way down on his shaft until your nose is flush with his abdomen and your throat bulges, filled with him. He holds you there, eyes roaming hungrily over your face.
“You look so sweet with my cock down your throat, baby.”
The hum of agreement you try makes you gag a little, and he quickly releases, pulling out to let you gasp for air. Your tongue lolls out of your mouth as you smile up at him, dazed, and catch your breath.
“Was that too much?” His brows pinch together slightly with concern. You wipe a hand over your nose and shake your head.
“I want more, Hobi,” you purr, moving your face back towards his dick. You lean forward to lazily drag your tongue up his shaft for emphasis. “Want you to come on my face,” you admit as you fix your gaze on him.
You swear you feel his knees almost buckle when you take him in your mouth again.
“You are so fucking sexy,” Hoseok practically growls, hand returning to the nape of your neck. He pushes himself back down your throat and starts to pick up the pace. You want him all and take it easily now, drool slicking your neck and chest when you swallow around his length.
“Oh my god,” he gasps, and you can feel his cock twitch on your tongue as he fucks roughly into your mouth, chasing his orgasm. “Oh my god.”
Hoseok’s grip on your hair goes slack and he pulls out, hand pumping fast over his drool-glossed cock. He tips his head back, exposing the column of his throat with a heady whine when he starts to come. You’re up on your knees and ready for it, nose bumping his fist, face presented for him to paint. Warm spurts of cum hit your cheeks, tongue, lips, and you giggle a little as you try to hold still, as he makes another throaty grunt of effort and release.
“Shit,” he hisses as the movements of his hand slow, as he works out the last of it, stray drips already trailing down your neck, between the valley of your breasts. “Fuuuck.” His breathing is ragged, and you press a wet kiss to the tip of his dick as he recovers.
He’s clearly already focused on the mess he’s made of you, spinning in a dazed semi-circle before reaching to grab a box of tissues off of the desk. His bare knees thud on the carpet as he sinks down next to you.
You’re surprised when he leans in to kiss you, humming softly against your mouth, tongue even darting out to lick at the cum that drips off your lips. You smile into it, teeth gently grazing over his bottom lip.
“Hi,” he huffs a laugh as he leans back. “Was that okay? Not too much?”
You shake your head. “I liked it,” you say again, though your voice comes out a little hoarse. “Wouldn’t have asked for it if I didn’t. I like you. I–” your breath hitches slightly with nerves, and it’s funny to you, that it’s easy to ask him to fuck your throat, but hard to talk about the bigger feelings underneath. It’s more intimate, somehow, to be earnest. “You always worry so much about everyone else. I just want to take care of you.”
“You can.” Hoseok’s voice is gentle and warm. “We both can.” He pulls a tissue loose from the box, hovering close to you. “Let me clean you up.”
You’re too blissed out to stop yourself from giggling. “You have a whole party to get back to.” You nod dumbly at the verity of your own statement as he uses tissues to wipe cum and drool off your face, tear stains and smudged makeup from your cheeks.
“This,” he swipes a thumb down over your bottom lip, chases it with another quick kiss, “was so much better than a fucking party.” He adds the last of the dampened tissues to the small pile he’s made on the floor, tilting your jaw with his hand to inspect his work, to ensure perfection as he does with everything. “But I probably don’t have much longer before people start looking for me.”
“You should go,” you say quietly, trying to ignore the drop in your stomach.
His hand slips into yours for the second time tonight. “Will you come with me? I know it’s not really your thing.”
You falter momentarily– not because you don’t want to, but you can’t shake your own self-consciousness, this sense that you don’t belong here, rubbing elbows with all these famous people. But it’s hard to feel like any of that matters with the way Hoseok is looking at you, the soft turn of his lips in a barely-there smile.
“Are you sure?”
“Very.” He gives your hand an affirming squeeze. “Do I need to remind you that this entire party is literally for you?”
You shake your head, rolling your eyes at his antics despite the laugh that bubbles up in your throat. “I still can’t believe you. What is this, The Great Gatsby?”
His laugh is high and sweet, hand untangling from yours to wrap both arms around your waist, and he pulls you into his chest, bare skin on bare skin, hearts beating together. “Is that a yes?”
“Yes, Hobi,” you relent. “I’ll go back with you. Besides, Jimin promised to feed me.”
You can feel Hoseok’s smile as he presses a kiss to your temple. “Come on, then. I promise it’ll be fun. If we get Jungkook drunk enough he’ll probably start dancing on the stage.”
“Now that I have to see.”
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diggykit-kat · 11 days
Text
Yan!Adam x Human!Reader
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Being an Angel gives Adam a big benefit, he knows that an Angel can’t be with a human but being the first soul in heaven and leader of the exterminators he has a disadvantage.
Long story short he dragged your ass up in heavan and blackmailed the higher-ups about the extermination they had no choice but to give in to his unholy actions.
The relationship between Adam and you is extremely jealous and possessive. Adam is unwilling to allow anyone else to get in their way. He may become agitated or aggressive when he perceives someone getting too close to you, even if it’s innocent.
Adam isolates you from your whole life and everything you know by dragging you into heaven, convincing you that he’s the only one you need. solely on him.
As self endolgeds as he is, he does give you affection, affection you never ask and and he forces…Adam fosters a sense of dependence in you, making you believe you can’t live without him. He may use tactics such as gaslighting or manipulation to erode your self-esteem and keep you emotionally reliant on him. If needs someone to care about him needs him.
Adam carefully controls your environment within Heaven, ensuring you have limited contact with anyone or anything outside of your immediate surroundings. He monitors your interactions and activities closely, maintaining his grip on your reality.
Adam promises you security and protection within your confined existence in Heaven, painting himself as your sole protector and provider. He uses these promises to justify his actions and maintain his hold over you.
But other than all of these toxic things he fucks good. That's one thing to look towards, he is also very tall. Very tall big dicked angel man.✨🍆🪽
He plays cards with you when you get bored, being kept in God's house all day isn't always fun. Exeoshally when you're not allowed to come out or talk to anyone…
He is too fucking masculine, he will not start anything without you starting it first. Though 50% of the time he's a big spoon, yes of course he wants to stuff his face in your chest (titties😇) but he's too big of a man to do it.
Feathers are always all over his room and in your hair, this MF shed like a husky with his wings. It's a nightmare, he fucking loves it when you brush his wings, they are very sensitive, well being the first man everything is sensitive but you get the point.
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krashoutluv · 2 months
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You’ve been given AK Jason so much love thx ☺️ if it’s not too much… what are some of AK Jason’s comforts? Does he have comfort foods? 🥘 Does he like the sound of the rain? 🌧️ Naps on the couch ? 🛋️
Thx 🥰
ill give this man love anytime💟
and its never too much anon, i love writing for him and yall!
Comforting Ak!Jay
(IM SO PROUD OF THIS I 💟 MY AUTISM)
(ngl this also just turned into my character analysis of Ak!Jay’s psychological gymnastics from Comics ((AK Genesis & Batman: AK)) and games) (still wrote the comfort shit tho)
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hc, but i dont think any jason todds like the rain. it reminds them too much of the time he was a kid, didnt have a place to stay and went to sleep cold and wet
or when he was still young and with his family, his apartment would get flooded.
