Work Text:
The moment Namjoon sees the mirror in its new home, hanging on the wall of his bedroom like art in a gallery, he knows he made the right decision.
He'd sought out a mirror to make his bedroom look a little bigger, and this one certainly helps -- the illusion of the reflection makes the small space seem less cramped. But there's more to it. Something that had drawn Namjoon to this particular mirror when he'd first seen it in the cheap secondhand store. Something beyond the swirling patterns in the wood that drew his eye deeper and deeper.
It's true, what first caught his attention was the woodwork -- he’s always loved the look of wood, and had set out that day looking for affordable wood furniture. It's also true that what kept him admiring the mirror was the patterns in the wood, the lines that somehow seemed to shift and twist even as he stared at them, reminiscent of looking up at the lines of sunlight through the surface of the sea. But what moved him to shell out the last bit of money he'd set aside for that shopping trip (and a little extra he probably shouldn't have spent) was something harder to put to words. It was less in the details, and more in the feeling that washed through him when he stood in front of the mirror, stared through the years of dirt and dust clouding the glass, and felt like it was staring back at him.
Here, hanging on the otherwise blank wall of the bedroom of his apartment, he feels it again. The mirror is clean now, or as clean as he could get it, in any case. The glass is still a little foggy, even after going over it multiple times with cleaner, but he kind of likes the hazy look. It gives everything a dreamy quality, he thinks. And it makes the detailing in the woodwork looks somehow sharper too, more real somehow now that it's polished and shining in the crisp sunlight from his bedroom window.
It's pretty, he thinks, and fills up his wall just right. It makes his room look so much larger than before, adding that extra dimension to the small space. But it's more than that. It's this feeling.
His brow furrows as he considers it, eyes flitting over every part of the mirror, every reflected corner of his room, until they settle on his own reflection. That's it, he realizes as he stares into his own eyes. The feeling from before, the one that made him bring this mirror home with him. Somehow in his reflection, he looks... Different.
Namjoon can't quite put his finger on how, exactly. Maybe it's the old glass, warped slightly with age or imperfections from being made by hand. Maybe it's the filtered sunlight reflected off the foggy, faded glass. Maybe it makes Namjoon glow a little, like he's one of those celebrities on TV.
Namjoon laughs a little at that, feeling just a little foolish to be standing in the middle of his bedroom staring at his reflection and smiling like this. But it's nice, too. It feels good to finally be able to do this, to finally feel comfortable enough to start buying things just to make his space feel more like a home, to finally decorate according to his tastes instead of keeping his belongings to the necessities. And whatever it is about this mirror, it's exactly to Namjoon's tastes.
He's mulling this over, pleased with himself and his new home, when he notices it for the first time. A shadow, a flicker of movement somewhere behind him. Something on his bed.
Namjoon frowns, turning to glance back, but there's nothing there. He crouches down to inspect his bed and the floor around it, just in case there's a bug that somehow got inside. He usually tries to catch wayward moths or spiders to let them out where they belong. But whatever it was, it's gone now. Not a trace of the shape or shadow that caught Namjoon's eye.
He stands with a sigh, not bothered enough by the thought of a spider in his room to devote any more time to finding it. There's enough to do today between unpacking the rest of his things and catching up on the work he let slip over the weekend.
An hour later, elbows deep in music equipment and wires he really should've sorted and labeled before he tossed them all into the same box, he's already forgotten about it. And when he collapses into his bed at the end of the day, muscles aching from hunching over boxes and then his desk, he's too exhausted to think about anything at all.
--
In the morning, Namjoon wakes feeling more rested than he has in -- well, ever.
He opens his eyes and he's wide awake and refreshed, with not even the hint of an urge to sleep in a little longer. Maybe it's the way the sunlight streams in from the window, he wonders, admiring the way it shines through his threadbare curtains to draw pretty lines along the walls.
Namjoon sits up in bed, stretching his arms high over his head to feel that satisfying ache work itself through his back. Then his eye catches on movement, and he remembers the new addition to his bedroom wall. Maybe it's not just the sunlight making him feel so refreshed, he revises, but the way it seems to glitter in the reflection of his new mirror.
