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quigzahhutt · 1 month ago

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alright walk with me. take alex, hand him logan, and make that american round with babies and also maybe cranky with pregnancy hormones. boom.

listen guys. @mehggie gave me this prompt literally last night and then it kind of maybe took over my hands and suddenly i had over 1.2k words written for this prompt uhhhhhh

anyways. sargebon omegaverse pregnant sex :) featuring a bit of body worship bcuz logan is pregnant and beautiful and alex is out of his mind

FAIR WARNING; THIS IS NSFW. THIS IS MPREG. dont read if thats something you dont enjoy!! this is for freaks!!

Alex thinks Logan has never looked so beautiful; his hair is thicker and his cheeks are fuller and pink, his body bulking up to accommodate for an entirely new tenant, a brand new human gearing up to experience the world.

Logan hasn't quite started showing yet but his tummy is firmer, a slight bit rounder than it used to be, covering up the six pack he so diligently crafted; although the extra weight could be easily passed off as a side effect of "taking a step back" from racing.

It feels like their own little secret. Logan is officially on hiatus from racing for "recovery reasons", but Alex knows the truth, know that it's all really a facade; is the reason for the whole thing, really.

He had been the one to knock Logan up, he's the true culprit behind the softer eyes and the tender figure Logan has begun taking on. It's all a little dizzying.

And so, Alex is nearly knocked off his feet when he finds Logan, sat alone on the edge of the bed, hair scruffy as a result of waking up later than normal. He's looking out the large window parallel to the bed, and his posture conveys more truth than anything else could.

He's relaxed more than he's ever been, his scent muted yet lively where it penetrates the serene atmosphere as he rubs absentmindedly at his tummy in soft strokes; he somehow hasn't even noticed that Alex is there.

So when Alex approaches and sits down next to him, it's no surprise when Logan startles. His breath hitches as he turns quickly in the direction of the new presence, his scent taking on a bitter edge for a brief moment; Logan suddenly goes to fix his hair, a rushed panic written across his face as he tries to salvage his appearance on autopilot.

It only serves to make Alex snicker at the urgency, and he quickly goes to muss up Logan's hair again, fluffing it back and forth with his fingers and pulling Logan in for a kiss before he can complain about it.

Alex will never be able to get over how perfectly their scents collide and mix together to form a beautiful and caramel rich aroma, sticky and sweet and yet also bitter and strong– he wonders if their pups will be reflective of that.

But now, with Logan pregnant and slowly beginning to show, his hormones have begun shifting and his scent has taken on a soothing, secondary palette– cream, milky and comforting, perfectly in tune with his traditional caramelly scent.

And Alex just can't help himself. Not when Logan is like this.

Soon enough, a hand is sneaking up the plush flesh on the inside of Logan's thigh, and he makes a panicked sound against Alex's lips, his whole body fizzling and reacting to the sensation, and Alex can feel a snarl growing behind his teeth at the fabric barrier his fingers are halted by.

He wants to be able to feel him, touch and smother all the newly soft parts of Logan's body, bury his nose into the tender scent glands on the inner crease of Logan's legs. Instead, Alex tides himself over by digging the blunt tip of his finger into it, listening carefully for the hitch of breath that follows.

Logan's hands squeeze against the muscle of Alex's bicep where they've found themselves, giving Logan more leverage to push into the kiss. He attempts to move onto his lap, but Alex in turn pushes him into the mattress, pulling away from the kiss to ease him against the pillows.

Alex wordlessly begins running a hand up and inside of Logan's loose sleep shirt, fingers skating across the soft skin there; when Alex pushes down, the flesh gives easily, and Alex can't escape the affect it has on him.

The pungent and distinct smell of slick begins permeating the space as Alex's hands continue to obsessively rove across Logan's body, overtaking the previously sickly-sweet atmosphere. Not that Alex is complaining.

Because soon enough, he's groaning, burying his face into the crook of Logan's neck and laving his tongue over the exposed skin there, moaning around the neutral taste of Logan's flesh as it floods his mouth.

"Fuck! Oh my god, Alex- please," Logan cries, flinching against each lick of Alex's tongue on the sensitive parts of his neck.

Alex pulls away with a groan, "You need it, baby? Want me to stuff you up? Make you fuller than I already have?" He growls, nuzzling against Logan's cheek, teasingly scenting him, and the whine he gets in reply is beautiful.

Ever since the pregnancy started taking shape and Logan's hormones began shifting in all the correct ways, his voice has started doing strange things, changing pitch and altering his tone to be fuller, richer, a more calming tone to the ears of nearby pups. Alex loves it.

He's already sounding so motherly despite just how early the pregnancy is, and it makes Alex feel the need to be careful; desperate not to crack and break the delicately crafted body beneath him, the body changing in so many ways so it can grow an entirely new person, a shared creation.

It's all kind of a blur, after that. Alex tends to get like this, doped up on hormones and scents and feelings so much that he hardly remembers what's happening, how his body is moving and doing things he never knew was capable.

Because now he has four fingers buried deep inside of Logan's weeping hole, slick gushing against the intrusion as his other hand roves up and down Logan's now nude torso, pinching and pushing the freshly tender flesh with careful prowess.

"Alex, get on with it," Logan huffs, and although he sounds annoyed, his body is twitching with every movement, his muscles flexing against every shift of Alex's fingers against his walls.

It's a bit dizzying, to be honest, to remember that Logan's body is still hardened and trained, just now it's concealed behind a misleading softness, wrapped in bubble wrap and made to look harmless.

But Alex knows– he's seen just how strong Logan actually is, has experienced the ebb and flow of his muscles as they pull and contract, has been on the receiving end of it a few times, even; bent over and fucked harder than he could ever imagine.

Alex's cock sinks in with relative ease, and the sensation of his already budding knot nudging against Logan's rim serves to yank him back into the present, pulling him out of the dulled haze Alex found himself in as more slick seeps out around it.

Logan is opened up so beautifully, flexing around Alex's cock and accommodating for his knot like it's nothing; like it's asking for more, even, greedily eating up every inch like a starved dog.

"C'mon, Alex, move. I need it, you know I do," Logan complains, shifting against the bed to effectively rock against Alex's dick.

It's a bit amusing just how much Logan plays up his annoyance, and yet his scent betrays that he's feeling nothing other than a searing, burning hot desire, molten enough to melt through any facade.

"Yeah? You like it? Need more, even though I've already stuffed you so much?" Alex replies promptly, spitting and yet loving around the edges, testy in the way they've always been with each other.

No matter how much Alex makes fun of Logan's scent being so easy to read, Alex is no better– he's sure he's oozing tidal waves of want and arousal just as heavily, if not more.

Then, Logan swallows harshly, "I'll take anything you give me, alpha," he says coyly, and the eye contact he holds is something fierce, something that could easily have any alpha shivering in the knees.

And, just like any alpha would, Alex has no qualms in challenging that.

The first thrust is sharp, snappy and a bit too aggressive for them, but it makes sense in the greater context of it all. He felt challenged, and judging by the way Logan's eyes roll back into his skull, Alex would say he won.

With a grounding hand planted in the center column of Logan's sternum, Alex begins a more typical pace, an easygoing rhythm that satisfies every need and then some.

He can tell that neither of them are going to last very long. With every new hormonal shift, Logan has been reaching climax a lot quicker than usual, and, as a result of residual pheromones or something, Alex has been the same way.

Something about satisfying their omegas needs, thus resulting in a quicker knot to compensate for their mate orgasming faster. It's some medical mumbo jumbo that Alex had read through after their very first visit to the doctor together, and also a few horribly embarrassing google searches.

'Why am I knotting so quickly' is definitely something Alex wishes he never had to search up at all, and he very hastily cleared it from his web history as soon as he got the desired answers.

A sharp, foggy tug on his temples brings Alex back to the current moment, and he becomes quickly aware of how close his knot is to popping already, and also just how squirrelly Logan is getting.

His muscles are pulling taut in that telltale way they always do before he comes, and he's begun scrabbling at Alex's shoulders, trying to reach for any sort of leverage as he slowly (or very quickly) falls apart.

Alex isn't much farther behind with how much his knot is throbbing for release. It all comes undone once Logan moves one of his arms down to his barely round tummy, pushing down lightly and rubbing back and forth as he comes hard around Alex's cock, and its so blindingly arousing that Alex comes immediately afterwards with a growly shout.

Knotting a mated partner is a sensation Alex will never get over. It's like all his senses have been increased tenfold, a distinct neediness and satisfaction from treating his mate properly pounding heavily at his temples.

Once he gathers himself, Alex looks down to see where he and Logan are still connected, and his breath hitches at the way slick is still gushing out around his knot despite how tight the seal is, how pink and needy Logan's hole is as it puckers around his knot.

Eventually, his cum will slowly begin leaking out, being rejected by Logan's body as it realizes he's already stuffed as full as he can go, and that the extra fluid is unnecessary. Alex leans down and kisses Logan before the thought can become any more overwhelming.

---

thank you for this prompt i had sooo much fun with it <3

#i was up until 1:30 last night writing this idk what happened to me #but anyways #sargebon #lolex #alex albon #logan sargeant #f1 fic #my work #should i be putting this in main tags? maybe not but fuck it we ball

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actual-changeling · 3 months ago

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i am still looking at the arcadia house and ohhhh boy do i have more thoughts. this is about to be an unhinged meta ramble written at 2 am so buckle in folks.

i know the most likely answer is that no one considered this important enough to keep track of so fuck continuity i guess, but i am not here for the easy answers.

if we ignore the windows that open to the outside even though they

a) SHOULDN'T based on their architecture and

b) do NOT have any kind of handle

we still end up with one big mystery.

side note: these are the windows. if you can spot something i missed, PLEASE tell me. they gotta open somehow because they ARE open, but????? anyway.

my question is what the FUCK is happening with the front facing window?

in case you're not as obsessed with this episode as i currently am, i mean this one:

i am pointing out the position of the streetlamp for reasons that will become clear in a second.

now, what's wrong with the window? by itself—nothing. but once you add the view from the inside it becomes funky. we get a small number of shots at different times. here is the window behind the (about to be bludgeoned to death) klines.

it looks like some sort of mosaic which is a weird place to put it but okay.

side note: why is the bed right in front of it? the room is big enough for other options, but i digress. we've already talked about the atrocious architectural and interior design choices.

said mosaic is barely visible from the outside, you can kinda see the outlines here.

i now have several more questions.

firstly, WHAT do we see through the window? on the right, you can spot what looks like some sort of shelf, and since the mosaic colours do not add up to form that kind of pattern, it HAS to be something else.

you can spot it at different angles so it's not just a weird reflection, it stays consistent.

this non-existent object, however, is the least of my worries. before i tell you what caused me to write this post, i want to point out the direction said window is facing.

we can spot the sun BEHIND the building both in the morning and in the early afternoon. since we get a nice shot of mulder's watch, we can deduce that this is south.

while this opens more questions regarding continuity (it's february. why is the sun still so high at 2:20 pm???), it's more important that we can now say with certainty that our mystery window is facing NORTH. north-facing means it does not get any direct sunlight throughout the day.

remember the streetlamp? it is lower then the window and also at an angle, meaning that its light will barely if at all shine through said window.

which finally brings us to my problem: what the FUCK is happening here?

this is at night, and even if it were earlier in the evening, the sun sets at, what, 6 pm? it's DARK. so please explain to me why the hell this window is back-lit (???) by something and also what the fuck that pattern is because it sure as hell doesn't match up with the one we see with the klines. that window has not changed between then and now.

no, there are no plants outside that could cause these shadows.

no, there are no lights directed at this window at an almost 90° angle, which you'd need to get this kind of fully lit-up result.

no, there are no lights underneath the roof overhang, as can be seen here.

there is nothing weird or notable about the outside of the window.

where are the lights coming from????? it looks like some sort of LED back-lit decoration but we KNOW it is a north-facing window. we can SEE parts of the mosaic from the outside, so there is no barrier or whatever between two panes of glass (???). which would also be a weird fucking choice but this house is might as well have that shit too; i would not be surprised.

so what is lighting up this window? if anyone has an explanation that makes sense and aligns with the facts we already have PLEASE tell me because i cannot figure it out.

the real x file of this episode is the mysterious, spontaneous lighting up, mosaic window that can apparently also shapeshift. did no one give a fuck about any of this and that's why it's the way it is? probably. but again, not here for the cop-out answers.

that concludes my increasingly less sane meta spiral for the day, feel free to add your own thoughts!!

#alex watches x files #txf #the x files #x files #txf arcadia house #dana scully #fox mulder #scully x mulder #mulder x scully #msr #txf arcadia #txf meta

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wishluc · 2 years ago

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[Behold! The promised Barbatos content has come at last! -🧵 Anon]

If eyes are the window to the soul, this air of mystery Barbatos maintains is the shroud which casts shadow upon his face. Tucked behind closed shutters and layers of curtain, his true intentions remain hidden from the world.

This distance that he's set, this barrier that he's built, has never once been breached. Not by Diavolo, who, while closer to him than any other, knows better than to ask questions. Nor by Solomon, who, while pact-bearing and ever curious, knows better than to get close. This line has never been crossed. Not a single soul—neither from times forsaken nor those yet to come—has slipped pass his defenses and approached his truest self.

Not until you, that is.

Your sincerity was a rarity in Devildom. It came as no surprise when the demon brothers, as dysfunctional as they are lonely, fall for you. It's when you win over the others that he begins to take interest. The Celestial Realm had no shortage of kindness and sincerity, so why did Simeon fall for you? Solomon had met countless humans across his long life, and yet he also became entranced by you. It's too late when Barbatos realizes his growing attraction. His fate was already sealed. Caught in the spider's web, you had captured his heart along with all the others. How careless of him.

Though, he refrains from giving himself too hard a time. Because really, the truth was, his fate had been sealed since the very beginning.

It was inevitable, he finds, that he would fall for someone so loveable. Every door and staircase led to the same destination. Every mirror reflected the same path. No matter the place or time, they all came to love you. Their love was so strong it surpassed space and time. His love was so strong it surpassed all space and time.

But yours wasn't.

It was unfair, really, for you to be so fickle in the face of such devotion. Incarnations that ran would always be brought home carefully, bound with the softest silks any of the three realms had to offer. When you fought, would always hold you until you went limp in their arms, soothed. When you cried, they would wipe your tears away. When you lied, they would forgive you.

They have loved you to point of insanity over and over again, and yet, you have rarely returned the favor.

In your kinder variants, whispers of sweet nothings dipped in honey would spill from your lips like waterfall. It was far from genuine, of course, but no one seemed to mind. Not as long as you were looking their way.

Artificial as it may be, there was nothing they wouldn't do to earn your affection. No line they wouldn't cross to hold your attention. Love them. Hate them. Anything goes.

You only need to stay by their side.

Nothing is more important.

Hello! Sorry I took a while to get to this. I was trying to read more about Barbatos-related lore so I don't completely butcher this :( And. As always, this was so well written!!! Could literally read anything you write, even if it was describing the ingredient list on the back of a can 0>0

Barbatos was hardly surprised when Lord Diavolo's interest in you took a disturbing turn, and he began plummeting head first into the dark pits of obsession.

The Young Master had always been an intense individual when it concerned his feelings, though seeing him lose himself so quickly, and for a mere human was jarring to say the least. Still, when he sees how the brothers covet for your attention and tug at you like a toy to be shared, he finds himself wondering if it was perhaps inevitable that Diavolo, too, would find himself craving your touch and your smile, carving out a place just for you inside his heart and mind.

Your presence was almost plaguing the Devildom, slowly but surely spreading your influence onto each of the brothers, coiling around their hearts and warping their thoughts until they developed a sick dependency of sorts on you. And after the avatars, it was the Young Master, and after that, SImeon, and now even Solomon was affected.

He knows you're not to blame for the situation you're in, but you were so foolish as to let your guard down in a place as cruel as this, and now, you were beyond saving. The warm smiles and tender caresses you offered, the gentle words despite how agitated you were, the profound understanding you had for demons who were nothing like you—did you think it would go unnoticed? Did you believe that the brothers, who had been scorned even as demons in the Devildom, who had been chased out of their previous home, wouldn't latch onto your sweet assurances and wish to have it all for themselves? You should have expected their greed to overwhelm them, should have long realized that demons felt no guilt about indulging in sins and souls alike, especially when yours only brought them pleasure and warmth.

But when he sees you struggling to turn down Lord Diavolo's suggestion to spend yet another night in the castle, a bitter taste fills his mouth. The scene reminds him of himself, many, many years ago, when he had been tricked and trapped to work for Lord Diavolo. It was painfully clear the demon had not learned anything from Barbatos's resentment of him after the fact, and for a minute, he falters—could you manage to hold back the resentment building inside you, too?