BUT ANYWAYS—
alone, i dont think jason can comfort himself very well.
beats himself for it when its over, drops him back into a spiral
just very much not healthy
HOWEVEER with someone is very different ,,
I Ramble Abt Jason Todd
post writing this, i feel like that one tweet thats like, ‘i never realized she was holding a plate of corn in this scene.’
Ak!Jays spirals or episodes come from two things, his self-esteem or self-worth, along with his lack of self-identity
Ak!Jason (Post/During AK) has a very hard time with his self worth, it solely stems from wanting to prove people wrong about himself. he obviously doesn’t like being perceived in the wrong way.
Ak!Jason (Post/During AK) says he’s move pasts his traumas, yet his identity and reasoning is constantly rooted in them, leading to so much contradictory dialogue and mental FUCKING GYMNASTICS.
ak!jay juggling if he wants to be loved by batman/batfam or wants to end it
i think he often ponders if he was better off being killed by the joker, or if he can really be redeemed from his actions as Arkham Knight by helping Gotham as Red Hood.
and if it’s enough for the people around him or someone to accept him.
if he can truly ever be loved
he has a lot of crisises about his identity and purpose more often then not b/c he cant find a reason for either besides his own anger and approval addiction.
, his biggest fear is losing, being worthless, and unwanted.
his constant drive is winning and proving himself as the best.
it causes his always feeling the need to prove himself, just so that hes wanted.
full pic is him on hid knees begging alfred for help,, my baby—-
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the first introduction of his internalized self-deprecation is with his father, other then the Arkham Knight Annual
though he rejects this “truth” in the Annual, showing his determination to prove himself more then what Bruce and the Joker idealizes him to be, I think its a good mirror into Jasons mind and what really makes him start cracking
Ex. , his biological father canonically telling him he was a loser growing up, and his mom seems to personify/objectify Jason as gothams gravitation keeping them in gotham.
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another example is the way he is talked to throughout scarecrows psychotropic
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throughout the comic and game he goes between or showing a desire for a connection with bruce and praising joker for his upbringing, then chastising them.
its very clear jason has an identity issue, with him isolating himself because he believes he is too broken (game dialogues), his need for validation stemming from his childhood, his fear of abandonment, and overall internal dilemmas of wanting a connection or not. obviously hes not good with working out his emotions on his own without doing considerably impulsive things.
jason wanting to be his own person v jason wanting to be a better person for the people in his life
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He see’s the place he was tortured as a rebirth for him, along with his plan to destroy Gotham and Bruce.(AK: Genesis)
This only comes from his desire to want his own separate identity, by ending these cycles of Bruces actions and Gothams nightmares he also believes that he will be truly free.
his only true identification with himself is anger and resentment, being built, gravitated, and broken by anger. feeling like hes always losing or lost, and his desire to just win something and therefore be wanted
okay to stop a fuckton of more rambling jason todd, abandoment issues, jealousy/obsession issues, need for connection, validation, relationships, self-destructive isolation, brainwashing induced perception issue, intense mood swings which also cause perception issues.
i guess it could try to be argued that Jason doesn’t actually want validation bc he got over the psychotropic; but i disagree with the way he constantly talks about being underestimated and feeling like he has to prove himself throughout the comics and his dialogue with Barbra in game.
i also want to make it clear that throughout the ak!comics he does help civilians so it does really have morality for other people. He does separate Gothams Gravity from the people, and claims the worst of the worst (villains and such) are the people who succumb to gotham.
(im only stopping bc im on mobile and couldn’t put anymore pictures)
im so upset.
theres so much i didnt get to talk abt
Ok Actually Comforting
so its pretty god damn hard to comfort this dude, he’s a chronic over analyzer, could probably turn anything and everything you say against himself or you, and yet would crave validation and intimacy.
which makes him a bit of a trip,, but i love him. so.
a lot of the time you’ll have to go with his flow
if its really bad he’ll isolate himself, he feels like he’s letting you down by breaking in front of you. He can’t let you see him as weak because to him its a liability for your relationship.
as well as the fact that his perception becomes very extreme/warped when very emotional. he’ll can range from believe your lying to him, to he’s not worth that kind of comfort and he’s wasting your time.
it takes a lot of patience for him to accept that he isnt an inconvenience to you and you do actually care
overtime, a lot of fucking time, he’ll slowly come around to this. instead of leaving for days or weeks at a time, Jason will leave for at most a day or two, but around midnight he’ll be home craving your presence.
he cant be alone again, he really doesn’t wanna be alone again, he needs to make sure you don’t wanna leave him.
probably just goes to sleep facing you, or holding your hand if hes feeling especially mushy.
he’d be so quiet, having the internal battle of leaving you or letting him feed into his desire of just having you around him.
In his words, needing a home. feeling safe, and warm. (I LIED I DELETED TWO PICS TO SHOW THIS)
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jason thinking of alfred as home>>
Jason needs that in a partner! Someone who is warm to him! someone who makes him feel wanted or needed! Someone who makes him feel safe!
I think if you catch him just as he gets triggered/begins to spiral, you can help him not crash out.
Being over the top mushy with him isnt gonna work, he needs someone to ground him and be 100% with him.
sometimes he doesn’t need to talk or just doesn’t want to, again presence.
but acknowledging him every now and then to make sure he knows your not brushing him off or forgot about him.
when you’re in a closer relationship he definitely just wants you in his arms, needs to hold you close.
Home-cooked meals with him, justing going about your life with him, making him feel wanted, making him feel acknowledged.
i think he’d open up every now and then, but i think he’s also still a self-assured person who needs guidance at the right time. to just be sure he’s on the right path and youre with him.
one of his triggers is his own jealousy, accidentally making him feel like he’s replaceable or him believing you’ll get tired of him.
he needs so much reassurance.
just be there with him, guide him, love him, make sure he’s on the right path.
he needs a lot of things, sometimes its naps, sometimes its food, sometimes just to be in your arms, sometimes to help you cook, sometimes watching you work, sometimes he’ll have you lay your back on his chest and read with him, sometimes he just wants to fall asleep with you, sometimes he wants to cry in your arms, JUSDHRIDJDJDISO JASON TODD COME HOME WE MISS YOUUUU
HES MY HIGH MAINTENANCE GF
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this was so satisfying to write i <3 jason todd
rq/inbox is open !! if you just wanna yap or wanna request somethin’ go ahead!
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mortyenthusiast · 3 months
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MORTYENTHUSIAST MORTHENTHUSIAST HOW ARE WE FEELING ABOUT THE RECENT EPISODE 🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤
ohhhhhhh my fucking gooooooodddddddddddddd this episode was so fucking insane
i love how it's littered with implications of morty's perceived relationship with rick. for example when they first get out of the hole and morty is crying and rick immediately goes to snap a picture. like it speaks volumes that morty imagines this to be rick's initial reaction, vs the ending where rick genuinely does check up on him.
