#alex turner x y/n

[goblinontour]

I Want You Hard

part 6 | series masterlist

or was it him all along?

warnings: implied age gap, angst, smut (not a lot), blowjob, nightmares, (mild) violence, choking (not the sexy kind), weirdness, overthinking, suicidal ideation again, oh, and a bit of daddy kink

word count: 7.6k

Waking up wasn’t exactly pleasant for him. It meant another day of living. And he wasn’t particularly fond of that anymore. The monotony of survival grated on him, the heavy knowledge of his existence weighing like a noose that never fully tightened. But waking up to your warm mouth wrapped around his cock? That was something else.

A better alternative than the usual crack of his joints, the stiff twist of his neck he could never quite finish, leaving his body in a continuous state of dissatisfaction. He’d stretch and contort himself every morning, yanking at muscles and vertebrae as if trying to realign something deeper than just his body. Sometimes, when the frustration boiled over, he twisted his neck so hard it felt like a test of how far he could push before something gave.  

There were always cracks, sharp and satisfying in their own way, but never the final one. Never the one that might end the dull, gnawing ache that had nothing to do with his bones and everything to do with the parts of him he couldn’t reach. He didn’t know if he wanted it to snap or if he just wanted the threat of it. Either way, it didn’t matter. The moment always passed, leaving him in the same place he started — alive, irritated, and dissatisfied.  

He’d think, sometimes, in those hazy early hours when sleep still clung to him, about how fragile the human body really was. A quick twist, a little more pressure, and it could all be over. The thought didn’t frighten him. If anything, it calmed him, a reminder that the choice was always there.  

But he never did. Not because of hope or fear, but because he didn’t deserve an ending. He deserved the cracks without the snap, the tension without the release. The perpetual discomfort was his penance, his way of carrying the weight. That of everything he’d done, of everything he hadn’t.  

This — your tongue tracing every ridge and vein — this seemed like the best way to start his day. Waking up to your mouth wrapped around him, to the soft warmth of your body and the slick, obscene sounds you made as you worked him over — felt like a reprieve. A distraction, maybe, but one he wasn’t about to turn down. Your touch dulled the edge, smoothed over the cracks, made the weight just a little lighter. For now.

He hadn’t asked for it. He didn’t need to. You’d grown to know your place in his space. You orbited around him and, somehow, into the cold, dark recesses of his heart. Holding and loving. Taking. Enduring. Soothing him even when he didn’t deserve it. Confusing him in ways he could never articulate. And now, serving him like a little slut — his little slut. 

“Keep sucking.” he groaned out, his teeth clenched. The words barely escaped his lips, still sticky and sealed from the spit that always collected in the corners of his mouth while he slept. You paused for a moment, looking up at him, and his gaze burned down at you. “Don’t stop.” he growled. 

His hand came down, gripping the back of your head — not to force, not yet, but to guide, to remind you who was in control. You obeyed, lips sealing tighter around him, tongue flattening against the underside of his cock as you moved. 

The sounds you made were so wet and so messy they echoed in the quiet room. He hated mornings, but now, he was beginning to hate the idea of this ending even more. 

He watched you through half-lidded eyes, his head sinking deeper into the pillow. His thoughts were sluggish, still caught in that liminal space between dreams and wakefulness. There was something almost tender about the way you worked him over, but he didn’t want to admit that — not even to himself. Tenderness wasn’t something he deserved and it wasn’t something he wanted. Or so he told himself. 

“Fuck…” he hissed, his hips jerking. “You like this, huh? Waking me up like this, sucking me off like the desperate little thing you are.” His words were harsh, but there was a warmth in them, a heat that betrayed the growing affection he couldn’t snuff out. 

You hummed in response, the vibration shooting straight through him. His grip on your hair tightened, and his breath hitched. He was close already — how could he not be? When you were looking up at him like that, like he was the only thing that mattered in your little world? It was maddening. 

“Fuck, sweetheart.” he groaned, his voice dropping into a gravelly timbre. His hips bucked again, harder this time, and you gagged slightly, your hands bracing against his thighs. “Take it all. Every fucking inch. Don’t you dare pull away.”  

Gripping tightly at the roots, he pushed himself deeper into your throat. He watched you struggle, your lips stretched around him, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. It only made him harder. “Keep…keep sucking me.” he ordered, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “You keep doing that, and I’ll let you taste me as a reward, yeah? Taste my cum…you wanna taste my cum?”  

You nodded around him, desperate and eager, your throat tightening as you hummed in response. “That’s my good girl.” he murmured, his hips starting to rock in a steady rhythm. “You’re so fucking perfect like this, you know that? On your knees, choking on me, looking so damn pretty with my cock in your mouth.”  

He could feel your tongue pressing against him, your mouth working in sync with the movement of his hips, and it was driving him closer and closer to the edge. “You’re gonna swallow every drop Daddy’s gonna give you, aren’t you? Gonna take it all like the perfect little girl you are.”

You whimpered, your hands gripping his thighs tighter, and he couldn’t help but smirk. “That’s right, sweetheart. You love this…love being used like this.” His pace quickened, his breaths coming out in ragged gasps as he chased his release, knowing you were right there with him, ready to take everything he gave.

His mind wavered, teetering between the animalistic need to use you and an urge to ruin you so completely that no one else could ever piece you back together. The thought of it stirred something primal, clawing at the edges of his restraint. And yet, in the same breath, he imagined cradling you afterward, holding you against his chest like a precious, shattered thing, his whispered words — mine, mine, mine — the only softness he could offer.  

Your hand, trembling but determined, slipped up his thigh, your fingertips grazing over the ridges of his muscles as if tracing the fault lines. You lingered there for a moment before sliding higher, brushing against the taut plane of his stomach, where the heat of him was palpable, radiating through the thin barrier of his skin that almost made you wish you could just rip into him. His breath hitched as your touch grew bolder, more insistent, and his hand moved instinctively to cover yours, engulfing it entirely. His palm was rough, calloused, and impossibly large against your smaller one, as if to remind you of the power he held over you, the power you willingly surrendered to him.  

His grip tightened, just slightly, a silent command to stay there, to feel the way his body responded to you, twitching under the weight of his own conflicting desires. He wanted to break you and build you back up in the same moment, to destroy and preserve. Madness.  

The room seemed to shrink around you, the air heavy with the storm of his thoughts and the weight of your touch. Every small movement felt amplified — the way your thumb repeatedly traced a slow circle over his belly, the way his fingers curled over yours, possessive and protective in equal measure. Unbearable. Yet neither of you moved to break it, the moment, the tension, caught in the fragile, twisted balance of wanting and being wanted.  

For now, all he could do was watch you, your lips stretched wide around him, your cheeks hollowing as you sucked him down, your eyes never leaving his. It was too much. Too good. His release was building. 

“Shit, sweetie, I’m gonna-” He didn’t finish the sentence, just held your head down as he came, spilling into your throat with a guttural moan that seemed to shake the very foundation of the room. His eyes squeezed shut, his jaw clenched so tight it ached, and for a moment, everything else disappeared — every dark thought, every regret, every ounce of self-loathing. There was only you, only this. 

When he finally opened his eyes, you were still there, swallowing everything he gave you, your tongue flicking out to catch what had escaped. The sight of you like this — used, obedient, perfect — sent a shiver deep down and through his spine. 

“Good girl.” he murmured, his voice softer now, though no less commanding. He pulled you up, his hand cradling your jaw as he stared into your eyes. “You’re too good to me, you know that?” 

You smiled at that, just a small curve of your lips in the shyness. “I just like making you happy, Daddy.” you said quietly. 

“Oh, girl…” he breathed, the words spilling out between ragged pants. His chest rose and fell unevenly, and you could feel the tremor in his muscles as his body seemed to sag beneath you. He looked wrecked — more so than you’d ever seen him — and yet, his hands still held you.  

His thumb brushed along your jaw, tracing the edge of your cheekbone with an almost unbearable tenderness. His eyes, dark and glassy, roamed your face, committing every detail to memory. He didn’t say anything else for a long moment, just breathed you in, his thumb now sliding down to the curve of your lower lip, pressing lightly as if testing its softness.  

You kissed the pad of his thumb instinctively, and something flickered in his expression — a mixture of vulnerability and hunger, the kind of look that made you feel like you were teetering on the edge of something dangerous.  

“You’re something else, sweet-face.” he murmured. “I don’t deserve you.”  

“You don’t get to decide that.” you whispered, your hands sliding up his arms, feeling the tension still coiled in his biceps. 

His grip tightened, only slightly, his fingers digging into the curve of your hips, grounding himself in the warmth of you. He didn’t respond — not with words, anyway. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. His breath fanned over your lips, warm and uneven, and you felt the way his body sagged further, his strength momentarily giving way to weightlessness.  

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable. It was thick, heavy with meaning. But it wasn’t suffocating. His lack of words didn’t bother you — it never had. His hands, his touch, his presence — they spoke volumes more than his voice ever could. And right now, those hands were everything, holding you steady, reminding you that you were his and he was yours, in whatever twisted, imperfect way you’d found each other.  

“Stay like this.” he muttered, his voice almost inaudible. The words were more for himself than for you. His fingers slid up your back, tracing the curve of your spine, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. “Just for a little longer.”  

“‘m not going anywhere.” you said softly, your own hands now finding the back of his neck, your fingers threading through his hair. It felt greasy in between them.

He exhaled deeply, his breath shuddering as if the reassurance had drained something from him. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer, his touch no longer rough or demanding. For the first time, he looked at you like he didn’t know how he’d ever let you go. And for the first time, you thought you saw something in his eyes that wasn’t just hunger or possession — it was need. Raw and painful and entirely human.  

You stayed like that, tangled together in the quiet, letting the moment stretch until it became something neither of you dared to break. 

Sunlight streaked through the windows, chasing the cold from the corners of the room but not entirely succeeding. It just pooled on the wooden floor and cast everything in a soft, golden glow. It caught his hair just right, almost like it was kissing it, illuminating it like a halo that seemed almost ironic against the sharp focus of his expression. The sweater — his thick sweater — hung off your frame, swallowing you whole, its fabric brushing against your thighs as you stood there watching him. He’d thrown it over your shoulders earlier. The warmth of it was undeniable, but the chill in the room still found its way to your exposed skin, prickling against the contrast of his lingering scent embedded in the threads.  

“Alexander?” you called, your voice light but insistent, breaking the steady rhythm of the blade scraping against the stone.  

He didn’t look up. A low hum escaped his throat from where he sat cross-legged on the floor, acknowledging you but keeping his focus. His spine was straight, his shoulders loose, but his thighs gripped the sharpening stone tightly, keeping it in place as his hands moved with practiced precision, the motion almost hypnotic in its repetition of drawing the blade down with a sound that sent tiny shivers down your spine.  

“Al?” you tried again, softer this time, testing.  

His hands stilled mid-motion, the blade poised mid-drag, hovering just above the stone. The furrow in his brow deepened as he snapped his head toward you, his eyes sharp and questioning.  

He hated how that name sounded coming from your lips. Too casual, too intimate, too much like you thought you knew him. Like you had some claim over him. It was dangerous, the way you wielded familiarity like a weapon, soft and subtle but no less sharp.  

Al. The syllable grated against something inside him, an old wound he thought he’d buried deep. That name didn’t belong here, didn’t belong to you. It belonged to another life, another version of him, one that was long gone. Wasn’t it? And yet, hearing it from you — it didn’t just sting. It burned, seared its way through the walls he’d built and made him want to — what? Push you away? Pull you closer? He wasn’t so sure anymore.  

You don’t know me, he thought bitterly, though the words felt hollow even in his own mind. Because you did know him, didn’t you? Or at least the pieces he’d allowed you to see. Maybe that was the real problem.  

His fingers twitched against the blade, a faint tremor betraying the steadiness he usually prided himself on. He didn’t want to think about why you saying his name felt like a violation and a comfort all at once. Didn’t want to examine the way his chest tightened, how it wasn’t entirely…unpleasant.  

Because if he started to unravel that thread, he wasn’t sure he’d like what he found at the other end. 

“Why did you call me that?” His voice was low, steady, but there was something underneath it, something taut and wound too tight — disapproval, confusion, maybe both.  

The suddenness of his reaction made your breath hitch. “I- what do you mean? It’s just…a nickname.” you said softly, your fingers fidgeting with the edge of the sweater’s sleeve. “I just…thought it’d be okay. Isn’t it?” 

His jaw tightened. He stared at you, the weight of his gaze making your chest feel heavier. His knuckles whitened around the handle of the blade as though the mere sound of your voice had disrupted something within him. He set it aside on the stone with deliberate precision, his gaze locking on you in a way that not only made you feel small, but like you’d stepped somewhere you shouldn’t have. 

“No one calls me that.” he said finally, his tone quieter but no less intense. “Not like that.” 

The way he said it made you feel like you’d…touched something fragile. You weren’t sure if he was angry or just…exposed.  

“Why not?” you asked.  

His lips pressed into a thin line, unflinching. “Because they don’t. And they won’t.”  

Your fingers twitched at your sides, resisting the urge to retreat. “It’s just a name…” 

“It’s not ‘just a name.’” He leaned forward slightly, the movement subtle but enough to make you feel threatened by his presence even from across the room. “You think you can just call me whatever you want? That you know me enough to-”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” you interrupted, your voice trembling slightly.  

He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “You didn’t mean it.” he repeated. “You don’t think, do you? You just…speak.” 

The words stung, but there was something, some…a frustration that didn’t feel entirely aimed at you.  

You dropped your gaze, the fabric of his sweater bunching under your grip as you kept twisting the hem in your fingers. “I just thought it’d be nice.” you murmured. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m sorry. I just-” you continued, taking a cautious step closer. 

“Don’t.” he interrupted this time, his voice softening slightly as he looked away, the tension in his shoulders easing just a fraction. “Just don’t.”  

The silence stretched, the only sound audible being the faint scrape of the blade as he resumed his work, slower this time, less precise, the rhythm uneven. You wanted to press, to ask why it mattered so much, but the set of his jaw and the slight downturn of his lips warned you against it. Instead, you sat down on the edge of the chair nearest him, your hands tugging at the sleeves of his sweater that dwarfed you. The air felt heavier now, charged with something unspoken.  

A soft brush against your ankle drew your attention.  

The cat — Lulu — had wandered over, her sleek black fur catching the sunlight as she rubbed against you. You crouched down instinctively, your fingers running through her fur as she purred, her tail curling around your wrist.  

“She likes you.” Alexander said suddenly, like he’d sensed it without even looking at you, or looking up at all.  

“She’s sweet.” She leaned into your touch.

Alexander shifted slightly, adjusting back to his cross-legged position on the floor.  

“She likes most people.” he said, his tone flat, almost indifferent. “Isn’t there some saying about animals being like their owners? She didn’t get that from me, but I guess…”  

You glanced at him, your brows furrowing at the pause. “But you guess what?”  

His mouth twitched, the corner lifting in a half-smile. “Maybe I’ve got a little softness somewhere, buried deep. You’d know better than me at this point.”  

You let out a quiet laugh, the sound light and warm in the cool air of the room. “Is that your way of saying you like me?”  

The scrape of the blade against the stone stilled again. He didn’t look up, but his hand tightened on the hilt of the knife, his knuckles going white for a brief second before he relaxed again.  

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, sweetie.” Sharp but he lacked the venom he might’ve carried in another moment. “I’m not the one petting my cat like she’s some kind of sacred treasure.”  

You laughed again, a little louder this time, and the cat’s ears twitched at the sound. “Well, someone has to make up for your lack of affection.” you teased, scratching under the chin.  

“I give affection.” he said, almost defensively. “You just don’t notice it.”  

“Oh?” you said, raising a brow. “When exactly was that?”  

He tilted his head, considering you for a moment before smirking faintly. “You’re wearing my sweater, aren’t you?”  

You glanced down at yourself. “I meant towards Lulu. Plus, this doesn’t count.” you said. “You practically threw it at me.”  

“And you didn’t give it back.” he shot back, his smirk widening. “Seems to me like you’re the clingy one here.”  

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head as you stood. The cat stretched lazily at your feet, rubbing her head against your ankle before padding off toward the window. “You’re impossible, Alexander.”  

“I know.” he said, leaning back on his hands as his eyes followed you. “But here you are.” He paused and glanced over his shoulder at you. “Wearing my stuff. Invading my space.” His gaze raked over you slowly, before his eyes flicked back up to meet yours. “Guess I must be doing something right.”  

Your cheeks warmed under his scrutiny, but you didn’t look away. “Or maybe I’m just very patient.”  

His grin widened. “Keep telling yourself that, sweets.” You opened your mouth to respond, but he held up a hand, silencing you. “Don’t. You’ll just say something else you’ll regret.”  

“Does it bother you when I say your name?” you asked anyway, careful to keep your voice gentle.  

He didn’t answer right away. But then he sighed.  

“It’s not that.” he admitted. “It’s just…different when it’s…you.”

“Different how?”

He shook his head, a small, almost imperceptible shake. “It just is.”

“Okay.” you said simply, your voice light, almost breezy, as though the moment hadn’t just shifted into something unspoken and strange. But it had. You could feel it like a current beneath your skin, humming, pulling, insistent.

You didn’t push him further, though. You could tell — by the way his hands resumed their methodical motion, the blade dragging across the stone — that whatever it was, he wasn’t ready to put it into words. Maybe he didn’t even have the words.  

Still, your eyes stayed on him, drawn like a moth to flame. The light from the window carved him in sharp shapes all over, shadows along the lines of his face, the hollow of his throat, the tension in his shoulders. You wanted to reach out, to smooth the furrow in his brow with your thumb, to ask him again — why does it bother you so much when I call you that? — but you didn’t.  

He’d gotten all weird when you said it. It was just a name, wasn’t it? A nickname, nothing more. But the way he reacted…

You wished you could see inside him, to look past the carefully constructed exterior he wore. He was so good at keeping you at a distance, even when you were close enough to feel his breath on your skin. You’d caught glimpses, here and there — small, fleeting moments where his guard slipped, where something raw and vulnerable surfaced before he shoved it back down. But it was never enough.  

He was a puzzle you couldn’t solve, a book with missing pages. And still, you couldn’t stop trying.  

“Alexander?” you said softly, testing the feel of his full name on your tongue.  

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, unreadable. “What?”  

“Nothing.” you said quickly, shaking your head. 

“I’ve got a blade in my hand.” he said dryly, holding it up as if to make his point. “Don’t want to lose focus and end up bleeding all over the place.”  

You smiled faintly, but the humor — if that’s what he meant it to come across as — didn’t land. You wanted to say more, to ask him why he was always so careful, so controlled, even in moments like this. You just nodded.  

You wished he’d let you in. You wished he’d let you see him — really see him. But you knew better than to push. He wasn’t the kind of man you could coax or cajole into opening up. If he wanted to show you, he would. Until then, all you could do was wait. 

“Al?”  

“You’re here?”  

I lifted my eyes to meet hers, and for a moment, I couldn’t believe it. Her silhouette blurred, bathed in the golden light that streamed through the windows, almost too perfect, too radiant to be real. But when she stepped closer and I felt the warmth of her arms wrapping around me, solid and grounding, just a moment, the ache in my chest loosened.  

What day is it?  

“Of course, honey. Where would I go?”  

“Anywhere.” I whispered into her hair, breathing her in, the scent of her so familiar and intoxicating, grounding me in a way I hadn’t felt in ages. She smelled like home, like things I didn’t know how to name but never wanted to lose. My hands gripped her tighter, unwilling to let her slip away, even though a quiet voice in the back of my mind whispered that this wasn’t real.  

“Not without you.”  

Her voice was so soft, so certain, wrapping around me like the arms I couldn’t bring myself to release. It almost broke me.  

“Oh, please. Never…never ever.” I murmured, the words escaping through a grin that felt too wide for my face. I pulled back just enough to see her face again, to remember the curve of her smile, the light in her eyes — her eyes, shining as if the sun itself lived inside her — but not far enough to lose the feeling of her in my grip. My hands stayed on her waist, refusing to let her go.  

“She’s in the garden, picking flowers for you.” she said.  

“For me?” My voice cracked, a strange mix of disbelief and hope cutting through my words.  

“You know how much she adores you.”  

“I know.”  

I said it and nodded, but that feeling in my chest grew heavier again, the pain of something unnamed that pressed against my ribs, threatening to split me open. My gaze drifted toward the window, where the garden stretched out like something of a dreamscape. It was impossibly vibrant, every color too bright, too alive. And there she was — another figure, smaller, crouched among the flowers, her hands gathering blooms into a bundle.  

I knew her. God, I knew her.  

“She wanted to surprise you.” the figure in my arms whispered, her lips brushing against my ear. “She’s been waiting for you all morning.”  

I tried to speak, but my throat felt tight, the words stuck somewhere between my heart and my mouth. Words tried to form and my tongue wouldn’t let them come alive. Something wasn’t right. Something about the scene felt too sharp, too vivid, as if it might all shatter if I looked too closely.  

“Don’t you want to go to her?” she asked, tilting her head to catch my eyes.  

I nodded again. My legs felt heavy. They wouldn’t move. My hands clenched against her waist. It felt as though letting her go would mean losing something vital. I was unwilling to release her warmth, even as my eyes remained fixed on the figure in the garden, her small hands busy arranging the flowers.  

The blooms were red. Too red.  

“She’s waiting, Al.” 

But I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak. The scene began to blur, the sunlight dimming, the vibrant colors bleeding together like a watercolor painting left out in the rain or paint washing down a drain. I tried to step forward, but my feet were rooted, heavy as stone. My chest tightened, the ache turning sharp, twisting like a blade inside of me. 

“Al?” Her voice echoed, pulling at me, dragging me toward something I didn’t want to even see, much less face.  

I blinked, and everything was gone.  

I blinked, and then there was nothing but the dark and the sound of my own breathing.

That darkness hit like a wave, crushing and infinite, pressing in from all sides. My chest heaved, but the air I breathed felt thin, as if the void itself was swallowing it whole. The warmth was gone, replaced by a cold that sank into my bones.  

I was alone.  

I tried to call out, but my voice wouldn’t come. The silence was suffocating, thick and unyielding, and the ache in my chest grew unbearable. I reached out, blindly, desperately, but there was nothing to hold onto.  

Just the dark.  

And the sound of my own breathing. 

Shallow and ragged, echoing back at me like a cruel reminder that I was still alive.

You didn’t feel him at first. He was quiet in the way only someone utterly consumed by their own torment could be. You didn’t feel him. Until you did. Like a curse of affliction poured down upon him, saturating every corner of the room, and now it was sinking, deeper and deeper, infecting. And you were here to see its symptoms showing, right before your eyes. It was suffocating, thick and cloying, and you felt it before you even opened your eyes. Something heavy and dark sat there waiting for you to wake up and witness its reign.  

The change in his breathing was what woke you. So sharp and loud even with the lack of audibility. It was like he wasn’t even here anymore, like someone else was doing it for him — some foreign force that dragged air in and shoved it back out in violent bursts. Cries without tears, just the relentless pressing of lungs and dry, guttural sobs from the subconscious.  

And then came the sound. It broke the already loud silence. It wasn’t just the sound of air moving in and out — it was something far more primal. A sound so raw and distant that for a moment, you weren’t even sure it really was him. It didn’t sound human, didn’t sound like it could come from the man lying beside you.  

When you turned to him, the sight was worse than the sound. His body was a warzone of tension, his muscles rippling under his skin as if they were locked in battle. His chest rose and fell violently. The shallow gasps made his ribs stand out starkly beneath his damp skin. His head was buried in the pillow, but it wasn’t resting there — it was pressed down hard, as if he were trying to smother whatever demons had clawed their way into his subconscious.  

And when you reached out, instinctively touching from where your fingers hovered just above his back, the moment you made contact with his skin, it was like you’d burned him, branded him with a hot iron rod. His muscles flinched so violently you could practically trace each separate one by sight, their spasms highlighting the structure of his back and shoulders in sharp, unforgiving detail. You didn’t even know enough about human anatomy to name them all, but, in that moment, you could’ve pointed out each one like you’d studied it for years or even decades.  

He fought the pillow beneath him, dragging it down from underneath his head and crushing it against his chest. His arms twisted around it, his hands gripping in a vice grip, so tightly that his knuckles went bone-white, the veins in his forearms standing out in stark prominence, his fingers trembling as though he might rip the fabric apart. His back arched. His legs curled inward. His feet scraped against the sheets in an almost desperate crawl away from something that wasn’t even there. His mouth hung open, drooling onto the mattress. His breath came out in wet, choking sounds.  

And when you said his name, you knew it was a mistake. You knew it before the word even left your mouth.  

“Al?”  

His body jerked, head snapping up like a puppet pulled by its strings. His eyes — wild, glassy, unseeing — searched the room. Looking for something, someone. His chest heaved, his breathing erratic, the veins in his neck standing out against his damp, sweat-slick skin. His lips parted, but no words came out, just the wet sounds from within his throat. For a moment, he looked at you, or through you — it was hard to tell. His gaze was unfocused, his expression a mask of confusion and something darker, something almost feral.  