It mattered little; any resistance would be futile anyways, and such burning hatred would only eat away at you.

And then, you start approaching him. It makes sense, somehow, that compared to the unbearable fighting that constantly went on between the brothers, the domineering personality of Lord Diavolo, Solomon's sly plots and Simeon's...nature, that he would be your first choice of comfort. To you, he was just Lord Diavolo's butler. Loyal, skilled, but kind and safe. Though he knows it's a compliment to be viewed as such, Barbatos can't help the stinging sensation that follows when he realizes you must view him as a neutral party. Just there in the background, unaffected by your presence, and reliable—You must have assumed all that because he hadn't changed outwardly yet.

Although he hadn't lost his wits and started following you around like a lovesick puppy, and had yet to try his hand at manipulating you into staying by his side, it didn't mean that he was safe, or worse yet—that he was sincere. It just wasn't in his nature to be outwardly expressive about his feelings, nor was it easy to catch him in the act if he tried pulling the strings to control you.

You simply had no clue what he was up to.

You had no suspicions towards him when he convinced Diavolo to let you room by yourself one night, and you never doubted his intentions when he helped you evade the brothers. It must be so easy to believe that Barbatos was doing this out of the goodness of your heart, that he was helping you not because his jealousy was a miserable thing that plagued him relentlessly, but because he felt bad for your situation. He didn't want your other suitors to suffer as much as he did, he only wanted to lend a friend a helping hand. If you only thought about it a little more, it would be evident even to you how ridiculous the very notion was. But accepting the reality would mean losing your only friend and ally in the realm, and that realization would crush you. It was in his best interest, too, to make sure you were content by his side—a broken lover was not only difficult to ease into a picture of semi-normalcy, but it would also cause all the others to lose their minds. There were numerous, extremely delicate, factors that were depending on his role as your trustworthy partner now, and he would do well to fulfil it.

And really, it wasn't like he was particularly upset about the arrangement. He did want to brazenly stake his claim and have you succumb to him, but it wasn't unbearable having you like this, either. You huddled close to him after particularly bad arguments broke out, seeked him out when you wanted a bite of something sweet to chase away the bitter taste resentment, you confided in him your personal secrets, things that couldn't be found out by spells and tricks. Genuine trust—something none of the others could say they had of you.

However, it was clearly not enough for you.

Barbatos would think that unconditional love, infinite in quantity and absolute in its existence, would be something anyone would desire; especially being at the receiving end. He had assumed that relentless devotion and unwavering loyalty would be something to be yearned, that tender caresses from the cruel hands of your lovers and adoring, cloying whispers of sweet promises would be something you'd begin to appreciate. At the very least, weren't you glad, that they knew better than to frighten you or hurt you?

He was obviously wrong, if the way you keep trying, and failing, to run away and escape. You come to him, the first time, and plead with him, your eyes glittering with tears and voice strained with exhaustion, to help you leave the Devildom; even send you to a different time. But he had to refuse, firm but gentle, guiding you back to your place at the center. After that, you try it yourself. You try to create portals and cast spells, but what good does your measly magic do against the greatest sorcerer? All you get in return is cold treatment.

It does occur to him, when he tucks you in after you fall asleep at the castle and Diavolo gives him a knowing smile from across the room, that he was doing the same terrible thing that had happened to him. He was enabling your slow descent into the murky trap your other lovers had been preparing, by not aiding your escape. You'd never blame him, believing him to be strictly bound to Diavolo's orders, but he knew why he was doing this, and it was not only because of his allegiance to the Young Master.

Barbatos, too, was completely and utterly enchanted by you. You'd hate him, if you knew how his mind was invaded by you; your words, your smile, your light touches, to the point where all he knew was you. You'd be frightened if you knew how his lovesickness manifested, how you plagued him like a persistent illness and the very thought of you slowly sunk into his flesh until your presence had become a part of his identity.

But you didn't know, and that was all he could ask for.

all works © wishluc. do not copy, steal or repost my works on other platforms. (including translations)

#[The rest are mentioned but Barbatos gets the spotlight!]#yandere obey me shall we date #yandere obey me x reader #yandere obey me #obey me x reader #obey me shall we date #yandere x reader #yandere obey me swd #yandere barbatos #yandere barbatos obey me #barbatos x reader #concept. 🌀#anon mail. 🌀#mail. 🌀#obey me. 🌀#barbatos. 🌀#🧵 anon. 🌀#[So beautiful. Really I was blown away :O]

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five-and-dimes · 2 years ago

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Come Morning Light

AO3

Dream has nightmares too.

Not quite the way humans do. Sleep is different for him, takes him to a different place in the Dreaming than mortals. Sometimes, when exhaustion overwhelms him and he closes his eyes just a moment too long, whether in the Dreaming or the Waking, he will find himself drawn into the deepest depths of his realm. Cold and vast and barren, the inside of a mirror that reflects his own wants and fears.

Because he does want. And he does fear.

These days, they seem to go hand in hand.

Lately, he finds himself in a dark room, a harsh light shining above him. Hob stands before him, his friend, his love, his strange miracle, and Hob is never smiling. Hob always smiles at him in the Waking, even after leaving him for over 130 years, after hurting him and abandoning him. He does not smile here. Dream knows this is a nightmare. He also knows that that does not make it less real.

He is afraid of the look in Hob’s eyes. He wants to make it better.

Each time he cannot stop himself from reaching out instinctually, fingers itching for the warmth of Hob’s skin, his embrace, his kindness. And each time his hand is stopped short, something cold and smooth and clear keeping them apart. He presses one palm against the barrier, then the other, trying to push through as Hob watches impassively. He wants to touch Hob. He is afraid of the barrier between them.

Then Hob opens his mouth. And Roderick Burgess’ voice comes out.

“It wasn’t you I wanted.”

Dream finds himself reeling back, feels something crack in his chest, feels something shatter like glass, and he wants to hear Hob’s voice, his Hob, and he is afraid it will still speak Roderick’s words and he is afraid that would be worse and he is afraid-

“So, then, what can you give me?”

He wants to say anything, he wants to say everything, he wants to cover his ears, he is afraid of Roderick, he is afraid of Alex, he is afraid of Hob-

“Power? Wealth?”

And he wants it to stop.

“What’s the good of a god who governs dreams?”

And he wants it to stop.

“Is there nothing you can offer me?”

He wants it to stop.

~~~

Dream throws himself out of the Dreaming the way one might leap through a window. Crashing through realms ineloquently before landing harshly in his body in the Waking, knocking the breath from his lungs. The landing hurts in a way that is jarring compared to the softness of Hob’s bed, and the warmth of the immortal’s arms around him.

His violent waking causes Hob to jerk awake beside him, his arms tightening instinctually as Dream gasps. “Wha-?” Hob takes a moment to scan the room, looking for a threat. When he finds nothing but quiet darkness, he loosens his grip on Dream just enough to pull back and look at him.

“Hey, hey, are you alright? What’s wrong, Love?”

Something settles in Dream’s bones at the sound of Hob’s voice, gentle, concerned, the nightmare is over-

“Dream? Talk to me-”

‘Speak to me!’

There is no glass, there is no cane striking against it, there is no fury in Hob’s voice. And yet Dream finds himself flinching so hard he dissolves right through Hob’s fingers, back hitting the wall across the room, a trail of sand between them. For a too long moment, Hob stares at him while Dream stares at the ground, breathing, just breathing, just to remind himself he can.

Hob sits up slowly, carefully, and Dream hates that he is grateful for it.

“Dream? Are… are you okay?”

Looking up, Dream finally meets Hob’s gaze, full of warmth and worry, filled to the brim with love that is at once familiar and surprising. The nightmare clings to him like spiderwebs on his eyelashes, obscuring his vision, and he blinks rapidly to clear away the mirage of disgust in Hob’s eyes.

It was a nightmare.

(That does not mean it was not real.)

Swallowing thickly, Dream’s voice is still rough when he manages to speak, “Yes. I. Am well. All is well.”

Pursing his lips, Hob does not look like he believes him, but he doesn’t push. Instead, he nods quietly and pulls the covers back in a silent invitation. And Dream wants so badly to be held-

-he told him everything, Hob knows about the glass and the iron and the seal, Hob certainly knows how to hold him-

-clenching his eyes shut, fingers digging into his palms in a desperate attempt to pull himself back into his body, Dream forces himself to take a shaky step forward. Then another. And another. Creeping forward like a wounded animal, he slowly makes his way back to the bed, shuddering with relief when no barrier keeps him from crawling into Hob’s arms.

This is Hob. This is the real Hob, embracing him comfortingly, kissing his hair and whispering soothingly, and there is nothing to want, and nothing to fear. Dream can almost believe that.

Hob is kind enough to wait until Dream has stopped shaking to ask once more, “Sure you’re alright, Dove?”

Sighing, Dream nods, tucking his face against the beat of his heart. “Yes. I apologize for waking you. It was. A nightmare.”

Though he doesn’t see it, he can feel Hob frown, “Didn’t know you could get nightmares.”

Dream hums, taking a moment to formulate a response, “It is not the same for me as it is for humans. My nightmares are a specific place. Within the Dreaming. Often it is a recollection of memories.”

Hob makes a soft noise of understanding, and Dream knows he is assuming Dream’s nightmare was as simple as reliving his captivity. Dream does not correct him.

“I’m sorry, Love,” he places a kiss to Dream’s forehead, his cheek, his lips, “You’re safe now.”

Dream can almost believe that.

~~~

The shores of the Dreaming are quiet, but not silent. A peaceful lull of waves and gentle winds, a soft hum of energy from half constructed dreams and nightmares still waiting to be completed. Dream sits cross-legged in the sand, running his fingers through the grains, the molecules of himself, in a self-soothing gesture. He has not allowed himself to sleep, has not risked even resting, in almost two weeks.

He is tired.

Which is utterly absurd. He does not need sleep. In the past he has gone decades, centuries, without so much as resting. And yet now, after a mere few weeks, he finds himself weighted down with exhaustion.

He scowls at his weakness.

In the time that he has denied himself rest, he has also denied himself spending the night with Hob. Too often Hob has lulled him into sleep with nothing more than his warmth, and his gentle breathing, and his steady heartbeat under Dream's ear. So, of late, he will see him in the Waking, wait until Hob has fallen asleep in his arms, and then slip away back to his work. To his distractions.

Dream knows, is incapable of forgetting, that nightmares serve a purpose. To recognize your fears, to face them, to grow from them.

So then, what lesson is he to take from his own?

It would be insulting to compare Hob Gadling to Roderick Burgess. Hob has proven himself to be better-

Hob has proven himself to be human. Just as greedy, just as cruel, just as capable-

Hob has never treated him with anything but kindness-

Hob did not know, did not know who he was interacting with, did not know what was in front of him-

Hob has promised to be a friend, a lover-

Hob never said it would be free.

His hands clench around a fistful of sand, frustrated.

It is a foolish thing to worry about, he thinks. Dream is stronger now than he has been in ages- certainly stronger than when Burgess held him. And Hob is no magician. He is more than capable of taking Hob down should it come to that…

But. Even knowing that he could, Dream finds himself wondering if he would.

Despite his best efforts, he loves Hob. The thought of harming him, even accidentally, even in self-defense, feels unforgivable. Dream has been trying, so hard, to be better than he has been. Making amends with Calliope, freeing Nada, changing Gault, listening to Lucienne… These things do not erase the millennia of harm he has caused, do not absolve him, and his only option now is to try not to harm again. He must live with his sins, but he can do his best not to add to them.

And hurting Hob, for any reason, is a grave sin.

(He does not forget, not for a second, not for a moment, that he has already hurt Hob.)

(It is a wonder Hob lets him stay at all.)

He opens his fist, letting the sand drift away on the wind.

~~~

“Ah, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” Hob grinned, standing to greet the dark figure that had just manifested in his living room. He gives him a quick peck on the cheek just because he can, “Make yourself at home, I’ll put the kettle on.”

Hob isn’t surprised when Dream makes no effort to get comfortable, instead trailing after Hob like a shadow. They haven’t seen much of each other this past week, so it’s easy for Hob to fill the silence.

“I have had the strangest week.”

“Oh?” Dream tilted his head, frowning slightly.

“Not bad,” Hob clarified, pulling out two mugs and a jar of honey, “Just strange. The New Inn got a raving review in a local paper, completely out of the blue, and so business has been crazy. I had to pick up a couple shifts to help out, we’re not used to being so busy.”

Dream’s frown deepens, “I would not have thought. Good business to be. Troublesome. For you.”

The kettle whistles as Hob waves a hand dismissively, “Not troublesome, really. Like I said, it was just unexpected. If it keeps up I’ll tell the manager to hire some more people.” He sighed, visions of paperwork filling his head.

“That would be… good? Would it not?”

Finishing up the tea, Hob turns and fully takes in Dream for the first time. His voice is confused, like he’s working out a particularly difficult puzzle, and there’s anxiety in the lines of his face, as if it is a particularly important puzzle, too.

He is stiff and rigid as he accepts the mug offered to him, “Isn’t the purpose of starting a business for it to become successful?”

Laughing Hob guides them back into the living room, settling on the couch, “Well, the purpose of this particular business was to stay open just long enough to find a certain someone.”

Dream is still stiff next to him, but the corner of his lips twitch upwards ever so slightly, so Hob counts it as a win.

“But that wasn’t even the strangest thing this week!” Hob gestured dramatically, “Apparently the university is looking for a new Dean of Student Affairs, and someone recommended me.”

“And you find this… strange?” Dream looks oddly distressed, but then, he’s not sure how much Dream fully understands about Hob’s job.

Hob smiles, elaborating, “Again, not bad. But I haven’t been working there all that long- haven’t even got tenure! And I’m good at my job, but it’s a bit of a leap in positions.” He shook his head, still reeling from the conversation even days later, “I mean, they were very understanding of my turning it down, but still. It felt like it came out of nowhere.”

“I… see.” Hob thinks he can hear the cogs turning in Dream’s brain, “It was not. Something you wanted.”

“Yeah,” Hob laughed, a little self-deprecating, “Maybe someday I’ll find it appealing, but honestly, right now I'm happy just ranting at kids about everything their textbooks get wrong. Not in the mood for more responsibility. I’m happy just enjoying the simple things for a bit,” He smiles, and slings an arm around Dream’s shoulders, trying to encourage him to lean back, to relax a little. He presses against Hob’s side, but it only makes his tension more apparent.

It’s starting to get a little concerning, and he takes a long sip of his tea before asking gently, “How has your week been? Everything alright?”

Dream stares down at his untouched tea, the steam drifting around his face, “All has been well,” he answers softly, and Hob isn’t sure he believes him.

But then, Dream sighs, and leans a little more heavily until his head is resting on Hob’s shoulder, “I am glad to be here with you now.”

“Always glad to have you here,” Hob presses a kiss to the crown of his head, smiling into the wild black hair.

The rest of the evening is quiet, spent in companionable silence as Hob sips his tea and Dream lets his go cold. Dream doesn’t stay the night, which is disappointing, but Hob knows he is busy, and he'd seemed lost in thought the entire night.

He does hope he gets some rest though.

~~~

Dream feels heavy.

It’s as if his frustration, his sorrow, his bone-deep weariness, have turned to stones in his body, dragging him down and making every step ache with effort.

What does Hob want? What is he even capable of giving Hob? It would have been easier if this were the Hob of 1589, the knight who climbed to the top of the social ladder and boasted of his status and wealth. But now, he turns away from those things, seemed unhappy at the prospect of them, and Dream didn’t think he could make it worse but somehow he did.

He already has immortality, a gift that Dream didn’t even give him, he has wealth enough, what power could Dream give him?

There is always, Dream supposes, himself.

What is the human quotation? ‘Everything in the world is about sex, except sex. Sex is about power.’

He and Hob have laid together, but not… not fully.

Dream still shakes at the thought of removing his clothes, of eyes on his bare skin. And Hob has been kind about it, has not expressed any frustration at going no farther than hands touching under clothes, but…

But. That is a power Dream could give him. Should give him, as his lover, regardless of debts or appeasement.

“Uh, boss?”

His raven’s voice cuts through his thoughts like a knife. If he had the energy he might have startled. How unbecoming, for a king, for an Endless, to be so unaware of his surroundings. Dream’s eyes feel heavy. He does not often feel the weight of the stars in his eyes like this.

“Yes, Matthew?”