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i'm also a huge fan of that initial argument they have in the garage, where rick calls morty out on being afraid of getting replaced, and morty flat out denies it or tries to refute it, but when rick and diane actually leave for their date morty straight up admits it. "you nailed it! my worst nightmare! i'd like to leave the hole now?" he knew that his fear, at least one of them, was him getting shoved aside, but he's definitely picked up some of that emotional repression from rick!!!!!!
im also fascinated by the conversation morty has with the hole guy, because i feel like it implies that morty is also deeply afraid of being dumb, naive, and that rick's nihilistic outlook on life is the correct way to perceive the world. there's also a moment in their conversation where the hole guy reveals that he just wants to suck up all of rick's fear, and morty says "can't the hole just let me go then? sounds like i dont matter," to which the hole guy immediately says "you don't!" showing that morty is also deeply afraid of being nothing more than some kind of tool, a means to the end that is rick.
another moment that killed me dead a little bit was when morty says that he's afraid of being responsible for rick's sadness, which is so grotesquely sad to me, because holy shit, rick's abuse runs so deep that morty is Hole-Level Scared of being in any way responsible for rick's sadness.
the last three minutes are obviously the peak of this episode and kind of this season, because it is just sooo miserable how morty's most crippling fear is proven right. even if only vaguely, there's still that underlying "he did not and would not do this for me" idea that is now confirmed for morty, and i am just. So excited to see how this character arc is continues
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I can’t stop thinking about Will Branner’s performance as Max Jägerman and how it leads to my favorite usage of the Nightmare Time leitmotif in all the Hatchetfield musicals (and why I voted for NPMD as having my favorite title number in the poll I made a while back).
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Max is a well-written character who already gives me hints of a tragic villain vibe, and then Will’s performance just fleshes that out tenfold. It features the duality Starkid has been playing a lot with in this series, where you’re sympathetic towards a character while also acknowledging the terrible things they do. Max is horrible and abusive towards his classmates and has given them years of trauma. But a teenage boy does not become a Literal Monster in a vacuum.
Alongside his role as a bully, the script gives us images of Max as someone who is struggling academically and would have probably fallen through the cracks if adults didn’t idolize him for his football prowess so they can live vicariously through him as he beats the rival town in the big game. We find out that he has a shitty dad who verbally abuses him for not being macho enough. That he probably doesn’t have all the sex people say he does. That the people he bullies hate-pranking him in revenge is “the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for [him].” And then Will’s acting keeps showing us glimpses of this goofier side of Max, glimpses of the person he might have been if he wasn’t such a bully.
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And for those few moments in the aftermath of the prank, you think maybe he’s going to change now that someone has shown him what he perceives to be kindness. And then he falls through the floor and that opportunity is lost. But unlike what Mayor Lauter implies, I would argue that his fate isn’t fully sealed when he dies in the Waylon House. I think the moment of no return is when he kills Richie while the leitmotif plays.
Lots of people ship Max and Richie and have headcanons that they used to be friends, and I think it’s because of the parallels between them in this song. Here we have two 18 year old boys who have both been failed by the adults around them. Both are harmed by being stereotyped. Both are in the liminal social role of being in the process of stepping out of childhood and into living their adult lives after high school. And both of them are denied those adult lives. And then they fucking sing about it. The “will you pray for me” duet is such a powerful part of the song for many reasons, and I think it’s the moment that shows us that Max is still in the process of committing to being nothing more than a vengeful spirit, or at the very least is in the last stage of that process. The thing that strikes me the most is that Max is simultaneously trying to make Richie feel insignificant and alone while also projecting his own feelings onto him. “Is this the eternal dark without a dawn?” he asks, reaching up to the sky and not looking at Richie at all.
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And what fucks me up is that Max fails in this moment. Richie is not alone. He never was, and now he’s even less alone. Not only will Pete and Ruth mourn him, so will Max’s former friends. Its so notable to me that this takes place immediately after Go Go Nighthawks, where we’ve just seen everyone, including, again, Max’s “friends,” sing about how great it is that he’s gone. It’s a real Ebeneezer Scrooge moment that makes me wonder if Max has been silently haunting the school these weeks since his death and it’s only now, having watched that, that he tips over into full villain mode. Max is the one with no one to pray for him, not Richie. And Richie basically says as much, and Max kills him anyway. Richie was doomed from the start in the sense that the show literally opens with a flashforward to his death, but I think Max is doomed too. “Don’t need no one to tell me high school will be my peak,” he says in his own introductory song. I said before how they’re both on the cusp of living their whole adult lives, but I wonder if Max had trouble seeing himself that way. He already didn’t think he would amount to anything after high school. A lot of these “peaked in high school” football star characters spend their adult lives being metaphorically stuck in high school, in their teenage years, because they can’t let themselves move on from their glory days. And here Max is, literally stuck in his teenage years forever as a ghost - but not literally stuck in high school, as we see when he follows them all to the Witchwood. When he makes he grand ghostly return he says to Richie, “I’m free!” (Free from what, Max?) He certainly has the freedom of a ghost to go anywhere and do anything. And yet he traps himself in high school. He prevents himself from moving forward. And all of that is why it makes me emotional every time when he casts aside any last chance of not being the villain and strikes the first blow on Richie, these two teenagers failed by the adults and the structures around them, their fates locked together, while the leitmotif plays and takes us back to that original line from Alice’s corpse singing to Bill about how he should have been a better father: Look what happens, nightmare time.
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orcasoul · 2 months
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Oh Mama! A continuation of Oh Baby
Summery: As the birth draws closer you reflect on all the ways Pedro has been there for you throughout your pregnancy.
Warnings: Swearing, verbal abuse (not by our sweet man), protective Pedro, fluff, use of Y/N.
Italics indicate in ward thinking and flashbacks.
This is a continuation of Oh Baby which was meant to be a one shot but after a request for a part 2 I've decided to write this and a part 3 which will be called Oh Daddy, which will focus on Pedro being the amazing dad and partner we all know he would be :)
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Miserable! that's how you feel. Miserable, bloated, heavy. No matter how much you shift or turn, finding a good sleeping position is next to impossible. It also doesn't help that you're in the middle of a sweltering heatwave. The aircon is on but it might as well be non existent with the hot flashes that keep plaguing your body.
You look to your left and feel a little twinge of jealousy as you watch Pedro sleep soundly in the dim lamp light. Why the fuck should he get to sleep while I can't! You know it's just the hormones making you feel irritable and bitter but right now you want nothing more than to shake him awake and tell him to stay awake with you.
But no matter how irritable your last month of pregnancy is making you there's no way you be that spiteful. As you watch Pedro sleep, his plush lips slightly parted, letting slow, rhythmic breathes escape, you begin to reminisce all the ways he's been there for you, supporting you and caring for you since you'd told him you're pregnant.
Neither one of you had planned for this baby, but life doesn't always go according to our own plans. It has it's own agenda and all you can do is follow the path it lays before you and do your very best. After your initial fear of telling Pedro about the baby- and that awful resulting anxiety induced nightmare - you both seemed to easily slip into your natural roles. You; the nurturing and tender mother and Pedro; the protective and comforting father and partner.