As if thinking it makes it so, his bedroom lights up in the mirror -- streaming beams brightening to a shine until Namjoon almost has to squint -- but when he looks away, the flickering light at the window looks the same as before.
"Must've found the perfect spot for a mirror, huh?" Namjoon says to himself, wondering at the effect. When he glances back to the reflection, the unnatural shine is gone.
He turns it over in his head the rest of the morning. In the shower, while he's dressing, while he's rushing out the door without breakfast because he managed to be late even after waking up so much earlier than usual. He remembers the sunlight on his commute, and then at work when he should be focused on other projects.
On his commute home that evening, he has a few lines of new lyrics bouncing around in his head, with a little melody to match. He sings it to himself in his bedroom as he changes out of his work clothes into a pair of comfortable sweats.
The sun must be going down at just the right angle, he thinks, because he room seems to light up just like it did in the morning. He doesn't think that the sun can't rise and set on the same side of his apartment building.
--
Namjoon finishes unpacking in a few days -- mostly, except for the kitchen. But, it’s not like he uses that much, anyway. He takes a couple more shopping trips, looking for cheap décor to fit his budget and his aesthetic, and by the end of the week, he’s more than pleased with his new space. He has his figure collection displayed neatly in the entryway, his production equipment set up on a heavy wood desk in the living room, and even has a little table set up by a window just for his plants.
His favorite part of the apartment though is still the bedroom. The mirror is his favorite new purchase, and he loves the way it makes his room -- and himself -- look in the sunlight. It’s definitely a confidence boost to get ready in the morning, check his reflection in the mirror and see himself looking so good every day. It must be perfect lighting, he thinks in wonder every morning, because he always looks like he’s glowing.
It becomes part of his morning routine to talk himself up in front of his mirror, in this perfect lighting and his glowing reflection. “You look great, and you’re going to do great,” he says at first. He feels silly, but he notices the impact it has on his confidence. It’s different on the days he skips his hype speeches -- he doesn’t quite have the same glow in the mirror, and he doesn’t feel quite as good when he walks out the door of his apartment to greet the day. So he starts doing it every day, and starts telling himself more things. He gives more specific compliments, more elaborate praise, even singing to himself when he feels like it, until he can’t imagine starting his day without it, or without his mirror.
--
The dreams start just over a week after he hangs the mirror on his bedroom wall.
It starts with simple things, just on the edge of sleep. The way you feel like you’re falling and wake suddenly just to find yourself alone and safe in your bed.
He feels a heavy breath against the back of his neck, drawing him just from the edge of sleep, but rolls over to find nothing there but his empty bedroom.
He feels a weight dipping the mattress next to him, but when he reaches out, there’s just the cold side of his bed.
He feels something cold touching his stomach, a wet slide over his hip, and he jolts awake and throws back the covers just to find -- absolutely nothing. There’s nothing in his bed, nothing touching him, no wetness on his stomach. Just a dream, like every other time.
Sometimes, as he’s settling into bed before he falls asleep, he thinks he sees movement from the corner of his eye. Shadows reflected in his mirror, hidden in the corners of his room. But just like his dreams, every time he jumps to turn on the light, or sits up to look at whatever dark corner was moving in the mirror, there’s nothing there. Nothing in his room, and nothing in the mirror. Just his imagination, running wild before he even falls asleep.
It’s a few weeks after moving into his apartment and installing the mirror that he dreams of it for the first time.
He dreams that he wakes in the middle of the night with a strange, strong compulsion. He stands from his bed, the cold night air unheeded even in his undress, and walks in front of the mirror. Something in it is calling to him, urging him forward, guiding him to reach out to it.
Then something shifts, in the mirror. He sees a shadow moving, coming closer, reaching out to his own outstretched hand, and -- he wakes up in his bed. There’s nothing in the mirror.
It happens again, and then again. Each time the shape in the mirror gets closer and closer before he wakes up, but he always wakes up before he can see any clear shape in the darkness. It doesn’t scare him. If anything, it feels comfort. Like the thing in the mirror is trying to help him. He wakes up confused, but never feeling like he had a nightmare.