Matthew shuffles hesitantly in front of the steps where Dream sits, “Are you… alright?”

It takes more effort than it should, but Dream lifts his head, looking at Matthew questioningly until the raven continues, “It’s just, uh, there’s been a bunch of, like, earthquakes? All over the Dreaming lately. I mean, no magnitude eights or anything, but it’s definitely been a bit shaky out there.”

“Shakey…” Dream muses, letting his eyes flutter closed, “Yes, I suppose I have felt… unbalanced. Unsettled. Of late.”

"Did you… want to talk about it?" Matthew cocked his head to the side, "I'm pretty sure emotional support falls under my raven duties."

Dream hummed, considering the offer, which is how Matthew knew it was worse than he thought.

"When you care for someone," Dream began, "it is normal to give them… allowances. That others are not privy to. Is it not?"

"I mean, I guess," Matthew shrugged his wings, "Like, I had friends that could fuck with me and I'd just laugh, y'know? But if a stranger did the same things I'd of kicked their ass!" He hopped from foot to foot, wings circling as he mimed boxing in a way that was less effective as a bird.

"Yes," Dream sounded almost relieved, and Matthew felt a surge of pride, "you do not defend yourself from loved ones."

"Exactly!"

Dream stood, and felt something settle inside him. It is true; he should not, could not, compare Hob Gadling to Roderick Burgess. Not because of their differences, but because of the difference in how Dream feels for them. Roderick was a stranger, a captor, a tormentor, an enemy.

And Dream loves Hob.

That is the difference.

That is all that matters.

"Perhaps… that is what love is…" he mused, "The people. Who are allowed to hurt you."

"Wait, what?"

"I thank you, Matthew, for your insight on this matter."

"Hang on, I didn't mean-!"

In a swirl of sand, the Lord of Dreams is gone, the Dreaming still and calm. Matthew thinks the stone beneath his feet feels like resignation and relief. Though he has no idea how that works. He knows it can't be good though.

"Oh boy," he swallowed thickly, puffing up nervously, "I'm a terrible raven"

~~~

Hob loves kissing Dream.

Which isn’t surprising or anything, but he had sort of assumed that, surely, his utter joy and excitement would at least tone down a little after awhile. But here he was, four months into kissing Dream and still they were always interrupted by the grin on Hob’s face. And each time, Dream would huff, but his lips would curl up fondly and no force on earth or off it could keep Hob from kissing him again and again and again, wrapping his arms around the thin body and pulling him as close as possible.

Of course, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t also love the… other things they do together.

It’s an honor, he thinks, to be the one allowed to touch Dream. To be able to slip his hands beneath black fabric and brush his fingers against the secret skin there, to make Dream sigh and gasp and relax, which he is well aware is no easy feat for him. And Dream is equally good with Hob, long artists fingers making him shiver in the best way, and he sees in Dream’s eyes the way he commits every squirm and moan to memory, adding each new touch to his arsenal of taking Hob apart.

Tonight, Dream is more tense than usual, which is saying something. Hob managed to convince him to actually drink a mug of tea before they moved to lay down. Part of him expected Dream to simply fall asleep once Hob got him nestled under the duvet- for the Lord of Sleep, the bruises under his eyes were skirting the line between comical and tragic- but Dream had pulled Hob’s body on top of him.

Well, Hob wasn’t going to complain about that. Besides, he figured it might help relieve Dream of some tension and help him rest better. He presses his fingertips into the stiff muscles at the base of his skull, pets up and down his side soothingly over his clothes. Hob is expecting a slow, languid kind of evening. It feels like a night for softness and ease, a time to relax and unwind together.

Apparently, Dream is on a different page, swallowing thickly as he grips Hob’s wrist and shoves it under his shirt.

“You may undress me.”

Hob pulls back, blinking in surprise, “What?”

Dream’s face is carefully blank, “You may unclothe me, and fuck me, if you wish.”

And, wow, okay, Hob doesn’t think he’s ever seen so many red flags lined up in a row like this in his life.

Dream has boundaries. Boundaries that are so incredibly reasonable and understandable, Hob barely thinks about it. He has hoped, for Dream’s own sake, that someday he will feel safe and comfortable enough to maybe expand those limits. But there’s no rush, and if Dream decided he was never comfortable with certain things, Hob would not count it as a loss. He’s allowed to call Dream his, everything else is cherries on the sundae.

If, someday, Dream did decide to try to go farther, Hob had always anticipated it being a slow thing. Toeing lines carefully and testing gently and redefining the borders of his comfort inch by inch so that he need never feel unsafe.

So for him to lay below Hob now, still tense and rigid, and give Hob stoic permission to throw all his boundaries out the window, without any words indicating what he himself wants, has sirens blaring in Hob’s head.

“I… don’t know…”

He sees a muscle jump in Dream’s jaw as he clenches his teeth and, shit, Hob doesn’t want to start a fight about this. Not ever, but especially not when Dream’s entire body is coiled like a spring and he seems like he’s itching for self-destruction. Sometimes, Hob wishes he was dating someone who couldn’t disappear in a swirl of sand when he said something he didn’t like.

But more than sometimes, always, he only wants Dream.

Which means it’s time to get a little creative.

“To be honest, Love,” he pulls his hand out of Dream’s shirt and lets the weight of his body settle more heavily on top of Dream’s, the way he knows he likes, “I’m pretty knackered tonight. And I’d rather be at the top of my game the first time we… do that. Want to make sure I do right by you.” That part is completely honest, so Hob feels no guilt.

It doesn’t stop him from pulling out the big guns, resting his forehead against Dream’s and sighing, “I’m sorry.”

“No, there is no need for that, Hob.”

Right on schedule. Ever since they reunited, Dream has refused to allow Hob to apologize for anything, not even casually.

Their bodies pressed flush together, Hob can feel the way some of the tension bleeds from Dream’s muscles, which both validates Hob’s decision to put a stop to things and ratchets up his concern by about twenty percent.

Dream brushes a strand of hair behind Hob’s ear, “You need never do anything you do not wish.”

You don’t need to either, Hob wants to say. Wants to scream, really. But he bites his tongue, placing a kiss against Dream’s cheek. The crisis had been averted. He can delve deeper on a day when Dream is less out of sorts.

He’s got time, he’s sure.

~~~

Dream didn’t mean to fall asleep.

In a moment of frustration and fear and self-loathing, he cannot help but curse Hob’s hands. For a split second he hates Hob’s comfort and warmth for lulling him into unwanted slumber.

It passes, of course. But even that brief moment of cruel thought is enough for him to deserve what comes next.

Hob’s figure, standing before him as always, waiting for him. His hands, the one’s Dream had just thought to disdain, are clasped behind his back, a twisted wish granted. Dream reaches for him. Dream is stopped by something cold and clear. Dream hates himself for still trying.

And then, Hob grins. No, not… there is no joy, no mirth, his mouth curls up in cruelty, victory, a baring of teeth to remind him who is the predator and who is the prey.

“Here in the darkness-”

Dream falls to his knees, falls through realms, falls and falls and falls, because he does not know how else to run away.

~~~

This time, when Hob is awoken, Dream is already half gone. Hob feels sand slipping through his fingers, can just barely make out the stars of Dream’s eyes in the darkness. They look like they’re crying.

Sitting up, his throat is scratchy from sleep, and he coughs lightly as he reaches for his lover. Dream pulls farther away, sand pouring from his mouth as he dissolves. He hadn’t meant to come back here. He can’t be here.

Hob opens his mouth, but Dream cannot bear to risk hearing which voice will speak.

He covers his ears and disappears.

~~~

Dream does not have to sleep to visit his own dreams.

They are always there, always available to him, though he holds no power over them unlike the dreams of mortals. The helplessness of it is just another dagger in his side.

He wishes he could tear this place down. But. But nightmares are important, they are, and surely there is something here for Dream to learn. He is trying to change, and it is that determination that has him returning to the nightmare willingly.

Though it does not stop him from dragging his feet like a man headed to the gallows.

Hob is waiting, and he wears the same twisted smile he had when Dream had fled barely an hour ago. Cold eyes rake up and down Dream’s form, and for the first time he is grateful for the invisible barrier between them, is grateful to be standing instead of curled weakly on the ground, shivers at the thought of Hob looming over him as pieces of Dream are taken.

“What can you give me?”

Dream would give him anything, everything, if only to prevent those things from being stolen. Is that the lesson? Surely it would hurt less to give himself away than it would to be taken.

“What can you give me?”

The words echo around him, “What can you give me? What can you give me? What can you give me?”

Dream feels trapped, always trapped, and he. He put himself here, he did this to himself, he came here willingly, so why does it still hurt?

“Is there nothing you can offer me?”

“Dream?!”

Hob’s voice- his voice, not Burgess’, Hob’s, Hob’s, Hob’s- rings out behind him, and Dream whips around desperately. Hob stands a few feet away, eyes wide with horror as his gaze darts between his lover and his doppelganger. It doesn’t make sense, Dream doesn’t understand what is happening, this is not how this nightmare goes.

Part of him wants to scream, but he thinks if he opens his mouth he might vomit silver and gold, might fall to his knees and cough up riches at Hob’s feet. Just to make it stop.

Behind him, he hears Roderick’s voice, “Speak to me!” and he flinches, twisting his head back and forth, unsure which vision of Hob it would be worse to turn his back on. He keeps turning back to the Hob with the angry eyes, with the demanding voice, with the clenched fists, so he is shot through with terror when he feels a pair of arms wrap around him. He feels like he might snap from the tension in his body, and he feels claws emerge from his fingertips, a desire to protect himself that he cannot seem to act on.

But… the arms are not restraining him. Hob is holding him firmly, but it is a comfort. His embrace feels more like a shield, one hand pressing between the sharp planes of Dream’s shoulder blades while the other cards through his hair, pulling Dream’s face to rest in the soft curve between Hob’s neck and shoulder. Like this, Dream feels hidden from the nightmare behind him, and he hears Hob’s voice whisper in his ear, distracting from the angry words still ringing through the space.

“Dream,” this Hob sounds so sad, sounds on the brink of tears, sounds absolutely nothing like Burgess, “My Love, it’s time to wake up now.”

Dream inhales sharply. To leave this torment felt like an insurmountable task. He could almost feel the glass and iron around him.

Maybe he belongs here. Maybe he deserves this.

Hob holds him tighter, running his hand up and down Dream’s trembling spine, his breath warm and soft against his ear, “You’re alright, wake up, wake up, Sweet Dream.”

There is a tug at the center of Dream’s being, the feeling of Hob awakening and pulling Dream along with him, leading him out of the nightmare by force of will alone. They fall back together, Hob never once loosening his hold on Dream, keeping them pressed together as they slip through realms to land in the Waking world, side by side in Hob’s bed.

At first, Dream writhes in his skin, his form roiling like a mass of eels within the circle of Hob’s arms, unable to decide if he wants to fight or flee or burrow ever closer. Somewhere there is a sharp keening noise, and it takes a too-long moment to realize it is coming from him.

Hob doesn’t let go, but he loosens his grip. His hands hover, fingertips barely brushing the shadowy figure to allow it to stay or leave as needed. It seems to pulse like a tide, moving closer and pulling back again and again. Hob can’t see any ears, but he hushes it all the same, keeping his voice soft and sweet even though a part of him just wants to scream and cry.

It is the feeling of choice that allows Dream to calm. As he becomes more aware of his surroundings he sighs at the lack of anything trapping him. There is no glass, no iron, no ancient magic binding him here. Just Hob's gentle voice and arms that caress instead of cage. A shudder runs through him as he settles into the familiar shape Hob knows and loves.

“There you are,” Hob tucks Dream’s head under his chin, letting soft black hair tickle his nose as he presses their bodies flush against each other, as if he could keep Dream safe in the cradle of his ribcage, as if he could absorb every shiver and shake from the thin body in his arms.

“How…” Dream swallows thickly, “How did you find me? My Dreams… should not be accessible to others.”

“I’m not sure,” Hob answers, “I just… when I went to bed, I just knew I had to find you. I fell asleep with the intention of looking for you.”

That doesn’t make sense to Dream, but then again, perhaps his own dreams weren’t as ‘inaccessible’ as he thought. Perhaps, it was simply that no one had looked for them before.

“Dream…” Hob forces himself to pull back, placing a warm hand on Dream’s cheek to tilt his head up, “How long have you been having that nightmare?”

He cannot bring himself to pull away from Hob’s touch, but Dream lets his eyes flutter closed, unable to bear the sorrow on his lover’s face, “I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” Hob’s eyes are watering, and he blinks rapidly to hold it back, letting his thumb brush back and forth against Dream’s sharp cheekbone, “I’m not mad, you have nothing to apologize for.” He feels so out of his depth here, feels his stomach clench when he remembers of the sight of himself tormenting Dream, and he didn’t recognize the stranger’s voice that came from his own lips, but he has a pretty good guess. It puts the past few weeks into a horrifying context.

“Is this why you’ve been so…” pliable, docile, appeasing, subdued, submissive. The words catch in Hob’s throat, and he lets the silence stretch.

"I…" Dream's voice cracks as he tries to find the words to explain himself, "I just wanted. To please you. To make you… happy."

"You don't have to do anything to make me happy," Hob argues gently, "I won't…" he cups Dream's face in both his hands, trying to will him to open his eyes. It doesn't work, and his voice gets a little louder, with a sharp edge of desperation, "I’m not Burgess! You don't need to… to fucking placate me!"

Dream’s eyes clench shut, and it does nothing to stop the tears from spilling over. He doesn’t pull out from Hob’s hands, but his spine curls away, putting space between their bodies. “I’m��sorry,” he pleads, and Hob feels like a monster. When he brought Dream to the waking, he hadn’t meant to bring the nightmare with them.

“No, no no no no,” He presses kisses across Dream’s face, pets his hair and twines their fingers together, “I’m not mad, I’m not, I promise.”

Hob thinks of fight and flight and freeze and fawn, and how he never expected Dream to react with the last one, and how he never wanted Dream to feel like he had to earn his safety, and how he never, ever, wanted him to feel unsafe with Hob. He wishes Dream would hit him. Would so much prefer that Dream yell, or storm out, or snarl, just defend himself instead of resigning himself to whatever Hob could do to him. Because he knows, they both know, that Hob couldn’t do anything to him that Dream did not allow. And Hob wants so badly for Dream to not allow it.

“Dream,” Hob speaks on a breath, “Dove, Love, Sweetling,” he kisses the tears from Dream’s cheeks, “Don’t ever let me hurt you.”

Cold hands press against Hob’s chest, pushing him back, and it hurts, but he lets Dream put some distance between them. For a moment, Dream just breathes deeply, visibly pulling himself together, picking up the pieces of himself until he feels strong enough to open his eyes and finally meet Hob’s gaze.

His voice is soft, but steady when he speaks, “I love you,” he presses the palm of his hand against the beat of Hob’s heart, “I love you. So I would give you anything you would ask of me.”

Hob loses the battle against his tears and curls his hand over Dream’s, “And I love you. So I wouldn’t ask.”

Dream’s face crumples, which isn’t exactly what Hob was going for, but he also presses his forehead against Hob’s chest and grips his hand just a little tighter, and maybe that’s all Hob can ask for at the moment.

It takes several deep breaths before Hob feels capable of speaking. He keeps his voice soft, gentle, as far from the harsh timber of the nightmare as he can, stroking Dream’s hair and whispering declarations of his love into his skin while Dream shakes against him.

“You’re allowed to be afraid, darling,” he pulls back to kiss Dream’s eyelids, “I get it, I do. But I promise you’re safe with me. I’ll prove it. I’ll prove it everyday for the rest of my life.”

They press as close as they can, as if they could crawl into each others’ skin, blurring the lines of their bodies until they are almost a single being.