“Al?” you tried again, softer this time, like you were speaking to a wounded animal.  

He froze.  

Your voice left your lips, and the change in him was immediate. He moved without thought, without awareness, his body snapping into motion as though driven by something beyond his control. In an instant, he was above you, looming, a shadow blotting out the faint light of dawn filtering through the windows. It was like watching a storm descend, a force of nature too powerful to stop. One second he was distant, his head buried in some unseen hell, and the next, he was there. 

His arm was at your neck before you could even process the shift, the pressure instant, brutal, and suffocating, pinning you to the mattress with a force that was more than terrifying. His head was buried down, out of sight, his face pressed into the curve of your shoulder as if he were hiding from something, from you- no, from himself. The weight of him was so unbearable pressing down on your chest. The sharp edge of his forearm against your throat stole what little breath you could muster.  

He remained hidden, tucked low. You couldn’t see his face, but his breath came in jagged bursts, hot and damp against your skin, his chest heaving with every sharp inhale. The tension in him was so severe that he was trembling, every muscle in his body was trembling, all his strength pouring out of him in waves and into you.  

He wasn’t there. Not really. 

Your body reacted automatically, hands clawing at his back, your nails scraping down the length of him, but it was like fighting against stone. He didn’t feel it, or maybe he did, and it just didn’t matter. His arm pressed harder against your throat, cutting off the air entirely, and panic surged through you like ice in your veins.  

Desperate, desperate attempts only for his grip to tighten. Your vision blurred, black spots blooming at the edges as your lungs screamed for air.  

Your legs kicked out, thrashing against the mattress, the sheets tangling around you as you fought for something — anything. Hits went to his shoulders, his arms, his chest, trying to push him off, but he was immovable. Solid. The sharp sound of his breathing filled the room and covered yours, so loud and erratic it felt like it was vibrating through you.  

You tried to call his name, but the sound was lost, caught in your throat as you choked on your own spit. Your hands pushed at his chest, weak and frantic, your nails continuing to scrape anywhere you could reach. It was no use. He was too far gone, too deep in whatever nightmare had swallowed him whole.  

It was terrifying, yes, but there was something worse, something darker about the way he didn’t seem to be there. His body was here, crushing you, suffocating you, but his mind was elsewhere, trapped in some abyss you couldn’t reach. He wasn’t Alexander in that moment. He was something unrecognizable.  

Your lungs burned from the lack of air. Any sound you tried to make was swallowed by the pressure against your throat, your voice reduced to a weak, strangled gasp. Your nails found his skin again, this time digging deeper, hard enough to draw blood, but still, he didn’t stop.  

You could feel the tears on your face, mingling with the spit you choked on, the desperate, wet sounds of your struggle filling the air alongside his uneven breaths. It was unbearable. Everything about it. The weight of him, the crushing force, the suffocating panic that clawed at your chest.  

And then, with the last ounce of strength you had, your hands found his face. Your fingers pressed against his cheeks, your thumbs digging into the sharp lines of his jaw as you forced his head up. Forced him to see you. His hair was damp against your palms, clinging to your skin as you pushed, as you gasped out his name, a broken, strangled sound that barely escaped your lips.  

“Al-”  

His eyes snapped open.  

For a moment, they didn’t see you. They were wild, feral, and broken, so dark that they sent a shiver down your spine even as relief flooded your chest. But then they focused, locking onto yours, and everything shifted. When they focused, the change was instant again, as if snapped out of a trance. 

His grip loosened, his arm dropping away from your neck like dead weight, the pressure vanishing so suddenly it left you coughing and choking on the air you dragged into your lungs. He scrambled back, his body jerking away from yours, his movements frantic, uncoordinated.  

And then those eyes of his widened, horror flooding his expression as he looked down at you, taking in the red marks on your throat, the way you cradled your neck with trembling hands, the way your chest rose and fell as you gulped down oxygen. His mouth opened, but no sound came out, just a dry, choked rasp. Until-

“Oh god-”  

He dropped onto his back, his hands clawing at his own chest, his throat, as though he were the one who couldn’t breathe. His body heaved with every ragged inhale, his head thrown back as he stared at the ceiling with wide, unblinking eyes.  

“Oh god…” he gasped, his voice barely audible, broken. His chest was heaving, trying to breathe through the weight of what he’d just done. “Oh god, I- what did I-”  

His hands flew to his face, covering it as his body shook, the tremors violent, uncontrollable. “I didn’t- oh god, I wasn’t- oh god!” he said again, louder this time, the words catching in his throat. His hands fisted in his hair, tugging hard enough to make his scalp burn, but he didn’t stop. “What did I- oh- I- I-”  

He turned his head to look at you, his gaze filled with a mixture of guilt and terror so profound it made your stomach twist. “I didn’t- I wasn’t-”  

You sat up slowly, every movement deliberate, careful, less because you were afraid he might snap again at the slightest provocation and more to not startle him in this fragile state. Your fingers touched your neck, tracing the tender, throbbing skin, and you winced at the pain. But you swallowed it down, pushing it aside as you looked at him.  

“It’s okay.” you said, your voice raw, hoarse, barely more than a whisper, or rather a rasp. You reached out, your hand brushing against his arm, and he flinched, jerking away from your touch like it hurt. “It’s okay, Alexander. I’m okay.”  

But you weren’t sure if you were trying to convince him or yourself. 

“No!” he said, shaking his head, his hands still covering his face. “No, it’s not okay. I-”  

“It is.” you insisted, your voice firmer this time, though it still trembled. “Alexander, look at me.”  

He didn’t. His hands stayed where they were, his body curling in on itself as if trying to disappear. “I hurt you.” he said, barely there, muffled by his hands. “I could’ve…”  

“But you didn’t.” you interrupted, leaning closer, your hand finding his and tugging gently. “You stopped. You’re here now. Look at me, Alexander.”  

Slowly, hesitantly, he lowered his hands, his eyes meeting yours. They were filled with so much guilt, so much pain, it hurt more than anything the touch of his hands might’ve laid on you.  

“I’m here.” you said softly, your fingers brushing against his. “I’m okay. We’re okay.”  

His eyes narrowed, and for a split second, you thought he might lash out. But then his shoulders sagged, the tension in his body releasing all at once as he let out a shuddering exhale. His grip on the pillow loosened, his hands falling limp against the mattress.  

But it wasn’t relief you saw on his face — it was something else. Resignation. And defeat.  

“You were dreaming.” you said, your hand hovering above his back again, hesitant to touch him.  

He didn’t respond.  

“It’s okay.” you continued, your fingers brushing against his skin. This time, he didn’t flinch, though his muscles were still taut beneath your touch. “You’re here now. I’m here. Hey, it’s me.” you whispered. “I’m here.”  

You seemed to reach him, though not entirely. His eyes flickered, recognition dawning slowly, like the sun struggling to break through a thick, oppressive fog. His expression changed. The wildness faded, replaced by something colder, harder. His jaw clenched, his teeth grinding together audibly. He turned his head away from you, his body curling further in.  

“Go back to sleep.” he rasped.  

“Al, I-”  

“I said, go back to sleep.”  

There was no anger in his tone, no sharpness, but it was crushing, the way he left no room for argument. Still, you couldn’t just leave him like this.  

“I’m not going anywhere.” you said softly.  

There was nothing but silence, broken only by the sound of his breathing — slowing. You thought maybe he was coming back to himself, grounding in the reality of your presence. But when he spoke again, his voice was so quiet it was almost swallowed by the stillness.  

“Don’t…don’t say my name like that again.”  

“Like what?” you asked, your hand stilling.  

“Like you’re trying to save me.”  

The words hit you like a blow. You didn’t know how to respond. You wanted to save him, of course you did. But you knew him too well by now. You knew he wouldn’t let you.  

“I just want to help, Alexander.” you said finally, your voice soft, almost pleading for him to understand.  

He let out a low, humorless laugh, his head turning slightly but not enough to face you. “Help?” he repeated, his tone bitter. “You can’t help me, darling. No one can.”  

Your hand resumed its gentle motion on his back. “Maybe not,” you said, “but I can stay.”  

He didn’t reply.  

You stayed anyway, your hand tracing slow, soothing circles against his skin. His breathing evened out little by little, the tension in his body ebbing away in increments so small they were almost undetectable. His back, once tense and unyielding, softened ever so slightly, though his head remained turned away. 

“Do you…” you hesitated, not wanting to push too hard, but unable to keep the question inside. “Do you want to talk about it?”  

His body got caught between fight and flight. Then, finally, his voice came.  

“Not now.” he said. “I can’t. Not now.”  

“Okay.” you murmured.  

The quiet stretched again, the kind that made time feel like it was spilling out into an endless void. His breathing steadied, but there was still something in it — an edge, a tremor, a ghost of whatever storm had taken him moments before.  

“Can you…would you-” He stopped, swallowing hard, the words catching in his throat.  

“What is it?” you asked gently, leaning closer, your voice soft enough to coax without crowding him.  

He shook his head, his hair brushing against your arm like even this small movement pained him. “I don’t know how to ask.” he admitted.  

“You don’t have to.” you said, your fingers tracing along the curve of his spine.  

But he did. You saw it in the way his hands clenched at his sides — a man holding onto himself with all the strength he could muster, and still losing — until he whispered, “Will you hold me?”  

Like a bird with broken wings. Fragile, hollow-boned, and trembling in your hands in the same way he’d hold them in his. His fingers worked with such precision, restoring lifeless creatures to some facsimile of beauty. How carefully he stitched and smoothed, as if his hands alone could defy death. Now, those same hands lay useless at his sides, like they’d forgotten how to fix anything — including himself.  

Words felt clumsy in a moment like this, too blunt for something so tender. So you just held him. Your arms came around him, wrapping him in a cocoon of warmth and softness, careful not to press too hard.  

It felt almost sacred, holding him like this. You felt him give way — leaning into you, his breath uneven and fluttering, just like the faint heartbeat of a bird resting right in your palm.

You wondered now if he saw himself in them, in the brokenness he tried to repair, in the stillness he tried to make beautiful. 

His breath hitched again, a shudder running through him that you felt down to your bones. Your hands moved, smoothing over his back, his shoulders, to remind him that he was here, that he was whole, that he was yours to care for. Only this time around, it wasn’t about restoration or preservation. It was about keeping him alive and keeping him real, even when he felt like he was fading.  

“It’s okay.” you whispered. “I’ve got you.”  

You held him like he was something precious, something worth saving. Because to you…he was.

“I don’t think I know myself anymore.” he said suddenly. “I don’t even know what’s left of me. If there’s anything left at all.”  

You held him tighter. “You’re still here.” 

“Am I?” he asked, his voice cracking. “Because it doesn’t feel like it. It feels like I’m watching someone else, like I’m not real anymore. Like I’m just a ghost haunting my own body.”  

You didn’t know what to say, what words could possibly bridge the gap between his despair and your love for him. Was it love? Was this what that felt like? So you didn’t speak. You left your touch to speak for everything you couldn’t.  

“You shouldn’t stay.” 

“I know.” 

And still, you stayed. 

a/n: This wasn’t really the plan at all, but that’s where my mind seemed to go while writing it. The last scene, I mean. Soooooo yeah. Not the end quite yet.

[darbonime]

resisting the desire

contains: lawyer! alex x assistant! reader, age gap, smut, fingering, unprotected sex. not sure if it's important but mention of daddy issues and kind of depressive suicide thoughts.

word count: 8.1k

The rustle of documents in messy office of his. It’s a small, crumpled room, during that month he has too many cases. Or it’s always like this, and he just seems not handling it? His office from a neat place became chaos and he already made a note to clean it after tons of work, if there will be any end to it, of course. Tie starts choking him and piles of paper seem endless, Alex sighs, getting annoyed and more exhausted with every passing second. Darkness surrounds him and the only light he has is the dim typical greenish lamp and light from another office.

His hand rummages through the documents on a table, not bothering to look while he is busy with other ones. A groan escapes him, and he eases his tie one more time again. It’s stuffy in here, his head is going to blow up, and later, janitor is going to gather pieces of his scalp all over the place.

“Where is the fuckin’…” his hand still tries to find the paper, he needs. He hits an empty cup with leftovers of coffee inside with elbow, almost dropping it down. He slams his tight clenched fist on the table as his patience comes to an end, which is a rare sight. Shiver runs over table, little spoon clinks in the cup. He exhales, his eyes shutting for a second, trying to regain tolerance again.

“Love, is there accidentally might be the robbery case on your table? The defendant this one young girl…” he trails off, trying to find the right description of his client simultaneously massaging his temple with closed eyes. Always keeps his voice serene for you, it’s a rule in his head.

A feminine humming comes from the next office.

“Bratty one?” you question casually, not trying to make him laugh, which does exactly the opposite. This attitude of yours. You would never be a lawyer with a mouth like yours.

“Yeah, bratty one.” he nods with a grin, taking off his jacket hanging it on the back of his chair. He brushes off hair from the forehead, leaning in his ancient leather rolly chair, making it creak. A minute to take a full breath, finally.

The sound of heels clicking against the floor is his favorite sound of all sounds in the drudgery. His smile turns into a small smirk. When you gracefully walk in as if with no trace of depletion to hand the file case he needed, Alex, with playful respect, bows his head, accepting it.

You fix piles, then walk to the small, curtained window, you open it letting in freshness and sounds of buzzing city, hearing him mumbling concentrated “thank you” as he reads the case papers with furrowed brows and serious expression which makes his wrinkles more prominent. Being younger than him, you found yourself liking his older look, at the beginning you tried to ignore it but then just gave in.

“You should ask for a more comfortable office,” you throw him, gazing around the place, “After all you are the best here, boss.” He shakes his head with a heavy sigh, not skipping the foggy praise from you.

With odd masochist edge in him, he finds himself liking to be in that office. Sometimes, because of overworking, the walls looked like squeezing around him and every time he flinches, closing eyes for a moment and the walls stand in one place as they always did. Despise that, that little corner of his feels somehow… nice. It feels like that exact office should be his. Some connection to it.

That one case wasn’t hard, but judge wasn’t interested in case, that cocky old man in general never was interested in cases or being fair, and for that girl, bratty but for sure not thief by her own nature, it might cost messed up future and quite some time in jail. Alex meanwhile got too attached. In the beginning the girl was so annoying that he almost couldn’t hold his own temper to himself. Rude phrases and sarcasm dazzled him like a kaleidoscope, and she seemed to have thousands of ways to rile him up. She was blowing smoke into his face, clearly trying to defend her boyfriend that was the guilty one, it was easy to understand considering how many cases he had in his life... Before one day, she finally told the truth, with a remorseful face and pointing table eyes. That bastard set her up pining it all on her. Convenient. Since then, trust found a place to develop between them, and every time concern rises in his chest when he thinks about his fatal role in that young lady’s fate.

Every case that he fucks up, has a long impact on him. Alex can’t allow himself to think about possible failure. Every case that he fucks up, is like committing a crime. Especially when his clients were anything but guilty, and for some irony it’s the most of his clients. It passes but always settles on the bottom of his mind.

“Coffee, boss?” you propose, because it’s obviously your work, not just be pretty and accidentally find the papers on your table that he forgot in the bustle of the day. Though, he would agree to keep you there just as nice company. He thinks you aren’t that bad; your humor entertains him, and a pencil skirt sits nicely on you, quite tight. Alex can’t help but catches himself staring, every time you leave his office after bringing him a cup of caffeine. You always brought a small cookie from cafeteria downstairs on a limpet with a cup. You didn’t leave a chance for him, of course, he started liking you.

He had five cups of americanos today, he couldn’t say he really felt the impact. Alex read one sentence already third time only to let it slip out of his mind again. Stinging in his eyes forces him to shove papers inside of the case file with a heavy

“I might have a heart attack soon or somethin’…” he wearily attempts to joke.

“Does it matter if you die of heart attack or exhaustion?” you shrug, “I can bring you tea, if you worry about your heart,” chuckling, you add, “Though I think it’s too late to worry about it.” That honestly makes him laugh, nothing funny about it, but every joke that leaves your mouth automatically grasps a laugh from him. He can’t quite place it, but you are a charmer.

You have worked as his assistant for a year already. He is alone, and so are you, he assumes. You often stay up late with him. Alex didn’t solve that one riddle yet. Are you that industrious or do you like his company, or do you just have nowhere else to be? So, during that year he still didn’t find the guts to ask you on a date. He mulled over it at night after wearing out days in the law office. Hell on earth. Suffering from insomnia brings a deep thinking with it. You kept his mind occupied in the moments when it wasn’t occupied with clients or finally ending life. A nice refreshment among everything, he must say.

He had poor excuses about it. He forgot, he had no time, you left earlier than he intended, but honestly, he just didn’t know how to go for it and don’t lose cool like a fool.

Also, he had real reasons. The first reason why he still hasn’t invited you to have dinner with him is the fifteen-year gap between you two. People will look strange on both of you in a restaurant. God, people will look strange on you and him everywhere. He simply felt like a dickhead, but that didn’t stop him from being interested in you. Second reason is… Office romance? Very smart of you, Alex.

He isn’t a man for attachments, he had few affairs, but it ended quickly as began, and he can’t say he regrets or miss it. He just works. It might be the thing that sucked off any energy for living from him. Sometimes he thinks about it. Possible family, love of his life… Sounds nice, he just wonders who even needs a grumpy drained old lawyer like him.

“Anyway, I don’t think coffee might work. Seems like I’m immune to it, after all these years.” scoffing, he laughs quietly, which makes you smile. Laugh suits him well, even self-deprecating. If liking a middle-aged man is bizarre, in your defense you could say his laugh is pure endearment.

Alex became a lawyer about thirteen years ago. Goddamn thirteen years. He doesn’t think he really remembers the life before. He doesn’t exactly remember life even now. Cases, cases, cases. He recalls how he studied back in Sheffield, moved out to get more perspective in his career and he did. Now, he has an apartment aloof from downtown, because endless noise makes him sick. All the sounds of people and their activity are ringing in his ears constantly, and if it’ll be loud at home he will lose it. His place is not big, but it’s enough for him. Speaking of Sheffield. He thinks about his parents often too, it’s time to see them or at least call. The thought of them being proud of their lawyer son while he can’t even make a call is like an aching wound that constantly reminds itself. When was the last time he was back at parents’ home? Or just called?

“Go home then. Rest for god’s sake.” you sit on the corner of his wooden table, and his gaze runs over the curve of your hip, black nylons that hug your thighs, unbuttoned at the top white blouse and your hair became a bit disheveled after an entire day of working. He rushes to tear away his eyes not wanting to appear old pervert. You were a delicious sight, but he felt dirty for staring.

“Bed ‘s cold. Lonely. Don’t wan’ to come back.” he mumbles, looking up at you, not fighting the urge to look. His smooth warm voice has a hinting tone literally on the surface, that tiny smile seems angelic bur for sure hides a devil deep down.

Pretty head of yours doesn’t know that he hardly can sleep. But the piece of truth in that. It is cold and lonely in bed. When he doesn’t get any sleep at all, one day slips into another creating infinity and feeling of hopelessness, thoughts that this will never end. His fear of losing sleep fully chases him silently, but he always knows it is behind. Thinking replaces sleep, which honestly makes everything much worse. Alex couldn’t say he is really excited to live, but remains doing it, like many others. Sometimes night is like reaching the lowest point. It’s silent, and in these moments, he knows it’s a grave he made by himself by living so far away from the downtown, he desires at least hear anyone outside, window is always open, but there is barely any sound. He laughed about is few times, what a stupid thing - to want silence and yet don’t want it at the same time - and every time, the way his laugh lonely rings all over space he goes shut immediately. Alex is alone. No one is here. Throbbing thoughts and fears grabbing his legs and arms, and he can’t even fight back. Something that rots can’t fight back, can it?

Anyway. You got the hint.

“Buy a plushie.” you try to appear composed and unbothered by his incredibly obvious hints, and joke without a smile, which is hard, you always laugh even before the joke is told.

He laughs, running his hands over his dog-tired face. If only you knew. Work and sleeplessness pressured him to have more age lines and clear bags under his eyes. Stubble, that became more protruding already, because he had not time to shave. Even the way he wears exhaustion is attractive in a strange way. It makes you want to cradle his head, lull him until he falls asleep and kiss him. Forehead, eyelids, cheeks, jaw, corners of his lips and then finally lips itself.

“You are hilarious.” he shakes his head, trying to hold back a smile, keeping eye contact with you.

You look away, scratching the back of your neck, and scuttle off from his table, smoothing your skirt down.

Not wanting, but mostly just deep down, frightened of that little moment of proximity to grow it into something out of control, you walk away back to corner, where is located your small cozy table filled with different knick-knacks - papers he will need to have soon or later, cup that is left after tea. In comparison to him, you are more a tea person, though, have many cups of tea as he has many cups of coffee.

Your father with a crack, divorced with your mother, then after few years he died. You can’t wrap head around it, old memories of him making your mother suffer still coming back to you, supplying with tormenting old days that disappeared suddenly as came back. Blinded little girl in your soul misses him every day. Eyes get teary when you think of him beating your mom, but they also get teary every time you see random dad with daughter passing on a street. He visits you in dreams, and even through the sleep you know he is dead, often these dreams ended up being horrendous nightmares, but sometimes they were too good to wake up from them.

You never desired to open up. School is a time when faith in people dissolved. People you considered friends suddenly left, when carefree fire in eyes changed with a stuck image of pale corpse of your father in the coffin. Then you grew up and started dating. Guys of your age were like cheap toys for you. The craving to fill the emptiness inside you and around you, is a child that is capricious about getting a trinket that brings quick happiness but loses interest quickly. There was no longing for them, you could miss the feeling of someone nearby, but there was nothing about love.

You gave preference to money and work. Yes, well you tried, but the man you serve coffee every day became too attractive for your gaze. Sometimes you catch a hint of your father in his expression, and then you peer into his figure. Long, without blinking, when Alex doesn’t notice. May it be not your father but the father figure you crave so much? There is no explanation about your attraction to older men, it disgusts you but at the same time it’s what you desire. Some weakness to it that you can’t let go and forget.

That flirtatious theatre play began as innocent off-related to work talk in a free minute that grew to playful banter and blossomed into silent attraction to each other. He always had words between the lines in his script. Long stares, gentle manner of voice, gestures. You didn’t stem it back then, and now grape vine has grown too persistent and entwined both of you to cut it.

Exceptions. That’s what you became to each other. You are humorous, yet calm, in a way of reassuring the reality he lives in, and with tinge of care for him, that deepened into him becoming a need, and he was intelligent, polite and with trace of sarcastic grumpiness, but sheepish grateful smile ever, which no one other showed to you before.

The radio quietly plays some jazz songs. The little music machine plays only when other lawyers leave and only both of you are here. He doesn’t mind the music, if it’s quiet and somewhere distant. If a familiar song on a radio makes you happy for a fleeting time, could he resist? He knows a young soul like you needs a source of dopamine or you will be captured by the void that everyone has at some point in that diabolic torturous place. Alex had no desire to watch you turning into dry human like him with craving to have a bullet shot through his temple. He simply won’t forgive himself.

It's not that bad. Sometimes just a bad patch comes to life, but he can’t quite remember when he had a good one. Nuisance, it is. He has money and a good career, his mother always told him to look at others and not complain, because some people have no legs or arms. Alex never gets it. Is having legs and arms compensate not having desire to live? He would argue.

“I’ll go home in twenty minutes.” soft encouragement for him to go home too. It’s become a sign between both of you already. He silently nods and you are good with that answer.

You sit down at your table opening the magazine to waste time as if waiting for him but not waiting for him. He watches the way you hold the magazine, the way delicate fingers flick pages, the way your leg crossed over another. Your heels sitting on your feet, calling out a distant favorite sound of clicking in his head. Black bra just tiny bit is noticeable through your cheap blouse, it’s lacy, he bets. Every day you made yourself look like it’s the last day on earth, he could say you spend quite some time on your beauty. Effortless in his eyes.

It’s not illegal, he reassures himself, but for sure is sinful.

He looks away for now, tries to get concentrated on a bratty girl case again. He opens the file again, looking through it carefully. There are no thoughts about the case, no thoughts about that robbery. He is on the verge of screaming something like “God damn it, isn’t it obvious that she couldn’t rob anyone?!” Alex closes the file.

Can’t he simply live?

“Love, I’m gettin’ ready to leave,” he announces getting up, putting on his jacket back. He is sick of that place. He is going to ask you on a date, whatever happens. Picking up his coat from the floor hanger and throwing it quickly on his shoulders. Holding a file, to work on it at home, he closes the door in his office, “Hurry, darlin’.” he grumbles as you put away the magazine. He hooks your coat from the hanger holding it open for you to slip in. The gesture breaks a tiny smile on your face as you put on coat with his help. His hand warmly hovers over your lower back leading you out of the law office, closing the door with a satisfying click.