He finds himself thinking of the dreams often, though, wondering about what it could mean. He buys dream analysis books, studies them for mentions of mirrors, shadows, reflections. He thinks that maybe the shape in the mirror is himself, and it’s comforting because he’s reaching out to himself. Maybe he dreams about the mirror because he starts every day talking to himself in it. Maybe all the work he’s putting into self-love is paying off, and these dreams are his subconscious showing him that he’s getting closer and closer to his goal.
The mirror becomes even more special to him. It already symbolized his growth towards stability, towards independence and establishing himself on his own. Now, it appears in his dreams to symbolize his self-improvement, as well.
It means enough that he doesn’t even register how, when he finally shows it to Yoongi and Hoseok after weeks of bragging about how much he loves his home décor, they both look at each other a little strangely. Hoseok says it’s great that Namjoon loves it, and Yoongi says it’s not his style but it’s great that Namjoon found something he loves, and then they both turn and walk out of his bedroom without another glance at the mirror.
Namjoon stays where he is, staring at his reflection with a smile on his face. Yeah, he thinks, it is pretty great.
He doesn’t think to ask why Yoongi or Hoseok were in a hurry to leave his apartment after that, or why they haven’t come over since.
--
When something finally changes, it happens all at once.
Namjoon wakes in the middle of the night, still in his bed, just the way his dreams always start. The curtains are drawn closed, but the light from the city still shines through, brighter than the full moon in the sky. It makes his room glow in the reflection of the mirror.
Just like every other night he has this dream, he feels compelled to slip from the warmth of his bed, to go to the mirror. The floor is cold beneath his bare feet, but he barely notices. All of his attention is fixed on his reflection in the mirror, watching himself as he steps closer and closer, until he's standing at the foot of his bed, right in front of it.
He stares into his own reflection, into his eyes staring right back at him, and just like every time before, a shadow rises up behind him. Comforting and familiar, just another side of himself. He knows that much from his dream books.
But unlike every other time, the shape in the mirror isn't just a shadow hovering just out of reach. It moves closer than it ever has before, closer, and closer still, with the gentleness of the tide coming in. As it moves, Namjoon notices more of its shape coming into view. He watches in the mirror, fascinated, as the shapes form into -- tentacles? Long, thick shadows reaching for him, curling in on themselves as they move, glowing faintly in the hazy light.
He watches as the closest one reaches out to grasp at his shoulder, and his jaw drops when he feels it. He tears his eyes away from the mirror to look down at his arm and -- nothing. There's nothing there. No shadow, no tentacle. Just a sensation, wet and cold but definitely there, tracing over the curve of his bicep, wrapping around his arm to squeeze like a friend, reassuring.
Namjoon looks back at the mirror and sees it, the soft shape wrapping around him, glistening in the dim light. He reaches up slowly with his other hand, and when he traces over the shape that he sees in the mirror, he feels it on his fingertips too.
"Whoa," he hears himself say, but the sound is muted and far away, the way it always is in his dreams. The tentacle around his arm pulses, like it's answering him.
Then, he feels another wet, cold sensation at his ankle, around his stomach, climbing up his spine. His focus jolts away from his shoulder and he realizes that more tentacles have formed and reached out for him, rising out of the shadows behind him, wrapping themselves around his body. The suction cups on the underside of the tentacles stick to his skin, tugging gently each time they lift up. Like a kiss that lingers.
He watches behind himself in the reflection as the largest shadow twists up from the center of his bed, reaching for the ceiling. It curves down slowly to wrap itself around his ribs, all the way across his chest, and pulls him back towards the bed. He feels his weight shift without his doing, recognizes that the tentacle is stronger than him, and he's being lifted up and set gently back onto his bed.
He can recognize that this is weird, that he should be scared, that these things aren't human and he doesn't know what they plan to do with him. But it's a feeling he has, just like when he looks into his mirror when he's awake. It's something familiar in the shadows when he watches the way they move around him. It's the way he feels small tentacles caressing his hips, his stomach, feels one curling around his hand. They're not scary. They're comforting.