Dream doesn’t sleep that night. But he stops shaking, and that’s enough for now.

~~~

“You have to rest, sweetheart.”

Hob says the words softly, but they still seem to hit Dream like a gunshot the way he flinches back. No doubt he had assumed Hob was asleep. Opening his eyes, he sees a look of guilt and frustration on his love’s face. Weeks have passed and Dream is beginning to look haggard. It didn’t take long for Hob to realize that Dream had been waiting for Hob to drift off before doing who knows what. Maybe throwing himself into his work in the Dreaming. Maybe laying still as a statue and staring at the ceiling. Maybe both.

Sitting up, Hob leaned on his elbow to gaze down at Dream, seeing the tension and anxiety that Hob had been able to feel even with his eyes closed.

Dream pursed his lips, “I do not require sleep, Hob Gadling.”

He’s trying to sound authoritative. Hob thinks he mostly sounds desperate. So he is even more gentle than usual when he brushes his fingers along Dream’s jaw.

“But you’re tired. Aren’t you, Love?”

He averts his eyes, which is answer enough.

Humming, Hob leans in to kiss the corner of Dream’s frown, “Come rest in my dreams.”

Dream snaps to look at him, “What?”

Hob blinks, not sure what he said to cause such a reaction. “It's understandable you don’t want to go to your own dreams. I get it. But you shouldn’t just go back to work either. So. Come with me to my dreams. Rest there awhile.”

There is a long pause as Dream searches Hob’s face. He’s not sure what he finds there, but his voice is hesitant when he speaks, “I have… avoided your dreams. Since we became acquainted. And. Especially since we became… more. I did not wish to intrude.”

Laughing softly, Hob kisses him sweetly, “You’re not intruding, you’re invited.”

Dream sighed into his mouth, and Hob brushed back wild black strands, “Someday,” he promises boldly, “your dreams will be safe again.” Pulling back, Dream looks at him with eyes that are caught between hope and disbelief. “Until then, you are always welcome to rest with me.”

Tears well in Dream’s eyes, and Hob thinks this might be one of those things. A thing that Dream wants so very badly yet assumes he can never have, and that Hob offers freely, willingly, happily. It never fails to break Hob’s heart. Dream’s wants are so simple, so small in comparison to the things Hob wants to give him.

A safe place to lay his head and rest. It is so little to Hob. It is so much to Dream.

Leaning down, Hob kisses him again, peppering his lips across his face as he settles back next to Dream, wrapping him in his arms and pulling the covers up to their noses. “Come on, then,” he smiles, “I’ll be waiting for you.”

Hob drifts off easily, with purpose.

He doesn’t remember much, in the morning. But he remembers softness, and warmth, and Dream’s hand entwined with his and never letting go. And when Dream kisses him awake, the mid-morning sun filtering through the cracks in the blinds, he looks more rested than Hob has seen in ages.

And when he coaxes Dream into an afternoon nap, Dream simply smiles.

#The sandman #Dreamling #dream of the endless #Hob Gadling #One WIP down babyyyy!!!#my writing #Dreamling fic #I continue to hurt my boy and then also comfort him

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thequeenofthedisneyverse · 5 months ago

Note

Also, am curious about the spiritual ability HCs if you feel like sharing more lol. XP

Oh of course!

So, to me, the spirituality abilities kind of work like the gift thing from Encanto. Except we were blessed by a phoenix??? But these gifts would be on a smaller scale and/or would have to be worked on over time to become stronger.

The abilities I think Palia humans would have would be the following:

Animal Telepathy: Imagine possessing the remarkable gift to connect mentally with animals. Animal Telepathy is not just a psychic ability; it’s a bridge of empathy and understanding between humans and the animal kingdom. Through this power, one can perceive the thoughts and emotions of animals, establishing a profound bond that transcends species barriers. It symbolizes a unity with nature, a shared language of the heart and mind.

Astral Projection or Mental Projection: This extraordinary ability involves the mind’s power to travel beyond the physical body. Astral Projection is like unlocking a secret door within oneself, leading to incredible journeys across different realms or dimensions. It’s a testament to the boundless nature of the human spirit, offering a glimpse into the mysteries of existence and the potential that lies within our consciousness.

Atmokinesis: With Atmokinesis, one holds the awe-inspiring ability to influence weather patterns. This remarkable power reflects a deep connection with the natural world, allowing one to call upon the elements, from summoning rain to clearing skies. It symbolizes a harmonious balance with the earth’s rhythms and an understanding of nature’s delicate dance.

Aura Reading: This gift allows one to perceive the energy fields surrounding people, animals, and even objects. Aura Reading is like having a window into the soul, revealing emotions, thoughts, and spiritual well-being. It’s a tool for deeper empathy and understanding, providing insight into the unseen layers of existence. (I think this would probably be the most common)

Automatic Writing: Imagine channeling wisdom from higher realms or the subconscious mind through the simple act of writing. Automatic Writing is a conduit for messages beyond our everyday comprehension, offering guidance, creativity, and profound insights. It’s a testament to the mind’s hidden depths and the mysteries that lie within.

Bilocation: Bilocation is the astonishing ability to be present in two places at once. It defies the conventional understanding of space and time, symbolizing the limitless potential of human consciousness. This gift offers a glimpse into the extraordinary capabilities that lie dormant within us, waiting to be awakened.

Channeling: Channeling is a powerful means of communication with higher beings, spirits, or universal consciousness. It’s like having a direct line to a vast, unseen world of knowledge and wisdom. This ability signifies a deep spiritual connection and the capacity to bring forth messages and guidance from beyond the physical realm.

Clairalience: Clairalience involves the unique ability to perceive smells do not present in the physical environment. It’s a sensory journey into memories, emotions, and sometimes unseen dangers or hidden truths. This gift taps into the profound power of scent, which can evoke deep emotions and unlock forgotten memories, providing guidance and understanding.

Clairaudience: Clairaudience is the extraordinary ability to hear sounds or voices beyond the reach of normal perception. It’s akin to having an internal radio tuned to frequencies unknown to the typical ear. This gift allows access to guidance, warnings, and insights from the spiritual realm, offering a deeper understanding of the world and our place in it.

Clairvoyance: Clairvoyance is the power to see beyond the physical eyes, to witness events, objects, or people not present in the immediate environment. It’s like having a third eye that glimpses into the future, past, or across great distances. This ability offers a broader perspective of the world, breaking the boundaries of time and space, and providing profound insight into the interconnectedness of all things.

Clairsentience: Clairsentience is the exquisite gift of feeling deeply beyond the physical senses. This ability allows one to experience the emotions and energies of others, places, or even objects. It’s a profound empathetic connection to the world, offering insights into the unspoken truths that lie beneath the surface. This power exemplifies the depth of human sensitivity and understanding.

Cryokinesis: Cryokinesis is the captivating power to manipulate ice and cold. Imagine the ability to coax frost from the air or to chill objects with a mere thought. This gift speaks to the mastery over elemental forces, symbolizing a deep resonance with the more subtle, often overlooked powers of nature.

Divination: Divination is the art of gaining insight into the unknown, using various tools and techniques. It’s a bridge between the seen and unseen worlds, offering glimpses into the mysteries of the future and the secrets of the past. This gift exemplifies the human quest for understanding and the desire to connect with the greater cosmic narrative.

Mediumship or Channeling: Mediumship is the profound ability to communicate with spirits and entities from other realms. This power serves as a bridge between the physical and spiritual worlds, offering comfort, closure, and understanding. It’s a gift that underscores the eternal nature of the soul and the interconnectedness of all beings.

Psychic Empathy: Psychic Empathy is the ability to deeply feel and understand the emotions of others. It transcends mere sympathy, offering a profound, intuitive connection that fosters understanding, compassion, and healing. This gift is a testament to the interconnectedness of all human experiences.

Psychic Surgery: Psychic Surgery is the extraordinary ability to heal using only the power of the mind. It’s a demonstration of the incredible potential of focused intention and energy to bring about physical change. This gift represents the mind’s power to affect the physical realm and the potential for healing beyond traditional methods.

Spiritual Healing: Spiritual Healing is a divine gift, transcending the physical realm to restore balance and harmony within the soul. It involves channeling universal energy to heal, not just the body, but also the mind and spirit. This ability signifies a deep connection with the cosmic life force, embodying compassion, empathy, and the profound power of love to transform and heal.

Spiritual Psychic Visions: Spiritual Psychic Visions are like glimpses into a deeper reality, offering profound insights and guidance. This gift goes beyond mere sight, providing a connection to the spiritual realm that can illuminate paths, reveal truths, and offer clarity. It’s a testament to the mind’s power to transcend the physical world and explore the mysteries of the universe.

Telekinesis or Psychokinesis: Telekinesis represents the incredible ability to move objects with the mind. It’s a symbol of the untapped potential of human thought and focus. This power reflects the capacity to influence the physical world through mental strength and concentration, challenging our understanding of the boundaries between mind and matter.

Xenoglossy: Xenoglossy, the ability to speak or write languages that have not been consciously learned, is a marvel of the human mind. It represents the deep connection we share with each other across cultures and time. This ability underscores the idea that at our core, we are bound by a universal human experience, transcending language and geographical barriers.

I of course think we wouldn't be fully aware of these talents, not unless Chayne pointed it out. (Because I honestly think he would be the one to notice these things before we would.)

And I don't think all of us would possess every single gift, more than likely one or two at best. Another thing I thought of would be of the gifts just kind of coming out of nowhere but at the right time. In other words, the gifts are really spontaneous.

My Oc, Khaleel, possesses mediumship and clairvoyance. So, you can imagine his frustration when he hears or sees random things whenever his gift feels like it. It's annoying.

#palia game #palia mmo #palia #palia chayne #my asks are open #seriously send in ideas #I love talking about my favorite stuff

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the-perfect-wagnerite-again · 5 months ago

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Can you please explain what stuff like "safe horny" is? What do you consider to be "healthy," if you can describe the subject as such, sexuality? I'm not trying to make a gotcha or own, I genuinely am curious as to what that means.

My take on healthy sexuality is deeply influenced by my Kantianism. We humans are unique in that we are simultaneously phenomenal objects and free subjects, and the categorical imperative impels us to treat all subjects as ends in themselves. Sexual desire is an immensely complex phenomenon, and at its core is the base animal instinct for copulation and sexual satisfaction. But the mere slaking of lust is beneath us; it doesn't satisfy, because we are more than just flesh.

Over and above sexual lust is sexual desire, a metaphysical search for the subjecthood of the Other that we sense in our beloved. We know that our subjectivity is the vector through which experience is possible, and so we exist not so much IN the world as on its edge, looking out from the first-person perspective, the state that allows us to utter the word "I" and have it mean something. In the beloved is a recognition of the self reflected back, a not-self in full possession of that same subjectivity, and it is the total knowledge of this alien subjecthood that sexual desire seeks to possess. Why do we get lost in the eyes of our beloved? We don't see the eye as an organ of sight, but as a window to the self. In the eyes, we see a self-possessed "I" looking back at us, which is why the gaze from the beloved has been such a powerful anchor for artists, poets, and musicians throughout the ages. This singular drive for knowledge of the subject is also why it would be insane to suggest to a man in love to trade his wife for a newer or more attractive one. The man in love isn't interested in women writ large, no matter how attractive they might be: his desire is concentrated and focused upon a singular, solitary subject for whom he seeks total knowledge.

In light of this, marriage is now understood as a redemption of the human biological drive for sexual satisfaction. In much the same way we redeem our biological need for nutrition through the cultural apparatus of cooking, meal-taking, and communion, through romance, courtship, and marriage we take the base human drive for sexual possession and uplift it to its apex as pure subjectivity.

What happens when we decouple this connection between the subject and sexual desire? What happens when we shift our understanding of sex as an exercise of epistemology to a mere conjugation of body parts? The relation falls away from that of "I to I" and becomes an "it to it" relation, objects colliding in a world of objects. The true danger of pornography, the sexual revolution, and modern sexual ethics is that they obliterate the subject in the sexual act, and reduce them to the status of object, a body with sexual organs that can be manipulated in the act of intercourse. In this new paradigm, there is no motivation for knowledge of the other, there is only self-satisfaction. The beloved vanishes and in its stead are objects to be consumed through dating apps, pornography, advertising, and menu-mentality approaches to romance as a "marketplace." The only barrier is consent, so any moral castigations beyond that are seen as backwards, oppressive, and reactionary.

Where consent is the only necessary factor for any sexual encounter of any kind or in any circumstance, male sexuality becomes unshackled from the duties and obligations that previously bound it into healthy service to femininity and family. It is once again predatory, as it would be in a state of nature, because we've cast aside our redeeming institutions of romance and courtship as regressive relics of a patriarchal past. "Safe horny" is a refuge for men to express desire without being seen as predatory, which is why we've seen such a dramatic increase in men expressing desires for dominant women and aggressive matriarchal sexual archetypes, in which relation they couldn't possibly be seen as agents themselves. This is a symptom of the larger sexual dysfunction of modernity.

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wen-kexing-apologist · 2 years ago

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Bed Friend and Reflection- Part 3

part 1 // part 2

Episode 8

Reunion

We start with the reflection so good that I had to jump the gun and talk about it when the episode came out instead of waiting like I had planned to do. I’ve decided to call it the Boyfriend Sandwich

I love this shot for a number of reasons, one being that the way it is angled means that if either character turned away they would still appear to be facing each other. Two being that they are watching each other’s backs. Three being the BARRIERS. Physically they are together in this space, but they are not on the same page. In the present moment, there are no bars, no vertical lines, no objects keeping them apart, their reflections though? Literally in frames. Trapped in boxes. Restrained. They want to be together but they can’t until they break out of the misunderstandings that are keeping them apart. Their reflections are trapped, but so too are their reflections trapping them. They can’t run anywhere, they can’t hide, they have to face each other (emotionally), if they are going to find the freedom they both crave.

King’s Confession

So to open after the flashback to them standing together, their reflections also together in the water? I love it.

They are here to talk, they are here to talk about their feelings. They are here so King can admit that he was acting out of jealousy and possessiveness. They are here to start over, they are here to come together, to finally finally get together and so their reflections are allowed to stand together just as they are. Without barriers, without boxes, without frames. BUT there is so much space between them and their reflections, a lot of distance they will have to cross in order to move past the harm that was done to their relationship. And something that is less obvious in the reflections but is a motif that carries through is how much water is a protective force for King and Uea. As I was rewatching this show to try to catch all the reflections, I started noticing windows too (and will most likely write a post about them) but rain is often used for progressions in King and Uea’s relationship. For example, in Episode 3 when King is asking Uea about why he started the FWB, in Episode 4 when Uea calls King after leaving his Mom’s house, and in Episode 9 when they are driving home after meeting King’s parents. So though it is not raining here, their reflections are in water as they move into the “seeing each other” phase.

Uea’s Confession

Now the thing I really like about the reflections in this scene are how they kind of wind up showing us that Uea feels alone. That he’s been bearing the weight of his past abuse alone. Physically we see Uea with King but the way the camera is angled cuts him off from reflecting back at us. King at this moment is unaware of what medication Uea is taking and why, but he has always been and will continue to be a constant and supportive presence in Uea’s life.

(Image zoomed in to better show the reflection)

BUT! We get this one little moment of King crossing the lines, touching Uea’s forehead (despite their currently instated no touching rule) and the only part of King we see reflecting back at us is him reaching out to Uea.

And after King drops his arm, Uea goes back to standing alone, and it is interesting to me to see the little gap where the two pieces of reflective surface meet, creating a vertical line that is splitting Uea. As if he is of two minds, tell King the truth or keep it hidden as he initially intended.

(cough, cough @respectthepetty cough couch barriers cough)

And it is so interesting to me too in this scene that when we cut to Uea and King sitting at the counter, before Uea has figured out the right words, when he is still grappling with the decision to tell King about it, something he had sworn he would never do, we only really see Uea reflected in the apartment window.

It’s hard to see so I’ll zoom in a bit, but because King is wearing all black, his reflection, while present, gets lost amongst the background of the city. Whereas Uea is the only one easily recognizable in the window because his red shirt makes his reflection visible against the dark background.

And every moment in between these wide shots, when Uea is confessing, the camera is close on his or King’s face, not panned out like in the shot above. There are no reflections because the only image in the frame any time Uea speaks is either Uea’s face or King’s. Because Uea is physically bringing King in to his life with every confession. Because they are physically together in this moment. Because Uea is opening up to King, is allowing King to fully know him. And after he tells King everything, what do we get?

