mostly smut, some of them are quite kinky-ish, just check the individual chapter warnings. the first ones are probably bad, they're older.
more on my Tumblr @goblinontour
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His mouth was pink. So pink it felt indulgent, like the color had been stolen from something delicate and repurposed just for him. His lips parted in that particular way — swollen and soft, almost babyish, which somehow only made it more obscene. More devastating. You would have watched him. You always did. Because not watching him felt like neglecting something sacred, something fleeting. As if the universe might conspire against you and steal him away in some blink-and-you'll-miss-it moment, leaving you blind to the quiet miracles that made up his existence.
Like the way his left eyelid might twitch from the stray eyelash that fell loose and took up residence there. A tremor so small it seemed like a secret meant only for him. But if you weren't watching, you'd miss it. Miss him. You never wanted to miss him — not his movements, not the particular way his chest rose and fell, not even his silences. Especially not his silences. They carried too much weight, too many unspoken things you were still always desperate to decipher.
Even now, you knew he wasn't sleeping. He had tried to convince you — his eyes closed, face smushed into the pillow in a way that was almost theatrical, like a child playing pretend. He had taken off his rings, one by one, like he always did, letting them clink softly onto the nightstand in a ritual you could nearly recite by heart. But you felt it. The way his breathing was too measured, too purposeful, like an actor rehearsing his lines. And he had forgotten one thing. His socks.
That detail gave him away. He always took them off before sleep, always, and you'd both quietly agreed once that it was a crime to sleep in them. Not just because it was uncomfortable, though that was part of it. No, it was deeper than that. The socks disrupted something elemental between you, the connection that stretched from one end of your bodies to the other. Head to toe, literal and unbroken. You could sleep clothed — layered even — but the boundaries of your existence, the beginning and end of each of you, had to be bare. Skin to skin. So even in unconsciousness, you could feel each other's presence. Even in the dark and the dreamless places.
You reached out, brushing your foot against his ankle, a testing gesture. The woolen texture beneath your toes confirmed it — he was still wearing them. He didn't move, didn't flinch, but you could sense the subtle tension in him, like a chord stretched just tight enough to hum. You swallowed the urge to call him out. Let him have his pretense. For now, you would watch.
Because watching was your way of worship. And Alex was nothing if not worthy of worship.
And so you watched. And watched. And watched. Every subtle shift in his body, the rise and fall of his chest, the way his lips stayed smushed, plush and unbothered. You let the silence stretch, thin and fragile, until he sighed. The sound wasn't dramatic or deliberate — it spilled out of him unguarded, and you could almost feel your heart melting inside you, slipping from its rightful place to the right side of your ribs as you lay there.