For someone who once said he's never gonna be a dad, he sure seemed happy and content these past 7 months and that happiness has bubbled over into excitement now that the birth will be any day. Pedro stirs in his sleep a little, causing a couple of stray curls to fall onto his forehead. You gently brush them back up off his face, taking care not to wake him.
You guess he could actually do with the rest after weeks of being at your every beck and call, sometimes even going out at stupid 'o' clock to buy whatever your insatiable cravings demanded. You shift for the thousandth time, onto your side and put a pillow between your knees to provide some - but not much - relief. You continue to watch him sleep, feeling his breath fan your face, his shoulders slowly rising and falling and you feel the baby kick you again.
The little Bun - as you both lovingly refer to it since you've both agreed to not find out the sex and be surprised - has been quite active today. Tears fill your eyes and suddenly you feel like the luckiest woman in the world, as you place your hand tenderly on your bump and stare at the face of the man you love. This is what it's all about, you perceive, growing a beautiful new life with the perfect man. And boy, has he been just that for the past several months.
Your mind starts to wander back to all the moments where Pedro has gone above and beyond for you both....
The third month of your pregnancy is when your morning sickness really ramped up. Until that point you had only felt slightly nauseous but then it hit you like a ton of bricks. The first time you threw up actually startled Pedro. The poor guy almost had a heart attack when you leapt up from bed, accidentally dragging the quilt and him across the bed. You would have felt bad about waking him if you weren't too busy spewing your guts up into the toilet.
"What the fuck?!" is what you heard from the bedroom as you heaved and retched. "Baby?... You Okay?" Pedro asked quietly from behind you in the doorway to the on suite. "Yeah I'm-" blargh!- "I'm... good," you finally reply in a shaky voice as you wipe your mouth with one hand while the other holds your hair back. And so it went on for months. Pedro was always beside you (when he wasn't away filming or doing interviews) rubbing soothing strokes along your back, whispering comforting words and waiting with a glass of water in hand.
The more frequent the episodes became, the more he started to worry about you. You hated seeing him so worried as much as he hated seeing you be sick, so one time you'd decided to make light of the situation. After chucking up for what felt like the millionth time you called Pedro to the bathroom. He came rushing to you but before he could say a word you cried "Hold my hairrrrr!!" in your best whiny Dieter voice. Pedro burst out laughing as he clearly hadn't been expecting that of all things.
"That's a good one," he chuckled as he did indeed hold your hair. "How long have you been waiting to do that?" You look up at him and giggle but it's cut short by another bought of retching, which of course Pedro helped you through with words of encouragement. "Just be glad I don't have to shit, too," you mumble into the toilet bowl causing another burst of laughter to erupt from him.
You smile quietly to yourself at the memory while smoothing over the arc of your bump. You can't believe that a woman can naturally grow so big and not burst, which takes you back to the time you'd gotten upset over your sudden weight gain....
After coming home from a much needed shopping trip for maternity clothes and larger everyday clothes you slump onto the settee to rest your aching feet while Pedro puts the kettle on. You miss coffee but it's better for the baby if you stick to tea for a while. It was just as good and definitely helped to relax you. Once the drinks were finished Pedro took the cups to the kitchen and started to prepare for dinner. "I'm gonna go put the clothes away," you called to him in the kitchen, to which he replied, "Don't be too long. Food will be ready soon."
Staring into your wardrobe, a lump forms in your throat and tears burn behind your eyes as you take in the sight of some of your favourite and much smaller clothes. The more items you remove, to be replaced with the new and larger (two sizes larger to be precise) clothes, the more you feel the dam about to burst. Fighting it is no good, what with the hormones and all, and in a matter of seconds you're a blubbering mess on the bedroom floor.
"Y/N...," Pedro calls up the stairs, "Food's ready." You quickly choke back your sobs as best you can and try not to sound like someone who's just been in the middle of a complete breakdown. "O-kay," you faltered unintentionally. Great, maybe he didn't notice. Oh, but he did notice. His hasty footsteps were a dead giveaway of that fact. Pedro appeared in the bedroom moments later, his brows pinched and deep chestnut eyes full of compassion. "Sweetheart? What's wrong?" he asked dolefully as he slowly lowered himself to the floor next to you, both of you surrounded by your old clothes.
You look up at him through red, puffy eyes. "I'm so f... fat!," you bawled while gripping one of your favourite tops. "I feel like a whale!" Pedro lets out an endearing huff. "What?... It's true!" Bwahhaha!... "Shhh..." Pedro coos into your ear as he takes you in his strong arms. "That's the most ridiculous thing you've ever said. You're not fat and you certainly don't look like a whale," he asserted as he holds your flushed and tear streaked face in his hands and looks directly into your eyes. "You're growing a brand new life in there," he says as he places a hand on your belly. "Of course your body will change and it's a good change."
"I just... can't see how you co...could be attracted to me right now," you wept while looking down. "What?!" Pedro asked incredulously. "Do you have any idea what it does to me seeing you carry and care for my baby?" Pedro wipes your tears away and you look up to meet his eyes once more. "You've never been more beautiful than you are right now, darling. Don't you forget that, okay?" Through calmer breathes you whisper "Okay."
Just as you got semi comfortable you realise you're now quite thirsty. With an annoyed eye roll and a huff, you roll onto your back and push yourself up to reach over for the glass of water on your nightstand. Maybe you moved a little too fast because as you put the glass down you suddenly feel a little light headed. It passed in literally a few seconds. This is nothing compared to the dizzy spells you had to endure a few months ago....
You woke with a start when your phone rang. It might as well have been a bloody foghorn with how it pierced the peace and quiet of the living room. It's Pedro. You haven't seen each other for a few weeks due to his filming commitments but you talk everyday. Swiping the answer button you groggily mumble, "Hello." Hey sweetheart," Pedro began cheerfully, "Thought I'd call you on your lunch break... You okay? You sound funny." "Yeah..." you answer sluggishly, "I'm fine." You know he'll never buy it. "What's wrong?" Pedro asks in an assertive but gentle tone. "Nothing...," you try to placate him.
"...They just sent me home from work because I was having dizzy spells." "Did you call the doctor?" Pedro interjects quickly, his voice laced with concern. You can almost feel his anxiety through the phone. "Not yet. I just needed to lay down for a bit. I'm actually feeling a bit better." Okay, that may have been a white lie but the last thing you want is to cause Pedro any unnecessary worry. But of course he's worried. "Why didn't you call me straight away?" Pedro pressed perturbedly. "I just didn't want to worry you," You answer with a hint of guilt.
"I'm coming home-" "Ped, you can't. You have an interview today-" "They'll understand," he insisted, firmly. "I'm on the next flight home." You know when he speaks in such a final tone that his mind is made up. "Okay," you relent, feeling like a burden, but you know he'd worry like hell if he didn't come back to you right now. Turns out you had low iron levels and low blood pressure. Pedro made you stay off work and re-scheduled his interview with Vanity Fair. He never left your side for the next couple of weeks while you recovered.