As you both appear outside, the sounds of the city become evident and loud, fresh air catches in the lungs. Cars drive back and forth, pavement damped by rain hours earlier. The city isn’t sleeping even though it’s ten in the evening already. You nestle in the coat with a howling November wind ruffling your hair.

“Don’t mind me havin’ a smoke?” pack of cigarettes already in his hand and his hazel eyes look at you under eyelashes with hope, but he is still gentleman enough to ask if you okay with that. Smoking with him since high school. So long ago, it makes him laugh. Alex started to smoke to look cool, ended up being addicted. It is funny.

“Of course, it’s not like you have enough of habits that kill you.” a sarcastic remark leaves your mouth, playfully dismissing him with a wave of your hand.

He nods, chuckling, and places a cig in his mouth, familiarly inhaling and lighting it at the same time with an old shabby metallic Zippo lighter. Smoke blows from a cig as he takes a drag of it with spreading relief in his chest, looking himself as if he’s breathing finally. You don’t mean to stare, it’s just smoking after all, but mix of drain, cigarette and him, is an arousing mix.

You both stand in silence, not looking at each other, expecting things to be said.

“I probably should go- ”

“Want to have a dinner with me?” he interrupts.

You both look at each other, slightly awkward. The question that has been avoided for months was finally said out loud. Silence lingers between you both, and the only sound here is driving cars and the whisper of leaves on the trees.

“It’s kind of late.” you look up to the dark clouded sky as if prove him that it is late and empathize the point, but no way it will stop him. Not today.

“I didn’t eat. Didn’t notice ya eat during the day too.” he licks his lips nervously, keeping the cool facade. His eyes penetrating in your skin and between every bone, as if keeping you with gaze on one place. No way he will let you escape.

You have some unexplainable feeling of wrongness about connection with him. Accepting the fact that you are about to get into something with a man much older than you, with obvious gawking thoughts of finding concrete attention from him felt disgusting. You could use anyone for your urges, but not him.

“Jus’ say no, if you don’t want to. Don’t torture poor man.” he jokes with a short, yet sonorous laugh, trying to lighten the mood, but the last thing he wants to hear is “no”. He takes another drag of cigarette to gain confidence and compose. It’s just a woman after all; he says to himself. He pats the cig with a finger, forcing ash to fall and melt into air.

You keep your eyes down, shifting uneasily. Nervous chuckle all you can manage out of yourself. Lump forms in your throat, your body tightens. Doing something that you aren’t sure of at all, always scares, and you never were good at risking. Will he take a chance to impact on your decisions in the shadow? Will he use you? Will you let him use you?

Alex could see your conflicted expression, wanted to reassure you that this dinner shouldn’t mean anything, which would be total bullshit. Not quick answer makes him doubt if he did the right thing by asking you. Deep down, he was sure you would answer immediately, he saw you were interested. Or was he mistaken? Was he blinded by lack of long attachment and thirst for love? Was he fooled by you?

“Okay,” almost exclaimed you, tad too loud, shrugging as if it’s no big deal, trying to look calm to the bones. Lump is disappearing, replacing with tremble in your hands afterwards, like a shockwave punctured you, “Any ideas where to eat?” It feels like a fever, temperature seems to rise and your cheeks flourish with red color, ribs squeezing lungs cutting into them. You have no idea what you are doing, you just did what you did, and now you can’t turn back.

You look forced, he could say, you aren’t sure what you are doing, that is clear. His eyes narrowed, still piercing you through. For a second, he considers giving you more time to think, but greedy animal in him already digs into you with its claws, refusing to let go.

“There’s place ‘round the corner. You will like it.” the answer comes out too fast. Offering an arm, you silently accept it. It felt like a secret, not a nasty one but the one you hide well, with no desire for anyone else to find out. You breathed out, and he noticed it, letting the relief spread over his body. It’s not that scary now, you caught yourself thinking. His body against you brought up immediate comfort and calmness, like nothing bad couldn’t even happen.

Alex leads you to the one quiet spot that he thought about for a long time already. He hasn’t been to this place in a while, but he always is welcomed here. He and the owner are on good terms, smoking sometimes after he has a meal there. Nice old man with cough that heard in the whole neighborhood, Alex always pats his back before farewell, every time hoping to meet again with him before old man passes away. Its place has live music in the evenings, so he believed you’d appreciate it. The desire to impress you was fighting with the thoughts that he is already at the autumn of his life, which is a bit dramatic.

At the doors of the restaurant, he courteously opened the door letting you in. No way back. Let’s see how that is going to be, the same thought races through both of your heads.

The place has a warm and inviting atmosphere, the light is dim, people chattering and it seems to be like a separate world from gloomy cold streets outside. Wine aroma spread in the air, lampshades with fringe making it look old-fashioned in a good sense of it, bunch of musicians playing all-favorite public music on a small cozy stage. Wooden panels garlanded with vintage posters, small candles are glowing on every table, and if a restaurant could have a vivid soul, it would be that one.

That sight makes you above the clouds, you struggle to explain it, but you turn to glance at him and he shyly grins seeing your satisfied expression, hiding his own gaze down. There’s no trace of uncertainty now, not even a little thought about it. Waitress leads you to the table, not too far away from musicians and too close to them, placing the menus on a table, she disappears. Gallantly helping you to take off your coat and taking out a chair for you, before slipping out of his own coat and sitting down too, carelessly throwing robbery case on his side of table.

“Okay, boss, I like it, I’ll give you that.” chuckling, you still look around with a wide smile not be able to help yourself but be excited. Your gaze held by musicians doing their thing.

“Jus’ Alex,” he nods with a light proudness on his face, “Glad you like it.” You could swear his voice would taste like milk with honey, warm and soothing. You nod at his request, feeling the invisible space between you two disappears with a riveting transience. He always perks up at “boss”, it is noticeable, his gaze changes to a lost and aroused one. That label does sound good from your mouth, but he is sure his name will sound much more satisfying.

Both of you looking through the menu for some time considering what to order and what to drink, and after few minutes waitress is taking your order writing down the bottle of red wine and pasta for both of you.

“So,” you can’t contain your curiosity, glancing on a file with case, begin you, “That arrogant girl. You mentioned she was hard to handle during your discussions with her.”  Alex frowned. The way you called her is partly true, yet cuts his ears and dimly hurts his heart, the care that grew for the young girl fuels in his soul, like it’s his own daughter. He blocks any thoughts about it, he gets too sentimental, it’s simply unprofessional.

“Darlin’, I’m sick tired of work,” he sighs brushing away the topic as an annoying flying bug, running fingers through his shaggy hair, only to let them fall on his forehead again, “And I can’t tell you anything. Just ‘cause you are charmin’ doesn’t mean you will know details of a case.” he simpered, but after all it’s just attorney-client privilege.

Waitress brings two crystal clear glasses, pulling out cork from a bottle with a pop sound, pouring fragrant burgundy liquid for each of you, retiring away.

You pout lip, and he smirks, shaking his head.

Rolling your eyes with a tinge of playfulness, you continue, “I thought we are friends.”

“We are boss and assistant.” he lets out a low chuckle. He plays a fool now. Seriously?

“Yeah, that’s why we are having a dinner in a cozy place like that.” you say satirically, taking a sip of wine, keeping eye contact with him over the edge of the glass. That remark sprung up from earlier anxiety. Your awareness of his attraction to you, made you feel a step ahead of him, even if it was unfair to him.

Alex clears his throat, tensed by your remark. Something felt bitter about it, even if it was just teasing from your side. Doubts fill him once again.

Musicians in the background continue pouring the music out of their instruments creating the bubble of movie-like energy in that place. It’s not a stadium level, nothing special, not at all, but it what exactly made their playing so delightful. Simple and nice.

“Do you feel ashamed for liking me?” question you, and he scoffs, his palm nervously runs over his rough stubble. “I mean, everything is on the surface there-”

“It’s not about… shame.” he rushes to answer, exhaling, “It’s ‘bout morality.”

Alex’s lips pressed into thin line, and brows furrowed a bit. Does he feel ashamed? Not really. Conflicted? Yes, it’s about to make him go off his rocker and do something he might regret at the end.

“We are not in the court, Alex.” first time you use his name, and you see the slight hitch in his breath as with the “boss”. Oh, these genius remarks of yours. He can’t contain a chuckle.

“Did I say you are hilarious?” he says with fatigued middle-aged man smile, clearly suppressing the topic again. He isn’t a fool, you could try to play as if you are in control there, but, honestly, both of you are blind on this path.

“You watch my behavior later after we finish bottle of wine.” you let out mischievous giggle, agreeing silently and leaving the topic, glancing at the musicians once again. They kept you mesmerized.

The pinch of tenseness between you two disappeared, letting the evening continue. You both ate and drank, he laughed, and you watched him with a smile. Everything felt right. The talk poured between you, and neither of you could stop because it’s too good to stop, like reaching paradise from the deepest bottom of hell. That’s what he wanted. Be casual with you, interactions in the office were good but not fulfilling. He worships expressions you share with him tonight.

Wine. Your behavior did become… frank.

The rest of the dinner went quite nicely before you became too talkative, attempting to sing every song that played. He honestly was caught out of guard. When you both left restaurant you scarcely could walk with your own feet, stumbling out of the blue and laughing noisily, riveting the eyes of others. Your laugh was so loud that it started ringing in his ears, peaking him to annoyance. Alex convinced to catch a taxi for you and take you home. If he knew you were a lightweight to that extent, he wouldn’t order wine and wouldn’t let you drink half of the bottle by yourself.

Both of you sat in the back seat of the taxi as the driver was making his way to your apartment building. You leaned on him sleepily rambling balderdash about random things while he kept your head safely on his shoulder. Skirt on your thighs lifted as you sat, which became a constant place to stare during ride.

He will lead you to the apartment and it’s enough.

“Alex… C’mon…” tugging him inside of your apartment, you giggle, “How is it usually? Just a cup of a coffee.” you stumble again, reassuring him that he is there just for a few minutes. He securely catches you without hesitation, wrapping his arms around to stable you. Little smirk unconsciously pulls out on his lips, you were adorable to watch. Your intoxicated demeanor is quite in contrast to the way you usually carry yourself.

His feet already stepped over frame of the front door, defeatedly sighing. You do your best to walk to the kitchen straight but lean on the wall on the way. A click, which awakens kettle from sleeping and demands to boil water, spreads through the silent apartment. There he is, in your apartment. Alex looks around, awkward to be there, like he is out of place.

Closing and locking the front door, he takes off his coat and costume jacket, setting them on the little couch near front door placing case file over it, keeping his eyes on it for a few seconds, watching if it falls. When it’s not, he kicks off his boots.

It is nice to get to know someone closer after long time of being lonesome man. He does his best to be meticulous, to catch every possible detail that could spark a future talk between you two, just in case. Your apartment is a mess here and there, but he enjoys seeing that side of you, pile of clothes lies on the back of the couch, few plants seem to be dry, nearing extinction. Just like he imagined. A glimpse of your bedroom shows him not entirely made bed. He thinks you have enough time to clean the apartment but concludes with a thought that you have no motivation to do it. You are alone there after all.

“Maybe better tea? I bought pack of coffee last week but…” your words fading away as he leans on the doorway frame before kitchen. Your figure fidgets with a cupboard, fumbling with boxes of coffee and tea. Creases on your skirt that appeared from lots of sitting in the office. He stares. The itching feeling to lie hands on your alluring curve of hips soaks into skin of his palms.

“Boss?” formal name slips off from your mouth, you turn to face him to get his attention, “Tea? Coffee?” you step closer to him with glittering sparks of playfulness in your eyes, “Or a dance? How my grandfather used to tell.” Charming drunken laugh pours from your pretty lips.

Alex can take his eyes from you, smile crawls on his face on its own. You carried some simple pleasure in his life. Right now, he doesn’t feel the usual constant heaviness on his shoulders or lack of normal 8-hour sleep, that is so evident in his fatigued eyelids. Everything you do makes him grin and chuckle. You are so easy to enjoy, in a life where nothing is easy.

“Do we need a coffee?”  his voice is gravelly rough after a long silence from his side. Tie loosened, revealing a sight of his collarbones merging into the curve of his deliciously strong neck.

You make out a silly smile looking down at your own feet and shaking head. You know what is about to happen. Control of the situation failed with a crash. Alex and you, alone in your apartment, it’s late, and you are hammered.

His two fingers lightly make a touch with your chin forcing your head to lift, leaving nothing for you but to look up with pliable and innocent gaze and a silent demand to do something. His chocolate eyes run over moles that adorn the skin of your face, the way night luminary from the window kisses mellowly your face. There’s a trace of reddish lipstick on your slightly opened lips that stuck to them even after dinner. Your jawline is leaking in between his calloused fingers as he slowly with a tiny hesitation and searching eyes leans in to capture your lips.

Alex doesn’t rush, he has everything he needs right there. His lips move slowly, tasting you for the first time, not letting passion to breach the dam. It would be such a loss to ruin kiss with hurried temp. You are giving in the kiss entirely, letting go any concerns. He doesn’t need to wait for your mouth to open, his tongue slips inside, without any cease from you. His palm brushes in your soft strands, with tender thoroughness, cradling the back of your head. Other arm snakes around your waist pulling you in the radius of his body warmth.

You expected to experience the wave of pure desire and passion, but you feel quite different from it. The strange feeling of safeness and prominent absence of judgment washes over you. His arms feel like the safest place in the world, that you would be quite capricious to leave later. You wish later never come.

His thumb hooks the elastic of your skirt delicately, while breath sweeps over sensitive curve of your neck, urging goosebumps creeping in the skin.

“Let me take care of you.” the way he says it leaves no choice for you but melt like a cubic of ice in his hands.

Alex presses your back against the surface of a table cupping your full curve of ass. His disused stubble scratches the skin of your neck from up to down. His lips trail between your collarbones downwards, slowly unbuttoning your blouse, revealing the same black bra adorned with lace and very appealing neat bow. Exactly what he could catch a glance of in the office. He will be a mess at the end of that little rendezvous, he believes.

His other hand halfway of lifting your skirt. “Can I?” he whispers, and you nod, not trusting yourself murmur at least one word, knowing any sound from you will be too exposed. You sneak your arm around his neck.

Nylons stretched on your thighs, light pink panties appear underneath as he moves skirt higher, and he can’t hold back a lighthearted chuckle. You feel embarrassment crosses your face about that incongruity between black bra and pink panties. His fingertip slides over your pubic bone through the fabric.

“Cute,” he nods thoughtfully couple of times with zoned out for a moment expression, “I’ll take these off too.” Referring to your nylons he tugs him down to your knees, and with no break, he does the same to your undergarment, not asking this time. He takes a few seconds just to observe, panties are hanging now on your thighs, blouse unbuttoned. Yes, that’s how he prefers you to look.

His finger slips carefully between your folds, not any further just so you can feel the touch. You grip the back of his neck, noticing how hot and sticky became his skin. First one finger finally slides inside, you feel the stretch while he feels the merciless pressure of your walls, so tight for him. You groan shamelessly with nothing else left. Soon, the unknown yet, form of his second finger slips inside of your feminine heat, you hum closing eyes as sweet exhale escapes you, like crisping sound after opening champagne. His other hand can’t stop from palming, your peeking underneath unbuttoned blouse, swell of breast.

Alex follows your every reaction with deep brown eyes and searching gaze of his, being tender with you, for now. He prefers soft in the beginning and raw in the end. Even slow rhythm urges your legs to start bending. Edge of the table cuts into your skin forcing satisfaction and slight pain to play in contrast with each other. Dizziness from the alcohol and intimacy melts together, you try to shake off fogginess that surrounds your eyes by tilting your head back for a quick moment. His coarse hand nudges your neck to keep your head up straight, his face shows mild concern.

“Okay ‘here?” his palm slips to your cheek brushing thumb over your cheekbone, after your head lifted, you look at him with drunk eyes, from both sensations and alcohol.

“Yeah, yeah. Good.” you shake your head negatively with tiny reassuring smile, wrapping arms around his neck tighter, giving in his caresses.

Your frame desperately presses to his, letting out torturous noises pleading for more, as he curls fingers inside of you, waiting few seconds before pulling fingers out, all wetted by you, wiping them against trousers with slight negligence. He doesn’t want you to be undone before the main part started. Standing to him close like that, you can almost hear his rapid heartbeat and anticipation penetrating his body.

Confusion crosses your face by his decision to empty you, but sight of him unbuckling belt sets your thoughts on the right course. While he fidgets with his trousers you unfold him from his office attire. Yanking his tie on yourself, you see his smirking expression still looking down controlling what his hands are doing. He almost dealt with his part, and you are catching up with him undoing his tie with close to tearing motions, throwing it somewhere to the side of forgotten kettle. Your fingers tangling in each other in an attempt to unfasten the buttons, which makes you huff in annoyance.

“Where do you rush that bad?” he sneers gently, preventing your desperate for him, hands, just doing your job himself and unbuttoning his shirt gradually. Your eyes observe his body, little patch of hair on his chest and a bit of a dad bod makes you giggle in your own head, “Get on a table.” He simply but firmly says without any impish undertone, which sounds in different way even more passionate, almost like an order, and you conform.

That firm voice reminded you of his confident voice on one of the court sessions. One day you were walking from the cafeteria holding a cup of tea, not rushing, you passed the door that led to a courtroom. It had a window, and you managed to see him for the first time during work. Alex carried himself confidently, holding his head high. Closed door couldn’t keep the eloquence and thrill his voice was filled with. He was fully engrossed in the process as he talked, pacing back and forth, but slowly and assured, like a predator in its own habitat. That sight forced you to freeze and look. Accidentally tilted cup of tea, which made few droplets fall on your skirt, liberated you from your charm by him, ushering you back to office.

Hoping on a table, you lean on it with elbows, your blouse is disheveled, unbuttoned in area of chest, skirt meanwhile doesn’t cover anything. Alex sees everything, what he wanted to see, since you just started to work with him. Not wasting any time, he settles himself between your legs. He is hard and strained, not having trousers on, only grey boxers cover it, and they don’t cover much. Form-fitting fabric shows off his manhood in a way of clinging to the right places.

“Ready?” he decides to get sure before anything happens.

“Yes.” your voice sounds much different from your sarcastic and confident now. You are vulnerable, on a table with all ins and outs. Even if he is older, and you tried to close some father gestalt - nothing already felt wrong about it.

Pulling out his length he hisses through the teeth quietly feeling the protruding pulsing ache all over it. He makes few strokes with palm around himself fueling thirst more. Your gaze trails his every move, how his hand curls knowingly around his cock. Spreading your legs, still attentive Alex stops just for a second to take a breath, and then he slips inside of you with something for sure more enjoyable than just fingers, only few seconds after you hear your own overpowering hum that smooths into whimper that left your lips.

“Goddamn…” he curses grunting, sprawling your leg more, closing eyes for a millisecond, to enjoy the boiling warm inside of you. His breathing is heavy and with a tad of rasp. Alex can’t hold back the first thrust, relieving all desire he collected for you these months, his head throws back, trying to sweep some hair away from the sweaty forehead.

Alex carves his hips into you, deep but slow and steady. He finally gets to feel the shape inside of you. Your eyes settling over how his shaft disappears in your cunt, and you lose yourself in a quiet moan that scatters around the kitchen like pearl beads. His motions become rougher and rougher with every second, losing any left piece of gentleness. Table, sways back and forth following his movements, letting out suffering creaks and squeaks. Heavy and thick breaths filling the room just exactly as sloppy sounds.

Your elbows get close to numbing holding your body, and you just lie on a cold surface of a table receiving his cock in yourself, with a groan, hoarse and dry, inside of your throat. Even when you don’t let out any sounds, your mouth is gapped, concentrated on the sensation of his tip reaching the blunt end of you, filling you absolutely.

“We jus’ began.” lightheaded chuckle leaves his lips, and as if to emphasize his words he thrusts himself into you with even less restrained impulse, “No, love, that won’t do.” Shaking his head displeasingly, he wraps his arms underneath you, lifting your lying body in the half sitting position, closely to him. Feeling even minor change of his length deep inside, urges you make a sharp intake with your mouth and hold a breath for a moment, not letting any air in the lungs.

Fixing your position, he wraps his arms around your sultry frame bending his head back catching for breath with pent up gasps. Your legs wrap around his, nice-looking taut almost sculptured hips, evenly pushing him inside of you, creating the most pleasurable rhythm for both of you. Caging around his neck, your arms, taking him in the imprisonment of seduction.

“Oh, yeah, this ‘s good.” Alex croaks, gripping your thigh leaving reddish imprints on skin. He holds your body in his arm, pressing you tightly to him. All you can do is furiously clench him with all you have, begging in your head for him not to stop.

His hand roughly, not caring about tenderness anymore lifts your bra to open your chest for his grabbing, making you gasp in surprise. He groups your breast, massages it, squeezes it, and then pinches the hardened nipple, playing with it with his thumb. That brings you to whine and grip the table, your peak is close enough to be reached with something simple as touching your chest.

“Close?” he barely can make out anything, speeded up breath is an obstacle for proper speaking.

“God, very!” quite impatiently and on edge, with zero of compose, you beg.

Alex nods. He got it. His own cock is twitching and seems to swell up even more, if it’s possible. Movements became uncoordinated and mostly just frantic bouncing into you, searching for release. His grunts, that he tried to hold back, became honest moans, and your legs are keeping his body in close raging vicinity. A musky scent filled the kitchen, turning arousing atmosphere to the fullest.

With loud moans from both of you, he quickly pulls out, helping himself spill all over your thighs. His cum leaks over you as your legs falling from his hips, with no energy after your own orgasm. Alex catches one of them to drop a feather kiss on your knee as praise. Heavy breathing fills the room as he leans on the dining table struggling to regain energy, table legs creaked one last time under his weight. Your gazes connected with each other, while you both catch breath to finally speak.

“Table handled it.” thick accent with the inherent him roughness, makes him sound very appealing. You chuckle lying on the surface taking a full breath with your chest, your hands fall over with satisfying tiredness on your stomach. Shaking your head as if not believing what just happened. Old table creaked again, under your shifting, as if with grievance and room filled with you both laughing over something silly like that.

After a proper quiet shower that brought out his tender side again, your bodies, enveloped in sweet weariness, landed in bed. Life gave you the opportunity to lull him just like you wanted and imagined, with kisses, cradlings and caresses of his head. He doesn’t mind. Alex has no idea when someone last time actually cared about him. You were watching him in the sleep for some time – he dozed off first, and it’s not surprising. His face tucked in your comforting warm chest, as if you are offering a place to hide from suffering, a place that he craved to find so much deep down. When you get sure that he is asleep, you pull sheets over his shoulders, providing him with a sense of safety. Cradling him in your arms, your eyes closing, leaving only a reigning silence in your apartment.

a/n: everything began when i saw “…and justice for all” with al pacino, i feel like idea was great in my head but then at some point i ruined it… i checked it through so many times that i started hate it. it's the longest thing i wrote for now and i hope it's bearable, haha. i think there will be a long break after this one, because my college takes a lot of energy and time. not sure if there will be anything else with lawyer alex, so far it is just a one shot.

[junedenim]

what it takes to say goodnight

just him & his girls

warnings: dad!alex, fluff, smut, piv, fingering, mild breeding kink, & so on...

word count: 4.4k

He nearly trips over the cat when he walks in. He mutters curse words to himself before picking Pepper—the cat—up before it runs out the front door. Pepper has always been a calm kitty and she takes well in Alex's arms, though they are full and he struggles through the door before he can finally put everything, including Pepper, down on the floor. She tangles in his legs before running off back into the house.

Alex closes the front door roughly causing one of the magnets that holds a picture of the girls up to fall on the floor loud enough to alert the other residents of the house that he is home.

"Sounds like someone's home," he hears you announce followed by the sudden noise of pattering feet.

He rounds the corner, greeted by two blurs rushing him like linebackers. As always, Willow is quick to talk her mouth going a mile a minute, shouting, "Come look what I made today! Pick me up, daddy, pick me up! Come on!" He can't even keep track of what she is saying most of the time, her mouth going a mile a minute.

Contrasting her twin sister, Wren, his quiet little girl, tugs on his pant leg to get his attention. They've always been this way, even when you were pregnant with them. Willow would kick away and Wren would suck her thumb. Wren speaks when spoken to, preferring to perform motions to express her opinions. Unless it's vegetables, then she cries and yells, "Yuck!"

To combat both girls' interests, he bends down and picks them both up. They are just on the edge of being too heavy for Alex to pick both up at once. But maybe he'll wait until the next birthday to stop doing this. Wren curls into him while Willow hangs off his neck still yapping, "I want mac & cheese for dinner. Mummy said we can so you have to let us. Wen wants it too. Say it, Wen." Willow has always called Wren "Wen." It's adorable and Alex and you can't bear to ever correct it.

Alex turns to Wren, nudging her with a bounce to show her some attention and get her answer. "I want mac & cheese," she says robotically as if Willow trained her to say it.