A camera angle that eliminates any reflection of King or Uea from the window, it focuses entirely on the present moment, the real moment, the physical, tangible moment. And the more this scene continues after Uea has finished telling King everything, the fewer wide shots we have, instead we just get to experience the hug, with their heads coming together to block where we would see any reflected image in the window or with close ups on King and Uea’s face. Uea is no longer bearing the weight of his past alone.

Episode 9

Episode 9 was honestly less reflection heavy and more windows heavy, but the reflections that they did include? Oh BOYYY *chefs kiss*

This is what I would technically file under a window shot (since it is being filmed through a window) BUT the reflection of the city over Uea’s face? A great indication that Uea has a lot on his mind. He is thinking about his stepfather, the abuse he suffered at his hands, the abuse he suffered from his mother, and how much he might hurt Tonkao in the pursuit of justice. Even when King walks up to join him

The reflections on his side aren’t as busy, with a repeated reflection of the decorative pillars that are attached to his apartment building. He’s of one mind, and that mind is to make sure Uea feels supported in whatever decision he makes.

We get a callback to this reflection of Tonkao crying in Uea’s rearview mirror, I’ve already talked about this reflection but here it serves as a great way to represent Uea feeling like he is possibly leaving Tonkao behind if he gets his stepfather arrested and breaks up her supportive and loving family environment.

And then my favorite reflection of the entire episode, Uea’s irredeemably evil mother sobbing and pounding at the window of the cop car.

And why do I love this reflection so much? Because she is both looking in to the cop car at #pransdaddarktimelineedition as he gets consequences forced upon him the way he has been forcing himself upon anyone that breathes. But her reflection is looking out of the cop car, as if she is also trapped in there, because she is complicit in all of this. She chose not to believe Uea and thus aided her husband in continuing his abuse against Uea and others. She herself was abusive to Uea and is also deserving of consequences. But she is really only a danger to Uea, and Uea wouldn’t leave Tonkao with no parental figures and so the biggest consequence she will ever get is to watch her husband be carted off to jail while all of their neighbors watch, publicly humiliating her.

I don’t have a lot of very intelligent things to say about this reflection in particular, but I do notice that the reflection here has a bit of blur in the space between King and Uea. I’m going to choose to read that as them still being undefined in their relationship. Especially because this scene is entirely about Gun and Jade teasing Uea and King about still not being boyfriends.

These reflections are interesting to me because we get the people that are being reflected are the people Uea has good, supportive relationships to. We get the reflection of King, following behind Uea as they enter work together, and we get the reflection of Jade running in to cockblock Boom. But we never see Boom reflected here, he is and will remain outside of Uea’s life and especially outside of Uea’s inner circle.

Another window shot that I would have saved for a general windows post, but there is something to be said once again for what the reflections on the characters are telling us as opposed to what the reflections of the characters might be saying. In the image above we have Uea being covered by reflected light and King being covered in reflected darkness. King, as we know, is in his head and a little broody because of his interaction with his family. But, Uea tries to comfort King, reaching across his area of light to touch King’s face and pull him out of that darker headspace.

We have yet another window shot, but we get all the tasty little symbols wrapped up in one here. We get the rain, which has been a recurring theme for them, we get Uea in pink which I think represents a loving home for Uea, and we get a reflection, this time with a smattering of lights all around them because their world is alight when they are together. While most window shots in this show so far have been very simple shots that I don’t really feel like are intended to have real meaning, Episode 9 was interesting to me because they did a lot more with the way light plays off of windows this episode than they have done for most of the series.

Our final reflection of Episode 9 is Uea, alone, on the phone with King’s Mom and for some reason, to me, this reflection makes him seem even more alone then he would if they just had a shot of his whole body in the hallway. Having reflections like this always make me feel like a character is of two minds. And I think that is the case here with Uea where he is having to hold a conversation with someone he isn’t sure likes him, that has barely acknowledged his existence, and who he as a person is (up until the conversation at the end of the episode) does not know how to interact with. Uea hasn’t had mother figures in his life, not good ones anyway, he was ripped away from his family in Lampang and grew up until the influence of an extremely homophobic and horrifically abusive mother. Regardless of the civility he has been shown there is no way he isn’t apprehensive of being rejected by yet another mother figure, and he has no way of knowing what King would do if his mother whole-heartedly did not approve of their relationship.

Episode 10

We’ve made it to the end! Episode 10, and the reflections were once again used sparingly here. Which makes sense, there is no more emotional tension to resolve and so we get to see the reflections living harmoniously with the real world.

We get to see King and Uea being ridiculously in love and dancing with each other on the boat, and we get to see they are emotionally on the same page because their reflections are both present and clear.

We get a small reflection of Uea’s back off the bedroom window

This serves to show us that King’s hand is on Uea’s back, and Uea is being embraced by his lover. As I have said probably too many times at this point, King’s reflections are never centered around him, they are always about Uea.

We get their reflection in the mirror of King’s kitchen, with us only able to see the back of Uea’s head, and a clear line running in front of King’s face. Because of this we don’t get a clear delineation of where King starts and Uea ends. They are forever a part of one another now, they are forever entwined.

We get the hazy reflection of King’s face looking over all of the rings. Uea and their pending engagement on his mind.

And to end it all

We get a reflection of every important person in Uea and King’s life surrounding them in the reflection off the office window. We don’t see Uea and King in that reflection because they are being shielded by the group. For me, this is the perfect last reflection to have. King and Uea being engulfed by love, and joy, and happiness.

#bed friend #bed friend analysis #bed friend meta #kinguea #ueaking #netjames #king x uea #uea x king #bed friend ep 8 #bed friend ep 9 #bed friend ep 10 #domundi #bed friend the series #mandee channel

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silverskye13 · 2 years ago

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Tanguish slipped through his reflection and found himself standing in… well… Not Decked Out, which made this a new learning experience, because all he had really seen of Tango was Decked Out. Sure there were a few times they’d been elsewhere, but given the general feud between Hermits and Helsmets, those elsewheres had always been in far and unsettled places the Hermits hadn’t touched. This place he was standing in was definitely Hermit-touched.

(It was funny thinking about it like that: Hermit-touched. It was a very divine sort of description for something. Maybe it said something about Tanguish and how he viewed hels, if he thought hermit-things were nicer. More perfect, somehow. That wasn’t something for unpacking right now, or ever, probably, but it was interesting to note for himself.)

He was standing in a barren-looking haunted house. The only thing that functioned as interior was the storage chests on one wall, a couple chairs, and an occupied bed. Nearest Tanguish could tell, he'd stepped out of the brass hinge of one of the chests. Through the unfinished ceiling the house continued into a shop, sparsely kept and dust covered from lack of traffic. Through a window he caught glimpses of towering builds, houses (and not-houses), and colors Tanguish wasn't used to seeing as a part of a regular landscape. Green. And blue. They seemed like such gaudy colors compared to the hels red and brown. A hermit-touched landscape for the hermits to live in, just as vibrant as they were. Just as vibrant as most of them were, anyway.

“Hey buddy,” Tango called from the bed, sitting up and smiling weakly. His face was pale, the flame of his hair and the sparking redstone freckles on his skin were dull. He looked exhausted. “Took you long enough to show up.”

Tanguish rushed to Tango’s bedside, and he must’ve looked ridiculous, because the hermit laughed. “Woah hey, bucko, calm down. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Are you okay?”

“Fine. Kinda frustrated." Tango smiled ruefully and laid back in bed. "You can't stay here long, dude. Doc's got me under near constant surveillance… and everyone else keeps popping in on the way to the shopping district." Tango smirked. "You'd think I was made of glass."

"You collapsed," Tanguish whispered.

"You see that through your coin?"

Tanguish hesitated. He didn't know how much he should explain. The fact that no, he couldn't see anything through his reflection in the coin, and that was the problem. The fact that he'd had to track down other helsmits just to figure out what was going on. The unsettling hels Grian with his (it's?) staring portals, and his repeated deaths to Helsknight. Helsknight, the one who had ultimately helped, stepping through to Hermitcraft to… well, Helsknight had never really explained what he'd done. He just magically reappeared back in his house, sporting the kind of haggard disposition of someone coming back from respawn. Maybe he'd carried Tango to safety and been killed for it? That seemed probable. It also seemed like something Helsknight would've rubbed his nose in, so maybe that hadn't happened.

"Yeah, I saw it through the coin," Tanguish lied, because it was simpler. It's not like the nuance was needed anyway. Tango wasn't used to Tanguish lying (they didn't really do that to each other intentionally: lie. Tanguish wasn't sure if he liked that he was good at it).

Tango shrugged. "I just overworked myself a little, that's all. I'll be fine after some rest."

Tanguish looked down at his hands. He had grabbed two fistfuls of Tango's blankets, and it felt like a paper-thin barrier between them. Tango was warm beneath them - he always ran hotter than normal people did. Fire and redstone. He still seemed cooler than he should be, though, like Tanguish's ice and sculk did war against it better.

"You'll be fine after some rest," Tanguish parroted automatically, quietly, hesitantly. He was used to agreeing with Tango. It came easy. It made him a better friend. Things were going to be normal again, and that would be nice. Tango would rest. Tango would feel better, and get back to work on Decked Out II. Tango would invite Tanguish to help, and they’d laugh and get into mischief, and that’s what Tanguish had enlisted Helsknight’s help for.

Right?

Tanguish suddenly felt nauseous. Dreadfully nauseous. It was something in his guts like dread and worry. It was the sated thing inside him that wanted everything to be normal warring with the moral compass he developed at some point when he wasn’t looking. It was a very bad compass. It still let him steal, and guilt trip people, and be overall sneaky. Right now, however, it was reminding him he hadn’t gone through all the trouble of getting Helsknight’s help just for things to be normal. Normal had put Tango in this bed, resting and recovering. Normal would see Tango dead, if Tanguish didn’t do something about it.

“You need to talk to your friends.”

Tango ignored him so smoothly, Tanguish was almost convinced he’d thought the words instead of saying them out loud. “You need to talk to your friends,” he repeated, frowning.

“They’re busy.”

“Why aren’t they here right now?”

“You’re right here dude.”

“I’m not your only friend.” Tanguish’s frown deepened. “Where’s Impulse?”

Tango waved a hand dismissively. “Off with the Soup Group somewhere.”

“And Zedaph?”

“Impulse and Zedaph aren’t my only friends.”

“They’re your closest friends,” Tanguish said, getting to his feet. “They’re supposed to be, anyway.”

“Yeah well, it’s halfway through the season. Stuff gets hectic.” Tango wasn’t looking at him. His eyes were fixed at the foot of the bed. Lying. “They’re too busy to be here.”

“You need to talk to them. Or… you said Doc was coming to visit regularly? Talk to him.”

“Doc is--”

“Not everyone in your life is too busy,” Tanguish snapped, frustrated. The little ice-tipped spines that followed his vertebrae down his back bristled slightly. Angry. Tanguish wasn’t used to feeling angry. That was a Tango feeling. He wasn’t used to carrying conversation, steering it in a fixed direction. That was also a Tango thing. A thing Tango wasn’t doing, which was worrying. Tanguish wasn’t supposed to be the stronger personality here. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“Why not?”

“I’m killing you.”

Tango scoffed, and despite how frustrating it was, Tanguish found it reassuring. It proved Tango was feeling something. Annoyance was useful when it wanted to be.

“You’re not killing me,” Tango said, sounding like he only half believed it. “And besides, even if you were, shouldn’t I be allowed to spend my time happy? Not worrying about--”

A burst of rockets fired overhead. The two of them looked up at the ceiling. Tanguish’s hand found the coin in his pocket, ready to retreat back to hels if someone came in. When nothing happened, Tanguish broke the silence first. “Why are you scared of your friends?”

“I’m not scared of my friends,” Tango protested, his hands balling into fists in his blankets. Tanguish raised a condescending eyebrow at him. “I’m not! Look, it's not my fault they’ve all moved on to bigger and better things, alright?”

“You’re scared they’re not your friends anymore?” Tanguish hoped he didn’t sound condescending. He wasn’t trying to be. It was… a very real fear Tanguish himself had felt before. He’d felt it when Tango had first collapsed, and he hadn’t been able to contact him. He’d felt it many times when Tango had talked about his friends and the things they got up to on Hermitcraft. It was an intimate, baleful jealousy, the kind of thing that felt less like you were possessive, and more like you were unworthy.

It was a fear Tanguish was supposed to have, and not one that Tango was supposed to have.

“I’m not-- that’s not what I meant. Stop twisting my words around!” Tango snapped. “What I’m saying is, it’s easier to get work done with your help. When you’re not being--” Tango gestured vaguely in Tanguish’s direction. “--like whatever the heck this riot act is.”

Tanguish shook his head, and Tango scoffed again. “Jeez dude, you’re worrying like, way way more than normal. Are you okay?”

“You collapsed.”

“Yeah well, I hadn’t slept in a few days. Sue me.”

Tanguish rubbed his face with his hands, and then ran them back through his hair exasperatedly. His breath was coming in frosted clouds. Aggravated. Angry. Frustrated? He was bad at feeling things. Emotions were… difficult. He should ask Helsknight about emotions sometime. He felt mad all the time, and he managed to control it somehow.

“You need to talk to your friends. Your other friends.”

“You keep saying that. Why can’t you just be my friend?”

“I’m going to get them.”

“Wh--! Tanguish!”

Tanguish spun on his heel and started walking. He was sure there had to be a staircase around here somewhere, and if there wasn’t, he could always climb the chests to the next floor--

“Hey! Are you listening to me?”

“No, I’m not,” Tanguish said absentmindedly, scurrying up Tango’s wall of chests for storage. The top chest was empty, and for a moment Tanguish was precariously balanced trying not to pull it down. Behind him, he heard Tango rustling. “Stay in bed.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Tango said, ignoring him. He shuffled his blankets off and swung his feet over the side of the bed.

“Stay down, Tango.” Tanguish said louder, like that would make him more convincing. He managed to get to the top of the chest wall, and turning to look down at Tango made his hermit counterpart look small and fragile with distance. “I’ll be right back.”

“You don’t even know where you’re going,” Tango told him, sounding almost pleading. He stood slowly, hesitated on unsteady legs. “And any hermit that sees you is going to kill you on sight, just saying. Hels aren’t really welcome here you know.”

“This is for your own good,” Tanguish said challengingly. “I’m not losing you over something this stupid.”

“You’re not-- gah!” Tango took two steps and fell. Tanguish was his side in a heartbeat. He reached forward to pick Tango up, only to have his hands smacked away. Tango scowled at the ground, at his hands in angry fists, shaking arms, trying to prop himself up. “I will stand up by myself thank you very much.” When he said it, the flame of his hair burned brighter, angrier. His freckles, a smattering of redstone spots on his cheeks and forearms, sparked once, insistently. Tanguish crouched on the balls of his feet, watching nervously as Tango shoved himself to his feet. He stood, swayed, steadied, and then fixed Tanguish in a glare. “See? I’m fine.”

“Walk back to bed,” Tanguish said gently, not rising from where he was crouched. “Please.”

“Why, so you can go running off again?” Tango demanded, refusing to move. Tanguish thought he caught a tremor in his counterpart’s knees.

“I won’t run off.”

Tango nodded. He looked back towards his bed, too nervous to walk on his own. He didn’t protest when Tanguish slowly straightened, wrapped Tango’s arm around his shoulders, and helped him back. This felt better, Tanguish thought. It felt more normal. This was how things were supposed to be. Tanguish was supposed to help Tango do things. Tango was supposed to have big outbursts, while Tanguish quietly reacted and did as he was told. This was how they were supposed to spend their time together. (This was a way out. Tanguish could decide he liked this so much, he would just walk away and let Tango rest and return to business as usual. Tango certainly wanted it that way. So did Helsknight, from what little they’d talked about it. It would be easy. It would be better than easy. It would be normal, expected. The path of least resistance.)

“Fine,” Tanguish said after a silence he hadn’t even noticed passing. “I’m going to make new friends.”

Tango smirked. “I’m not good enough for you either.”

(That hurt. That hurt a lot, actually. One more way out. Tanguish doesn’t want to be a bad friend. He doesn’t want to abandon Tango. Is that what he’s doing? Is he abandoning Tango? Weak, bedridden, because Tanguish is a good parasite. Taken all that’s good out of him, and leaving him for a new host? Is that what he’s doing? What’s worse? Killing someone or abandoning them? Tanguish felt like he was putting nails in someone’s coffin, and no matter how hard he tried to drop the hammer, all he did was hammer harder.)

“I’m not abandoning you.” Tanguish said firmly. “You need to talk to your friends. You need someone in your life that isn’t me.”

“Right, sure.”

“I’m killing you.”

“You keep saying that.”

Tanguish stood and brushed off his hands, like that would help solidify his decision. “If someone like me can make friends, then you can talk to the ones you already have.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“It is,” Tanguish said firmly, trying to convince both of them. He wasn’t sure if it was working. He had stopped thinking about it enough to worry. Instead, Tanguish held out his hand for Tango to shake. “Deal?”

“Deal what?”

“If I make a friend, you are going to set up a meeting and actually talk to yours.”

“When did this become a deal, exchange, thing? I didn’t agree to that.”

“Deal?”

“I feel like this is a lot less of a choice than you’re trying to imply it is--”

“Tango.”