He watches more and more tentacles sprout from the bed around him, watches them writhe and caress his skin with soft touches, leaving wet, tingling sensations where the suction cups stuck. But when he looks down at his own body again, or at the bed sheets beneath him, there's still nothing there. He stares at his stomach as he feels the slimy, cold sensation of something slipping over his hip, curling into his belly button, making his muscles tense and shiver.
It's dizzying, this disconnect between what he sees and what he feels. He watches one of the tentacles around his thigh move in the reflection, the tip of it drifting higher up his leg, and he feels it, but within his line of sight is that same thigh, with no shadowy tentacle wrapped around it.
He thinks of the shadows he’s seen before, always in the corner of his eye, and always in the mirror. Never when he turns to look at where they should be. The tentacle slips higher up his thigh, and he shudders.
Namjoon tries to tug away from them, to crawl further up his bed, away from the mirror. The tentacles hold him in place. Not quite restrictive, but they press against his back, tighten around his limbs. They want him to stay where he is, and from the strength he can feel and how easily they tightened, he’s sure they can make him move wherever they want him.
The thought is exhilarating – his heart races faster, his breaths come shallower. But he’s not afraid. Not exactly. He’s never felt anything but comfort and calm when he looks at the mirror, and tonight is no different. Despite the weirdness, despite the wet chill accompanying each touch, Namjoon doesn’t mind it. The tentacles are cute, even. He rubs his thumb over the tentacle in his hand, and it squirms in response. As if encouraged, the other tentacles around him squirm too, moving closer to touch more.
The touches are light at first. Almost tickling. Except for the ones that wrapped around him to hold him in place, the other shadow tentacles just caress him, like fingertips. They trace soft, wet lines along his muscles, sending cold shivers racing up his spine. As he watches in the mirror, he sees more and more tentacles rising up from the bed around him. Some of them lean in towards him, joining the others to caress over his skin, while others just curl in over themselves or each other, swaying like seaweed in the waves.
He closes his eyes, lets them move over him. Focusing on the feeling instead of trying to watch. Without the visual in his reflection, each touch is a surprise. One tentacle continues its journey up his thigh, making him shiver. Another draws lines across his ribs. Another snakes over his shoulder, tracing over his collarbone. He sighs, tilting his head back to bare his neck, itching for something more. Like it reads his mind, the tentacle follows, wrapping itself around his neck and squeezing with the gentlest pressure.
It isn't until he feels his cock stirring between his legs that he realizes: he recognizes this. He recognizes the teasing, the soft touches up and down his thighs, dragging over the junction of his hips where he's most sensitive. He arches up into it, and the shadows press down harder, the way he does when he works himself up at night, with only his mirror watching him.
The tentacles are touching him just the way he likes.
If this is his dream, it makes sense, he thinks distantly, sinking even further into the sensations. He spreads his legs, giving the tentacles more access to his inner thighs. They take the hint, sliding across his skin, making him shiver.
Namjoon moans, tossing his head back and arching higher. The tentacle around his torso follows him too, squeezing around his ribs as it works over his chest, between the dips of his muscles, tracing the lines of his body. The tip of the tentacle slides over his chest, flicking over his nipple, and he feels it jolt through him.
"Fuck," Namjoon curses, reaching up to run his fingers through his short hair. He already feels sweaty, even though he's shivering at the cold touches, at the wet traces they leave behind that chill against the air.
He thinks about reaching down to grasp his cock, now fully hard and aching against his thigh. He feels hot, burning up, ready to burst despite the light, teasing touches. He usually doesn't tease himself this long, and he doesn't know how much longer he can take it.
He thrusts his hips up into the empty air, trying to pass another hint along to his subconscious in tentacle form, but there's no change. They don't react the way they did before, following where his body guided them. They just stay where they are, slow and gentle, leaving his cock to throb untouched between his legs.
Namjoon groans again, this time in frustration, and reaches down to solve the problem himself. But then he feels the shadows react.
Two cold, slimy tentacles wrap around his knees, spreading his legs wider in the same moment that a third tentacle twists around his wrist, stopping his hand's journey midair.
Namjoon is so surprised, he doesn't know how to respond. He just lays there, eyes blinking open to stare at his ceiling, letting it sink in that the tentacles just stopped him. Are they edging him? Then, he feels something else new.