"Really?" Alex questions. He looks toward you, sitting on the living room rug and watching this exchange. You share a silent laugh with him. You're calm, and he never understands how you managed to hold that through the whole day with the girls. He loves them like nothing else ever but, man, do they tire him out.

"Swear," Willow answers for Wren. "Mummy also said you'd play dolls with us."

You laugh out loud. "I never said that, Will."

Willow thinks otherwise. "Well, maybe you could anyway."

Alex laughs. "We'll see." He feels a strain in his back and decides it's time to put the girls down. Will goes off running back to her toys but Wren hangs on, unable to let go of the comfort. "C'mon Wren. At least let me take my shoes off."

"But you'll come back?" She's completely wide-eyed and worried. Whenever she's in need of reassurance, Alex fears it's his fault. That he went on tour when they were too young and ever since Alex is certain he has caused them abandonment issues. 

He told you this once, late at night, after Wren had cried for him to not leave her alone in her room. He stayed with her until she fell asleep and would have fallen asleep beside her if you hadn't come to collect him. Under the covers, he told you this fear and regret, at first, you laughed, insisting Wren was just clingy. Alex chose to believe you if only to fall asleep that night.  

Sometime after midnight, Wren came into yours and Alex's bedroom, tugging on Alex's hand making sure that he was still there, still breathing, still real. Her little whimpers woke you up. Alex hugged Wren to his chest and you ran a hand down the sensitive girl's back. She kept saying, "You were gone. You left." You tried your best to minimize Alex's worries but he felt this fear to be true and a hidden part of him thinks you blame him too.

Alex kisses Wren's plump baby cheek, placing her tiny feet on the wooden floor. "Always," he assured her. She toddles cautiously back to the toys to join her sister.

But then there's one more girl he has to take care of. "Are you going to make me mac & cheese?" You ask, approaching him, and slinging your arms around his neck. His hand finds its rightful place on the small of your back, the one where you always feel an ache when his hand isn't there.

He pulls you closer to him, pressing her body up against his, your faces so close, your noses just barely not touching. "I'll make you whatever you want." His lips pucker expectantly, waiting for yours to collide with them.

"Anything?" You raise an eyebrow.

He relaxes his lips and quirks a smile. "Yeah, I can make you the unicorn-shaped mac & cheese."

"Wow," you laugh, "you really are my prince charming."

He puckers his lips again. "Hurry up and kiss me, would you?" You give in because he's so cute talking about mac and cheese and there's a flutter in his eyes that you can tell means he had a long day so you won't put up much of a fight, especially when he kisses you just right.

You pull away and ask, "Long day?"

Alex shrugs. "I'm where I want to be now. How was it here?" He runs his hand up and down your right arm.

You sigh as you begin to feel the weight of the day"Good. No fights. Wren didn't nap."

Alex throws his head back. "Don't tell me that." 

That fear ticks away inside him but you grab his hand and squeeze it. "It's not because of you. It allowed me to have Wren & me time considering she's a daddy's girl and Will's constant desire to be the center of attention, but don't tell her I told you that."

He chuckles. "Your secret's safe with me."

"Now come on with the mac & cheese!"

Later, when he's cooking dinner, Wren clings to his leg. Will is singing loudly in the living room and he can hear you clapping along with her. 

"Mac & cheese?" Wren asks him.

"Almost done," Alex promises, picking her up by the straps of her overalls and depositing her onto the counter. "Would you do today? Did you have fun with mummy and Will?"

Wren simply nods with a smile, which is a good sign, no frowns in sight.

But she tugs away at his heart, making grabby hands for him. She's always been clingy, enjoying the feeling of being held, but he can't help but feel that she's spent the whole day missing him, not able to have any fun. 

"Do you maybe want to come to work with me tomorrow, honey?" He knows he should ask you about this and Willow will have to come along or she'll throw a temper tantrum but sometimes he thinks Wren needs a little extra love. She doesn't shout for attention in the manner Willow does. Sometimes she needs to be noticed and needs to feel special.

Then, Wren starts doing that happy gurgle-laugh thing. She swings her legs, tiny socked feet hitting the utensil drawer. She nods quickly, completely excited. "I'll have to talk with mummy about it but you and me will do something special. That sound nice?"

"Yeah!" She squeals and claps her hands. 

Her excitement rubs off on Alex, giving him something to smile about. He nuzzles his nose with hers. He can't get over how precious she is. "Yeah," he repeats, completely content. In moments like this, he doesn't feel like he's completely failed as a parent.

Willow comes walking in, patting her stomach, asking, "Is the mac & cheese ready? I'm 'ungry."

*

Putting the twins to bed can either be the easiest part of the day or the hardest. Wren nearly passes out in the bathtub, running on limited sleep. Willow refuses to stay in bed. When you leave the room, she pops out of bed and starts playing with her toys in the dark. 

Alex goes in to kiss her goodnight after he lays Wren down and finds her bouncing on her bed. She stalls at the sight of Alex, clear that she has been caught out. "Bedtime, missy," he tells her.

She giggles but plops down on her butt. "I'm not tired," she states like there is simply no argument to be made.

Alex sighs and sits on the edge of her tiny bed. "But I'm tired."

"You can go to bed. That's okay, daddy." She touches his arm like she's reassuring him she'll be fine.

Alex huffs a laugh into his hand. He doesn't want Will to get excited that she's making her dad laugh. "I can't go to bed unless you go to bed. It's the rules."

She closes her eyes and flops down on the bed dramatically, pushing the air loudly out of her pillow. "Fine." She seems like she's making an attempt, but then she opens her eyes wide and demands, "Story first."

He knows you probably read her two stories already and he shouldn't give in but you're in the shower and he'll be waiting all alone in bed for you so why shouldn't he kill some time with one of his girls? "One."

She claps her little kiddie hands. "You can pick," she says like she's doing him a favour.

And she kind of is because if he has to read Goldilocks again, he might lose it. "Rumplestiltskin it is." He's always liked it and he knows Will likes the straw turning into gold part. 

He picks up the book of the collected Brothers Grimm fairy tales. Part of him can never deny reading the girls (including you) a story. You all do the same thing: cuddle up beside him, lay your head on his arm, point at the pictures, and say a comment on every sentence if only to make reading time just a bit longer. Will curls his fingers around his forearm and falls asleep halfway through the story but he finishes it anyway. Partly because he knows if Will is pretending to be asleep and he doesn't finish the whole thing she'll insist he has to read her another one. (The other part because he loves the story).

You've just exited the bathroom with wet hair and a towel wrapped around you when Alex enters your bedroom. "Everyone went to sleep alright?" You're going through the drawers, looking for pajamas.

"Yeah. Will had me read her another story but she conked out quick."

You smirk. "Will had you read another story or you wanted to read another story?"

He rolls his eyes at you mocking him before admitting, "Both."

You laugh at him, your sweet boy. The house can feel overrun with girls sometimes, even the cat is a girl, but Alex never seems to mind. He likes all the girlish things the girls like. Tea parties and dress-up, although, he did get noticeably a little more excited when the girls started kicking around a football. But then Alex just said, "Girls are better at football anyway." 

He's better at tea parties than football anyway. He doesn't even try to pretend to lose to the girls when they play 2 v. 1 with him. They are sneaky and tiny and like Pepper does, they wrap around and slide through his legs to kick into his goal. Meanwhile, he thrives at the tea parties, drinking whatever concoction the girls make, even if it tastes like plastic. You always pretend to sip but Alex is the real deal. Always has been.

"Did you miss me while I was gone?" He asks, leaning against the wall, trying to tempt you.

You smile, dropping the towel, leaving you naked in his view for five seconds before you toss a T-shirt over your head. "No, not really."

The T-shirt is red and he's like a bull as he charges toward you, picks you up, and lands both of you on the bed. You're giggling affectionately into the kiss and it's completely loved-up and lovely and you both love that but Alex and you clearly want more. You push him up, off of your lips. "Shut the door."

Sex with the kids can be challenging. Before you did it every time, every surface you could find. Now, you mostly do it at night, rarely in the morning because the girls are always up early. You can't do it every night. Sometimes you can tell the girls didn't fall asleep or you're tired or Alex passed out while you were in the shower. 

Despite the scheduling-sounding nature of things, sex still seems spontaneous. Like a random gust of wind felt upon the skin. Alex always makes things exciting and after doing it more times than you can count, it never bores. The predictability of it is what makes it so charged, so romantic, so sexual, so loving. You can tell by the thrust of his hips whether he's close or not. He can tell by the furrow of your brow whether he's hitting that spot in you or not. It has always felt right.

He's fast in his steps, locking the door, and pretty much launching himself back onto the bed. He covers you, completely all over you, kissing you, feeling you up. He reaches under your shirt, pushing it up to expose your boobs, but not taking it off. He grabs them, a fistful at first, then just the nipple. He kisses down your neck, over the collection of your shirt's fabric, onto the skin of your boobs, and then the areola, licking over the wrinkles of it before meeting the erected nipple.

There are times when you do devote time to foreplay. Alex loves it. You love it. Both ways. You both have always been reciprocal naturally. You never need to ask the other for more. In fact, more often you ask for less. Like...

"This feels really nice," you tell him, "but I'm tired and I know you're tired so just fuck me, okay?"

"Okay," he agrees, breathing heavily already. He stands to take his clothes off. You don't bother shedding the top. He can fondle your boobs just fine with it still on and it provides an emergency cover if one of the girls walks in.

Alex lays back on you intently, kissing you harshly. You reach down to hold his cock, pumping him a few times before his hand takes over and slides into you. The idea of it is quick but the pace is rocking, not fast, not slow, just right. You furrow your brows and arch up into him. He reaches into the space underneath the arch and holds you, completely skin-to-skin. He lays kisses on your neck in no particular pattern like he isn't even trying to turn you on more, he just wants to do it. 

You grip the back of his head's hair, clumps in your compressed grasp. "More," you urge, needing just a little more to tip over.

His mouth moves next to your ear, whispering, "Want me to fuck another baby into you?"

It makes you snort a laugh right in the middle of sex. You have to physically stop his hips from moving as you collect your breath. "What? Another set of twins?"

"Yeah. With my super sperm." He's jokingly bragged about that with you since you found out you were having twins. You corrected him and said it was your eggs that made the twins since they're fraternal. He said, "No, it was a really good load, I remember." It's always made you laugh.

"Twin boys now?" You ask.

He shrugs. "Or more girls? I don't mind."

Everything about him is calm, but there is sincerity in all of it. "Are we seriously talking about more kids while you're inside me?"

Alex makes small movements inside you. "Yeah, come on." He leans closer and closer to you. "We make cute kids. The girls are older. I know you want it."

You place your hands on his shoulders. "Right now I just want you so can we do that part before the 9-month part?"

He nods. "Cart before the horse."

You laugh and tug him down into your shoulder. You whisper into his ear as his hips begin to move harder and harder, "Fuck a baby into me."

Alex chuckles and kisses your jugular. He quickens, both of you feeling an ache for release conjuring inside you. He moves harder and pulls your hips to him. He's doing all the work, but he doesn't mind, he likes doing this for you, likes being good for you. That's all he wants to do.

"That feel good?" He has asked this almost every time you've had sex like, no matter what, even after doing this for years, he wants to make sure it's as good as the last time.

You hum in the affirmative, feeling too overwhelmed to talk clearly. Your grip around his neck tightens as you drag him closer down to you. He keeps thrusting into you hard, skin hitting skin sounding across the room. 

"So fucking tight," he groans into your ear. 

His pace is quick, erratic, and eager. His breath is heavy and filled with soft grunts. His hands are rough, squeezing on your hips. You know he's holding on for you but you want him to enjoy it too. It doesn't always have to be about you. "Let go," you tell him. 

But he's hot for it, not rejecting your request like you thought he would. "You want it?" He asks.

You nod, fluttering eyes.

"Tell me," he says, pounding deep.

You scrap your nails down his back soothingly. "I want it. Deep in me." He hums, requesting more without saying it. "Fill me up with your cum. Please."

Maybe it's your words, maybe it's how close he was, or maybe it's both, but he cums instantly after, deep inside you, filling you up. He groans and pants into your neck. He rests inside you, holding everything in, while he catches his breath. You comb your fingers through his hair, calming him.

He raises his head so he's looking down on you. "You okay?"

You softly smile, exhaustion hovering over you. "Yeah."

"You don't cum," he comments.

You shrug. "I got what I wanted."

Alex grunts. "God, you're gonna make me cum again."

You push him up, making him hiss at the sensitivity. "Don't," you command.

He pulls out slowly and before you can even say anything, he's got his fingers inside you, keeping all that cum in, making a mess on his finger. It takes you off guard, making you moan instantly. He's quick with everything, knowing you want to go to bed, hoping to release the tension and ease you into relaxation.

His two fingers shove in and out of you rapidly. He curls them just in the right spot, making you moan, "Fuck." His thumb grazes over your clit, just like how he knows to do it. It's messy, the whole thing is a mess, but it feels like the hottest thing ever, and soon your hips are unable to stay still and you're coming.

It's your turn to catch your breath and he's licking your shared cum off his hands. He makes a face. "I don't think I've ever tasted my own cum."

You reach out and grab his hand, taking the still-dirty finger into your mouth, and licking it clean. "You've made me taste both before."

He kisses your lips before getting off the bed to grab tissues. "Don't act like it was against your will. I recall you liking it."

You sigh, sitting up and fixing your shirt. "We're gonna have to change the sheets."

Alex hands you a few tissues and says, "I'll do it. You clean yourself up." You'll always accept him doing all the work.

*

It’s three in the morning when a tiny hand shakes Alex awake, and he opens his eyes to find Wren there holding her stuffed teddy bear against her chest, cheeks wet from crying. “I wet the bed.”

“Oh,” Alex says, while his heart rate settles. He looks around to get his bearings and finds you out of it to his right, curled up on your side. He blinks the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes as Wren sniffles miserably, and he pushes up to wipe her jaw dry. “Hey, it’s okay, baby. It just happens sometimes, alright?”

“But I'm not ‘posed to,” she croaks. “I’m supposed to be a big girl now. I’m sorry.”

“No, hey,” Alex kisses her forehead. “It’ll be fine, come on.”

She holds onto his hand and he leads her into the bathroom, running the water to warm and filling the tub with strawberry-scented bubbles. Once she’s in, he lets her play with her rubber ducks for a while to calm down. She splashes them and chews on their tails and presses their drawn-on smiles to his cheek as a kiss. "Muah," she says, and he loves her so much it hurts.

He runs a hand over her damp hair. “I’m gonna go fix your bed, okay? Just keep playing.”

Wren nods, so he leaves her with the door wide open and the light cascading into the hall. Strips her bed of the old sheets and carries them over to the wash. When he comes back, she’s resting her chin against the edge of the tub, waiting for him.

His head tilts, looking down at her big eyes on her little face. “Hey, Peanut.”

“Hi,” she says, timid. “Do you still love me?”

Alex frowns and sits down in front of her on the cold tile. “Why wouldn’t I still love you?”

“M’no good,” she whispers. “M’not small anymore, and I miss you all the time, and—”

“Alright, hey,” Alex cuts in gently, pushing her hair behind her ears to hold her face, all flushed chubby cheeks. He hates himself. Feels like he has made her feel this way. Made her feel unloved and he'll beat himself up for it every day. Never forgive himself for making her doubt his love. "I know I’ve been gone a lot, and I’m really sorry, but I miss you the whole time I’m away. All I wanna do is be here with you, okay? I promise. I love you,” he says, kissing her freckled nose and watching it crinkle up, “so much. I hope you know that.”

She nods, bites her lower lip, and chews. “You love mummy?”

“Yes,” Alex says. “Tons.”

“Is tons a lot?” She asks, and he notices her eyes flit over his shoulder, which gives him a pretty good idea of why she’s asking.

“It is,” he confirms, glancing behind him and finding you in the doorway, hair thrown up, wearing that ratty old red tee. You grin and lean against the door jamb, eyes soft. “The better question is: does mummy love daddy?”

You laugh. “Tons squared,” she promises. “Come on, it’s bedtime, baby.”

“Can I sleep with you?” Wren asks, anxious.

Alex kisses her cheek. “Of course,” he says and leans around her to pull the drain. You come over to help her dry off and Alex goes to grab her fresh pajamas. You both help her dress because she’s all sleepy from the warmth of the bath, and she’d get lost in her shirt if you weren’t around. Alex picks her up and carries her to their bed, laying her down between them so they can both hold her.

"You okay, honey?" You ask Wren, running your fingers through her hair, calming her like you do for him.

She nods, her eyes slowly closing, sleep taking her away from you.

Alex kisses her cheek lightly, not wanting to disturb her sleep. "Love you."

You repeat his action, kissing her baby skin cheek. "Me too." But she's already fallen asleep, exhausted from her little life.

You look across at Alex, his eyes cautiously looking over Wren. "Hey," you whisper to him to grab his attention. His gaze meets yours, his eyes solemn, but affectionate. "Love you."

He smiles because that's just what he needs. That's all he'll ever need. "Me too."

*

A hand pushes on your back somewhere around 4 in the morning. You turn around at the expected sight: Willow holding her stuffed teddy bear, thumb in her mouth, scared little eyes.

"What's wrong, baby?" You ask her, reaching out and smoothing back her messy hair.

"I had a night'are." Her voice wobbles. Alex and Wren are still sound asleep. You reach down to pick her up, laying her on your chest and hugging her to you, wanting to keep her safe from all the evil things awakening her.

"Everything's okay," you reassure.

"What's wrong?" You turn to see Alex, alert and worried rubbing his eyes.

"Nightmare."

Willow turns her head to look at her dad. "Oh," she says, "there's Wen. I was scared she wasn't where she was."

Alex reaches his arm over a sleeping Wren and rubs Willow's back, hushing her rapid heartbeat. "She's been in here. She got scared too but she's okay. She's sleeping now."

Willow keeps her voice low, understanding to keep quiet. "I went lookin' for her but she wasn't in her room."

"Why did you go to her room, honey? Why didn’t you come in here?" You ask.

"'Cause I always go there when I'm scared. Wen goes 'Everyting's okay' and then I know it will be 'cause she said so." She's so sweet, she hides it sometimes, doesn't like to give it away, she's careful with who she gives it to and you're sure nobody loves someone like Willow and Wren love each other. For that, Alex doesn't have to worry. He knows Willow and Wren will always look out for each other.

You kiss Willow's cheek and slide her carefully next to Wren. The bed is just big enough to fit you all but you have to hold steady to not tip off the bed. The girls are comfortable though and that's all that matters.

"We should sleep in here all the time," Willow says.

You and Alex both laugh quietly at your little girl. "Maybe," Alex says.

"Pep should be here too."

So, Alex goes and gets Pepper.

*

a/n: i hope the names are fine. i just tried to pick two twin-sounding names. whatever that means.

[doctor-dusk]

𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | 𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐱 𝐭.

all you want for christmas is him.

warnings: soft dom!alex, smut, handjob, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, most fluff, lots of kisses and cuddles because it’s humbug alex :3

words: 4.7k

i've had this ready since the beginning of the month and i posted it today because it makes more sense with the story. i've never written anything with humbug al but i admit that this brought a smile to my face. hope you enjoy it :3

it was snowing heavily when you left home, but not as much when you got back. you find it strangely amazing how everything could change drastically in a matter of minutes. the road wasn't so slippery when you parked the car, and now, you slipped and almost fell on your butt twice just to put the christmas presents in the trunk of the car.

ah, yes. it was christmas. one of the best times of the year, and without a doubt, it was your favorite. where you could get together with family and friends, exchange gifts and eat a lot without feeling remorseful about gaining a few extra pounds on the scale later. it was still the 23rd of december, but you had already been in the christmas spirit since november.

you took advantage of your free day to buy presents for the children. you made a mental note of what each of them wanted as a gift, casually asking what they would like for christmas that year. it was as easy as taking candy from a baby's mouth.

alex didn't go with you. he was too invested in the cookies to be able to accompany you. but you didn't complain, you loved it when he got excited about it, even though in the end he made a mess in the kitchen, with eggshells on the counter and flour on the floor. but the mess was the least of your worries.

you simply loved seeing how excited and happy he was, helping you decorate the house with wreaths on the doors and small ornaments on the windows, and of course, decorating the christmas tree. it was all full of laughter and jokes, as if at that moment you were in a cliché christmas movie.

you parked the car in the garage, getting out quickly to get the presents out of the car without taking too long, it was really freezing as night fell. you put the handles of the bags over your arms, making sure you didn't forget anything before locking the car and entering the house through the back door, avoiding getting the entire living room dirty with your snow-covered boots as much as possible.

the back door led directly to the laundry room, so you took the opportunity to take off your boots and put on your slippers, leaving your socks on your feet. alex thought it was funny — not to say strange — that you walked around the house in slippers and socks, but when he least expected it, he were already walking around the house like that too.

he usually says that you are a bad influence on him. but you are proud of it. it's not like he doesn't like it after all. he liked having a little bit of you in his habits.

before you crossed the small hallway that connected the laundry room and the kitchen, you could already smell cookies in the air. the soft vanilla aroma filled your nostrils as you approached the counter. alex wasn't there, all you saw besides an impeccably clean kitchen was the porcelain container with the warm cookies and a small note stuck under the small bowl.

you left the presents in a safe place on the floor, making a little mental note to pick them up later and beg alex to help you wrap them all — begging because alex liked to hear you say that he knew how to make much prettier gift bows than yours.

one free hand took the small note between your fingers, while the other rushed to grab one of the cookies from the pile, feeling the soft warmth on your fingertips. you took a bite, the chocolate chips practically melting in your mouth in an explosion of flavors, making you let out a satisfied hum.

your eyes drifted to the small note, recognizing alex’s elaborate handwriting as if he was always in a hurry to write, as if the words would disappear from his mind at any moment and he needed, no, needed to write it down somewhere before he forgot. it no longer surprised you to see loose letters and verses written in the most unusual places, like on the calendar stuck to the wall, or on his empty cigarette pack.

back to the main point, you read the small sentences written with the graphite of a worn pencil:

“meet me at the studio.

ps: sorry about the glass :(”

you frowned, soon understanding the meaning of the observation when you saw a small cardboard box in the corner with “glass” written on the top. he probably accidentally broke a glass while making the cookies, but that was no reason to make you angry, so you ignored it as you made your way to the studio at the end of the hallway that started in the living room.

the door was ajar, so you just gave it a little push. the studio always smelled of pine. you didn’t know exactly if it was because of the instruments, most of them structured with the most varied types of noble wood. but you loved that smell, especially when it was mixed with the smell of alex’s perfume. the place was annoyingly organized, he made sure not to leave anything out of place, whether he was alone or not. everything was impeccably in its place, the low lights brought a subtle comfort along with the colorful twinkling lights around the christmas tree set up there.

but what was truly a feast for your eyes was seeing your boyfriend lying there partially next to the christmas tree. the incandescent lights of the studio made his skin look warm, glowing. like a candle slowly burning, waiting for you. you looked up at him, an amused smile playing on your lips as he smiled back at you.

‘’what’s this?” you gestured to him lying next to the christmas tree, his wavy hair decorated with crimson red bows in the strands.

“don’t you like it, love?” he pouted. oh, you loved and hated that pout of his. you could break it if you could and then you would shower him with kisses until his lips were swollen.

“that’s not it. what are you doing?” you laughed, curious to know what he was planning. he had a gift box on his lap and a suggestive smile on his lips.

“i was preparing your gift. you got ‘ere just in time.” alex replied, patting the carpeted floor next to him so you could join him.

‘’i thought we were only going to exchange gifts at your parents' house in two days.’’ you answered in a slight tone of inquiry as you sat down next to him, your thighs touching and soon your shoulders too when he leaned in to kiss you on the temple.

he let out a laugh through his nose.

‘’believe me, this is not the kind of gift you want to open in front of my parents.’’ he joked, making you raise your eyebrows, curious about what was inside the box he was holding in his lap.

‘’is it a new lingerie?’’ you asked as you tried to guess what was inside. he shook his head in denial.

‘’why don't you open it and see?’’ he suggested, nudging you with his elbow so you could open the box. you knew you could be expecting anything from him now since he wasn't going to tell you what was in there. alex was the kind of guy who never got tired of surprising you.

carefully, you undid the red bow that was on the green box, lifting the lid cautiously, taking a quick peek. your eyes widened, several feelings going through your mind in a split second. in the end, you burst out laughing.

“alex!” you laughed, patting his shoulder, closing the box and opening it again to take another peek to make sure you were really seeing it.

“what? are you going to tell me you didn’t like it?” he asked, his shoulder touching yours, nudging you lightly. you laughed, checking it a second and third time, your face blushing. “stop it, you’re acting like you’ve never seen this in your life.”

“no, this is…” you laughed again, unable to react beyond laughter. of course, you weren’t expecting to see that inside the box. “did you even put a little bow on it?”