“Fine, fine! Whatever!” Tango grabbed Tanguish’s hand in a vicious handshake that made both of them flinch. Fire and ice, redstone and sculk. It didn’t really hurt. The physical contact was just kind of uncomfortable. It was something they didn’t do often.

“Deal,” Tanguish affirmed. He stood, feeling lighter on his feet than he had a few minutes ago. Maybe that was a good sign.

“Hey, earth to genius.” Tango snorted. “Do you even know how to make friends?”

Tanguish shrugged. “It can’t be that hard, can it?”

Tango laughed.

[This fic is a continuation on the Tango/Tanguish hels series. The last part can be read here. Or, alternatively, you can read the whole thing on AO3.]

#the barking writer #Tangotek #tango #hels!tango #tanguish #helsknight(mentioned)#helsmits #this was originally going to be much longer but i've decided to handle the next part as its own chapter

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outlandishwhalesharks · 2 years ago

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For @hellcheeranniversaryweek s WIP Wednesday: WIP Amnesty

This is a fantasy AU I originally came up with for the october hellcheer week. It was inspired by the books Uprooted by Naomi Novik and Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones (because Eddie Munson would one thousand percent would run from his real life problems by becoming a wizard in a fantasy dimension lol).

Here's pretty much all I have written for it.

****

Leaves of yellow brown and red flutter down form the trees through her window. This has always been Chrissy's favorite time of year. Fall in the land of Hawkins was gorgeous. At least they were until a few years ago.

She can still remember the first body, the image is seared in her mind. Stumbling through the forest she had come to a clearing when she found it.

His name was Fred he was the son of the man who ran the printing press. His limbs were broken in unnatural ways and his eyes were gone. The shriek she made brought the entire village to her.

A hunting party had been made to try and catch the vile person who had committed such a terrible crime.

It had brought the attention of the king himself, who's palace was just outside of her village. That was how she had first met her betrothed Prince Jason.

At the same time something else had happned, a small metal shack had showed up on a hill outside of town. It was a structure unlike any other she had ever seen. It disappeared before anyone got the nerve to inspect it.

And so it went for two years at the same time, the metal shack would should up and then there would be another violent murder.

Until one year everything changed. Instead of the metal building there was a huge omnious castle that never quiet looked right. Almost like a reflection on water, like it would wade a way at any moment.

The kings men tried to attack it but there was some kind of barrier aorund sealed with a dark magic no one had seen befoe. Wizards from all over Hawkins came and tried breakit but none availed.

Shortly after the castle appeared a man came into town. He had long wild hair and odd tight paint swith holes inthem. He also wore long robes much longer and fnacier than any other wizard known in the realm.

He introduced himself as Eddie the Freak. It didnt take long for people to deduce that he was the murder and had place d a curs eon Hawkins. He never denied only offered a better optiont he afflicted chosen.

The offer he gave was to have a ball, a masquerade each year at his castle. Once there he would pick his chosen for the year and after a week to prepare the chosen would disappear though he promised they would live and have a happy life.

Most didnt believe him. There wre many rumors about what haplend to the freak's chosen victims. He kept them as sex slaves or just murdered them anyways. But most were too afraid to anger the evil wizard further so they still came to soirees he held, Chrissy included.

***

As much as I love this verse I just don't have it in me to write the whole story it would entail.

(Which FYI Vecna followed Eddie when he found the portal to the fantasy world and has been killing people so Eddie sends his victims to the our world to save them hes just deamatic about it)

#hellcheer anniversary week #hellcheerweek wip event #oneyearofhellcheer #hellcheer

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keepingthehopealive · 1 year ago

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Long post about therapy and brainspotting and my session today.

My therapist and I tried brainspotting today in our session for the first time.

Brainspotting is a somatic based therapy approach. It's kind of similar to EMDR, I think it was maybe even by the same person who came up with EMDR, but it's not specifically for trauma necessarily. My therapist described it as a "top down approach" where it allows your brain to heal itself. It's a little hard to describe but you look at a pointer at different spots in space while focusing on a feeling, thought, emotion, sensation, memory etc. You can do it to find a spot in space where it's more or less intense depending on what approach you're taking in the session. Then you just look at that spot and notice what's happening. You don't have to talk but can obviously process what's happening in the moment and the therapist can ask questions or guide it or just let it be. Im not sure if background sounds or quiet music is always a part of it, but I wore headphones today and listened to some calming stuff while we did it.

My therapist and I are integrating it into our therapy to see if it helps with some of my shame based blocks, barriers and struggles with verbalizing and talking about things and probably more too if it continues to evolves (like processing memories or emotions and stuff).

Today we focused on physical tension and anxiety in my body in the moment. I only did it for about 5 minutes because it was a lot. Mainly having to look in her general direction (my "spot" was to the side of her but still closer than I'm comfortable with as I usually keep my head down and color) was exhausting and very anxiety provoking. She was so compassionate about it and actually said I did it longer than she thought I would be able to. She understands me well and she knew it would be a lot so she checked in with me after a few minutes of it and I was able to communicate I wanted to stop. Plus, even though we planned to do it, we ended up talking for a bit before I finally asked if we could try it. She probably thought i didn't want to do it but I was just too anxious to start it. I'm happy I didn't chicken out when she went to hand me the headphones because I wasn't expecting that.

It led to a really interesting conversation about my anxiety, in particular my more physical based anxiety and tension in my body. She reflected that I have a strong mind-body connection and when I responded just saying "unfortunately", she said the goal can be to try to make that a positive thing instead of something that harms me so much.

Our plan going forward is to start sessions (maybe not all of them) with it and just do short sessions of it to increase my window of tolerance with the anxiety I feel. I think if I can work on tolerating the anxiety in the moment and using brainspotting for that, I can eventually use it in other ways to help in my therapy and with some of the things I want help with and have struggled with and been stuck with in therapy in specific for so long. I'm also a little afraid to have any hope or expectation for it. I appreciate the most that she isn't presenting it as a quick fix or cure all and has already said if it doesn't work for me that's OK too.

#brainspotting #therapy

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bonmotx · 2 years ago

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definition: special satellite constellations whose satellites follow the same 3-dimensional space track with respect to assigned rotating reference frame.

It itches. Mash has tried to get them to stop, but their hands are almost glass thin and just as easily bruised, and so each movement reminds them. Even Da Vinci says to stop, yet-

what does she know about this sort of thing to how dare she take it away to they keep staring staring staring staring staring to their pitying eyes to their forced upon mercies to they falsified the records and for what that they would be the only one (theytheythey) would be the only ones to remember not even menial paperwork will remember your sacrifices not even the punch in card will remember your hours- to this anger screaming begging pushing out from beneath the skin

Itch. Itch. Itch. Memories litter their head, happier days, sadder days. Days before they gave up on dreams. Days after. There are far more after, after all.

“Red dwarfs can be quite small, but once they get to a certain size, they can’t become stars. So they’re called brown dwarfs... but also called failed stars. They’re too small so they can’t maintain- ah, you won’t get that part...” It almost sounds like their voice, but when is the last time they had the patience to explain something so meaningless now?

The scars are empty, faint pink lines. Yet even still, the marks are still there, a pale spot where the blood doesn't stain. No matter how much they've washed it, it still itches.

Used up seals, used up as the person losing a job, losing a purpose, everything used up as these seals, used up as this body. The world is silent around them.

(A quiet girl speaks in the silence: "But you'll be okay. You're the ringmaster.")

("Please, wait for me.")

("You'll be okay, don't worry. No matter what happens, you'll be okay.")

("They can weigh down the rest of the world, but not you. You'd never sink, ringmaster.")

The world has reset nineteen times just within this room. It doesn't matter what happens after, because it never lasts long enough to matter. Their hands shake, more and more-

("If it's this kind of situation, Ringmaster-")

"Fukuhara-san." A small voice picks up across the room. It’s so familiar, like the patterns and constellations within their dreams.

Rito looks up, but there's nobody there. Yet somehow, the window is open.

what window to chaldea doesn’t have windows in here to a lack of caring they finally decided upon.

Beyond it is the wine red sea- no, it’s the dusk reflected upon the water. The sun is beneath the waves, glowing, a lava lamp that illuminates everything as bubbles like oxygen fall upwards towards the true sky.

There are only twelve stars in the sky, yet there are infinite shapes that almost look to be gates, doorways. Rito stares up, as if they are leaning out, reaching out, escaping through the glass-less window, only a sill and latch for a nonexistent barrier from the world.

Their hand reaches out to the stars, the warm and empty air, yet grasps something.

Rito pulls it back, and it drops into their lap. It’s not like they actually stood up. Yet it felt so real they pause at seeing something there after all.

A small vial, like Alice's sought after happiness.

Without even questioning it, they pop the lid back and take a sip as the empty emergency sirens blare in the distant place that isn't their room. The room spins as it always does, nauseating and bright. Too bright, too bright, even as the lights are kept off.

Like a balloon popping in the highest point of the sky, like the snipped tall poppy... like an everyday freak accident, it happens:

Rito Fukuhara dies.

---

The floor is littered with the dusty, rusty steps of someone else. Silently, a young girl walks out of a darker than dark doorway.

"...I guess you’d rather not be a red dwarf after all... but it’s okay. For now, I'll take them away, so stop looking so sad, Ringmaster... you've earned your happy ending already.

Once upon a time, she was told about the stars by someone who was so full of love for them. So once again, their eyes will be covered by just a little bit more madder red, morbidly hue-filled. The syrupy sleep of death seeps in, heavy and thick.

“You have earned happiness. Even God would agree... even an angel would. I promise, I’ll help you get there. You’ll be able to depend on me this time..."

Once more, another thin line of scarlet is added onto the rest. Heavier than that, her hand smears it kohl thick over the rings of sleeplessness that echo around their features.

“...I’ll protect you, no matter what.”

Yet these words will go lost to the night as smudged like skin over the the marks, she only ever held on the non-dominant side. What should be scars is grown over like a callous- not gone, but hidden away from the human eye.

“So just wait for me, ringmaster.”

So perhaps to a human’s eye, dreaming, they have vanished away. It will be a gift from a girl beyond the stars, still hitching a ride on the moonbeam that bounces off her meteor and into earth’s orbit once more.

“I’ll be there soon.”

---

Once again, Rito Fukuhara awakens the day before the day they died.

Even so... it must have been a dream after all.

---

(It takes them several hours to be told to rub the makeup from their eyes, and their hands come back as red as blood.)

#rito ic.#rito hc.#rito drabble.#meta.#suicidal ideation tw #death tw

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interiordesignbd2 · 17 days ago

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From Chaos to Calm: The Secret Formula for a Serene, Stylish Home

In a world that’s always in motion, our homes should be a sanctuary—a space where we can unwind, relax, and find peace. But more often than not, they become cluttered with too many things, mismatched décor, and a sense of disorganization that prevents us from truly feeling at home. If your living space is starting to feel chaotic, it might be time for a change. The good news is that achieving a serene, stylish home is not as hard as it seems. With a little thought and a few simple design principles, you can transform your home into a peaceful oasis.

Ready to go from chaos to calm? Here’s your secret formula for creating a serene, stylish home that brings peace to both your mind and your soul.

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1. Declutter, But Do It With Purpose

The first step in creating a calm space is ridding it of excess clutter. Clutter creates mental noise, and when you’re surrounded by too many items, it’s hard to relax. But decluttering doesn’t mean getting rid of everything you love—it’s about curating your space thoughtfully.

Start by asking yourself, “Does this item add value to my life or bring me joy?” Keep only what serves a purpose, either functionally or emotionally. Invest in smart storage solutions to hide away the items you use daily but don’t want on display. Think minimalist shelving, hidden baskets, or multi-functional furniture.

Tip: Create zones in your home—such as a quiet reading nook or a neat desk area—where only essential items are present. This makes it easier to keep things tidy and organized.

2. Embrace a Calm, Neutral Color Palette

Color has a profound impact on our mood, and when it comes to a serene home, soft, neutral tones are your best friend. Think whites, soft grays, light taupes, and muted pastels. These colors create a sense of calm and allow other elements in your room to shine without overwhelming the senses.

That said, serene doesn’t mean dull. You can introduce pops of color—think soft blues, moss greens, or blush pinks—in accents like throw pillows, rugs, or artwork. A limited color palette also helps create a harmonious flow from room to room, keeping everything feeling balanced.

Tip: If you love bold colors, use them sparingly. Incorporate them through smaller pieces—artwork, vases, or throw blankets—to create interest without overwhelming the space.

3. Maximize Natural Light

Light is one of the simplest ways to shift the mood of a room, and natural light is the best kind. It brings life to a space, makes it feel airy and spacious, and instantly lifts your spirits. The more natural light you can let into your home, the calmer and more open the atmosphere will feel.

Start by keeping windows unobstructed. Use light, sheer curtains or blinds that can be pulled back to let the sunlight flood in. If privacy is a concern, consider frosted glass or strategically placed plants to create a barrier without blocking light. You can also strategically place mirrors to reflect natural light deeper into the room.

Tip: If your space lacks natural light, consider using light-colored furniture or walls, which will reflect available light. LED bulbs with daylight settings can also help brighten up darker corners.

4. Focus on Simple, Functional Furniture

When it comes to furniture in a serene home, less is often more. Choose pieces that have clean lines and minimalist silhouettes. Avoid heavy, ornate furniture that can crowd the room and create visual clutter. Instead, focus on high-quality, functional pieces that complement the space rather than dominate it.

Consider furniture that serves multiple purposes—like a storage ottoman that doubles as seating or a dining table with built-in shelves. This will keep your home stylish, yet practical.

Tip: Go for neutral-colored or wood-toned furniture that blends easily with your walls and flooring. These timeless pieces can be easily dressed up or down with accessories or cushions.

5. Incorporate Natural Elements

Bringing nature indoors can be incredibly calming. Plants not only purify the air but also help create a soothing, grounded atmosphere. Whether you’re a plant enthusiast or someone who prefers low-maintenance greenery, plants are an essential element in creating a serene home.

Choose plants that suit your lifestyle—succulents and snake plants are great for beginners, while larger indoor trees like fiddle-leaf figs or rubber plants can make a bold, calming statement in a room. The key is to place plants where they can thrive, near windows or in rooms with adequate light.

Tip: If you’re short on space, opt for hanging planters or small potted plants on shelves. And don't forget about other natural materials like wood, stone, or woven rattan to add texture and warmth to the space.

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6. Create Calm with Soft Textures

Textures play an important role in making a space feel inviting and comforting. A serene home doesn’t just look peaceful—it feels peaceful. Layer soft, tactile materials like cotton, linen, velvet, and wool to create a sense of warmth and comfort.

Think soft throws on sofas, plush rugs underfoot, and cozy pillows scattered across chairs. A tactile experience invites relaxation and adds a tactile dimension to the space. You don’t have to go overboard—small, deliberate touches of texture can make a huge difference.

Tip: Opt for neutral, natural textiles—linen curtains, wool throws, cotton cushions—that align with your calm color palette. These materials add softness without overwhelming the space.

7. Edit Your Décor to Reflect Simplicity

While personal touches are essential for making a space feel like home, excessive décor can make a room feel cluttered and chaotic. Keep your décor simple and curated. Avoid overcrowding surfaces with knick-knacks, and instead choose a few meaningful items that bring you joy or serve a functional purpose.

Look for art and décor pieces that align with the mood you’re trying to create—abstract art, botanical prints, or serene landscapes work well in calming spaces. Consider floating shelves to display your favorite objects in a way that doesn’t crowd the room.

Tip: Stick to a few statement pieces, rather than overwhelming the room with décor. This could be a large piece of artwork, a striking vase, or a sculptural light fixture that stands out without taking over the space.

8. Lighting: Set the Mood

Lighting is one of the most transformative elements in interior design. Soft, ambient lighting creates a peaceful, serene atmosphere, while harsh, bright lights can make a space feel cold and unwelcoming. Opt for layered lighting, using a combination of ceiling lights, table lamps, and floor lamps to create a warm, inviting glow.

Dimmer switches are a great addition, allowing you to adjust the lighting based on the time of day or the mood you want to create. Choose warm-toned bulbs over cool ones to keep the light soft and soothing.

Tip: Add some soft lighting in unexpected places—a string of fairy lights in a bookshelf, a table lamp on the floor in a corner, or a floor lamp behind your sofa to create a relaxing glow.

Final Thoughts: Your Serene, Stylish Home Awaits

Creating a serene, stylish home is about finding balance—between comfort and simplicity, functionality and beauty, personal style and thoughtful design. By embracing a minimalist mindset, focusing on natural elements, and keeping your décor intentional and calming, you can turn any space into an oasis of tranquility.