A tentacle underneath him, pulsing and writhing against his lower back, twisting itself around his hips. The tentacles at his knees spread his legs wider still, lifting him up until he's just barely sitting on the bed, and then --
Namjoon's eyes widen when he feels it. A cold, wet touch against his hole. Somewhere he's never touched before.
He flinches, trying to pull away, but the tentacles hold him in place. His heart skips faster in his chest, and he lifts his head, suddenly desperate to see what the shadows are doing to him. It's disorienting all over again, looking down his own body and seeing nothing, but feeling the touches across his skin.
He glances back to the mirror where he can see the tentacle between his legs -- smaller and thinner than the others around it. He watches it swaying gently, pulsing in a rhythm he feels against his hole. It moves slowly, twisting against his skin, rubbing up and down like it's trying to soothe him.
When long moments pass and nothing else happens, Namjoon starts to relax. It's a new sensation, but it's not an unwelcome one. Just like the touches across the rest of his body, it starts to feel nice, despite the chill of the tentacles and the strangeness of being touched in such a new way. He watches it twist over, until the underside is pressed against him, soft suction against his sensitive skin. His body gives in, muscles relaxing one by one, until his legs go slack and his eyes start to slip closed again, letting the feeling carry him out to sea.
Then the tentacle between his legs twists again, and his eyes focus on it just as he feels it pressing into him. His jaw drops open, and he's grateful that he can't see between his legs except through his reflection, because he doesn't think he could handle that disconnect this time.
The tentacle continues its gentle undulations, and he feels it sinking deeper into him with each twist. It moves in easily, slick enough with whatever substance coats all of the tentacles, but it feels even more cold inside him than it did on his skin.
He tries to gasp, but the breath gets caught in his chest, and he feels like he might choke instead. It's new and weird -- not bad, but not exactly good, either. Just different enough that it's hard for him to relax into this touch the way he could relax into every other, more familiar sensation in this dream.
As if they understand, the tentacle around his chest begins to lift him, and another slides up his spine to settle at the base of his skull, holding him upright so he can keep watching the way the tentacle moves inside him, but doesn't have to strain to stay in that position. He makes himself relax against them, safe in their strong, steady holds, and then he feels another, smaller tentacle brushes against his cheek.
He glances up in the mirror and sees it, swaying gently by his face, brushing against his cheek again like a soft kiss. He smiles watching it, turns his head just enough so that he can keep watching, but the next brush of the tentacle lands on the corner of his mouth. Namjoon swears he can see the little tentacle shudder in response when it sways away, and then a moment later it's back, tracing along his parted lips with the lightest of touches.
He groans again, this time with pleasure. He's never had a lover touch his lips like this, never knew it could feel so good. His hips rock up automatically, seeking friction he still hasn't gotten, and the tentacle inside him takes the opportunity to sink even deeper.
Namjoon's eyes widen and his eyes flick down again, and he can see the way the tentacle writhes as it pushes further inside him, growing wider as it does, stretching him slowly. It started at about the width of his finger, but now it's a little wider. Not quite two fingers yet.
That "yet" sticks in Namjoon's mind. Yet, he thinks, because he knows it's going to get bigger, going to stretch him out even more. He feels it with the same certainty that he knows the tentacles aren’t going to hurt him, and the way they know exactly what he likes, exactly what he craves.
As if on cue he feels something new, feels the tentacle turning inside him, curling up to form a little ball so it can press into him, against something that must be his prostate by how his body reacts.
It feels weird, just like when the tentacle first entered him, but it's a better weird. A weird that he wants to lean into, wants to feel more of. He feels the tentacle thrusting in and out of him now, the curled knot of it rubbing over his prostate with each movement. It still doesn't exactly feel good, but whatever the feeling is, it's growing. Building with each slow roll of the tentacle inside him, until Namjoon is clenching down around it, trying to get it to stay pressed inside him.