“of course, it’s a gift. i thought it would look more presentable for you.’’ he said and you rubbed your eyes, still laughing a little more.

“you’re terrible.” you shook your head, but you loved it, looking back with a sweet smile. ‘’but i liked the gift. i always wanted to have your cock with a little bow around it as a christmas gift.’’

“i would get naked for you, but it’s too cold.” he murmured and you laughed, kissing the tip of his cold nose.

“no need. thank you for the gift.” you said, kissing the tip of his nose again, trailing the kisses to his flushed cheeks, making a short path to the corner of his mouth, feeling the skin on his cheek flex because of his smile. ‘’can i enjoy it?’’

“you must.” he laughed, holding your hand, guiding it inside the box so you could finally touch him. he would be lying through his teeth if he said he wasn’t dying to feel your hand. you felt how warm and soft it was. in an impulse that you swore you couldn't control, you squeezed it gently, you played with the idea that it was like a squishy stress ball when it wasn't hard. "weirdo." he laughed, feeling that your touches were already starting to make him excited, the blood pumping quickly to the muscle, stiffening quickly. 

"don't judge me. you know how i like it when it's all soft like this.’’ you laughed in a murmur, your hand finally removing the box from the middle so that your path was clear for you to continue touching him, feeling his arm go around your waist so you could lie down next to him. 

he kissed your forehead, you could feel his breathing getting shaky as your fingers worked on him, feeling that softness being replaced by a warm and firm hardness, and you thought it would be a good idea to undo the tie around it, as cute as you thought it was. you didn't want it to end up hurting him because it was too tight. his face was close, too close. you could feel his eyelashes tickling your cheek as he tried to kiss you without getting lost in the feel of your fist closed around him, sliding up and down tortuously, the moans almost sounding like shy whimpers.

“god, i love when you touch me.” he murmured between kisses, feeling you tease him in response, circling the tip of your thumb around the tip, spreading the clear precum around it.

“does it feel good?” you asked, your eyes practically sparkling as you looked at him. he had no idea how beautiful he looked like this, with his eyes closed, his lips parted and his curly hair falling over his cheekbones like a small waterfall. you were completely fascinated by him.

“sooo good…” he dragged the word with a subtle movement of his hips, searching for your hand, searching for more, always more. he buried his face in your neck, making you roll over to feel the carpeted floor beneath your back. ‘’i love you so much…’’ he murmured, his hips moving against your hand in a delicious back and forth manner, your fist clenching a little tighter, increasing the pressure of your grip around him a little.

before you knew it, you were practically stuck together, one hand holding the back of your neck while the other undid the button of your jeans while he forced his knees to support the weight of his body between your legs. by this time he had already gotten rid of his pants, leaving them lying next to the christmas tree. you closed your eyes at the feeling of his fingers teasing the elastic of your panties under your pants, taking the opportunity to kiss his neck, delirious even more with the gasps he let out. alex had a sensitive neck, so you took advantage of every opportunity to kiss him and feel his skin shivering against your lips.

he mumbled something that you didn't understand at first because you were so lost in the sensations, but as soon as he stopped moving his hips and brought the hand that was on the back of your neck to your cheek, you came back to yourself.

‘’what did you say?’’

he smiled, kissing your forehead.

‘’i asked you to lift your hips, love. can't touch you with you wearing those pants.’’ he said, gentle and patient, even though he was seething inside. you raised your eyebrows, feeling foolish for mere seconds before lifting your hips, letting him do the rest. he paused for a moment, looking at your panties. ‘’those panties are new, aren't they?’’

‘’for god's sake…’’ you laughed, covering your face with one hand. alex paid attention to everything, even the clothes you wore, and it was no different with your panties. he was just very observant, especially when it came to you.

‘’what? i just asked.’’ he laughed too, leaving his palm on the light fabric printed with small roses on white cloth, letting his thumb slide from top to bottom, meticulously over your sensitive spot, making you curl your toes a little. ‘’it's not like i didn't like it. i love roses.

‘’they’re new, yes.’’ you confirmed. ‘’does it make any difference now?’’

‘’not now.’’ he shrugged, hooking his fingers on the sides so he could pull the piece down your legs. ‘’in the end, all the panties you wear end up thrown in some corner of the room. this one here would be no different.’’ he said as he finished pulling the intimate piece over your feet, leaving it in an ignored place.

you felt a voracious shiver, not only because of the cold on your legs, but because you were so close and he was touching you so masterfully, letting his fingertips slide along the inside of your thigh, he could already feel the heat radiating off your skin as he trailed lower, touching every part of your skin that he could reach. 

before you knew it, he was already between your legs, hooking his hands under your thighs to spread your legs apart gently, nuzzling his nose along your inner thigh, inhaling your scent. it was good, almost intoxicating to him, but he couldn't live without it.

your hand automatically moved to the back of his head, the relatively long locks barely held between your fingers, so silky and soft.

he looked up at you, the desire in his eyes mirroring yours as he pressed a soft kiss right on your clit, making it throb in response. it was something similar to when you kissed the tip of his cock when you're about to give him a blowjob, like a silent and promising tease.

his tongue danced slowly and deliberately along your folds, licking all the way up, savoring your taste as soft whimpers escaped your lips, his hands now on your inner thighs, keeping them spread wide for him to feast on you.

‘’feels so good…’’ you managed to say between the whimpers and moans. his heart beat even faster, knowing he was pleasing you just right. not that he didn't know, but he liked it when you were vocal. he swirled his tongue around your clit in slow circles, occasionally dipping it lower to tease your entrance with the tip of his tongue. your hand on his hair tightened, letting him know he was on the right track.

‘’want more?’’ he asked with a muffled voice.

‘’only if you want to.’’ you answered, not wanting to force him into something, even though you knew alex could suffocate to death between your legs if you let him.

his answer was to bury his face between your legs, his tongue delving inside you, stopping only when he moved his lips so he could suck your clit hard. your breathy and desperate moans only turned him on, his fingers almost penetrating your flesh to keep your legs spread wide as he ate you out relentlessly.

‘’taste so good, baby.’’ he moaned against your flesh, his nose pressing on your clit as he devoured you ravenously, lapping at your core and drinking your essence greedily. ‘’so fucking good.’’ he hissed, feeling his own desire throbbing between his legs as he worked you higher and higher.

‘’fuck, alex, i'm…’’ you whispered, feeling your skin shivering. you usually never got goosebumps when he was eating you out, so when he felt the skin on your thigh crawling under his hands, he paused, looking up at you with his face glistening in saliva and your wetness.

‘’are you cold, love?’’ he asked when he felt the goosebumps on your thigh. you nodded. ‘’hold on.’’ he said, reaching behind him to grab a folded blanket you had left there the day before because you were listening to alex play the piano and almost always ended up dozing off to the melody.

he put the blanket over himself and turned his body to lie on top of you, warming you not only with the blanket, but with the heat of his body on yours.

‘’better?’’ he asked, making sure you were feeling warm enough. you smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him, the kiss answering everything you both needed to know at the moment, the taste of you lingering on his tongue, now mixing on your mouths.

as the kiss dragged on, you felt his hand caress the skin of your belly under your sweater, going up to fondly grope one of your breasts, your legs locked around his waist bringing him impossibly closer, your intimacies touching, rubbing against each other in a frenzy of anticipation.

‘’alex…’’ you whimpered softly, nibbling on his earlobe, feeling him shiver slightly against your body.

‘’i know, love, i know.’’ he murmured against your neck, not needing to say anything else, just act. and so soon, you felt him fit perfectly between your legs, moving in and out slowly, and that alone made your body tingle and soften at the same time.

your skin burned like burning embers, every touch and every thrust seemed to take you to a private paradise where all that existed was the two of you getting lost in each other, drowning in that ocean of pleasure. the lights oscillating between yellow, orange and red on the christmas tree next to you seemed to make his face flush more when he lifted his face to look at you, you could easily get lost in that surrendered look, in that little face contorted with pleasure.

but you couldn't let yourself be fooled, not when he brought his hand around your neck, his thumb caressing and feeling your rapid pulse under the skin of your neck while his hips moved more fluidly and, consequently, faster. the sound of skin colliding with skin began to echo through the small studio, joining the sound of both of your moans.

you clung tighter to him, your hands invading his sweater to feel the boiling skin of his back against your palms. it was too hot now, so you pulled the blanket away, both of you wearing only your sweaters on top. soon, your hands returned to roaming his sides, holding his hips and encouraging him in his rhythmic and precise thrusts.

turner leaned in to kiss you again, your hands going straight to his hair, your fingers tangling in the strands and the little bows attached to it. you didn't know whether to moan or laugh at the fact that you were having sex while he had little red bows attached to his locks. alex was too unpredictable for his own good.

but you chose to moan, especially because it was impossible not to have that reaction when you felt him so good and so deep like that, the inside of your cunt seemed to be perfectly molded for his cock, squeezing and feeling him hitting that spot over and over again, which forced your body to contort and cling to his tighter. his name was like a melody in your mouth, echoing vividly with the sound of his thrusts, you even found it difficult to keep your eyes open to admire every little expression on his face.

‘’you look so beautiful like this, you know that?’’ he gasped, holding your face with his hand, his fingers gently squeezing your cheeks, his lips giving you several little kisses, one after the other. ‘’so beautiful and so mine…’’ he continued, punctuating his words with sharp and deep thrusts, knowing that you loved the compliments, loved how much he liked to compliment even your toenails, no matter how much you told him how ridiculous they were.

you brought your hand between your bodies, wanting more stimulation. your fingers circled lazily around your pleasure point, feeling him go back and forth inside you, listening to the muffled sounds from the back of his throat as he kissed and nibbled on your neck, his hands gripping your skin in any way he could, marking his territory.

you tried not to moan too much, but it was so hard, you had a lot to deal with at the moment, and you tried to kiss him or bite your lip so as not to let any loud sounds escape. but damn, this was driving alex crazy, completely out of his mind to the point where he couldn't control himself as he moved so fast, that knot in his stomach was starting to form inside him.

when you felt him slow down a little, your eyes searched his as you lifted your eyelids, a look of slight desperation taking over his facial features.

‘’what's wrong, love?’’ you asked, trying not to be so worried, your free hand reaching up to touch his face.

‘’it's just that i... fuck, i'm so close…’’ he murmured a little breathlessly, swallowing hard. ‘’i don't want to come right now...’’

‘’honey, it's okay…’’ you reassured him. of course, it was rare for him to cum before you, but it happens. he always made sure to hold back as long as possible so that you could have your pleasure, maybe even twice so that he could finally feel free to let the orgasm consume him too. you said it was selfish of him, but he never listened to you.

‘’no, not before you.’’ he shook his head, reluctantly holding himself back. but it was so hard when he felt your walls squeezing him, making him so sensitive and stimulated that it was already out of control.

‘’alex, look at me, love.’’ you said, holding his face with both hands. ‘’you know i don't care about that.just let go, i'm right behind you, i promise.’’ you said, distributing hot kisses all over his face, your hand returning to your clit, rolling your hips a little against his to stimulate him more.

it didn't take more than that. your soothing words, your kisses on his neck and the feeling of you squeezing around him like a warm hug were enough to make him spill inside you, holding your thighs tightly as he pulsed inside you vigorously, making you feel that familiar feeling of fulfillment.

you barely had time to open your eyes and catch your breath. you felt him slide out of you, his member being replaced by his ring and middle fingers, burying them inside you until reach his knuckles, the unannounced invasion made you close your legs in a reflex, soon relaxing them when he kissed your face.

‘’let me take care of you now, darling." he whispered to you, your foreheads pressed together as he pumped his fingers back and forth quickly, and you were already delirious. you loved it when he touched you. of course, being a natural guitarist, turner really knew how to move his fingers, especially inside you.

in no time, you were already a mess, his fingers continued tirelessly, alternating between going back and forth or curving upwards, massaging your g-spot with fervor. you didn't care that everything was getting too wet, too sticky with his fresh cum dripping from your hole that was now filled with his two fingers, you just knew how to enjoy the sensation and slowly come undone by spasms.

‘’alex, alex…’’ you moaned, both of you working together with your fingers, building your orgasm little by little as you grabbed the back of his neck to bring him into a wet kiss at the same time that you reached your climax, shaking and almost writhing like an acrobat on the floor, his fingers continued to stimulate you, but with less intensity now, trying not to overstimulate you.

‘’mhm, that’s it, baby.’’ he mumbled between sweet kisses on your swollen lips, satisfied that he could make you finish.

the panting breaths soon died down, your hearts returning to normal beats as he laid his head on your chest, his sticky fingers finally abandoning you, leaving you with a strange feeling of emptiness as it happened every time.

you murmured softly to him, your free hand undid one of the ties in his hair so that you could comb it back, unsticking the strands from his sweaty forehead.

“hm?” he asked, looking up so that his lazy eyes met yours.

“i'm cold again.” you pouted and he laughed through his nose, reaching for the blanket that was thrown on the floor again, covering your completely tired bodies again. ‘’i loved the gift, al.’’

‘’you're welcome.’’ he murmured with a low laugh, reaching for the skin of your collarbone to give it a kiss or two. you smiled, pulling him closer, his body was on top of yours, but he tried not to distribute his weight completely on you. he kissed your flushed face more times than he could count, his hand caressed the back of your neck, and you swore you could hear him purring like a kitten.

‘’it feels so good here…’’ you murmured, your voice was sleepy. alex chuckled softly, you always got sleepy after sex, so this was no surprise to him anymore.

‘’we can stay here a little longer.’’ he replied, hugging you and rolling your bodies so that you could be with your body on top of his.

he held your face, the little kisses didn't seem enough, so he kissed you more intensely, his tongue parting your lips so he could explore your mouth as if it were the first time. when you broke the kiss, he swallowed, licking his lips as if he was thoughtful and trying to come to a conclusion.

‘’what's wrong?’’ you asked curiously.

‘’kiss me again.’’ he asked. you found it unusual, but didn't say anything back, kissing him the same way, letting him taste your mouth more. when you broke the kiss again, he laughed. ‘’did you eat one of the cookies on the counter?’’

‘’of course i did.’’ you laughed along. ‘’did you only realize now?’’

‘’yeah. i was too busy fucking you to realize that.’’ he said and you rolled your eyes at how direct he was, but you didn't think it was bad. ‘’but i liked it. cookie kisses.’’

‘’did you like it?’’ you smiled, feeling him brush his nose against yours in an eskimo kiss.

“i loved it.” he replied, your foreheads and the tips of your noses touching as if they were made for that. “and you know what else i love?”

you smiled. you knew what he was going to answer, but you always liked hearing him say it.

“what?” you asked, your eyes shining at him as you waited for his answer.

“you.”

a/n: idk if i'll post anything else in the next few days or before new years, so merry xmas in advance <3

taglist (let me know if you want to be included or excluded): @thenightslikeawhirlwind, @goblinontour, @yourstartreatment

[indeediagree]

Hes so babygirl

[captainwans]

SUCK IT AND SEE.

— ALEX TURNER

pairing: fwn!alex turner x fem!reader

summary: two people are stuck in an elevator. one can’t stand the other, and the other has a panic attack. talk about the perfect time to spill their feelings, right?

warning: vulgar language, mention of panic attack, neurotic reader, angst to fluff.

word count: 1,5k | ( picture not mine! )

note: the idea was from a prompt that i found on pinterest!

masterlist!

… ALEX FELT THE ELEVATOR SHAKE, making him tightly clutch on the metal pole with a deep grimace as the felt the elevator come to a sudden stop. He loudly cursed and brought his hand to push numerous of buttons on the panel. When that didn’t work he groaned and looked at the one person he loathed the most. “Great, now we’re stuck, thanks to you.”

[Y/N] whirled her head toward him, eyes wide. “What the fuck did I do? You were the one who assaulted the buttons.” She snapped back as she stood across from him. She felt her heart palpitate, the tight space making her breath hitch, which went unnoticed by the latter, who was too busy abusing the control help button.

Alex scoffed, his scowl deepening when the buttons didn’t work. He slammed his palm on the panel as small curses emitted from his lips. “If you keep doing that, we’re never going out.” He heard her spat, making him roll his eyes.

“Oh, please. Is there somewhere else you’re supposed to be?” He sneered, turning his head to look at her glaring daggers at him.

“Yes, anywhere away from you.” She chided, chest heaving as her stammering heart made her nausea worse. She hugged herself, avoiding eye contact and looked at the glass, watching the people below them. Her eyes darted across the mass trying to look for Jamie and Katie.

“Feeling’s mutual.” A pulse roared in her throat, making her turn her body away from him to prevent him from seeing her panicked state. Her skin prickled with a cold sweat as goosebumps formed into her skin making her close her eyes.

Alex was too caught up into his own frustration that he didn’t notice [Y/N] slowly crumble, being too occupied with the control panel as he held the help button for a few seconds. He cursed once again, his eyes leaving the panel before looking the glass and looking for any signs of their friends through the glass.

“Did you see them down there?” He asked her, eyes averting away from the people below them toward her. He narrowed his eyes at her back facing him and titled his head to the side.

She clutched her chest, fingers trembling as her voice got caught into her throat. She could only shake her head, a strangled whisper etching into her throat. Blood was rushing through her ears, feeling her heartbeat echoing inside her ears. She cleared her throat and blinked, “No.”

Alex’s face faltered, his expression turning soft. He sauntered toward her, his hand touching her shoulder. “[Y/N]?” He gently called, worry starting to prickle his chest.

She let out a strangled gasp, turning her body toward him. Tears welled inside her eyes, which she rapidly blinked and looked at him with a panicked look. “Is now a bad time to tell you that I’m claustrophobic?”

Alex’s eyes went wide, watching her knees buckling beneath her. He became frozen, not knowing what to do as he watched her skin lost all color. The young man watched her, once a bold and confident girl, was now vulnerable and fragile—like if he touched her she would break.

[Y/N]’s stifled gasps and shallow breaths turned into sobs, shoulders violently shaking as she broke down her walls. She found herself trapped into a corner, her arms tightly wrapped around herself not noticing Alex sitting crossed legged in front of her with a concerned expression.

     Each breath was a struggle for her, as if the panic had settled permanently in her lungs, squeezing the life out of her. Her hands slapped her chest vigorously, as though trying to stop her heart from escaping. She let out a whimper, burying her face with her hands.

     “I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die.” [Y/N] kept repeating, rocking herself back and forth.

“You’re not gonna die, love. Not under my watch.” Alex reassured, his tone getting softer as he brought his hands to her hands covering her face. He almost flinched at her cold hands as he brought them to his lap to warm her hands.

She felt his warm calloused hands rubbing her icy cold ones, making her hiccup as she looked at him. Her wide doe-eyes stared into his, causing a tremor of emotions sear through her.

[Y/N] bit her lip until it bleed, tasting the metallic crimson smearing with her lip gloss. She quickly turned away from him, her chest heaving and closed her eyes as she felt another wave of panic hit her.

She felt his hand rest on her cheek, turning her head to look at him. She still had her eyes squeezed shut, not wanting to look at his face. Some of her breathing regained back to normal, and she didn’t want to admit that Alex’s closure was the reason, not even to herself. She was still shaky and she felt his thumb run across her lip, making her open her eyes.

Alex wiped away the blood from her lip, his hand drifting to hold the side of her neck. “Hey, it’s okay. We’re gonna get out of here.” He promised her, using his other hand to brush away some hair from her damp forehead.

[Y/N]’s chin trembled like a child, his change of demeanor toward her making her feel conflicted. Tears slid down her glistening face and she sniffled with a nod, eyebrows furrowed as she looked at him. “Why do you hate me so much?” She managed to croaked out, sending a crack inside his heart at her question.

A tug at his heartstrings made him let out a breath he didn’t know was holding. He opened his mouth, but closed it, not knowing what to say. His chest prickled and he shook his head, eyes tinted with guilt. “I could never hate you, doll.”

[Y/N] felt his thumb removing some of her tears, his hand lingering longer on her cheek. She frowned, opening her mouth but he beat her to it, leaving her dumbfounded as she watched him say the words.

Alex felt blood rush through his cheeks and he rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish look. “Guess it’s my way of showing you that I like you.” He admitted, pressing his lips together as he watched her in anticipation.

She became speechless, like a deer was being stuck in headlights as she process what was coming out from his mouth. She could only stare at him, breathing normally as her thoughts spiraled and ran a thousand miles per hour. I like you, kept repeating inside her head like a mantra.

Alex cursed, cringing internally and he cleared his throat. “Look, we can pretend that I never confessed if you—“ he stumbled over his words and she interrupted him with a downwards pout.

“What?! You can’t just take back your confession like that!” She interjected, eyes bulging from its sockets as she brought both of her hands on his shoulders.

Alex blinked, looking at her with a flustered look. “I—uh…you—“ he was interrupted again and heat washed over his face. “That’s such a coward move, Al. Especially when I feel the same way toward you.”

The pair looked at each other, both bewildered over the situation and their feelings as they processed the new information about them. A smile curved on Alex’s face, making her mirror his simper as they both burst out with laughter.

Soft giggles emitted from her lips, her shoulders shaking as she inched closer to rest her head against his chest. He felt his hands rubbing her back comfortably, his deep chuckles filling inside her ear drums.

Soon their laughter ceased as a comfortable silence erupted around the tight space. [Y/N] was still in his arms, feeling his hands rubbing circles around her skin as she listened to his heartbeat, making her forget that they were stuck in an elevator.

The sound of banging on the elevator door made the pair snap their head toward the metal door, Alex’s grip on her tightening. “[Y/N]? Alex, are you okay in there?” They heard Jamie’s muffled voice through the door and the pair sighed in relief.

“Yeah, we’re fine, mate!” He yelled, his grip on her loosening. He stood up from his feet and walked toward the door.

The door made a noise, making [Y/N] grimace as she covered her ears. She watched Alex stepping away from the door, the metal door slowly opening.

The door opened, revealing Jamie and a few security guards holding the door. Alex’s bandmate stepped forward, eyes worried as he looked back and forth between the pair. “Thank god, I thought you guys killed each other.” He breathed, making Alex roll his eyes.

Alex walked toward her, bringing his hands out to hoist her up to her feet. She grabbed both of his hands as she stood up, hands intertwined and walking out of the elevator.

Jamie paused, looking at the pair through his sunglasses. He took off his glasses and gave them a look. “Am I hallucinating, or are you guys holding hands?” He asked, eyes narrowed and walking beside Alex.

Alex pushed him out of the way, earning a loud cackle from the latter. “I can’t believe my eyes. Katie, come and see this! They’re holding hands.” He yelled out to his girlfriend making the pair give him a look.

“Shut up, Jamie!”

[elementaryhallelujahs]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ fingers dimming the lights

mdni, 18+ only

the home office is bathed in warm, ambient light—it always is at this time of the night, familiar and soothing, exactly like the figure sat at the desk, hunched over her laptop. alex knows her work schedule is erratic, she works with people all over the world like he does, different time zones and different countries, and not that she’s a slave to her laptop but she does work a tad too much if you ask him. 

still, he lets her be and stays in the corner of the room, flicking through his book. he lets her be that is, until he sees her rubbing her eyes tiredly and stifle another yawn. she reaches for the mug next to her, brings it to her lips, and frowns. it’s empty. 

then she stretches like a cat—back arched, arms elongated—before curling into herself. that, evidently, does it for him. 

silently, he sets the book aside and walks up behind her. she barely even notices until his hands are on her shoulders, feeling the knots in her muscles, trying to massage the tension away. 

“you’re tired,” alex tuts and feels her shrug. “come to bed. it’s almost ten.”

she snorts lightly. “you know i can’t for another two hours at least, besides, i’ll be free tomorrow. then i’m all yours.”

“you’re already all mine,” he teases and kneads the knots again. (he does make a mental note though, to get her a proper warm bath tomorrow; bubbles and salts and candles and all.)

“come on, love,” alex tries again but she only hums a bit. and then she turns to him with a full pout. 

“i wish, babe. but i’ve got to have a very grown-up, professional zoom call while trying to hide the fact that i’m wearing pyjama bottoms. two more hours, i promise.”

and just like that she’s back to facing her laptop, back to clacking away on the keyboard, making that soothing sound of her nails against it that he loves so much. right now, alex bends down and kisses her neck gently. 

“when does your call start?”

“umm, eleven…”

the suspicion in her voice makes him grin and then he places a few more kisses down her neck and on her shoulders. 

“could relax you a little till then,” he murmurs, “put you in a better mood.”

she tilts her head up to him and laughs. “what’s got you in a mood, sweet boy?”

the moniker makes him smile wider. his fingers continue tracing soothing patterns, and his lips leave gentle kisses on the nape of her neck. 

“just need you to take a short break, ’s all. your laptop won't run away, baby, the the call is still an hour away.”

the next time alex looks at her, there’s a mischievous glint in her eyes. that, and the way she subtly bites her lower lip… and alex knows he’s won her over 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

the first thing he does is lay her down on the bed, then he dims the lights until their bedroom is just as cosy as her workspace—all warm and golden. 

the anticipation of it has definitely gotten to her. alex can almost see her trembling on the bed, back slightly arched, her nipples peaking out from her thin t-shirt, hair an effortless mess. the sight of her sends his neurons into overdrive and he feels the familiar tingling as all his blood rushes south.