Remember, the goal isn’t perfection; it’s about creating a space that helps you feel at ease, refreshed, and inspired. Your home should be a place that brings peace to your mind and joy to your heart—and with these simple strategies, you’re well on your way to creating just that.

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goblinontour · 3 months ago

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Curtains Closed

caught red handed

warnings: smut, masturbation (m receiving), voyeurism, exhibitionism (?), he’s awkward

word count: 7.1k

The glow from the screen cast a pale, eerie light across his face, its cold blue tones washing out the warmth of his skin. The only source of illumination in the darkened room. The laptop screen threw his features into sharp relief, casting shadows that made the room feel smaller, more intimate, like a secret he was sharing only with himself. Or rather, with the faceless strangers who might be watching.

He sat on the edge of his bed, his body relaxed but with an underlying tension coiled tight, like a spring waiting to be released. His fingers drummed absently on the keyboard as he glanced at the chat window. Still quiet. The usual rush of messages, the eager greetings, and the not-so-subtle requests were absent this early in the morning. But the emptiness didn’t deter him. If anything, it made the moment feel even more charged.

There was something about the stillness, the quiet, that heightened his awareness of himself, of his own body.

Alex had made sure to draw the curtains, pulling them tightly shut with a deliberate, almost nervous motion. The memory of last week still haunted him. The neighbour’s shocked eyes meeting his as he sat there, caught in the most vulnerable of moments, his hand frozen mid-motion on his cock. It had been an embarrassing lapse in judgement, one that had left him burning with humiliation for days afterward. But it had also been oddly thrilling in its own way, the stark reminder that he was being seen, really seen, even if just by accident.

He wouldn’t let that happen again, though. Not unless he wanted it to. This time, he had prepared. He’d adjusted the laptop’s angle with the precision of someone who had done this many times before, because he had, making sure that his face remained out of view. His anonymity was crucial. A barrier between his true self and this private ritual. The rest of him, however, was laid bare, ready to be observed, analysed, and, in a way, consumed by those on the other side of the screen.

He leaned back slightly, the mattress dipping under his weight. The sheets were cool against his skin, a contrast to the heat slowly building inside him from how horny he got himself. His fingers trailed down his chest, pausing at the hem of his shirt before slipping beneath it. His breath hitched slightly, the sensation familiar but no less electrifying for it.

The chat was still quiet, the blank space on the screen reflecting his own restlessness back at him. It was early, earlier than he usually logged on, but the urge had come upon him suddenly, insistent and impossible to ignore.

He had grown used to this. Used to the idea of being watched, of putting himself on display for those who found some kind of twisted pleasure in it. And if he was being honest with himself, he found pleasure in it too. The thought of eyes on him, unseen but always present, spurred him on in ways he couldn’t fully explain.

He let his eyes flutter shut, focusing on the sensations coursing through him. The silence in the room was thick, almost suffocating, broken only by the soft hum of the laptop and the rustle of the sheets as he shifted. In his mind, he could imagine them. The strangers who might be watching him right now, their gazes heavy with anticipation. It was a fantasy that had taken root deep within him, one that grew stronger each time he indulged in this.

His hand moved lower, the pace unhurried. He knew how to draw it out, how to tease himself just enough to keep the pleasure simmering, to keep the anticipation building. There was no rush, no need to hurry to the end. The real satisfaction came in the buildup, in the slow, torturous process of letting it coil tighter and tighter until it was almost unbearable.

The chat window remained quiet, but that was okay. He didn’t need the validation of their words to know that he was being seen. He could feel it, that invisible connection stretching out through the ether, binding him to the unseen eyes that were surely watching. He let out a soft sigh, the sound almost swallowed by the stillness of the room, and let himself sink deeper into the moment.

This was his domain, his stage, and even in the silence, even in the solitude, he was never truly alone. There was something both comforting and thrilling in that thought, in the knowledge that he could be himself, completely, unapologetically, in this space. And maybe that was what kept him coming back, kept him turning on the laptop, adjusting the camera, and letting the world in, just a little, just enough.

His breathing grew heavier, each exhale pushing him closer to the edge of restraint. For a while, he had kept it slow, almost leisurely, teasing himself with the promise of what was to come. But the need was growing too intense and too demanding to be ignored. He was done playing around, done with the tantalising game of almost-but-not-quite. He was horny, aching for release, and there was nothing stopping him from taking what he wanted.

His hand moved faster now, the teasing strokes giving way to something more urgent. The laptop screen flickered in front of him, the chat still silent, but it didn't matter. He wasn’t doing this for them, not really. He was doing it for himself, to satisfy that burning need that had been building inside him all morning.

His fist tightened around his cock, the movement becoming a blur as he picked up the pace, his body straining toward the inevitable. There was no one to hold back for, no parents downstairs, no one to stifle his sounds for. He was alone in the house. Alone. And he didn’t bother trying to keep quiet. His moans spilled out, raw and unfiltered, filling the small room with the sound of his pleasure.

Each stroke brought him closer, the tension in his body coiling tighter and tighter until he thought he might snap from it. His hips bucked instinctively, meeting the movements of his hand as he chased the release he could almost taste. His free hand clenched the sheets, twisting them as his body arched off the bed, his muscles taut with the effort of holding on just a little longer, drawing it out just a bit more.

But then all that pent-up tension burst free in a wave of overwhelming feelings. His body jerked, a strangled groan tearing from his throat as he came, hot and fast, his hand working frantically to ride out the intensity of it. The white liquid shot out in thick spurts, splattering across his chest, his stomach, and his fist as he tugged at his cock, milking every last drop from himself.

He gasped, his breath coming in ragged bursts as the last of his orgasm shuddered through him. His hand slowed, the movements becoming more gentle, almost soothing, his body gradually relaxing back into the mattress. The warmth of his release spread across his skin, wet and sticky, dripping down his chest and pooling in the creases of his abdomen.

For a moment, he just lay there, his mind blank, his body spent and buzzing. The room was quiet again. The only sound was his heavy breathing as he slowly came down from the high. He could feel the mess cooling on his skin, the wetness uncomfortable but somehow satisfying. A tangible reminder of the reward he had just taken for himself.

He blinked up at the ceiling, his vision slowly clearing as reality seeped back in. The laptop screen still glowed at the edge of his vision, the chat window open but empty, the connection still live. But he didn’t care about that right now. He had gotten what he needed, had indulged in it fully and without restraint, and the satisfaction that settled in his chest was deep and undeniable.

Alex reached up with his clean hand, swiping a few stray locks of hair out of his eyes, and then let his arm fall back to the bed, utterly spent. He could feel the remnants of his release starting to cool, the sticky wetness uncomfortable against his skin. But he didn’t move just yet.

Eventually, he would get up, clean himself off, and shut down the laptop. But for now, he just wanted to savour the moment, the quiet satisfaction of having given in, of having taken exactly what he wanted without holding back.

He was just about to move, his muscles finally responding to the urge. The satisfaction from moments earlier had begun to fade, replaced by the sticky discomfort of his own cum drying on his skin. He sighed, preparing to push himself off the bed, but before he could even swing his legs over the side, the sound of the door creaking open froze him in place.

His heart skipped a beat, panic flooding his system as he whipped his head towards the door. There you were, standing in the doorway, eyes wide with shock.

“What the fuck?!” Alex shouted, his voice cracking as he scrambled to shut the laptop screen, his fingers fumbling with the lid. The sudden movement sent the machine sliding dangerously close to the edge of the bed, but he didn’t care. His immediate priority was covering himself up. Fast.

His hand shot out, grabbing for the nearest piece of clothing he could find. It happened to be the pair of sweatpants he’d discarded earlier, now a crumpled heap on the bed beside him. He yanked over his crotch area, his movements frantic and awkward, trying to cover as much of himself as possible. But there was no way to hide the flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck, spreading across his cheeks until his entire face felt like it was on fire.

“What the fuck?” you echoed, stepping further into the room, the door still half-open behind you. Your expression was a mix of confusion and something else. Something that made his stomach drop even further. You didn’t look away, and that only made his humiliation worse.

“What are you doin’ here?” Alex stammered, his voice shaky, the earlier confidence completely evaporated. His mind was racing, trying to piece together an explanation, a way to salvage what was left of his dignity, but he was drawing a complete blank.

“You told me to come over ‘cause your parents aren’t home.” you said. You took another step closer, your eyes not missing a thing. His flushed face, the sweatpants he was clutching desperately to his waist, the closed laptop perched precariously on the edge of the bed. “The door was unlocked- I thought-”

You trailed off, the sentence unfinished, but the implications hung heavy in the air. The realisation of what you had walked in on was slowly dawning, your eyes widening a little more as it clicked into place.

Alex opened his mouth to say something, anything, but the words stuck in his throat. He felt utterly exposed, his earlier bravado shattered into a thousand pieces. There was no cool, confident Alex now. Just a boy caught in the most mortifying situation of his life, his privacy invaded in the worst possible way.

“I-” he started, then stopped, his mind still scrambling to find some way to explain himself, to make this less horrible than it felt. But nothing was coming to him, and the longer the silence stretched, the more unbearable it became.

You stared at him, and he could see the gears turning in your head, processing what you had walked in on. He wanted to disappear, to melt into the bed and never come back up. He could feel his pulse pounding in his ears, his skin burning from the inside out.

You finally broke the silence, your voice softer, more cautious. “Alex…were you…?”

He winced, his eyes shutting tight for a moment as if that could block out the reality of the situation. He couldn’t look at you, not directly. The shame was too overwhelming, too raw. When he opened his eyes again, he kept his gaze fixed on a spot on the floor, somewhere safe and far away from your scrutinising stare.

“I didn’t-” he swallowed hard, forcing himself to speak even though his voice trembled. “I didn’t think you’d be here so soon.”

“Clearly!” you replied, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at your lips despite the awkwardness of the situation. But there was also something else there, something softer, more understanding.

Alex didn’t know what to do with that. He had expected laughter, but not this. He still felt like he was going to combust from embarrassment, but your reaction was throwing him off balance.

You took another step closer, the tension in the room thickening with each passing second. “I’m sorry.” you said, your voice gentle now. “I didn’t mean to just barge in like that. I should have-”

“No.” he interrupted, finally daring to glance up at you. His face was still burning, his hands still clutching the sweatpants to his waist as if they were the last defence between him and total humiliation. “I- I should have… locked the door. Or something.”

You both stood there, the awkwardness still hanging between you, but something else was beginning to seep in, a fragile understanding. Neither of you knew quite what to say, but there was a mutual recognition that this didn’t have to be as disastrous as it felt.

“I'm sorry.” Alex said, his voice barely above a whisper. The words felt heavy on his tongue, a mixture of genuine regret and a desperate need to defuse the awkwardness. His eyes darted back to yours, his gaze pleading for some kind of reassurance.

You nodded, your expression softening. “It’s okay, really.” But as you glanced at the laptop, curiosity flickered in your eyes. The question slipped out before you could think better of it. “Were you…watching porn or something?”

The colour in Alex’s cheeks deepened, and he quickly looked away, scratching the back of his head in a nervous gesture. “Yeah- I mean, no…not exactly.” His voice wavered, uncertainty hanging in the air as he struggled to find the right words.

You could see the embarrassment etched across his features, and you felt a pang of sympathy. He was trying so hard to hold onto some semblance of dignity, even as the situation spiralled further out of his control.

Then, almost as if the realisation hit him all at once, Alex remembered the mess still covering his chest, the sticky evidence of his release. He glanced down, his eyes widening in horror as he took in the sight of himself. Bare, vulnerable, and utterly exposed.

“I- uh- I should probably clean up.” he mumbled, his voice barely audible as he gestured vaguely toward the bathroom. But then another wave of panic hit him. The bathroom was on the other side of the room, and to get there, he’d have to walk past you. The thought of moving closer, of you seeing him in this state, made his stomach twist in knots.

He hesitated, inching closer to the door, but stopping short when he realised you were still standing there, directly in his path. He didn’t say anything, didn’t ask you to move. Instead, he stood there awkwardly, holding those pants to cover himself, waiting for you to make the first move, the tension between you thick enough to cut with a knife.

“I’ll just- yeah…Hi.” he stammered, the words tumbling out in a rush. Without thinking, he leaned in to give you a quick, almost reflexive peck on the lips, the gesture more out of habit than anything else.

It was a brief, fleeting kiss, but it was enough to make his heart race even faster. He could feel the heat radiating off his face as he squeezed past you, his bare skin brushing against your clothes for the briefest of moments.

As he slipped into the bathroom, he shut the door behind him with a soft click, leaning against it as he let out a shaky breath. The rush of emotions left him dizzy and disoriented.

He could still feel the ghost of your lips on his, the brief contact sending a jolt of electricity through him. The situation was a mess. Literally and figuratively. But as he stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, his flushed face and tousled hair staring back at him, he couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of comfort in the chaos.

You were still out there, on the other side of the door, and despite everything, you hadn’t run away. You hadn’t laughed at him or made him feel worse. He let out another breath, this one a little steadier, as he reached for a towel. He had a lot to clean up.

When Alex finally emerged from the bathroom, he was dressed in a pair of fresh sweatpants and a loose t-shirt. The mess from earlier was gone, and though the awkwardness of the moment still lingered, his appearance was now somewhat more presentable.

Not that you minded seeing him naked. It was quite the opposite. But there was an unspoken agreement between you that this was different, that things had shifted from an embarrassing mishap to something more intimate, and both of you understood that this was a moment for connection, not just physicality.

“Hi.” you said, your voice soft but tinged with a hint of nervous laughter. You were perched on the edge of his bed, watching him with a mixture of curiosity and affection.

“Hi.” he replied, his voice more relaxed now, though still carrying the remnants of his earlier discomfort. He crossed the room with a few quick strides and reached out for you, his hands finding your waist as he gently pulled you to your feet.

Without hesitation, he wrapped you in a warm hug. The hug quickly shifted as Alex leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss. It was tender at first, but the intensity of the earlier moment seemed to spill over into this. His hands roamed to your back, guiding you gently but firmly towards the bed.

As you fell back onto the mattress, the kiss deepened, becoming a full-on makeout session. Tongues tangled, lips pressed together, and the sound of your teeth clacking together mingled with the soft, wet noises of it all.

The kiss was wild, messy, desperate. Like always. The heat between you both was palpable, and neither of you could keep your hands to yourselves. The intensity of the moment, coupled with the remnants of embarrassment and excitement, fueled a desperate need to touch, to explore, to connect in every possible way.

When Alex finally pulled back, his face was slick with a mix of sweat and saliva, and no doubt you looked similarly dishevelled. He gazed at you with a satisfied, almost playful grin, his lips still glistening from the kiss.

“So,” he said, his voice a little breathless, “what do you wanna do today?”

The question seemed to hang in the air, an afterthought in the midst of what you had just shared. He had invited you over, but in the heat of the moment, neither of you had planned beyond the immediate excitement of simply having an empty house and being together.

You giggled, your eyes twinkling as you reached up to ruffle his messy, damp hair, which had sprung up in all directions from how you’d run your fingers through it. “I dunno.” you replied, your tone light and teasing. “What do you have in mind?”

Alex shrugged playfully, still grinning. “I hadn’t really thought that far ahead. It’s just…well, I’ve got an empty house and a really great girlfriend. What more could a guy ask for?”

You laughed softly, the sound light and carefree, and you could see that his nervousness had transformed into a relaxed, happy energy. “I guess we could just stay here.”

He nodded in agreement and he shifted closer, his hand slipping into yours as he lay back down on the bed beside you. “Sounds perfect.”

You settled in beside him, your fingers intertwined, feeling the warmth of his body against yours.

As the minutes passed, the earlier embarrassment became a distant memory, replaced by a sense of closeness and excitement. The house was quiet and empty, and the two of you were content to just be together, letting the day unfold in whatever way felt right.

As you lay there, with Alex’s arm around you and his warm breath against your skin, you felt a sense of contentment that made everything feel just a little bit more right.

“How about we watch that movie you wouldn’t stop talking my ear off about?” you suggested after a couple minutes.

Alex’s face lit up with relief, and he eagerly reached for his laptop. “You’ll hate it but I love it.” he said, sounding genuinely excited as he pulled the laptop into his lap and opened it up. But as soon as the screen flickered to life, he was immediately hit with the remnants of the website still up from earlier.

“Fuck.” he muttered under his breath, his eyes widening in panic. He slammed the laptop shut with a speed that made you jump slightly. The sudden movement, coupled with his reaction, was enough to spark your curiosity.