Then, all at once, the tentacles move together. The ones around his chest and his legs lift him up in one fluid motion, others reaching up to join them until he's fully off the bed, supported by nothing but the tentacles. When he looks down, his stomach turns, because it looks like he's floating in midair, even though he feels the strong tentacles wrapped around his limbs, and knows he'll see the tentacles if he just looks back at the mirror and --
Oh fuck, he realizes when his eyes focus on his reflection again. He understands why the tentacles moved him. Like this, hovering above his bed with his legs spread, he has the perfect view of himself getting fucked.
That's what's happening, he finally admits. The tentacles are fucking him. And they want him to watch.
Fuck, Namjoon loves his horny unconscious mind. He thanks himself in a moment of clarity, just before the tentacle inside him sinks in even deeper, still pulsing and rubbing against that spot inside him in a way that's starting to feel really, really good.
He feels the tentacle widening again, stretching him out around it. Namjoon's never tried fucking himself like this, but he thinks he really might have to start now. It feels better than he ever imagined it could. Not just the stretch, but the way he can feel it moving inside him, twisting back over itself, massaging him from the inside, flowing into him to fill him up completely.
His head tilts back, eyes slipping closed again as he relaxes into it, giving into the sensations. The tentacles around him are still touching him, caressing his skin in their off-rhythm, like waves lapping against a shore.
The tentacle inside him pushes deeper, growing thicker as it does, and presses up in a way that has Namjoon gasping for air, surging up like he’s swimming for the water’s surface. The one around his chest squeezes tight, shifting until a suction cup fixes over one nipple, and when it lifts up just to tug, he moans.
Namjoon leans into it, body tensing, clenching down on the tentacle inside him, and that feels good too. The tentacle seems to throb in response, surging forward to fuck him deeper, harder, and he wants so much more.
He tosses his head, searching for something, and like it knows just what he wants, the tentacle at his lips is back. It traces the corner of his mouth, suction cups teasing like tiny little kisses, and when his lips part in invitation, it surges in.
The tentacle was small, but in his mouth it seems to grow, swelling to fill him up until he has to breathe through his nose. It feels heavy now when it wraps himself around his tongue, kissing him deeper than he’s ever been kissed before. The taste is thick on his tongue, salty and foreign, and the wetness coating the tentacle fills his mouth with spit. He tries to swallow, but the tentacle is too thick in his mouth, and he can’t get his throat to work. He feels a trail of drool dripping from the corner of his mouth instead, and then a moment later, another tentacle flicking over his chin, smearing it away.
He reaches up, disoriented with the way his body rocks back and forth with every hard thrust from the tentacle inside him, and finally manages to grasp the tentacle in his mouth. It responds to his touch immediately, pulling out to wrap around his hand instead, between his fingers. Namjoon’s eyes blink open and he stares at his hand, where there’s a string of drool trailing from his lip to nothing -- and then he looks into the mirror again. The tentacle in front of him is swaying slowly, dripping with spit and whatever else, twisting forward to wipe the drool from Namjoon’s lip.
Namjoon swallows, dizzy with arousal and overwhelmed by sensation from every angle -- the salty taste still on his tongue, the sight in the mirror, the feeling of being opened up so expertly by things that know exactly where and how to touch him. He squeezes the tentacle in his hand, and it squeezes him back.
His eyes drop down again, to the tentacle still fucking him, and he gasps. The tentacle is wider now, he could feel it expanding slowly, but seeing just how big is dizzying. It’s larger than his own cock, which bounces against his belly with every hard thrust of the tentacle, still achingly hard and untouched. Namjoon has never been one to brag, but he knows from experience that his size can be… a lot. Watching himself take something larger, something stretching him so much wider, filling him so much deeper -- it sends his head spinning.
He looks down his body again, where he should be able to see the tentacle with how hard it’s fucking him, but there’s still nothing there. He reaches down with his free hand, fascinated, past his cock, between his thighs, and fuck, he can feel it, wet and cold between his fingers. The barely-there friction of the tentacle fucking in and out of him.
The moan that spills from his throat sounds pained, but he’s never felt this good before. He squeezes his fingers together around the tentacle, and that seems to encourage it because the next thrust into him is even deeper than before. Tears prick in the corners of his eyes, and he swears he can see it bulging in his stomach if he focuses hard enough.