“let me take care of you, darling,” he whispers, “just relax for me…”

his words effect her immediately, make her toes curl and her mouth part almost as if she’s anticipating the gasp that he will draw out of her. 

“there’s my sweet girl,” he trails a hand over her leg—starting from her ankle and up her calf and then up her thigh until his fingers are at her hip. the knot of her pyjama shorts is next. 

all he has to do is give it a light tug before he’s sliding it off her legs. she helps by lifting up her hips, then eagerly shimmies out of her underwear. 

“look at you now,” alex teases. then he leans down, his lips dangerously close to her stomach. "come on, baby," he purrs, “spread your legs for me.”

something like a whimper and a moan echoes around the room and alex drags a finger through her slit, lazily collecting the wetness, coaxing her and spreading her open while his mouth presses kisses all over. her lower stomach first, then her thighs. meanwhile, his thumb finds her clit and a jolt goes through her body. 

“fuck fuck fuck alex…” she moans out loud and a thrill goes down his spine. 

fuck, here he is—tasting her and touching her and making her feel this way. his girl, she is his girl. and oh he’s never been one to be primal and possessive but all he can think about at the moment is that she is his. 

she is his and he is hers. 

and he loves her. 

he loves her so fucking much.

she gasps when he sucks on her clit, letting his teeth graze it gently every once in a while. her thighs tremble under his hands, her muscles shifts and alex doesn’t stop her at all when she squeezes her thighs together—the pressure on his head is delicious and spine-tingling anyway. it’s heady and intoxicating, just like her scent, her taste. 

“oh god, al,” she moans loudly. “fuck, just like that…” her fingers tangle in his hair, tugging and pulling while she squirms under his touch, grinds herself against his face and alex takes it all.

his tongue laps at her folds, his nose pushing against her clit and her screams are like music to his ears. better than anything he’s ever heard. better than anything he’s ever created.

his cock throbs desperately, twitching and hard, dying to feel her clenching around his now, to feel her squeezing him until his vision goes white and he fills her up. he can practically see the image in front of his eyes—his cum dripping out of her, making a mess on her thighs. mess that he could clean up with his tongue or with his fingers and push all of it back inside her. fill her up completely. 

she clenches around nothing then and for a moment alex almost cums in his pants. but he can tell she’s close now. her hips rock against his face and her thighs squeeze his head harder. nails dig into his scalp making him hiss but she’s so close, he can almost taste her release on his tongue. 

“so perfect for me,” he urges and lets his teeth drag over her clit again. “let me taste you, darling, yeah? i know you’re close.”

“so, so close…” she trails off and alex can’t resist the urge to place a kiss on her thigh. a soft request maybe or even a way to coax her. 

“let go for me then,” he breathes and pushes his thumb against her clit. his tongue thrusts inside her again and she mewls out his name again. louder than before.

“don’t stop, al, don’t—” and he feels it then, feels her drenching his lips and his chin. feels the spasm of her thighs and feels her ragged breaths reverberating through her body. 

just like she requested, he doesn’t stop. he laps up every last drop she has to over, fucks her with his tongue till she’s completely done riding out her orgasm. only once he feels her body go slack does he straighten. 

and alex is met with the loveliest sight he can imagine.

her hair is sprawled all over the pillow, messy and gorgeous. her face is flushed, lip bitten till it’s raw and red. alex sees a sliver of her underboob from where her t-shirt rode up but it’s when he looks at her thighs does he see all the red marks he’s left behind… 

all the kisses and hickeys and slight stubble burn. light bruises on her thighs from holding onto her so tight. 

she’s marked and some primal part of him can’t get enough of the sight. 

quickly alex moves to her and captures her mouth in his. her tongue slides in his mouth instantly, and alex knows she can taste herself on his tongue. quietly, she moans in his mouth and he feels like he’s going to burst right then.

but there’s the matter of the fucking call…

he has no idea how much time has passed but he knows she needs to leave soon while he tosses and turns restlessly in their bed, surrounded by the scent of her, still tasting her—

“where are you going?” her voice comes out as a breathless rasp and alex realises he’s pulling away. 

“well… well, i though you had the call, love…” 

she clicks her tongue and her smile turns into her grin. 

“oh you’re not leaving this bed,” she declares. “i’m texting them that i don’t feel well.”

slowly, a smile spreads over his face and alex shudders under her touch. 

“whatever happened to being adult and professional,” he teases breathlessly but she’s already pulling up his t-shirt, already lifting it over his head. 

“oh no,” she tuts, “none of that. not when i have much better things to do…”

[mywritingonlyfans]

Teacher's pet. // Prof!Alex Turner X Stud!Reader (Smut) Part 1 of 3.

prompt: (Age Gap/Smut) Alex, an undergraduate professor, wasn't known for his friendliness until he found himself gradually warming up to you. Your remarkable writing skills, particularly directed at his class, heightened his interest even further. He's determined to show you firsthand just how talented you are, even if the journey is challenging. Eventually, both of you realize that resisting this connection is futile, and you must let go of your inhibitions to explore what lies ahead.

words: 9.3K

a/n: Be aware that it's a smut but it has a whole context, so it's long. There are changes of the next parts being more smuts, this part was assembled around how they feel in front of each other and what they make the other feel. It is important to point out that I'm not native of the language, it is likely that there are some errors, but hopefully few because I try to be careful. In addition, I hope you enjoy!

You were nervous; it was difficult to digest what he was explaining when all you seemed to notice in class was the timbre of his voice. As hours passed, his accent seemed to grow stronger and huskier, not to mention how he had taken off his blazer within the first few minutes and rolled up his sleeves to his elbows. You couldn't quite tell whether you were enjoying the subject matter due to its inherent interest or whether it was him who had become your focus of interest.

You found the buttons on his white shirt alluring, the warmth adhering to his skin, and the occasionally tousled hair being lazily brushed away from his eyes exuded a charm. Watching him was intriguing; at some point, you had tried to avoid such distractions, but realizing your failure, you allowed yourself to be swept away completely.

"Did you hear me?" He asked a bit louder, trying to get your attention. He hadn't shouted; he never did. You were immersed in him, yet couldn't grasp the meaning of the disjointed words he had gestured. However, the movements of his restless hands and the prominent veins when he placed them on his waist had etched themselves into your memory. If someone requested, you could depict his fingers in oil on canvas.

"I'm sorry," you shook your head, waiting for him to repeat, as he often did with everyone else. He studied you more closely, even from a distance, his hands tucked in his pockets and your breath catching slightly. He didn't often make direct eye contact with students, maybe with no one. He was somewhat reserved, and it was evident that lecturing for hours wasn't quite his natural disposition. You found the stumbling over words and how he would look out the window or shift his gaze when someone met his eyes rather appealing. You feared that you had been thinking about him for so long that you had built up an image of him beyond what he could actually be.

However, he held his dark eyes on you, offering a gentle smile, a touch relaxed as if he had expected that from you, and playfully continued, "Well, I didn't expect that from you. I must have been mistaken in thinking you're a great one." He carried on with the lecture as your cheeks began to burn. Perhaps his not-liking for you was part of his nature too.

…

You couldn't bear for him not to like you. Not until the end of the semester; you considered his subject crucial for your repertoire. He just couldn't dislike you. Some nights were spent awake, but you were certain your paper was well-written, and your readings for his class were up to date; any question he might ask, you'd know the answer to. Your seat in the classroom was always the same, out of habit. Honestly, if you had known the distraction and nervousness that Mr. Turner would cause you, you would have opted for seats further back for your own good. But now it was too late, and besides, you needed a good grade in his class.

He was wearing a light blue blazer, a shirt with a few buttons open, and high-waisted slacks, the usual attire, but it never failed to soften your senses. He looked well-rested, his expression serene, no signs of dark circles, and his hair was even silkier than usual as his fingers brushed it back. You found yourself fidgeting, imagining what it would be like to run your fingers through his hair, touch his skin, and feel the texture of the beard that was just beginning to grow.

Realizing your mental drift, you closed your eyes tightly and buried your head in a notebook, trying to avoid looking at him. The rest of the class proceeded as usual, his voice pleasant and utterly hypnotic, and occasionally, he cracked a light joke to lighten the mood. Almost no one laughed, but you found it funny. There were only a few students, so he had no choice but to notice you.

You weren't foolish enough not to notice his eyes briefly passing over you, but you chalked it up to his duty to see if anyone needed help. So you avoided letting your brain jump to impossible conclusions.

And then there was the age difference; he was older, you couldn't say for sure how much, but the more pronounced lines on his face and his authoritative demeanor made that evident. Still, he was charming and, dare you say, a bit sexy. He had a well-sculpted physique, leaving enough room for you to describe him for hours.

"Could you continue for us?" he said, his voice distinct, making you look at him reluctantly. You didn't know it, but avoiding his gaze throughout the class had bothered him, but who was he to say anything about it unless you couldn't answer him?

You nodded, your hands sweaty; you knew what to say, just not where to find the courage. Your cheeks were already burning with anxiety. "I'm sorry," your voice was soft, and you stumbled over the first syllable. He seemed to understand. "It's okay," Mr. Turner leaned down to your level at your desk, his hands on his knees, and a somewhat encouraging smile. "I know you wrote an excellent paper on this; I know you know what to say," he said softly, turning toward you, his calm eyes and a nod of the head giving you confidence. His words made you look away for a moment, and your shy smile spread awkwardly.

Once you finished, he thanked you and added that you had done very well. He seemed genuinely pleased to see you speak, but perhaps it was just a product of your imagination. You even received a light applause from him, which didn't seem ironic. This made you feel more at ease and attentive during his classes; he was a great teacher.

At the end of class, he passed by the desks, handing out the respective papers we had discussed. Your face fell into a worried expression as you touched yours. Alex knew you deserved more, but he wouldn't make it easy for you. It wasn't his style as an educator to give out high grades easily.

Your smile disappeared in confusion; he felt a pang in his chest when he saw your reaction. He didn't say anything, just returned to his desk and said he was open to discussions. He hoped you would come to him and fight for the grade you deserved, but it was clear how upset you were about it.

Others left, content with their grades, and you still had the paper in your hands, looking between the notes. He avoided looking at you directly, yet couldn't help but glance at you from time to time.

"Mr. Turner," you sounded angelic as you approached him, your steps light as you handed him the paper. Your shirt was short, and when you handed him the paper, he couldn't help but notice the exposed skin of your stomach, which was briefly visible. "I thought I had done well; that's what you just said," your voice trembled, and as you got closer, he noticed your sweet scent. On the other hand, you couldn't focus on anything; minutes ago, you were sure you had done well, and things with him had been sorted out; he didn't hate you.

"It's not a bad grade," he said firmly, then immediately regretted it. It was brief, but for a moment, your eyes filled, and he could see how much it had frustrated you. He didn't blame you; in fact, he knew you were talented, and by the way you had written, he knew you had put in the effort. The problem wasn't you; any other teacher would have given you the highest grade. However, your grade wasn't bad; it just wasn't what you deserved and wanted.

"Do you think I can redo it? I can do better," he looked at your trembling hands and continued, "This grade is final; I can't allow you to do that." His words didn't match his tone, but you didn't notice; you wanted to rip up the paper in front of him and say you didn't need it.

You stood in front of him, disoriented, while he couldn't help but let his attention wander over you. He felt wrong, both because you were his student and because he was aware that you were over a decade younger. Still, without being able to explain it well, he found himself lost in thoughts of you from time to time, especially after having read what you wrote.

"Please," you pleaded softly as a last attempt, your eyebrow arched and your nose wrinkled in emphasis of your plea, and you looked so beautiful. "I can allow you to submit another," he confirmed, his face serious, the little furrow between his brows. Up close, you felt your breath catch as you noticed the exposed hairs on his chest. The scent of cigarettes and his cologne became more pronounced, and you liked it. Creating a new one would take so much time, but if it was your only option, there was nothing to be done.

Alex had only asked that in the hope of being able to explore more of your writing; by the end of the semester, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from letting you know that you were his number one fan if you allowed it. You had a beautiful way with writing; feelings seemed worth experiencing in your words. You nodded in agreement. "Okay, I need you to submit it by the end of the week." You didn't object; you seemed grateful, and Alex took mental note of how caring so much about that grade was something youthful; in the future, it wouldn't matter, but you didn't know that yet. Your smile, now smaller but still present, returned to your kind face, and he felt more comfortable, even dressed in his serious university professor attire. With that, he guided you to the door, his palm resting lightly on your back, not inappropriately, but gently, which caused him to blush a bit. You felt shivers run down your spine, but he didn't seem to notice, and both of you made your way to the exit. You thanked him once more, telling him that you wouldn't make him regret his decision, to which he assured you it wouldn't happen.

Your path to the next class was accompanied by a light and relaxed smile after his final words were simply, "I know you won't disappoint me; you didn't the first time," in his pleasant accent, followed by a pat on your shoulders. You felt like a fool, but you couldn't even think of trying to avoid it anymore.

…

"He's good, knows what he's doing. He follows my lead during, when I'm tired and breathless; he tilts his face and lets his nose graze my clit," your friend said casually, as if it were an everyday part of her life. Well, you couldn't relate. She was lounging on your bed, while you were on the floor with your laptop open to one of Professor Turner's published stories. As well as a valuable audiobook that was read by him between the navigation tabs, waiting for her to leave so you can have your moment of peace. You wanted to learn more about him, and your friend kept failing to get you to go out and meet new people. You were unfamiliar with the sensation of being touched, and she wanted to change that.

"I don't want to have to force someone to like me," you said, reconsidering what you had just breathed out, not wanting to sound offensive. You two were just different. She didn't mind; she just laughed. "I'll keep trying for you," and you appreciated that about her. You wanted someone in your life like that, but you didn't want it to be as insignificant as she described. She had already set you up with someone to talk to before, and the kiss was good, at least until you refused to have sex right away, which resulted in his friends laughing at you and whispering as you passed them in the hallway. You learned that sometimes it's better to wait and avoid certain situations.

"I'm okay like this, it's alright," you said, even though you weren't, but you wouldn't go through that again. She respected your decision. Your smile brightened as you saw a notification that you had received an email from Alex on the screen. You bit your lip, trying to contain your eagerness to click on it, making it something important that needed to be read slowly and appreciated. His notes on what he thought of your paper would be there, and he always made a point to highlight the positives and areas for improvement. It warmed your heart.

For a brief moment, his smile for you flashed in your mind, the wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes, and his pointed nose following in harmony. You had to grip the fabric of your skirt between your fingers, soon having your friend's words echoing in your head. Professor Turner seemed like a good man in every sense of the word. You did believe he would treat his partners well in every way. Your friend pointed out that the boy she went out with listened to her, and you felt that he would too; both in listening and in other ways. You were sure, with what little you had learned about him, that he was observant.  There would be no need to tell him what to do, Mr Turner would understand your body and then he would not disappoint.  He could tell when a woman was tired or overwhelmed. An important one was that you also thought he was provocative, too impatient at times not to be.  You wanted to be able to know what it was like with him, even if it was through other people's experiences with him, just to get a little of that taste.  You didn't exactly feel good about the inconsistency of such thoughts. Still, you let yourself be carried away by them.

He made you wet with just his voice. If he were to touch you in that way, you were certain you would give yourself over completely. You sat up straighter, envisioning how good it would be to have his tongue on you, gentle and with relaxed moans because he wouldn't think going down on you was a bad thing or something to second-guess. You remembered how easily you could make your small vibrator slide when you were really excited, and you felt it would be the same with his fingers. They were longer and thicker than yours, but wet with his saliva and your body melting from his voice, they would be skillful.

The tip of his nose would surely brush deliciously against your clit as he savored your taste, following your cues. The beard that was beginning to grow would graze your sensitive skin, causing a slight burn that would remind you of his presence. Professor Turner would also shake his face into you, wanting to make sure he enjoyed pleasuring you as much as he did receiving. Oh, and you would love to be able to provide that to him. Unconsciously, you found yourself breathing heavily. Your friend laughed, "Are you this worked up over a notification?" She had gotten up to leave but returned when she noticed you were flustered. "Spill it, who's the lucky one?" You recoiled, shaking your head in denial, not wanting to admit that there was someone (or not exactly), but your smile was hard to hide.

"It's not really anyone," you still felt uncomfortable in your own skin, fearing you had done something wrong. She waited for you to continue. "Just an email about a paper I submitted, I got feedback on it now." She rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath, "What a nerd." Then you felt like exploring the situation further, considering that she also had a class with him but in a different subject. "Was it positive feedback at least? What subject is this for?" You mentally thanked her for asking, giving you an opening to continue.

"It's for Professor Turner's class. He let me redo one of the papers to try for a higher grade," you answered, and she raised an eyebrow. "He gave you a low grade?" The girl seemed surprised but not entirely. "This guy is impossible, what a..." She used a strong word. You didn't quite understand. While you still thought there was a chance he might dislike you, he didn't seem so harsh. He wasn't the friendliest at first, but as you thought back, you realized you had never seen him smile at any student in your class except you.

"Do people think he's bad?" You asked, furrowing your brow. Deep down, you wanted her to reassure you by saying positive things about him and making you feel normal about having this confusing crush on him. She then talked about his strict grading style, how he acted like a difficult person to talk to, and always had a stern expression. She wasn't wrong; you couldn't deny that. But he wasn't like that with you; it was different, and you couldn't explain it.

"I talked to him about my grade, and even though he was reluctant, he allowed me to redo it and submit it by email. He talks to me during class as well, asking me to explain something or asking for my opinion on what he's explaining. I think he's talented, but I can understand your point," you defended, without taking a breath, as if it were already a formulated and concrete idea in your head. You did spend a lot of time thinking about him since the first day of his class. She quickly caught on to where this was headed. "You like him, he's your type. Charming, grumpy, and writes well." Your cheeks burned. "He likes you; in my class, he doesn't chitchat with anyone, just does what's necessary. He enjoys teaching, I can see that in him, he's just not so sociable and too strict for a subject that should be straightforward. I've never even seen the guy smile." You pondered for a moment, deciding to pay closer attention to see if he treated you differently from the others or if it was just your head playing tricks on you.

You shrugged and concluded before she left, "I like him, and he frustrates me sometimes for being so strict, but I don't think he does it out of malice. He seems like a good man." She got up, laughing at how you talked about him. "Then go for it, suck his dick, choose him as your thesis advisor; I'm sure he'd love to have you under his wing." Her tone indicated it was a joke, but it sparked your imagination. He would be a good advisor, and you liked the idea of him praising your work with that pleased, bright look on his face. Alone, you opened the email. Your joy went from extreme to controlled; he could be quite harsh when pointing out the negatives, and sometimes you wondered if he did it just to be difficult. But this time, he found more positives in your writing. He had marked the parts he liked the most and written next to them why he liked them. Your heart warmed, and your stomach filled with happy butterflies. The last comment read, "You give me pleasure in reading something," and you heard it in his voice, deep and drawn-out. You felt yourself grow warm and realized how messed up you were for feeling like this. Your mouth was dry, and in the end, you saw that your grade was the highest, even with the not-so-great notes he had made.

Maybe he didn't dislike you after all. You lingered on the blurry, not much clear photo in his email signature for a while, with a stupid smile of accomplishment on your face. Then you decided to write him a thank-you, and you weren't as brief as you would have liked. The sensation of comfort taking over your body, along with your pleasant but not entirely appropriate thoughts about him causing things in your breathing, made you contemplate what could be done.

You rested your head comfortably, your laptop placed beside you. In a new tab, after opening the audiobook website, you found yourself browsing through the selection that appeared when you searched his name. If his voice was enticing in an inappropriate context, it would be even better alone, wouldn't it? Your chest tightened, knowing that it was wrong, but you weren't going to stop.

You put on your headphones, clicked on the longest one you could find, and relaxed your tense shoulders as the first whispered words filled your head. It was even better; here, you had him all to yourself, complete silence, and his voice echoing, well-recorded and clear as it guided you. He sounded precise, with deep and marked pauses, his typical breathing between phrases, and, with your eyes closed, you could imagine him gesturing and occasionally touching his nose or mouth as he spoke. Just like the gentle adjustment of the necklace and shirt that made his chest more visible and room for more of your thoughts to be explored.  In fact, that necklace coming off his soft skin on top of you in sweat would be something so pleasant.

You felt weak but in a relaxed way; it was good, pushing the voice that haunted your thoughts about him into the background. Delicately, as if any abrupt movement might break the spell, you reached for your box under the bed. The small, pink object came to life in your hand, your throat already dry and his narration causing your head to tilt slightly to the side, as if he were caressing your face. You let yourself be completely carried away as you pressed it against yourself.

You swallowed hard, leaving it there for a while, immersed in how Mr. Turner seemed to be speaking to you. Everything was slow, every syllable that came from his rosy lips was cherished. You wanted so much for it to be him there, touching you and whispering while guiding you. You were sure he would say things like, "That's it, you're taking me so well, doll," or "Look at how good you are, you're such a good girl for me." And as cliché as it might sound, you had no doubt that he would make it sound like something the gods themselves would envy.

You pulled the thin fabric aside, pushing the vibrator inside you. Your legs trembled a bit, but as expected, the small object slid in just right. Your lips parted in a satisfied sigh, whispering his last name as you closed your legs slowly and felt the tingling sensation intensify. His name never felt so delicious and engaging as your tongue rolled out to the sound and went through your lips so vividly. Your head throbbed, and you could already see him sitting at his desk in front of yours, guiding you, telling you what to do and say, teaching you tricks to make it even better (you knew you weren't very skilled).

You got louder, whimpering because you wanted your thoughts to become real so badly, and then you saw nothing but white spots in your vision. Your chest heaved, your breathing completely out of sync, and the area beneath you grew wet as you felt too sensitive to continue with the vibrator.

This time, you didn't feel bad; you felt really good, actually. Your body relaxed, his voice still being absorbed by you in a therapeutic way. Then, you imagined lying on his chest, pulling your pillow to your arms, and how he would kiss you solemnly and have his hands in your hair, giving you comforting words until you fell asleep after he had made you feel so wonderful. 

Although you were feeling good now, the following morning would be a bitter testament to how you were digging yourself into a hole with no bottom, and the light wouldn't be there to save you.

…

 Alex received your email, and a pleasant blush crept onto his face along with a warm smile. He could picture you reading what he had written, your hands between your thighs, a happy expression on your face, and all giddy, unable to contain yourself in your chair. He appreciated how much you valued his feedback, but he knew how hardworking and intelligent you were. He wanted to help you realize that you were good on your own, not just because he believed it.

He ran his hand through his hair, feeling hot from the heat. Your notification had arrived on his phone, and being a seasoned university professor, he preferred to wait to access his laptop to read and respond to you properly if needed. He tried to get into the thing that he was used to teaching, but that wasn't entirely the case. While he found it tiresome to teach subjects he liked and found interesting when no one seemed interested, he enjoyed it when you were there for him, you were the exception (the teacher’s pet). The thought made him chuckle and bite his lip. It was tiring, but he liked it, except for all the social interaction that weighed on him.

He had just returned from the market after giving two lectures, and he had exceeded his limit for social interaction. Yet, seeing your email notification on the screen gave him the extra energy he needed for the rest of the day. Just the thought of your quick exchange earlier when he passed by you on the first floor during lunch, even if brief, brought a warmth to his chest. You smiled at him, waved, and whispered a "good day" or "have a good rest of your day, Professor." He always smiled back with a hand in the air, trying to keep his face relaxed, and he actually showed his teeth. He wasn't used to all this sweetness from his students and had never found himself making an effort for it, but with you, it was worth it.

Indeed, no one but you spoke directly to him out of pure, spontaneous will. If others did, he would remain serious, with a furrowed brow, and nod in agreement. He honestly preferred it that way, with no one besides you trying to have a small talk with him. He didn't dislike his students, but he didn't like flattery and dumb questions that could be avoided if they paid attention in class.

His head began to ache, and he noticed the sweat on his body, prickling and making him feel irritated. Stress was about to come back, but he remembered that he needed to read your email. He removed his belt, sliding it off his waist slowly and soon feeling relieved. He felt even better after unbuttoning all the buttons on his shirt and peeling it off. He quickly decided between taking a shower or reading your sweet words first, considering which order would leave him relaxed for longer so he could sleep. He knew that whatever he did, thoughts related to you would still linger in his mind until he fell asleep.

He sat on the bed, pulling the laptop toward him, and although he wasn't in a hurry, he found himself restless until the screen lit up, and he could access his account. Once he did, your simple message didn't fail to soften him. The excessive exclamation points reminded him of how young you were. It was like a letter, with your polite and correct punctuation. He could almost hear your voice as he read your words.