Your eyelids feel like they're made of lead but sleep still eludes you. Silently pushing up on your elbows, you peer over Pedro's shoulder at the alarm clock. 2:38 am. You lay back down on your side and your shuffling must have disturbed Pedro because now his arm has found it's way across your side, hand splayed on your back slowly pulling you into his broad body, tucking your head under his chin. He sighs in his sleep and his breathing evens out again as he settles back into slumber. Being wrapped up in the arms of the man you love is absolute heaven for you.
You lay a hand against his chest feeling the calm and slow movements of his thorax. With his arm draped over you it's impossible to not feel safe and protected. It feels like nothing in the world can ever hurt you and your child. Pedro's action's assured you of that when an overly enthusiastic fan verbally abused you one evening....
"The black Audi A6, please." Pedro handed the ticket to the valet as you both stepped out of the restaurant. After two weeks apart this date night is just what you both needed. The morning sickness had finally stopped by your seventh month and you'd been looking forward to this night all week. The clingy, thigh length, black maternity dress you'd bought especially for tonight hugged your bump and the curve of your hips perfectly. You actually felt attractive for the first time in months.
While waiting for the car you slip your hand into Pedro's and place a soft kiss on his shoulder. "Thank you for tonight. It's been perfect," you smiled warmly. Pedro let go of your hand to place his own at your waist, pulling you closer into his chest. "You deserve it, baby," he whispered as his lips brush your hairline. "And by the way," he adds while looking up and down your body, "You look incredible!" Even after all this time together he's still able to make you blush like a teenager. Before you can reply an excited squeal ruptures the still night air. "On my god! Pedro Pascal!" A young woman cries, unable to contain her elation.
She rushes over to you both with two more companions who are equally excited to meet Hollywood's hottest celebrity. The two girls and man couldn't have been older than their mid twenties. "Hi," Pedro smiled and tightened his grip on your waist. He's always been protective of you and now that you're having his baby that protective side has increased exponentially. "Can we have a photo, please!" The other girl asked with a huge grin. "Of course you can," Pedro chirped but didn't release his hold on you. You gently squeeze his hand while peeling it off your hip, a silent 'it's okay' and you excuse yourself to stand several feet away.
You're used to fans approaching, and you love to see how much Pedro's supporters adore him, and that his mere presence whips people up into a frenzy. You smile proudly in adoration, stroking your baby bump as you watch how much of a natural he is with his fans. "Thank you!" "We're huge fans!" "You're amazing!" "We love you!" The words are spilling out of their mouths at the same time, all talking over one another. "Aw, thank you so much, guys. That means a lot," Pedro replies, his beaming smile stretching from one cheek to the other.
While the women are still fussing, the man looks your way and then down to your rounded stomach. "Aww, baby Pascal," he burst vehemently. Suddenly he rushed at you, hands outstretched and a determined look on his face, "Can I feel?" The intensity from this stranger sent you into automatic defence mode for your baby. You step back, instinctively covering your belly just as he's about to grab you, permission or not! "Don't touch me!" you cautioned him, nervously. Pedro's head snapped from the women to your direction at the sound of your alarmed voice.
"Gee's Okay!" the man snapped at you irately. "I only wanted to feel. No need to be such a bitch about it!" He spat the word bitch out like he had a bad taste in his mouth causing your eyes to widen. "The fuck did you just say to her?!!" Pedro exploded as he stood between you and this entitled piece of shit. "Whoa... easy man-" the man stuttered in defence but Pedro cut him off. "You have no right to touch anyone against their will, especially a pregnant woman. And who the fuck do you think you are calling her a bitch because she said no?!" The man stared dumfounded. Pedro leaned in to the man's personal space, seething, "You'd better walk away while you still can!"
You've never seen Pedro this angry, literally shaking with rage, chest to chest with the guy, who looks like he's about to piss himself. His friends pull him away, scolding him in hushed tones and offering apologies to you both. "Baby?..." you soothed while stroking up and down Pedro's arm. He turns to you, chest heaving and still shaking but the moment he locks eyes with you his gaze softens, frown lines un-creasing and muscles relaxing. He wraps his arms around you, kissing the top of your head, languidly. "You're okay, darling. I won't ever let anything happen to you two." And he means that. You can feel the conviction of his declaration as if it were a physical manifestation.
You hadn't even realised you had fallen asleep until you were being jostled awake by a deep, concerned voice. "Y/N... Y/N, wake up." "Hmmm?" you groaned sleepily as you came to, feeling like you could smother Pedro with his pillow for waking you now! "You've got to be fucking kidding me!" annoyance and exhaustion seeped through your words. "Baby, I literally just dropped off!" "The bed's wet!" Pedro quickly replied. "What the?..." It was more of a realisation than a question as you looked down to see your shorts and the mattress completely soaked. "My water's have broken!" you gasp, looking wide eyed into Pedro's equally wide eyes. It's time....
Thank you for reading. Oh Daddy will follow soon, focusing on the birth and Pedro becoming the best daddy in the world!
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bruciemilf · 1 year
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Hi, Lee! Your AUs have given me many brainworms so I thought I'll share my brainworms in retaliation XD
No capes actor AU
Bruce inherited his love for theater and acting from Alfred. He's usually shy, awkward and a nervous wreck (think Battinson) but once he's behind a camera, he plays his role flawlessly. He can be the confident and gentle prince charming, the suave and flirtatious rogue or the cruel and sadistic monster. It doesn't matter, as long as the camera is rolling, Bruce Wayne is in character.
An important thing to note is that Bruce Wayne is unbelievably attractive. So, you have an attractive actor playing all these hot characters, what do you do? Create thirst traps obviously!
The kids suffer for it. Bruce keeps winning 'The Hottest Man Alive' and they can't even read reviews of movies their dad is acting in because all the comments are about how sexy he is. They're scrolling through twitter and suddenly someone tweets about the veins on Bruce Wayne's arms.
STOP! Their dad is lovable, innocent and sweet. Stop corrupting him with your lust!
Bruce stopped accepting romance roles because his kids begged him to (in an attempt to stop the thirst) but it got worst! They tell him to mention them in every one of his rare interviews (he's very shy so he doesn't do much interviews) to signal that he's a dad and very unavailable and the internet loves a DILF so you can guess what happened. They can't win. No matter what they do, people keep thirsting over their dad.
The kids are suffering and Bruce? Mr 'please don't perceive me' Wayne? He straight up blocked every mention of himself on the internet so he sees none of it. He told the kids to do the same but they wanted to read about how much people love their dad (they're very proud of him) so they endure the daily psychic damage and simply suffer.
I???? THIS IS A MASTERPIECE NEVER A MISTAKE. PERIOD EXCLAMATION MARK YAS MAMA SLAY THE WHITE HOUSE DOWN
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If I may add
BECAUSE he's a highly requested actor who's almost always in the headlines, Bruce can't see his babies as much as he wants to, so all those mother henning instincts can't be bottled up.
Bruce earns himself the reputation of being the Mom Friend to his co-stars.