“What was that?” you asked, leaning closer, trying to catch a glimpse of what had shocked him.

“Nothing- uh, I forgot about that.” he said, his voice hurried and flustered. He looked up at you with a mix of embarrassment and frustration. “Fuck.”

You tilted your head, still not quite understanding what had his nerves so frayed. “Alex?”

He buried his face in his hands, a frustrated groan escaping him. The sound was muffled but full of distress. “Fuck. Okay.” he finally said, his voice strained.

“What?” you asked, genuinely puzzled. The whole situation was so out of the blue that you couldn’t help but feel concerned.

“I wasn’t watching porn...” he began, his voice dropping almost to a whisper. He hesitated, then took a deep breath, clearly bracing himself for your reaction. “I was, uh...you know...”

You raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue. “Know what?”

“I was like...” He hesitated again, the words clearly struggling to come out. “I was live streaming it.”

There was a moment of stunned silence as his words sunk in. Your eyes widened in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I’m fucking serious.” Alex said, his voice laced with frustration. He looked down at his hands, clearly uncomfortable with the confession. “I didn’t mean for it to be like this. I was...I was just messing around, and it got out of hand.”

You stared at him, trying to process what he had just revealed. The realisation that he had been live streaming, sharing something so private with others, hit you hard. It was clear now why he had been so panicked and frustrated.

“Alex,” you said gently, reaching out to touch his arm, “why would you...?”

“I don’t know!” he blurted out, finally looking up at you with a mixture of guilt and desperation. “I guess I thought it would be exciting or something, but then it just...I don’t know. It got awkward, and I didn’t know how to stop it, and then you came in and-”

He trailed off, his words turning into an incoherent jumble of frustration and embarrassment. You could see how much he was beating himself up over the situation, and despite the initial shock, your heart went out to him.

“Hey,” you said softly, trying to calm him down, “it’s okay. I get that you didn’t mean for it to go this way. It’s not the end of the world.”

Alex sighed deeply, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. “I just- fuck, I didn’t want you to find out like this. I’ve been trying to keep it private, but then-”

You tilted your head, curiosity getting the better of you. “So, you’ve done this before?”

His shoulders slumped, and he let out another groan of frustration. “Yeah, okay, yeah…I do it...regularly.” He seemed to brace himself for the next question.

“How often?” you asked, your tone a mix of genuine curiosity and teasing.

“Pretty much every day.” Alex admitted, the words spilling out with an air of resignation. “Not this early usually, though…”

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming on your lips. “You’re on a schedule? What are you, a fucking camboy?”

The joke was meant to lighten the mood, but Alex’s response caught you off guard. “Yeah, I guess. Kinda.” he said, sounding more serious than you expected.

“You’re joking.” you said, unable to suppress a laugh.

“I wish I was right now.” Alex said, his voice low and a bit defeated. The playful tone in your voice had not exactly been what he was expecting.

“My boyfriend’s a camboy.” you said, shaking your head in disbelief. “Oh my god. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It’s stupid…” Alex mumbled, avoiding your gaze. “I knew you’d make fun of me.”

“I’m not making fun of you.” you replied, trying to be sincere. “I’m just surprised. It’s a lot to take in.”

“Yeah, you are.” Alex said, a slight pout forming on his lips. He looked genuinely hurt by the implication.

“Okay, maybe a bit.” you conceded, your tone softening. “But honestly, Alex, I’m not here to judge you. I just didn’t know. And if it’s something you do regularly, then it’s clearly important to you. I just wish you’d told me.”

He looked up at you, his expression a mix of relief and lingering embarrassment. “I didn’t want to make things weird. I thought you’d laugh or, I don’t know, be grossed out.”

You reached out, gently taking his hand in yours. “Alex, you’re my boyfriend. We’re supposed to share everything. Even the weird stuff. It’s okay if you have things you’re into.”

He sighed, his tension easing slightly as he looked at you with a grateful smile. “I guess I’ve just been overthinking it.”

“Yeah, you have. Like you always do.” you said, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

He chuckled lightly, but there was still a hint of nervousness in his eyes. You could tell there was more he wasn’t saying, so you decided to push a little further, hoping to help him open up. “So…how did it all start?”

Alex’s face immediately flushed, the embarrassment returning in full force. He shifted uncomfortably, clearly not expecting the question. Without saying a word, he turned over on his stomach, burying his face into the pillows. From beneath the layers of fabric, you heard a muffled, “Kill me now.”

“Come onnn.” you coaxed, nudging him playfully. “I’m not gonna judge you. I just want to understand.”

He stayed like that for a moment, his face hidden, as if hoping the bed might just swallow him whole.

Eventually, he peeked out from beneath the pillows, his eyes meeting yours with a mix of reluctance and vulnerability. “I just thought it would be hot, I don’t know.” he mumbled, barely raising his head.

“And it was hot, I’m guessing?” you asked, a gentle smile playing on your lips to ease his nerves.

“Yeah,” he admitted, his voice a little stronger now but still tinged with shyness. “I- I like it.”

Your curiosity was piqued, not by judgment, but by a genuine desire to understand this part of him. “So…how do you, like, do it? What’s your setup?”

Alex hesitated again, clearly embarrassed by the details, but he seemed to sense that you weren’t going to let it go. “I don’t show my face.” he finally said, turning his head to look at you more fully. “I just…you know…do what you saw.”

You nodded, processing what he’d shared. “So, it’s like…just the camera on you, but not your face?”

“Yeah.” he replied, his voice still a little tentative. “I keep the camera angled down. They can see…everything else, just not my face.”

“And you’re okay with that? Like, it doesn’t make you uncomfortable?”

Alex thought about it for a moment before answering, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of the pillowcase. “Honestly…I kind of, uhm, get off from it. It’s…freeing, in a way? I don’t have to be anyone or anything specific. It’s just me…being me.”

You hesitated for a moment, “Oh…do you not feel good when we…?” The question slipped out before you could stop yourself, your voice tinged with concern.

But before you could finish, Alex cut you off, shaking his head quickly. “That’s different.” he said, his voice firm but gentle. He leaned in to kiss your cheek, the touch sweet and reassuring. He often was sweet, especially in moments like this, where you could see just how much he cared. “It’s good, when we’re together, it’s really good.”

You relaxed a bit, his words calming the slight worry that had crept into your mind. His kisses had a way of doing that, of making you feel like everything was right where it needed to be.

“It’s just…” Alex continued, searching for the right words. “It’s something I like doing, you know? It feels exciting…to know someone’s watching.”

The idea was intriguing in its own way, and a thought crossed your mind before you could fully think it through. “Can I watch?”

The question hung in the air between you, and you saw the way Alex froze, his eyes widening slightly as he processed what you’d just asked. He didn’t usually get shy during sex, quite the opposite, in fact, but this? This was something else entirely. You could see the gears turning in his head, his usual confidence wavering.

He didn’t respond immediately, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and something you couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t fear, but there was a sensibility there, a rawness that wasn’t often present when the two of you were intimate. This wasn’t just about sex anymore, it was something personal to him, something that had been his alone until now.

“Alex?” you said softly, not wanting to push him but also curious where this would lead. “It’s okay if it’s weird or-“

“No, it’s not that.” he interrupted again, but this time his voice was softer, almost hesitant. “It’s just… I’ve never thought about doing it with you watching. It’s always been…separate, I guess?”

Alex paused, his eyes distant as he thought it over, his brows furrowing slightly. Then he looked back at you, a new thought crossing his mind. “You mean…just you watching me like…doing it? Or with the, uh, others watching too?”

The question made you blink, your mind racing as you considered what he was asking. “Oh, I- I don’t know,” you stammered, feeling a bit flustered. “Just me, if you want to.”

A hint of a smile tugged at the corner of Alex’s lips, the playful glint in his eyes returning as the tension between you began to ease. “You’re putting me in the spotlight, eh?” he teased, his tone lightening as he leaned closer to you.

He shifted his weight, climbing over you and then sitting back on his knees. The bed creaked slightly under his movement. His fingers found the hem of your shirt, playing with the ruffles there, his touch gentle but suggestive. The teasing lilt in his voice made your heart skip a beat. He always had a way of flipping the mood, turning the nerves.

You felt a warm flush spread across your cheeks as he looked down at you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of hesitation. But instead of feeling embarrassed, you felt a rush of excitement, the idea of watching him thrilling in a way you hadn’t expected.

“Yeah, I guess I am.” you replied, your voice steady but your pulse quickening under his gaze. “But only if you’re okay with it. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Alex’s playful smile grew, his confidence returning as he noticed how much you were into the idea. “You’re something else, you know that?” he murmured, his fingers brushing lightly against your skin. “Always keeping me on my toes.”

You laughed softly, and he leaned in closer, his face just inches from yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You know, this might actually be kind of fun.” he admitted, his voice low, almost a whisper, as if he was sharing a secret.

Your heart raced at his words, the possibilities spinning in your mind. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he echoed, his fingers trailing up your side, sending a shiver through you. “But you have to promise not to laugh. Or…make me nervous.”

“I promise.” you said. “No laughing. And I’ll try not to make you nervous.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. “You might be the only person who could make me nervous in a situation like this.”

The honesty in his words made you smile, and you leaned in to press your lips to his. Alex returned the kiss, lingering there for a moment before pulling back, his eyes locked on yours.

He moved back slightly, still playing with the fabric of your shirt, his eyes never leaving yours. “So…you really want to watch?” he asked, the question more playful now, but with a hint of genuine curiosity.

“Only if you want me to.” you replied, your voice steady despite the butterflies in your stomach.

Alex thought about it for a moment longer, then nodded, his smile turning into something a bit more. “Okay…let’s give it a try. But remember, you’re not allowed to laugh.” he added, his tone half-serious, half-teasing.

“Deal.”

He gave you one last, lingering look before shifting on the bed, positioning himself as if he was ready to start.

You shifted to sit at the other end of the bed, sitting on your knees, while Alex leaned back into the pillows, his body half-reclined but tense. He looked at you, then quickly averted his gaze, focusing on his own hands as they tugged down the waistband of his sweatpants. He kicked them off the rest of the way with his feet, leaving him in just his boxers.

The tension in the room was palpable, the air thick with a nervous excitement that neither of you had fully anticipated. Alex propped one of his legs up, almost as if to shield himself, despite the fact that you’d seen him naked countless times before. But this was different.

“You’re making me nervous.” he admitted, his voice shaky as he glanced at you with a half-smile, trying to ease the tension but not quite managing to.

You could see how hard he was trying to push through the nerves. “We can do it later if you want.” you offered gently, not wanting him to feel pressured.

“No, no, I won’t have it in me later.” he replied quickly, shaking his head. His tone was almost desperate, like he didn’t want to let this moment slip away despite his apprehension. “I’ll just…get in my head more if I wait.”

“Okay.” you said softly, understanding that he needed to push through this now if he was ever going to feel comfortable with it.

Alex’s hand moved to touch himself over his boxers, his fingers tentative as they traced along the outline, but he quickly stopped. He groaned, a sound full of frustration, and covered his face with his hands, hiding away from the world, hiding from you.

“Can you like…show me your boobs or something?” he mumbled, peeking at you from between his fingers.

“Why?” you asked, a small smile playing on your lips despite the tension.

“Because I’m too nervous and…I already did it earlier and now I can’t…God.” he said, his voice muffled through his hands.

You couldn’t help but smile at his request, not out of amusement but because you understood. You could see how much this moment meant to him, and you wanted to make it easier, to ease the pressure and bring him back to that place of comfort you both shared. “I’ll show you my boobs.” you said softly, the teasing edge to your voice meant to relax him as you reached for the hem of your shirt.

His eyes widened slightly as he watched you, his hands slowly lowering from his face as you pulled your shirt up and over your head, tossing it aside. His eyes locked on you, the sight of your bare skin pulling him out of his head, distracting him from the nervousness that had been gripping him so tightly.

“There.” you said, your voice soft as you watched his expression change.

“Thanks.” he muttered, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before it shifted back to himself, his hand now moving with more confidence. He tugged down his boxers, freeing himself, the earlier hesitation fading as he let himself get lost in the moment, in you.

You watched as his hand wrapped around his cock, his grip firm but lazy as he began to stroke himself, his eyes flickering between his own movements and your body. There was something incredibly intimate about this, more than you’d expected. It was as if you were seeing him in a whole new light.

As you watched him, your eyes were drawn to the unfamiliar sight of him soft, something you’d rarely seen, if at all. When you two were together, he was usually already hard by the time his clothes came off, eager and ready before you even had a chance to fully take him in like this.

Now, though, you had the opportunity to see every subtle shift in his expression as his hand moved, the way his body responded to his own touch. He was careful at first, almost as if he was relearning the sensations in front of you. His fingers wrapped around his cock, applying just enough pressure, but not too much. His thumb grazed the tip, teasing, coaxing himself into a slow build.

He glanced up at you for a moment, his eyes meeting yours, and then he spit into his hand, the sound barely audible but the action unmistakably deliberate. The slickness allowed him to move with more ease, his strokes becoming smoother, more confident, as he gradually hardened under his own touch.

You couldn’t help but notice how different his movements were compared to your own when you’d touch him. There was a familiarity in the way he handled himself, an instinctive knowledge of what felt best, of what would get him there. The rhythm was different too, slower. He lingered on certain spots, applying pressure in ways that were uniquely his own.

Yet, despite the differences, you couldn’t deny how much he seemed to enjoy your handjobs when you were together. Maybe it was because your touch was different from his, bringing a new kind of pleasure. Or maybe it was simply because it was you.

You watched as his length grew firmer in his hand, the soft edges becoming defined, the heat of arousal bringing him closer to that familiar hardness you knew so well. The sight of it, the way he was slowly giving in to his own need, it would fuck with your mind for days. Weeks.

It was clear that he was enjoying himself, the small sighs of pleasure escaping his lips, the way his hips would sometimes shift, seeking more pressure or a different angle. His eyes flickered back to you occasionally, as if checking to see your reaction, to ensure that you were still there with him in this moment.

And you were. Completely. It was intoxicating to watch him like this.

“You’re so beautiful.” he murmured, his voice low and husky, the words slipping out as if he couldn’t help himself. His eyes were locked on you.

You felt a warm flush spread across your cheeks, his words and the intensity of his gaze making your heart race. “You too.” you whispered back.

He smiled at that, a real smile this time, the kind that reached his eyes. The nervousness that had been so palpable earlier seemed to melt away, replaced by something warmer, something deeper. His movements grew more confident, his strokes quicker now as he focused on you, on the way you were watching him.

“Come closer.” he said, his voice rough with need, his eyes dark and pleading as he looked at you. You didn’t hesitate, moving closer to him, your knees brushing against his as you reached out to touch his chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heart under your palm.

His breath hitched at your touch, his hand moving faster, more urgently now. You watched, mesmerised by the sight of him losing himself in the moment, his body tensing and his breath coming in quick, ragged gasps. His eyes were locked on you still, a silent plea in them that made your heart race even faster.

“Don’t stop.” you whispered.

“I won’t.” he breathed, his hand moving faster, more desperate now as he edged closer to the point of no return.

And then, with a deep, shuddering breath, he let go, his body trembling as he reached his orgasm, his release spilling over his hand and onto his stomach, the sight of it making your breath catch in your throat.

He collapsed back onto the pillows, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he looked up at you, a lazy, satisfied smile spreading across his lips.

“Was that okay?” he asked, his voice soft, almost hesitant, as if he was still worried about what you might think.

You leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, your hand resting on his chest where his heart was still beating a little faster than usual. “It was so hot.” you whispered against his mouth.

Alex’s face lit up with a mixture of relief and a hint of pride. He giggled, that soft, boyish sound that you loved so much, and it felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. “Yeah, it was.” he agreed, his voice playful now, the earlier nerves all but gone. “Did you like it?” he asked, his tone a little more serious, genuinely curious about how you felt now that it was all out in the open.

You nodded, brushing a strand of hair away from his forehead. “Yes, I really did. It was…different, but in a good way.”

He smiled at that, a small, satisfied grin as he reached up to tuck your hair behind your ear, mirroring your earlier gesture. “Good.” he murmured, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you close to him. “Because I think I want to do that with you…a lot more.”

a/n: this went way softer than i had planned initially. i meant for it to turn into them making a sextape but yeah idk

tags: @4chaos @st7rnioioss @theonlyoneswhoknowsblog @rentsturner @yourstartreatment @avxoxo1 @jqsvi @turnersfav @youresodarkbabe @aacheinthejaw @zayndrider @humbuginmybones @tedioepica

#fetus alex turner #alex turner #alex turner x reader #alex turner x you #alex turner smut #alex turner fic #alex turner fanfic #smut #goblinontour

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