The way you called him "Mr. Turner" never failed to affect him. Others had addressed him this way, but it was different with you. Your eyes sparkled, your smile widened, your pupils got alive, and your pleasant face eagerly awaited for him to look at you and speak to you. He thought he was too old for this, and he certainly was, but he couldn't avoid how you had invaded his soul.

You had no knowledge of what was going on in his head, but he felt like he was corrupting you. He felt dirty for getting so energized by giving you compliments he knew you liked to hear and then patting your back while seeing you happy about it. What the hell was he doing? And he couldn't deny that he found comfort in how beautiful you looked when you were frustrated, your eyes seemed more tired, and your breathing uneven when you were upset about one of his negative comments (sometimes he did it on purpose).

Feeling his own chest grow heavier and his mind getting increasingly lost, he opted for a shower, even though he was aware that idealizing you wouldn't end there. Now without clothes, under the shower, with you like a curse surrounding him, he realized just how messed up he was. He couldn't avoid it anymore, even though he didn't want to. He knew there was no turning back.

The words from your email clung to him as water flowed over his hair and down his shoulders. You had shown how much you appreciated him and knew his work, the care in choosing your words to praise him, and saying that you wanted to get to him in person soon to reinforce how much you had liked his feedback, the way would like to work through them and see you unravel in front of him because he noticed that your courage in emails wasn't the same as in person. He found that so adorable.

His overactive imagination was leading him to cute places related to you, but it was sparking other curiosities in him too, even though it was about how delicate and somewhat innocent he found you (although he would never admit it that way). Soon, he felt heavy, needing relief as the water splashed over him, and he sighed in exasperation at himself. He was being as pathetic as a teenager. Why couldn't he stop?

His breathing grew rigid, catching in his dry throat, and he allowed himself to be carried away by the flow of his fantasies. His hand ran over his abdomen, eyes tightly closed, hoping that this would make him feel less guilty about it. His thumb glided over the sensitive skin, and a soft sigh escaped his lips; he felt sore and swollen despite doing so little. He continued slowly but with precision. He believed that giving you pleasure wasn't such a difficult task; you would appreciate the touch no matter what. Not that it made him want to go easy on you. He felt like he could have his hands around your waist, squeezing your soft flesh with delight while admiring your breasts, giving them gentle bites and generous suckling that would make you gasp for air for extended periods. Your hands would be cradling the nape of his neck, fingers entwined in his tousled hair. He found comfort in this, feeling that he could make you feel the same way.

He also thought that your body would respond well to his. He was convinced that you were addicted to being a good girl, and that was not up for discussion. The way you melted under his compliments, listened to his harsh criticisms, and sought to improve upon them, you would deny any chance of being labeled a bad girl. As more moans escaped his lips, with the strength of his fingers unaltered, he thought about going a little harder on you, not to hurt, but to make you think about begging him to stop. The tears that would stream down the corners of your eyes as you tried to be good for him and take him in you just right. "You're doing so well, babygirl. You’re so good to me." You would open your bright eyes to him, feeling encouraged to continue being what he needed. He would clearly notice and slow down, accommodating his fingers on your clit and making you adjust to him with soft whimpers that made you endure and enjoy it until the end.

He also liked how you would react when he stimulated you to the extreme, your sensitivity and his desire to taste your essence on his tongue. He could say that you were as sweet as his last name sounded when you talked to him in class. He would tease you with his tongue, kissing you as if it were the only time and chance he had to touch you. And you would fight not to close your thighs around him, but as you were a good girl, you would succeed in keeping yourself spread open while he exhausted you a few more times. The thought of you reaching your peak, your eyes closed, and the tears he knew would be there because you did that when you got frustrated with his opinions on your writing, and your mouth slightly open with his name escaping, made him reach his climax. A deep, raspy groan echoed through the bathroom, his head heavy, and his shoulders feeling lighter and more satisfied. He worked his hand until the last drops came out and marked his stomach just before the water could wash it away down the drain.

He felt good, guilty, but his body wasn't saying that. "Fuck," he sighed, not knowing if it was relief or the headache that would come later due to this; it was getting worse to a dimension he hadn't imagined. He would surely ruin you if he continued; it wasn't as enjoyable as he wished.

Still, he got out of the shower and found himself picturing how you would snuggle up to him, your tired body and calm eyes enveloped by his, and how he would love to tell you stories until he saw you fall asleep safe in his arms or listen to you talk about your day. He liked your voice; it made him feel good. At this point, he desired you in all these ways, from the most profane to the most adorable, for your physical and emotional well-being.

You still haunted his dreams, so vividly that he reached out for you in bed. In his imagination, he had lifted you by the waist and placed you sitting on his desk. The remaining students had left, and he could revel in how your hands were trembling and your face was so delicate as you gazed at him. You used to wear knee-high socks with longer boots, and he found it sexy yet cute. He felt like you made things your own, that you gave life to them. And then he found himself pulling at that piece of clothing, your legs spreading apart, and he had to instruct you to stay quiet before someone noticed as his fingers touched between your thighs. He caressed over the damp fabric, nodding his head and waiting for you to do the same, indicating that you understood to stay calm and quiet. The door would be closed, but the glass window could still give you away. You were facing away from it, and if you behaved, everything would go smoothly.

Alex could feel you soaking through his fingers, making them slippery. You sucked on his finger skillfully, being such a great girl, and stayed still without him having to coax you into relaxing as he went deeper. Your sighs were adorable, and he felt himself getting hard. He woke up before he could make you reach your peak and realized that the dream had an effect on him. There, he knew that if given the opportunity, maybe he wouldn't be able to fight against what he wanted to do, purely out of morality.

…

The following week, there was no class with Turner due to some unforeseen circumstances of his. However, he was still around for the week. Being as observant as you were, you passed by the same spot at 12:45 on Friday, gave him a slight wave, and although you had planned to approach him and ask how he was, you didn't. That is, until he called out to you, causing your body to freeze and your heart to race, forcing you to get closer.

He adjusted the bag on his shoulder, his cheeks flushed and intense. You noticed his restlessness as you got to him; it was cute, not awkward. He held a coffee and had a cigarette between his fingers. He exhaled the smoke in the opposite direction to yours and got rid of it as soon as you arrived by his side.

"Are you good, Professor?" It didn't fail to make him nervous, but he still looked at you without understanding. "I'm sorry, I guess it's not my business; I just thought to ask out of politeness since I haven't seen you this week."

He laughed at how you stumbled over your words, and he didn't blame you; he felt the same way. The fact that he made you feel like your question was inappropriate even made his chest tighten a bit.

"It's okay, I had a routine check-up, but I'm fine," he replied briefly but nodded with a comfortable smile. He could see you swallowing nervously and how your fingers wouldn't stop moving while he had his eyes on you.

"I thought of a book for you, if you don't mind." Your eyes met his, and you seemed excited. "I really like it, and I thought you might like it too."

The idea that he had thought of you made your body tingle, and the rush of blood to your face drowned out the noise around you. You took the coffee from his hands, noticing how he fumbled with opening his bag, and the light touch of your skins made you wish for more—it was warm and soft.

He took out the book, handing it to you, and you nodded with a faint smile. You hugged the cover to yourself, avoiding his gaze for a moment. It felt insane being around him after all the things you did with him in mind. You weren't exactly proud of that. The collar of his striped T-shirt was carelessly folded, and the buttons you loved so much were unbuttoned, revealing his chest briefly. You wished you could fix it for him.

This time, he wore a dark blazer and flare jeans, and he was pleasant to look at. He ran his hand through his hair and sighed, "I left notes in some parts so that I can know what you think later, if you'll allow me." Then you realized that he was doing this because he knew you needed to do well in his course to get into the master's program; still, you found it cute.

"Oh, yes, I can write to you when I finish, right?" He agreed, knowing that he would be waiting for your email in the coming weeks.

"I'm glad to know you're okay, Mr. Turner," you said awkwardly, your face fervently hot, and thanked him for the book. As you turned around, you felt his hand on your wrist; it wasn't as soft as before, but it was comforting, with the fingertips firmer as he squeezed your skin. Then, your eyes met his with a raised eyebrow.

"I need you to give me back my coffee, pet," he said playfully, and your knees weakened a bit. He felt pleased to be able to contemplate you in his mind.

…

The heat had taken its toll on Alex. He had left his blazer in the car and decided to visit one of the open bars near the campus. His hands rested inside his pockets as he patiently waited for his juice and water, yearning for the moment when he could finally get home and enjoy a cold beer. It was his final class of the afternoon, which meant it was getting quite late, and the students were scattered around. While the bar wasn't overly crowded, he could still recognize a few faces.

As soon as the chilled cup was placed in his hands, he caught sight of you with your back turned. You were wearing your signature knee-high socks and boots, but this time, you had opted for a skirt and a tank top, giving you a more relaxed and comfortable appearance. You looked stunning. With you engaged in conversation with a friend he had glimpsed from a distance, you were all smiles and animated hand gestures, bringing life to the scene.

Realizing he was staring, Alex chided himself and tried to divert his attention back to his juice. Yet, within a few minutes, his gaze involuntarily returned to you. Now, you were alone, engrossed in his book that sat next to you, its pages marked to indicate that you had already begun reading. A smile of satisfaction graced his lips; he had strategically placed notes between the pages for you to discover, hoping you would notice.

You sipped from an orange beverage, and Alex decided not to speculate whether it contained alcohol. However, he knew you weren't intoxicated when you suddenly turned towards him and greeted him with a friendly wave. He felt momentarily caught off guard but managed to offer a warm wave in return, nodding to acknowledge you. Your smile was radiant, and he couldn't help but notice how different you appeared outside the confines of the classroom. He longed for the opportunity to engage with you in a context that wasn't purely academic, but he was well aware that pursuing such a connection might be detrimental to both of you.

You turned back to your previous position, sipping your drink through a straw, while still sneakily stealing glances at him. Alex deliberated whether to linger a bit longer for your sake. The table you occupied was well-lit, offering a refreshing ambiance that was perfect for a summer day. The atmosphere was delightful, and he could easily imagine you enjoying such a setting regularly.

He held his bottle of water, pondering the ethical implications of sitting with you while you were alone. His initial plan was to finish his drink and then leave. But he couldn't bring himself to do that—not for his sake, but for yours. It wouldn't be fair to you. He feared the potential consequences would fall squarely on your shoulders rather than his own.

He shook his head and eventually decided to leave. As you lowered your head into his hands, he waited for a few more minutes, half-expecting you to look his way. But it didn't happen.

Then everything seemed to happen very quickly. He returned to his car, leaving behind the water and even starting the engine before realizing he had left his wallet inside. He hesitated but ultimately turned back, despite his frustration over forgetting his documents.

His wallet was still where he had left it. He retrieved it and then shifted his attention to you, curious and attentive. Your hands were fidgeting with your socks, as if attempting to wipe away sweat. A boy was seated in front of you, but your attention was elsewhere. The guy sported a smile that made Alex uncomfortable on your behalf.

Your discomfort was palpable, yet you seemed powerless to do anything about it. You turned to the side, your head moving away from the boy, and as you gasped for air, the guy's grin widened. Your elbows dropped onto your knees, and your hands moved to pull your hair away from your face. You appeared more sweaty than usual, and you felt increasingly weak.

As you realized your strength was waning, the boy signaled for someone else to assist you. You resisted, but they gently pushed you back into your chair to prevent you from collapsing. They weren't being nice about it.

For Alex, that was the tipping point. He strode over to them and forcefully removed the boy's hand from your arm. "Get away from her," his stern voice reverberated, and you didn't understand what was happening, but you knew you didn't feel well.

The guys attempted to speak over Alex, trying to explain themselves, even though there was no justification for their actions. Their chatter only served to irritate him further. He held onto you, his hand caressing your face, and your eyes were half-closed; you were clearly not in a good state.

After another remark from the boys, Alex glared at the boy with an even more intense hatred. His brow furrowed, and his tone grew sharper. "Just stay away from her; I won't let her be alone with you," he warned, making it clear that they should not attempt such behavior with anyone else either.

The boys exchanged nervous glances and silently agreed to leave, though Alex couldn't have cared less about them at that moment.

"What’re you feeling, pet?" He placed his hands on his knees, lowering himself to your level. You were dazed, your skin tingling, and you weren't sure what to say, or if you could say anything at all. Alex considered asking where you lived and offering to take you home, but he suspected you lived in the vicinity of the campus, and it wouldn't be appropriate for him to be seen with you in this state. Taking you to his own home didn't seem like a good idea either, but he did live nearby, and it appeared to be the most reasonable option.

He cupped your face in his hands, close enough to smell your scent once again. You smiled faintly, your eyes still distant but focusing on him. You were conscious, just not in the best condition. "I don't want to stay here; my head is spinning," you mumbled, not entirely sure what was wrong. It could have been due to poor nutrition or dehydration, you thought.

"Look, I'll stay with you ‘til you feel better, alright?" he spoke gently, as if soothing a baby. You nodded, his touch on your cheek making you lean into his warmth. As he thought about reaching out to your forehead with his lips, he realized where he was and quickly pulled back, rising to his feet with you leaning on him for support.

…

Alex gently sat you in the passenger seat, and you huddled in front of him, noticeably self-conscious about your attire. He chuckled warmly, pulling his blazer from the back seat. You felt cradled by his presence as he slipped the fabric over your arms and fastened the buttons around your midsection. It resembled a short dress, making you feel more comfortable, and it carried a pleasant scent. Your stomach still tingled, and you were aware that it was because of him and not whatever had happened earlier.

He rested your head against the headrest, his serene eyes guiding you, and he didn't seem regretful about helping you, despite the crease between his brows. Then he fastened your seatbelt and handed you his water bottle. Your vision was blurry, and sudden movements hurt, but he wasn't a saint, and he had a rough view of how you must be feeling. He'd been your age before, although thankfully, in his case, it had been a result of a spontaneous choice.

"I'll wait a bit before starting the car, alright?" he suggested, and you nodded. He gently led the bottle to your lips, encouraging you to drink a substantial portion of it. He wiped your chin and face with the hem of his T-shirt, and you followed his every move, your attention fixated on him. Without the blazer, he looked even better, and you lightly held his wrist. He seemed concerned, but you did it because you wanted to and felt that you could, even though you'd never been this close before. "Thank you, Mr. Turner," you said casually, as if it didn't affect him profoundly.

As he sat down on the driver's side of the car, he closed the tinted windows, feeling safer with that precaution. He still worried about putting you in danger. He waited, knowing that feeling dizzy along with drinking water wouldn't be a good combination, even though he had insisted on it to help your body recover more quickly. He could hear your calm breathing, which put him at ease. You had closed your eyes, your mouth slightly ajar, and he looked at you, allowing himself to be captivated by every detail. He carefully adjusted your hair to prevent it from catching on the seat and strands from being pulled, whispering, "You can sleep; everything’ll be alright, I promise, little one." You found yourself charmed by the pet name, involuntarily smiling, and he made a mental note that you like it. Your arms lightly touched, and with the comforting scent of him surrounding you, you drifted into a light sleep. It was strange to be in such a bad situation with an outcome that neither of you regretted. He kept the radio off until reaching your destination. He’d never drive without music. 

… 

Your eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light as you realized you were leaning on him for support. Your forehead was resting on his shoulder, his soft T-shirt against your skin. He was more comforting to touch than your mind had led you to trust. He was kneeling in front of you while you sat on the bed. You no longer felt dizzy, but you were weak, with not all your senses fully present. Alex's hands delicately removed your earrings and necklaces, and it was nice to have him so close, a bit surreal. You almost believed you could be a doll with how he was treating you. He moved back, laying you down on his bed, and he smiled at you as a way to reassure you that everything was okay. You grabbed his arm, afraid he would leave. Alex quickly shook his head. "Hey, little one, I'm not going anywhere. I just need to get some water for you and something to dry your face." He sounded caring, making you want to cry because you knew this was wrong. But why did it feel so right?

"Promise?" You asked, not into the idea of falling into a deep sleep and when you wake up he wouldn't be there to call you little one anymore. He nodded, extending his pinky finger to seal the promise. The silence without him wasn't comforting; you felt like there were monsters under the bed. Still out of mind about time and space, you realized you were in his room, which made you feel even more fragile. The room had a light blue color, seemed well-lit during the day, had books scattered in an organized manner, and two guitars hanging on the wall. That made you put your hand over your mouth as you imagined how his fingers would behave playing those strings. You wanted to hug him, to let the scent and the soft chest lull you to sleep again. Your head was noisy, and you didn't like it.

When he returned, he moved in slow motion to you. He wiped your face and neck with a damp cloth, and you wondered why he was alone. He was a good man; you had thought about that before. Alex wouldn't sleep next to you, but he would stay with you as long as you needed him. He sat with his back against the headboard, looking at you for a moment. It was too late; this was no longer just a casual situation. You'd have to talk about it; you had formed a bond. Although you were scared, Alex liked it.

You asked him to lie down, and he complied. You were side by side, facing each other. Your eyelids struggled to close, but first they followed your fingers as they roamed his face. You traced the gentle lines at the corner of his eye, then the bridge of his nose. He was handsome. Sometimes you wanted to forget that he was older than you, even though you liked him that way. Your hand then touched his rough stubble, and he smiled when he saw you smiling at him. It was like a dream, like you had imagined and even better.

In an abrupt and unquestionably unplanned proceed, your hand hooked onto the collar of his T-shirt, pulling yourself closer. It was a light pull, and in the blink of an eye, your lips were on his, tender and airless. They lingered there, just touching, feeling each other's warmth and the mixing of breaths. Your hand pressed against his chest and held him to yourself, like he could heal you. You moved your lips with his slowly, warmly, and precisely, enjoying in a comfortable sigh every second of it, until he broke into a sigh of reality. He couldn't be doing this, not with you like this. Not wanting to startle you, he sealed your cheeks and nose a few countless times before planting small forehead kisses when he needed to refuse your touch. He felt guilty, but he wouldn't deny that it had been good, way better than he had fantasized. There were no words, and none were needed; both of you were aware of it. Although he thought you might not be as much, he feared you might not even remember this when you woke up.

Alex held your palm against his chest until you fell asleep. Then he got up, covered your body with a warm sheet, and left you there. Unable to restrain himself from touching your face before and stroking your hair. The next day, you would wake up, wondering if it had been a vivid dream or not. But his room would leave no doubts, with the guitars, the well-lit atmosphere, and his blazer still carrying his scent on you. You didn't know how you were going to talk to him after that, you thought about how he must think of you as a kid who doesn't know how to be in the real world. This time, however, you noticed a photo on the bedside table. He was hugging a woman while kissing her forehead. She had a neatly cut fringe and an angelic face; she was very pretty, and it made you feel insecure. She was around his age. You were wrong to be there, and then you got that the bed you were on was a double bed. You wanted to run away even though your head was pounding. Professor Turner might act like a good man, but he was still a man. Above all, you tried to think well of him; perhaps it was a divorce, right? You would have noticed the ring on his finger if he were married. He wouldn't take off the ring, would he? But why was that photo still there? You quickly got up, failing to remain composed when you saw that he had left a note and some money in case you needed to call an Uber. You couldn't just read it right away. You wanted to believe he was good, but it hurt. You felt used even though you hadn't done anything. Yet, you still felt like you wanted him around more often because you felt good with him. In the middle of class, Alex struggled with impatience, hoping you wouldn't leave without taking the note and the snack he had left for you, so you would have his number and be safe. But it didn't happen, at least not when he expected it to. 

...

taglist: @ohladymoon @indierockgirrl @bloo-wisteria @bellaturner @cosmoschaotic @nikisfwn @andrews-lovr @nela-cutie @artimonkii @alexturnersbbg3 @blackberryblossom @lilmisssweetdreams

(lmk if you want to be in or out of the taglist!)

[arabe11as]

Coming Down.

warnings: smut, MDNI, drunk alex, female reader x

coming down by the weeknd x why’d you only call me when your high?

Around midnight, Alex’s texts trailed off—he mentioned he was heading to a bar just a few streets away, and you figured that was the last you’d hear from him for the night.

By 3 a.m., you were finally starting to wind down, your eyes heavy as you sank into bed. Just as you were on the edge of sleep, your phone lit up, vibrating non-stop. One text after another from Alex flooded your screen, pulling you back from the brink of sleep.

hi

are you awake?

i know it’s late i’m sorry

can i come over?

y/n?

Before you could even register what his messages were saying, your phone started to ring. Alex’s name flashed on the screen, and you groaned out loud, swiping to answer.

“What, Alex?” you asked, rubbing your temple.

“Hi,” he slurred. Of course, he was drunk.

“What do you want?” you asked, already tired of this conversation.

“You,” he replied, his voice thick with alcohol.

“Oh, Jesus.” You sighed, trying to push the irritation out of your tone. “Alex, it’s 3 a.m. Go home.”

“But I’m all alone, Y/N. Can I come over?” he asked, the desperation clear.

You already knew where this was going. Alex gets drunk, shows up, you hook up, and then he’s gone by morning. It was a stupid routine, one you weren’t in the mood for tonight. You knew he didn’t want anything real with you, but that didn’t stop you from feeling something for him, and that just made it worse.

“Alex, I’m not really in the mood,” you said, hoping he’d take the hint.

“Okay, okay, we can—we can just talk?” he offered, slurring even more now.

“Where are you?” you asked, feeling a knot of suspicion forming in your stomach.

“Outside your house,” he said casually.

“What??” You shot up from bed, heart racing, and before you could process it, the doorbell rang. You groaned, louder this time.

“Y/N!” Alex’s voice echoed through the letterbox.

“God, no,” you muttered under your breath, rushing downstairs. You prayed your neighbors wouldn’t wake up as you threw on something decent, bracing yourself for whatever drunken mess awaited at the door.

You opened the door, and there he was, leaning on the frame in his leather jacket, a sloppy grin on his face. “Hello, lovely,” he slurred, grinning like he hadn’t just woken you up at 3 a.m.

You rolled your eyes. “May I come in?” he asked, swaying a bit.

“What did I say on the phone, Al?” you reminded him.

“You said no,” he pouted, his lip sticking out like a kid who didn’t get his way.

“And what does that mean?” you teased, pretending like he didn’t understand.

“It means let me in,” he whined, giving you his best puppy dog eyes.

You sighed, rolling your eyes again. As much as you didn’t want to, you stepped aside and let him in. He stood by the door, smiling at you, the strong smell of whiskey and cigarettes filling the room.

“How many have you had?” you asked, half laughing, half annoyed.

“Enough,” he grinned, trying to sound smooth.

He leaned in to kiss you, but you stopped him, gently holding his face. “I mean what I said, Alex,” you whispered, kissing his cheek instead before walking away. He stayed by the door, looking lost as you left the room.

You headed into the kitchen to grab him a glass of water while he collapsed onto the sofa in the living room. When you came back, you nudged his foot with yours. “Move,” you smiled, seeing him stretched out, taking up the whole couch. He sat up, and you handed him the water before sitting next to him, pulling your knees up to your chest.

“I wish you wouldn’t slick your hair back like that,” you teased, tucking a loose strand behind his ear that had fallen over his face.

“If you don’t like it, I’ll stop,” he said with a lopsided smile.

“Whatever,” you smiled back, shaking your head acting like he didn’t just make your stomach flutter.

He set the water down, looking over at you. “Are you really not in the mood?” he asked, his voice softer now.

“No, sorry, Al,” you said, giving him a fake smile.

“Don’t be sorry. I’m sorry I’m only here when… you know…” he trailed off, avoiding your eyes.

“Yeah,” you sighed, understanding what he meant. It was always like this.

“This is the only thing you’ll do with me,” he mumbled, the words slurring a bit, his face clouded with something sadder.

“What?” you asked, confused.

“Sex. It’s the only thing you wanna do with me,” he frowned, his eyes downcast, like he’d been holding that in for a while.

“Who the fuck said that?” you asked, eyebrows raised.

“No one! Me,” Alex said quickly, placing a hand on your leg, like he needed some excuse to touch you. “I just feel like you only want me when I’m… under the influence.”

“Why do you think that?” you asked, trying to make sense of where this was coming from.

“You never call or text me after we do anything…” he muttered, looking down like it was some shameful secret.

“Yeah, because I think you only want me when you’re drunk or high,” you admitted, feeling a knot form in your chest as you said it out loud.

“I don’t!” he blurted, stumbling over his words. “I wanna—fuck, I’m sorry. I wanna see you all the time. I just thought you only wanted me when I was drunk or high.” He looked at you, a bit more sober in his eyes now, like he’d been carrying that thought around for a while.

“I’m sorry I come off like that. I don’t mean to,” he admitted, staring into your eyes with those big, soft brown eyes of his.

“I hate it when you leave in the morning,” you whispered, feeling more vulnerable than you intended to.

“I know, love. I’m sorry. I wanna stay, I really do,” he whispered back, his face inching closer, his hand slowly trailing up your thigh, sending a shiver through you.

“Then stay,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

“For as long as I like?” he asked, his lips hovering near yours.