There's a viral video somewhere of him doing Harley's make up for her because she claims only he can do it right, and a video of him feeding Selina yoghurt, and tying Harvey's shoelaces between takes if they film a project together
Personally, a huge fan of the " actors who play assholes but are in fact the biggest sweethearts " breed, so I'm gonna need the villains being cute as fuck behind the scenes.
If they're doing an intense fight scene, Bane apologizes to Bruce continuesly because the guy insists on doing his own stunts. Bruce always giggles between being patched up and pats his arm
Damian refuses to be left at home, and there's absolutely a viral video of tiny damian wayne jumping to kick and punch at Clark's leg (who plays Gray Ghost's rival in the movie) when he " attacks" Bruce and it made everyone's day
Selina accidentally injures Bruce the MOST and there's compilations of her accidentally kicking him straight in the jaw, or punching him, or dropping stuff on him, and looking impossibly guilty about it. " I'm sorry - I'm so sorry baby" and Bruce of course always is like " It's okay :D"
Bruce's trailer is everyone's hang out spot. He does instagram lives where he talks about theory and lore and technicalities, and there's just someone or someones always there!!
Diana practising sword fighting, Harley doing tik tok dances, Pam watering the flowers he gets everywhere they go in full Mother Nightmare get up, and they're just there to see him blush and mumble at the thirsty comments
Also the batkids are jealous of every single on screen child Bruce films with, because he's so affectionate and loving with them. Jason's twitter is just him dunking on every single child co-star and he's not at all sorry about it
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captain-mj · 7 months
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Eldritch Sacrifice
Remember how I promised that I had a separate Korangi idea if SoapGhost arranged marriage one? And then I had you guys do a poll because I had two? Well here's one of them!!
Also, CW: dubcon. Horangi is into it, however he is initially agreeing due to a gamble they're making
König stretched and groaned. His little cult were chanting for him again and he wondered what they could possible be about to ask for now. Money? Food? More warm bodies to lay with? They just kept asking and whether he delivered or not, they always had something wrong. 
Destroy the economy so their money is worth more? Bad move. 
Mutate the crops and trees until they were full of, hopefully edible, fruit? Bad move. 
Make fleshy wooden creatures that were warm and had holes to fuck but weren’t completely human? Awful move. He gave some of them “nightmares” whatever those were. Apparently they were like his dreams. But scary. König thought all dreams were scary therefore separating the two felt stupid. 
“Master.” One of them cried and he winced. 
“Yes…… little one?” His voice crashed and croaked and twisted the boards beneath him. 
The brave one continued to speak. “We have noticed your displeasure with us. You are displeased.”
König wanted them to leave. He had half a mind to obliterate them however they were at most an annoyance. “And you plan to rectify this?”
“Yes. Today, we have brought you something to lift your spirits. A rarity.”
This did not pique his interest very much. Humans considered certain rocks to be valuable because they were rare on earth. He had seen planets that rained diamonds. With sculptures that made their small rings look puny. Universes surrounding shards of glass older than the very concept of bones. 
“Maybe he suit your interests.”
“He?”
A small man. Only a little over six foot, which may be big for a human but was only hand sized to him, lay kneeling. Throat exposed. 
He was… a man. It wasn’t until he locked eyes with König so easily, able to look through the shivering, horrid mass of flesh and tentacles and black dripping darkness and see König. Their eyes stayed locked on each other. 
“An abomination. A man able to perceive that which should not be perceived.” The knife was put to his throat. “Horangi. Tiger. May your blood finally give our Master solace-”
“Wait.” König shouted, regretting it when the man’s face became so pained.
A tiniest of sounds ripped from his throat. A tiny gasp of pain that had König’s thoughts scrambling in a way he could only assume was similar to how human’s did when he messed with them. 
“I do not want his death.”
“You are so right sir! It would be too swift.” They backed away quickly. “Is this a pleasing sacrifice?”
Horangi finally showed a hint of fear. Giant brown eyes staring up at him. König could not hear his thoughts, he was an interdimensional being, not psychic. But he could practically feel the anxiety and see the gears turning as he no doubt imagined what König could do to him. 
Horangi had a gift, sure. An ability to avoid those eldritch abominations and to see them for what they were. But it also meant he did not have the escape of insanity. His mind was meant to take the horrors of König. Unable to go fully mad. 
A perfect plaything. 
König reached down, hand gently grasping Horangi. He picked him up, letting him struggle and writhe as the chains tangling him simply snapped. Not an ounce of pressure sat on his skin, König simply picked him up with ease. Horangi stared at him. Breath quickened.
“What do you ask for?”
The Brave One spoke up again. “We ask for fertility.”
“All of you will have happy, healthy children.”
“....human children?”
“Yes, all human.” König sank back into the walls and back into his dimension, taking his prize with him. 
Horangi shivered and König quickly fixed the temperature, making sure it was optimal for humans. 
A sacrifice. 
Finally, something interesting. 
Dead lambs and black cats were all good and well (all of which he put in dimensions perfectly suited for them) but they were… well. 
Not human. 
Humans were interesting. Attractive. And capable of delicious emotions that most other creatures didn’t bother developing. What use does a bug have for anxiety? Existential dread? 
Horangi shivered in his arms again, clearly not from the cold. König dropped him into a pool of soft. Not material that was soft, but the very idea of softness. 
“What do you think of when you see me?”
Horangi hummed. “What do you want me to feel?”
König… folded. From Horangi’s point of you, it looked like crumbling paper as he sank to Size where they were a bit more level. He was still taller, close to seven feet, but his little sacrifice needed to be able to look him in the eye. His hand cupped Horangi perfectly, able to taste the way his body spiked. Full of adrenaline and hormones that puppeted his emotions. 
“Just like every other human, gift or not. Only able to be subservient. How disappointing.”
Anger. An unexpected emotion that sparked his interest again. “What do you mean by that?” 
König shrugged. “You all seem naturally inclined to worship is all.”
Horangi bared his teeth. “Not naturally inclined to worship. Just do not wish to be tortured.”
“Are you suggesting if there was no threat, you would act differently?”
Horangi stilled and König almost assumed he had been right before pausing and thinking. Why would Horangi admit he would act disrespectfully when König could rip him apart atom by atom and keep him alive?
Would König ever do that? Absolutely not. He wasn’t really interested in cruelty. His fellow eldritch beings may love suspending people in eternal agony, but König didn’t. Honestly, he kinda wanted to be left alone most of the time, but Horangi seemed so interesting and he was already there!
“So you feel no need to fall to your knees? To worship? To use your mouth to whisper ancient prayers to me?” König made his voice clear and honest. 
Horangi moved oddly. Legs twitching. “No. I don’t.”
He was lying. Not about everything, but about something. 
König moved closer, bright blue eyes staring into Horangi’s. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Well. I suppose… I should make you obedient.”
“How? If you tear me apart and remake me, I won’t be the same person. I would be no more obedient.”
Well. 
That was a thought. 
König pouted. He didn’t consider it pouting, but Horangi did. 
“You’re right. If I torture you and break you, it wouldn’t really be you either.”
Horangi nodded quickly. “So you can’t exactly make me obedient.”