He tries to rock his hips back against it, tries to get it to fuck him at just the right angle. But, like it’s aware of exactly what he’s doing and what he wants, it adjusts with him. It keeps teasing, just like the tentacles did with their soft touches before. Fucking him slow when he wants it faster, angling to hit just the right angle to make him almost come, but never quite enough to reach the edge.
He reaches for his cock again, deciding to take matters into his own hands, but another tentacle squeezes around his wrist, freezing him in place. Namjoon moans, frustrated and desperate, hips kicking forward into empty air. But this time, blessedly, the tentacles don’t leave him hanging.
Barely a moment later, he feels the tentative curl of a tentacle around the tip of his cock. The chill burns against his heated skin, but he thrusts into it anyway, and the tentacle responds in kind. It squeezes around the tip of his cock, pulsing and massaging, and it feels so good, Namjoon thinks he could cry.
Then the tentacle twists lower, wrapping itself fully around his cock, swirling around and around until he’s fully engulfed in the writhing shape, even as he looks down and sees nothing but his own leaking cock between his legs. The tentacle gives a shallow thrust, up and down, still squeezing him rhythmically, suction cups sticking to his skin and setting him on fire. He fucks into it again, seeking out more, but the tentacles around his chest and thighs tighten, holding him in place. When he glances down, he can see the way the flesh of his thigh dips where the tentacle grips him, but there’s no tentacle there.
He feels dizzy again, turns back to the mirror to try to ground himself in what he can see. The tentacle is still stroking him, but now it’s pulled back, so just a few curls of the tentacle are still wrapped around him. It speeds up slowly, still pulsing against him, varying the pressure so every touch feels new and unexpected. Tears prick in the corners of his eyes when the tentacle swipes over the head of his cock, smearing his own precome in with the wetness of the tentacles. He feels the tip brush over his slit, and then dip just barely into him, and then he feels a tear fall.
The tentacle inside him swells again, stretching him to just the edge of his limits, massaging just the edge of his prostate every time it fucks in and out of him, keeping him just on this side of overwhelmed.
“Please,” he hears himself say. He watches his reflection in the mirror, but it feels like he’s watching it happen to someone else. He tries to arch into the sensations, but the tentacles hold him tight in place, positioning him the way they want, fucking him until he cries but not letting him come.
And then, just like that, the tentacle around his cock twists just right, and he’s tipping over the edge.
The reflection blurs and then fades completely, blocked out by the tears in his eyes when it finally, finally happens. His whole body tightens for a brief, wonderful, excruciating moment, and then releases. He collapses back into the tentacles still holding him up, still touching him, still guiding him through every shockwave, every shuddering breath. They keep touching him until it finally does become too much, until his body jolts and flinches at the oversensitivity, and the tears turn pained.
Then, they set him down gently in the middle of his bed, caressing him to soothe his aching, exhausted muscles as they go. He lifts his head to watch them fade, sinking back into the shadows of the room, into the wrinkled sheets on his bed, leaving the reflection to finally match the room around him. Like they were never really there at all.
He drops his head back down onto his pillow, heavy eyelids slipping shut, and falls asleep before he realizes it’s happening.
--
Namjoon wakes in the morning feeling refreshed, and aching in the most satisfying way. He sits up in his bed, stretching his arms high above him as he recalls details of his dreams last night -- details that have his stomach turning and his spine tingling in want all over again. He almost thinks about indulging, aware of the blood rushing between his legs just remembering it now. But then he sees it.
He lowers his arms slowly, staring at his reflection, blinking to try to clear his vision from whatever residual sleep or dreams must be clouding his waking perception too. But his vision is clear, and the reflection doesn't change. His body is littered with marks, soft purple circles, in even patterns that he can follow, lines flowing across his chest, his biceps, his neck.
He stares, watching the way his muscles move under his skin as he drops his arms to his sides, and the way the marks on his skin stay exactly in place -- exactly where he remembers them appearing in his dreams.
He looks down at his chest, runs his fingertips over the faint purple marks on his skin -- rows of perfect little circles -- and smiles.
This mirror was definitely the right decision.