#gadlads

1889 soft dom Hob pointing sternly with a cigar is giving me Emotions

But consider: after the very first time he had sex with one of those men, all miles of pale skin and dark hair and blue eyes that were just slightly the wrong shade, Hob spends an hour in the shower trying to wash every trace of the encounter from his skin, from his mouth, from his bones. Because he had promised his Stranger that he would wait, even if it was a promise only he had heard. He had promised his Stranger that they were friends and that he didn’t need anything more than his Stranger’s presence. And here he was, seeking out people who look exactly like him, people who are also strangers, but will never be strangers in the way his Stranger is. In some small way, he has pushed for more, if only by association, and he immediately hates himself for it. Hates the way that he knows the name of the man in his bed and wishes he didn’t. Hates the way he can still hear the man’s choked-off gasps as he came down Hob’s throat and his voice wasn’t deep enough, wasn’t otherworldly enough; it was just a man’s voice and nothing more. Hates that the man didn’t call him Hob because Hob isn’t going by Hob this time around. Hates that he’s used an innocent person to project his own selfish and unwanted desires onto. He hates himself for pushing and for looking for distractions and most of all, for wanting

I love this fandom and honestly while this is my first time writing fic of any kind, it's not my first time picking up a hobby, and at even like, two months and change of consistently Doing It, I've already outlasted a lot of stuff I've picked up in the past. I hope it lasts well into the new year for us both <3

*ish because the actual last line I wrote is incredibly self-deprecating and could possibly be triggering to some so I don’t want to post it without proper tagging