König hummed. “Not true. You humans have made dozens of studies on positive reinforcement.”
“And what is my reward? Getting to go back to Earth?”
König fell on Horangi, surrounding him and pinning him between the suddenly hard world. “I’ll show you what your rewards will be. Your punishment will be not getting to finish. I know you humans love nothing more than finishing.”
“F-finishing?”
“Oh. Wait. Consent. That is important. Do I have your consent to try this experiment?”
“If I don’t obey you afterwards, will you return me?”
“Sure.” König thought it was a fun wager. “Just endure and stay surly and mean, and then I’ll bring you home.” 
Horangi scoffed. “As if anything you could do would make me listen to your orders.”
König had Horangi on his hands and knees, face pressed to the pillows and ass up. He used one of his tentacles to fuck him and had been doing so for… well, time didn’t really exist. He just knew that for Horangi, it must’ve felt like a really, really long time. Especially since he had not allowed him to cum. 
Horangi sobbed into the pillow when the tentacle stopped again. He did not fuck him with any finesse or strategy, working intently on one thing and one thing only which was getting as deep into Horangi as possible. That and trying to stretch him out. The slick from the tentacles had started to drip down Horangi’s thighs. His hole clenched hard around him as another sob ripped out of his throat. 
“This is cruel. You fucking-AH.” Horangi cut off as the tentacle pushed in even deeper. His stomach bulged slightly this time and König accidentally brushed the bundle of nerves he had been so careful to avoid because Horangi almost, almost came. König didn’t let him of course. It was super simple, just don’t let his body go through the motions. It had the bonus side of effect of letting Horangi get a taste of the feeling but no physical relief. 
König hummed. “I am preparing you. You don’t need to finish yet.”
“This is fucking prep??” Horangi buried his face in his pillows. “I can’t…”
“You can tap out.” König purred. “We can always try again later.” 
Horangi scoffed and arched his back, trying to let him in deeper now. “Fuck you. I can… I can…”
“I don’t think you can take it, but you will.” König finally, finally, fucking finally, pulled the slick tentacle out of him, watching both the relief from no longer being so filled and the frustration of not getting fucked to completion. 
Horangi didn’t fight when his body was moved around but he did look a little ashamed, especially when he spread his legs a little farther for König to get between them. 
His body felt heavenly. Other eldritch creatures were nice and all, but they were just as cold as he was. Humans were among one of the few that could consent to sex and they were also so fucking tight. A vice. He had to be careful though, despite all of his prep, Horangi still hit him to make him stop pushing in. 
“Too much. Too big. Fuck. Can’t you shrink down more?” Horangi whimpered.
“Yes. But I checked already. I’m the perfect size for you like this.”
“No. You’re stretching me out so much I…” He trailed off as König pushed right in, making himself perfectly at home. Horangi’s cock twitched and started to leak. “Fuck.” There was a beautiful blush on his face that made him look dazzling. Fragile and whorish. 
König felt like he was drowning in Horangi’s unabated arousal. The previous nervousness and protests dying out now. He rocked into his prostate, letting Horangi finally get what he wanted. 
The broken gasp that ripped out of him almost made König lose his composure. Of taking Horangi and fucking him like a toy until he finished. But that would hurt him and he didn’t really want to hurt Horangi. 
Not when he can get those beautiful little punched out noises. 
So he did it again. Feeling him clench and moan around him. 
Slow. 
Steady. Repeatedly hitting the same spot over and over again and this time, he encouraged Horangi to finish. Wouldn’t let him touch himself of course, but he pushed the right buttons in Horangi’s brain and let him focus on just the sensations until he felt him convulse and shake around him. The feeling of him orgasming around his dick was addicting. 
König wanted to feel it again. Technically, he probably could’ve just made him do it again. Or kept him just perpetually there, unable to come down and forced to endure wave after wave of ecstasy until König grew bored of it. But something about making him do it himself, watching Horangi realize he was getting close again just from the sensation of being fucked rather hard by something that barely fit… Too delicious to pass up. He finished inside him, kissing Horangi’s jaw as he did but he didn’t stop moving. 
With Horangi so sensitive, it was so easy to get him to finish again and again and again. Human men could come 2-5 times a day but what were limitations like those in a place that simply didn’t have time? 
Horangi tried to keep count, but the effort it took to do so was simply too much. All he could do was feel. His sensitive only increased until it was an exquisite type of torture. Every touch, every thrust, every time it felt like Horangi would finally break from it all, he’d sob and beg for something. 
“What do you want?” König asked gently, a harsh juxtaposition to the brutal way he was treating Horangi’s body. Cock slamming right into him and tentacles and claws alike digging into him to keep him in prime position.
Horangi considered it. This was a way out. There wasn’t even a caveat. Somehow, they both knew the game was over. Horangi could go home if he asked.
“Keep going.” 
König had zero clue exactly how long in any universe that stayed there. Even after he had finally gotten his fill of Horangi’s fluttering body, he kept him to his chest and still filled. Horangi was dead to the world, limp and twitching from after shocks. With a snap, they were clean, but Horangi stayed bruised and a touch sweaty. It was a good look on him. 
“How about we call it a tie and have a rematch later?” Horangi wheezed out, still visibly out of breath and spent.
König hummed. “I never did get to use my tongue.”
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alpaca-clouds · 2 months
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Let me use Astarion as an excuse to talk about CPTSD
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You know what? I think this might be a good moment to talk about CPTSD and how Astarion really is a textbook example of someone with CPTSD (though it is very likely that basically our entire main cast of characters in BG3 is suffering from it to some degree, they just are less textbook in their presentation).
Let me start with a simple question: What is CPTSD?
CPTSD is the shortened version of Complex PTSD, or rather Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. So, to dumb it down: It is like CPTSD, but it sucks a lot more.
While normally PTSD is caused by one traumatic event (like having a car accident, seeing a loved one die, being subjected to random violence at some point), while CPTSD is caused by a traumatic situation that goes on for a while or repeats several times. In the western world, we see a lot of CPTSD in survivors of parental abuse or intimate partner abuse. Aka, traumatic situations that went on for a longer while. You will also find CPTSD in some people from marginalized groups, as the traumatic situation of discrimination is constantly repeating. And of course you will find it in survivors of war or similar ongoing events.
PTSD will often lead to having triggers related to the trauma, showing avoidance behavior towards possibly triggering situations. It might also lead to flashbacks, nightmares, and a raised awareness/carefulness, often especially regarding relations with other people (though this might depend on the traumatic event it stems from).
CPTSD will have all of that, but often in more complex ways (as a longer experience will allow for complex triggers to develop - and a lot more situa´tions to become triggers as well), but it will also lead to a difficulty to regulate emotions, a general mistrust towards other people, inability to have healthy relationships, prolonged moments of dissociations, a generally negative perception of the world and events, feelings of worthlessness and internalized shame.
It should also be noted that in many cases the symptoms of CPTSD only start showing, once the traumatized person is removed from the traumatizing situation.
Neurally the reason for CPTSD is basically, that the nervous system is put into a prolonged survival mode. Which is also why the symptoms often trigger after the survivor is removed trauma inducing situation.
And, oh look, it is Astarion lol
Looking at the character from this perspetive, you really see pretty much all the symptoms in him.
Does he struggle with regulating his emotions? Fuck yeah, he does. He tries to regulate them, but he very often fails at it.
Does he get triggered by some situations? Yeah, it does. (You get that especially when you play his origin.)
He is super mistrustful towards other people - which is also why he does not intermingle with other people that much.
His view of most things as negative is also fairly clear - I also would argue that his "let's kill some puppies and kittens" behavior is also very closely connected to this.
And that he struggles with feelings of worthlessness and shame is again something that is found in the text.
He really is a very textbook example of CPTSD, which also brings me back to what I already talked about this week: Both CPTSD and PTSD will permanently change the nervous system. Which as far as we know will never quite go away. (Like, not to be a nerd, but there has been some recent research, that has shown that certain medication might permanently eleviate some symptoms - but not heal it totally.) It is basically scars from a nervous injury, if you wanna think of it like that.
You can however learn to live with the symptoms and learn techniques to regulate them. If you have read any of my Tavstarion stories (like this one), I bring some of those techniques into that. Stuff like breathing techniques or techniques to get your brain out of a flashback spiral (like consciously perceiving your surroundings). But to learn to deal with it, you also need to confront the trauma, which is probably the hardest thing to get Astarion to do, because he seems to be very avoidant. Like, his entire "I need to ascend" thingie is all avoidant behavior. Basically, he wants all that power that comes with ascending to prevent him from ever ending up in a situation that would be in any way similar to his trauma again.
But even if he does not ascend, there is a good chance he will still show a lot of avoidant behavior in the future.
When I write him, there is a reason that I do not have him leave home for a good seven months outside of what he has to do (like feeding). Which is very typical avoidant behavior.
The thing is that often trauma and especially CPTSD is not always the very big reactions - though those might be there too - but a lot of those more muted things. Avoiding going outside. Avoiding new situations. Being just a bit anxious. Feeling that nice things are done with bad intentions. Things like that.
Just, you know... A heads up.
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rogue--nation · 2 months
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Uncommon Simon Ghost Riley (mostly for OG than Reboot) Headcanons that I find realistic.
1. Social Anxiety and Communication Issues. Simon finds it difficult to communicate with people outside his field of work, especially women. He doesn't have much experience with them and he is afraid to be perceived as a freak. However, women are usually afraid of him, sometimes curious, but keep away, feeling this sense of uneasiness, awkwardness around him. It is simply because he doesn't know how to be a so called normal person. Nothing about him is quite normal. Military has always been a significant part of his life, of him entirely. He doesn't know what to talk about or even finds civilian life boring. Every time he is on a shore leave he feels like an outsider among the locals. He keeps to himself to save himself from a conflict or an embarrassment. But if he gets comfortable enough around someone, he can be perceived as a very interesting and intelligent person. Simon usually gets rid of this anxiety by drinking. A little bit of alcohol percentage really makes him a normal person.
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2. Soldier intuition and reflexes. It helps him a lot and sometimes... It causes trouble. Intuition sure saves his life in tricky situations and also this same intuition makes him read the signs wrong and cause a misunderstanding, a fight or a conflict, especially around civilians. Let's say, he casually activates his fight or flight response. Not always, of course, but there are some instances that make his life a lot harder than it has to be.
3. Adrenaline addiction. He is very paranoid. Always ready for a fight. Maybe even looking for it, looking for trouble. Civilian life indeed is boring for him for this lack of adrenaline release, so sometimes he intentionally escalates situation to let out some steam, despite being a very calm person by nature. (IDK maybe that's why he still lives in Manchester, there's always trouble).
4. PTSD. Yes, he suffers from it. Especially after Brazil and Rojas. He's been tortured psychologically, physically. Beaten up, raped, buried alive with a corpse. And he fucking survived. It didn't make him stronger, it broke him. It killed something that doesn't let him step away now. This very mission has branded him, cursed him to go on and never lay down his weapon. There's no way back from battlefield for him. He has nightmares, but tries to cope with them. Most of the time he is to tired to have a very emotional reaction to such dreams. And he wears himself down to have a dreamless sleep.
5. He knows a bit of Spanish and Portuguese. And he understands when locals speak these languages, he can read and easily communicate, but he prefers to not show off this skill too much, this is a tactical decision. The less enemy knows about you, the less they're expecting.
6. Detachment from him face. He almost forgot how he looks like in the mirror, he barely looks in it. When he thinks about his face, he mostly thinks about his mask. It's a part of him now, like an another layer of skin. The skull pattern on it is an echo from the masquerade paint he had on his face during Los Muertos. He metaphorically died back there in Brazil, died in the hands of his torturers. He is shell of a man he used to be. He is Ghost now. Phantasma.
When he has to take it off, especially in civilian environment, he feels naked, unsafe. Like if he is stripped of something that makes him who he is. It's almost an equivalent for a regular person to put on a mask and hide their face. The mask IS Simon's face.
7. Emotional spectre and control of them. He has a hard time processing and understanding his emotions sometimes. He reads anger well. Despair, too. They're common. But others, more complex states are a mystery to him. Cause-and-effect relationships of his own mind are troubling time to time. He well knows what can trigger him. And when Simon understands what's bothering him, he can develop means to control it.
The struggle to read himself, however, does not affect his ability to read others, especially the enemies. He can predict what they're about to do, how they're going to react.
On the outside, he tries not to show much, but his voice reveals his emotions in critical moments: the screams, the stutter, the growl.
8. Need for affection. Like any other human being he needs attention, care, words of affirmation. He lacks it in his life. Yeah, he is on a good terms with his team, he is stoic and self-contained, but deep inside he is needy. Physical touch, emotional connection, romantic love.. he aches for it. But his logical side clearly understands that he is impossible to love. He is a troubled man. Wrecked. No one would ever want him in their life. A burden. Loving someone like him is a death sentence. So, there's this emptiness within him.
His perfect match would be someone "normal", mature and understanding. By saying "understanding" I don't mean just being able to accept him as he is, but someone having a similar experience in life, someone, who knows how to cope with trauma. And this significant other shouldn't be a "crutch" for Simon, because in my opinion such relationship wouldn't last long. It's not about fixing him, but about showing him that things can be different if he finds other means to cope with his demons than just restlessly fighting. He has to make a choice: to keep himself in that vicious bloody cycle or finally step up and take another challenge. I don't think he can actually change, but he definitely can make it work if someone believes in him.
Yes, he can hire a prostitute and let out some tension, but he will feel terrible afterwards. If, of course, he will actually be able to get intimate at all, by setting aside all the anxiety, fear and hate he has for himself . It's easier to take care of himself on his own.
Talking about sexuality. As I mentioned, he is not very experienced and he gets intimate rarely, so at first he doesn't last long at all. He can be a bit awkward, but he is never rough, since he has enough violence in his life and for him the act of making love is about tenderness. He would never want to harm or hurt his partner in any way. He is usually quiet in bed, but can be very audible from time to time when he simply cannot control himself.
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