“How long’s that?” you chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.

“Forever? If you’ll have me,” he said with a smile that made your heart skip.

“I’ll have you,” you smiled back, finally leaning in and pressing your lips to his, the kiss soft but full of all the words neither of you had been able to say.

His tongue slipped into your mouth, and you could taste the whiskey on him. "I'm sorry you said you weren't in the mood," he murmured, pulling away carefully, not wanting to push you.

You momentarily forgot you'd said that, realizing you'd kind of lied to yourself. You straddled his lap, feeling bold. "You have an effect, Alex..." you whispered, pushing off his leather jacket, leaving him in a dark T-shirt that complemented him VERY well.

He smiled and stood up from the sofa, your legs wrapped around his waist. He almost lost his balance, making both of you laugh. "You're so pissed," you giggled, enjoying the moment.

"Shut up, you twat," he laughed, leaning in to kiss you again as he carried you toward your bedroom.

He gently placed you onto the bed, keeping the kiss going. But as you pulled away, a wave of worry hit you—was this just him talking nonsense because he was drunk?

He noticed the concern etched on your face and cupped your cheek. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his brow furrowing as he saw your worried look grow stronger.

“Hey, Y/N… are you okay?”

You nodded, but he could tell you weren’t entirely convinced. “Talk to me, love,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss your forehead gently.

“You’re drunk,” you said softly.

“I’m not drunk now,” he replied, his gaze steady. “I’ll be here when you wake up, Y/N. I promise.” He pressed his lips to yours again, his voice sincere. “I promise. We don’t have to do anything.” He said it softly, reassuringly, and you felt a little of the tension ease away.

"No, I want to. Please," you whispered, laying back with him settling between your legs.

"Please, Al," you practically begged, pulling off his T-shirt, your heart racing.

"What do you want?" he asked, his voice low.

"You. Make me yours, please, Alex," you moaned, the urgency in your voice clear.

He slid down your panties and unbuckled his belt, slipping inside you, making you gasp at the sensation.

"Al-" you began, but his lips cut you off as they crashed against yours.

"Fucking hell," he groaned, the sound deep and primal. "You're such a good girl," he whispered in your ear, knowing how much you loved it when he said that.

He lifted your wrists above your head, pinning them gently but firmly against the bed.

"Alex," you moaned, lost in the moment.

"I love hearing you moan my name," he said, kissing your neck, his lips trailing fire across your skin

Your body responded instinctively, arching up into him as a soft moan escaped your lips.

He groaned in response, his grip on your wrists tightening as he increased his pace, driving into you with more urgency. The world around you began to blur.

"is this okay?" he murmured, concern lacing his voice despite the primal hunger in his eyes.

You couldn't answer, couldn't form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence. All you could do was feel, and what you felt was pure bliss.

His rhythm was relentless, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge, making you gasp beneath him.

"Am I fucking you that good you can't speak? Hmm?" he whispered in your ear, his breath hot against your skin.

His arrogance pushed you over the edge, a surge of annoyance mixing with the pleasure flooding your system. "Shut up, you prick," you groaned, trying to sound annoyed but failing miserably as your voice came out breathy and weak.

"There she is," he whispered, a satisfied smile curving his lips. He picked up the pace even more, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper, until you could barely keep up.

He released your wrists, his hands moving down to grip your waist, pulling you closer as he thrust harder. Your fingers instinctively found their way to his hair, tugging on it, lost in the heat of the moment.

With little effort, he lifted one of your legs and hooked it over his shoulder, changing the angle just enough to send you spiraling out of control.

Your nails dug into his back, and when you couldn't take it anymore, you bit down hard into his shoulder but he didn't stop, didn't slow down. If anything, he only went harder leaving you gasping and moaning, your whole body vibrating with need.

You bite your lip, trying to suppress the moan that escapes as he moves with a rough, almost punishing rhythm.

Your hand flies to your mouth, stifling the sounds. "Fuck, fuck, Alex, I can't-" you gasp, every word stumbling out between thrusts, each one more intense than the last.

"You can, love," he growls low in your ear, his voice rough, full of heat, as he pushes your hand away.

"I want to hear those pretty sounds." His grip tightens around your waist as he slams into you with an unrelenting force, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

"Fuck," you groan, louder this time, no longer able to hold back. He leans in closer, his breath hot against your neck, his hand sliding up to wrap around your throat, applying just enough pressure to send your mind spiraling.

"That's it, love," he murmurs, voice dark and filled with need. "Come for me. Let me feel you."

Your body tenses, his words pushing you over.

"Alex—" you gasp, your voice barely a whisper, trembling

With a strangled cry, you shattered, your climax ripping through you with force, as your body clenched tightly around him, milking him for every last drop of sensation.

His own release followed swiftly, a deep groan rumbling in his chest as he came, his muscles tensing and then relaxing as he spilled himself inside you.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, simply reveling in the afterglow of your shared climax.

Then, slowly, he withdrew, collapsing beside you on the bed. You turned your head to look at him, your breath still coming in ragged gasps, and found him watching you with an expression that was equal parts smug and contented.

“I think you get better each time,” you laughed, still feeling the aftershocks of what just happened.

“And you said you ‘weren’t in the mood,’” he teased, a grin spreading across his face.

“Shut up, I was mad at you,” you shot back, unable to hide your smile.

“So mad, clearly,” he laughed, nudging you playfully.

You lay beside him, chest rising and falling as you close your eyes and take a slow, deep breath. The room is still, just the sound of your breathing filling the space.

“I wasn’t too rough, was I?” he asks, voice softer now, a hint of concern laced with his usual confidence.

You shake your head, turning toward him with a lazy smile. “No, Al. You were amazing. You always are.”

He smiles back, the tension in his shoulders easing as he leans in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips warm against your skin.

He practically forced you to get up and go to the bathroom, even though all you wanted to do was sleep. Afterward, you returned and fell into his arms, the warmth of his body enveloping you. You closed your eyes, feeling safe and content, and soon drifted off to sleep.

You woke up to the unfortunate reality of an empty space next to you. Your heart sank, and you knew it. You knew he was full of shit.

As you stared at the empty spot beside you, the door to your bedroom opened, and Alex walked in, holding a cup of tea.

"Good morning, love," he smiled, leaning down to kiss your forehead. You stared at him, dumbfounded. "What?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

You didn't say anything; instead, you wrapped your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. "I thought you left," you whispered.

"I told you-no, I promised you I wouldn't. I don't plan on it either," he replied, and you felt a wave of relief wash over you.

You smiled and kissed his cheek, but then you caught a whiff of something... eggs? Bacon?

You raised an eyebrow. "Are you cooking?" you asked, smirking.

"Yes... is that okay?" he wondered, a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

"Yes! That's fine! I didn't know you could cook!" you laughed, genuinely impressed.

"I've had enough of you already. Of course i can cook," he joked, laughing along with you.

"A man of many talents," you smiled.

"Making you cum is number one," he joked, and you playfully slapped his arm.

"shut up!" you exclaimed, both embarrassed and amused.

a/n: meow…

chat feel free to send me your thoughts I DONT LIKE THIS BUT WHATEVER XX

[g1rlken]

┏ 𝐅𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐌𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬 ┐

1. Part, Alex turner x actress!reader

summary: ugly break up and working together

warnings: smear campaigns, Twitter incels, award season, depression

word count: 4.8k+

-

Relationships become a hurdle of choreographing well being when you’re going through a difficult period in life. The one person that’s supposed to be wholly yours becomes another face to mask with. Empathy feels good for a week, two weeks, a month. As the days would stack up it would just feel like a customised emotion, a weight. That’s how y/n felt, her relationship with Alex had seen a lot of ups and downs over their year and a half together. A lot of fights, long distances, miscommunications but it never weighed them down nor their relationship. They always came back stronger after a set back as such. However such shaky career hurdles were only ever seen by Alex, writer’s block, studio pressure, album press, billboard charts, the critics it was a coin toss on fate and he’d often land on the difficult side. But he had a lot of years in the industry and a well composed mind to these things.

Maybe her issues were difficult, Hollywood is eitherways a harsher ground for women. Especially the acting industry, she was facing method acting allegations by one of her elderly costars of old fashion. Not that method acting was concept of bad light in modern day cinema but the characters of the show were very demanding maybe some bitterness towards y/n however she never paid any mind to those when it started. Even her costars all took it lightly, the method acting questions started coming up in almost all promotions, either that or her relationship. She handled that with grace too, all until the emmys. The Emmys where she won one, a shining star in the tapestry of her young career. Amidst her speech a stand up show host had a set organised. Seemingly she wasn’t priorly informed about it being found dumbfounded on stage. In front of everyone, the same joke of being an alleged method actor made an imprint on her first ever Emmy. Everyone present just laughed like they would through a normal set, they laughed at her, she felt like the world ended. After that function she felt increasingly uncomfortable with herself, a laughingstock. Twitter was divided like it always is, she would just focus on those who added to the joke. Witty jabs. Variety articles behind y/l/n’s Emmy fiasco.

Alex tried. Alex tried really hard, he forced screens away from her. WiFi in their house only for certain hours and he’d supervise it, weekend getaways for her almost every weekend. She just seemed to not escape it, losing her appetite even. Alex was the cook between the two of them, meals would take hours and hours for her to get it down and he would sit with her without a complaint. He loved her truly unconditionally and he was aware it was genuinely hard for her. Such smear campaign was very hard to escape. When she started having sleep issues as well he forcibly suggested therapy. Y/n truly believed she wasn’t meant for therapy, she wasn’t ’therapy audience’ and he consoled her very hard into joining it. Eventually she did and it just added to the shitshow. Apparently the therapist found her difficult to work through, it lasted barely 2 weeks and the therapist referred her to someone else. It became public and her therapist’s statement was “The most difficult patient in all of my career.” Maybe it was the amateur hour for the therapist or maybe it wasn’t meant in a better light but social media smear campaign treated it like a festival.

As weeks progressed everything else seemed increasingly difficult. Especially Alex. Seeing his life, his new normal which would start and end with her well being and nothing would change with her mental state either. Alex was giving out so much of himself yet she couldn’t find it in herself to actually smile even. That guilt was worse than everything else. She let that guilt consume her for a while until she finally decided to do something about it.

That evening, after dinner she finally put a stone on her heart and decided to lay that conversation to him. Guiding him to sit across her on the sofa of their shared place she took his hands into hers “Alex, no one else has stood by me the way you have, these two whole months. It’s the worst thing that’s happened to me perhaps ever and you’ve been with me through it. Just how the cliches say it-like my rock.” She said patiently “I feel like I’m not making any progress but if it weren’t for you I would’ve been at a worse place and” she took in a shaky breath before continuing a long pause following something Alex had no idea of.

“Just how you’ve been around for me.” He said holding her hands in his right her “And what we are isn’t for cliches or for saying y/n, I love you and despite of you being at your lowest as long as I have you, I have all I need. We’ve had rough patches before we’ve been alright and we will be even-“

“Just…just let me finish yeah?” Y/n interrupted him looking down their hands because looking into his eyes which carried soft love was so much harder. “You’re giving away too much of yourself. You don’t see it but I do, you’ve made my well being some sort of a passion project of yours and I understand you want the best for me I really do. But I have to look out for you too, and, I feel like this isn’t fair to you. We’re not working out…we won’t.”

A very long silence followed as Alex stared at her comprehending that, “what?” he huffed in denial “what do you mean?” He asked as if it would change what she meant.

“Alex…” she brought his hands closer to her “you need to do better in life, better than this. You have so much potential to give out, into yourself, into your career and you’ve spent so much on me already. I can’t keep you for me like this…we should…part.”

“I am passionate about you what do you mean passion project? I am in love with you and I want to help you. Just how you’d help me don’t you see it? So you don't get to decide that for me and my potential. It’s mine.” Alex stated firmly.

“Exactly. It’s yours! You’re pouring it all out into me—you’re draining yourself-“

“None of that is for you to decide!” Alex stopped her sentence midway leaving her hands out of his to run his hands through his hair out of frustration.

“Fine…” y/n seemed bad with confrontation and she didn’t want to paint herself out to be a bad lover in his history books years from now but she didn’t know how else to not do that. He was hurting unknowingly. “But this is for me to decide and I have. W-we need to..” she couldn’t even find it in herself to finish that sentence. “Break up.”

“No.” Alex stated so casually like she just asked her a very simple question, as if it was a question. “No we do not. We don’t need to do any such thing.”

“Alex…” she sighed looking away, his denial was breaking her heart. Tears formulated her eyes as she thought about how much this will hurt him.

“What Alex? No: I’m refusing.” He shrugged, very nonchalantly shrugging. Declining her wish as he didn’t even look at her.

“Alex please” she said as she gently cupped his face to look at her, “you don’t realise this…you have been putting yourself through so much for me. This-this is difficult I know, but you’ll be better after this.”

“Y/n, listen to me” he shifted in his seat to face her. “You don’t get to decide this for me. You are going through a tough time and I will not leave you.”

“You haven’t written a piece in two months..you don’t even go to the studio. You barely leave me alone to work with anything else!” She pointed out, all these bits of his habits were vanishing out and she had noticed it all. Being an early riser he’d go for a run around the block but nowadays he’d just time how many hours she had slept because of her issues. Time her vitamins and supplements. Plan things with her and only her as if he wasn’t supposed to have a life of his own.

“I have a writer’s block!” He exclaimed growing increasingly hurt and frustrated that this is how she viewed him helping her. She sounded like a burden to herself but he had never considered one to himself and he hated that she felt that way.

“Because you’re so occupied with me!” She exclaimed back with a sigh rubbing her eyes and looked away, uncrossing her legs on the couch.

“That’s just your assumption y/n you don’t know how my process works and you shouldn’t come to conclusions about things you don’t know.” Alex tried to reason with her even if she was right he couldn’t care less. She was important to him and she needed his full attention.

“Could you please just listen to me Alex…I don’t want to stay within this-“ y/n replied trying to find the right words.

“With me. You don’t want to stay with me.” He rephrased her sentence giving it to her as raw as he fathomed.

“Yes.” Taking in a deep breath she finally let it out because he wasn’t listening to her without brutal honesty. “Yes I don’t.”

“That just isn’t true-that’s not right you’re too tired today that’s all.” Alex replied, he wanted to point it maybe she was also hungry but he kept that for more persuasion.

“Alex, please.” Y/n breathed taking her head in her hands because none of her reasonings got into her head.

He just shook his head in response as the silence weighed heavy between the two of them. Tears streamed down her face as they sat there, Alex was more fine with this tension than he was with being without her. “We just can’t…y/n.” Alex said.

“I’m really sorry” she said as she looked back up at him teary eyed. The tears seemingly made everything difficult for sure. “It’s going to be alright…” she wiped her tears and looked away again. His sad gaze was so gutting to look at and talk at the same time it felt like it would stick with her, hauntingly, even after she leaves.

“But it’s alright already” He urged shifting closer to her and wrapping an arm around her trying to meet her eyes but she kept her gaze fixated at the coffee table.

“That’s what you want to think” she said softly with a heavy heart. “I don’t want to do this either Alex…it’s for the best.”

If it were for the best he wouldn’t be feeling his heart sink lower and his breath shortening. His vision becoming fuzzy already as tears brimmed in his eyes as well. But he wanted to handle this more delicately. “It isn’t, you know it isn’t.” He sniffled. “This isn’t what I want and I know it’s not what you want either, why do you feel this way? This need to run?”

“I’m not running Alex” I’m setting you free, she didn’t say out loud “I’ve been thinking about this a lot and…and this is going to hurt. It will hurt for a while but you’ll get over it.”

“Get over you? Y/n I don’t plan on leaving you” he said still drowning in denial. Stern denial and blind faith he could fix this mess, if he talked to her more. He could fix this mess, if he asked her sleep on it. He could fix this mess, if he held her closer. So he did. “Y/n look at me, look at me.” He forced her to face him. “This isn’t a rational solution. You are going through so much and you are thinking too much but this is a mistake. What we have is bigger than our problems-“

“Alex.” She stopped him midway, staring into his teary eyes with hers the same “This is my problem. You try to make to make it ours, helping me through it is one thing but this is taking up too much effort and energy in your life don’t you get that?”

Alex had never felt this defeated all his life. No reasoning seemed to get to him. He couldn’t digest that she let such thoughts mature for about a week and never once preferred to talk to him about it but just became sure about it. When the fact that she felt so distant from him to not even bring it up brought him to flowing tears. Taking his face into his hands he cried. Breaking down, y/n never saw him like this and she had seen him go through supposedly tougher situations. “You can’t do this to me” he said, his voice parched and eyes red.

The thought of leaving the next day in the morning, sleeping in different bedrooms and hugging him a goodbye at breakfast was so done now. If she didn’t leave now she won’t be able to leave ever. Just holding his face in her hands as her tears streamed down her face reciprocating his. She couldn’t even muster the courage to mouth a sorry. She glanced away at her keys and wallet by the side table. It hit her like a truck when she realised there won’t be a goodbye tomorrow but today. This very moment. She slowly got her car keys and wallet and put them on her side. “It’s going to be okay…” she said sighing. Cupping his face in her hands as he reciprocated the action holding her hands and staring into her eyes.

“No it’s not” he replied with heavy grief laced in his voice. Why wouldn’t she do anything to change this? Why would she let it be this way? He felt helpless to how she firm she was about this. He placed his lips onto hers holding her closer by her waist as she cradled his face. It time were to stop he’d prefer death over letting her go. As they kissed he realised how temporary this moment will be and how this memory will bite him with sharp teeth of yearning. He couldn’t stomach the thought that she would be a memory. Visit him in nostalgia and come up in conversations and that would be all?

Eventually she pulled away from their kiss, wiping his tears with her hands as her own surfaced her face too. His dreary eyes had such an effect upon she couldn’t bare it and she softly kissed him again. His hands would still not let her go. As moments passed in holding each other and the kisses broke she realised it was time. “Goodbye, Alex.” She spoke with a voice barely above whisper because the sound of her voice breaking was louder.

His eyes widened as he realised she was leaving, now. He had barely come to terms with the fact that she was leaving. He held her hand back as she tried standing up. “You’re leaving?” His voice broke as he asked that. Y/n didn’t have it in herself to answer him what he already knew she just looked at him apologetically. Apology she knew she didn’t deserve at this very moment. “You can’t just leave right now-think about this. Sleep on it, if you still want to go leave next week?”

His negotiations seemed to know no bounds and the bargain was to get him nowhere. It would probably make him worse if she stayed. If she stayed after this. “Alex-“

“You can’t even drive in this state y/n absolutely not-if you want a break from me we could just sleep in separate bedrooms I won’t bother you-“ he tried to come up with all possible alternatives.

Her heart sank further realising how further he'd go just to make her stay. It solidified her decision of her leaving because he would always chose her above himself, even at the expense of himself hurting. She had to love him enough to let him go. “Alex…” she breathed stopping him midway “I have to.” Shaking her head she stood up to leave but didn’t see him stand up at the corner of her eyes. Somewhat relived it wouldn’t be harder to walk out that door perhaps. As she clutched her keys and wallet she felt a tug at her leg.

Looking behind to see Alex on his knees for her, it was perhaps the worst sight ever her tears reciprocating his again before he even spoke. “Y/n I beg of you please don’t go” he said as he wrapped his arms around her legs, on his knees weeping for her.

Trying to remain balanced on her footing against his grip, “don’t do this” she pleaded as her voice broke and she knelt to his level. “Please don’t make this harder.” She cried choking on her words and held his hands. Alex held her hands back very tightly.

“It doesn’t have to be hard at all” he spoke through tears as she sat close to him he brought her closer naturally settling onto his lap. As she cried and wiped his tears more just streamed down his face, “We can make it out of this y/n please, trust me please have some faith in us”

The desperation in his voice, the tears and his words it was all so gutting. This would me one of those moments she would perhaps never recover from. If she ever finds happiness again she felt like it would be at the expense of this, it would be hard for him. Very hard, but he would do so much better if she left. It was evident how much he was willing to give even to the last moment, it was concerning. “You can’t love someone this hard” y/n held his face in her hands and told him sternly “I am very miserable and I’m bringing you the same pain-over and over. This is it Alex. You won’t hurt again at the hands of me and I’m sorry it is this way…” she told him. He had no words but tears to shed. He sat absolutely defeated with her entangled in his arms. Neither he said anything nor did she.

Y/n held him back wrapping her arms around him giving him a hug or maybe hiding his teary face from herself and likewise. Rubbing his back as she hugged him sitting upon his lap. He buried his face by her neck holding her close. If the world were to end he wouldn’t care because it already did for him. The thought that this was probably the last time she would be in his arms like this made his agony worsen.

They just held each other for almost a whole hour, her head resting by his chest as they sat intertwined. The silent and slow understanding of the end. Some picture frames on the coffee table and the wall ahead, somewhat blurry because of the tears, those memories came back so much clearer. There will be no more and these will just remain pictures. Alex let out a shudder of a breath at that thought. “Where will you go?” He asked her in a tone just above a whisper.

“To my dad’s.” She replied softly without looking back up at him nor attempting to shift away from his grip. Last of his warmth. Theirs.

“He was just starting to like me…” he spoke as a soft chuckle escaped him through the tears and y/n’s followed. He would often joke with her that her dad ‘hated him’ because he was rather stern to him and she would always tell him otherwise. In truth he may be but what did it all matter now? He looked down at her in his arms when she let out a little laugh too but then quivering, broke down in his arms. He kissed the top of her head with silent consoling and holding her with the last of his love she’d let him give her.

The night wouldn’t last forever just like them and she finally left. With much courage and a heavy heart out of his arms and then their shared place. Alex couldn’t watch her leave and he did not. The last glimpse he caught of her face before he kissed the top of her head. He would think back to this for a long while and he wanted to remember her beautiful face and not her leaving him. She left and the door shut, on their house and their life together.

-

A job is a job. However excruciating and beaten down, it finds you on your face but you’re bound to return. Y/n did as well. Over half a year, she started working again. Lived with her dad to make a comeback to the one place that would have ever even after everything. Her career made a turn eventually the Twitter smear campaigns wear themselves out. Talent comes through in Hollywood despite its vice like grip over its finest stars. Y/n’s project worked out, she avoided the award season despite being nominated but she did walk promotional red carpet for her new project. Time heals.

Time is subjected to heal everything even with some ignited hatred if that be to overcome the hurt. Alex, he grew to despise y/n. The first few months hurt so much, everywhere in the house he’d find his things even after she collected them. There were pieces of her everywhere. Their pictures were what hurt the least. Even after he moved out of the place whose sunrise constantly reminded of her absence of his arm. He kept finding her things everywhere. The longing could surround him for long until he turned all of that sadness into a harsher emotion. It was difficult to teach himself to decline her thoughts, hate her. But he did and that’s when he wasn’t as sad.

When the devil can’t reach you it keeps you on Alex turner’s bad side. Or perhaps send you to him. Just as now, y/n was doing her friend of years, Richard, a favour. Moreover Richard pleaded and begged her to do so. He was making a music video for the arctic monkeys and the studio’s PR team members wanted y/n specially or pull the cord of the entire project. Since her career was booming it would be perfect publicity for the upcoming single and her history with Alex. Y/n would rather not indulge in such at all, especially with Alex. Richard assured her that Alex wouldn’t even be on the set for the music video and it was set in Ireland’s grasslands. Too far for Alex to attend anyways since he wasn’t in the music video.

First day on set after she lands there y/n finds herself treated with warmth with the core team. The operator, the camera team, the crew most of them were faces she’d previously known. Everyone ‘glad’ to see her working again was a comment she was irked with for a while ever since she’d returned to working. They always said it in a comforting tone as if she’d was coming back from jail or so, such patient like sympathy was difficult but not anymore. Very comfortably used to it. Superficial condolences in the best way perhaps.

“Missed you fuckface!” She laughed as she hugged Richard on the set and he joined along. Hugging her back, they’d met after a long while.

“I did too, you jerk.” He laughed and ruffled her hair a bit, she nudged away in response and their inside jokes kept ongoing. Through the conversations it swayed back to being on set and Richard worked her through the video.

“This place is so remote I’m so glad you agreed because nobody else would’ve come this far and Alex wanted just you.” Richard mentioned as he talked her through the cinematic of it.

“Wait, Alex did?” Y/n asked furrowing her brows together. Richard had stated to her that Alex wouldn’t be there at all so him wanting her for the video, ‘just her’ was somewhat unbelievable.

“The record did…it’s kind of the same thing.” Richard replied.

“It’s not” she shrugged given she knew the context conversations between Alex and the record from when they were together. “I’m just so glad he’s not here”

“He’s not a bad person you know” Richard accounted for him thinking the breakup was his fault given how rigid y/n was not wanting to sign up for an AM project.

“Oh no of course not” he’s an angel, she didn’t say out loud. Alex kept whatever happened between them through the break up private. He didn’t even paint her out like someone who wronged him to their mutual friends, when he could’ve done so.

“Then why do you have such a problem with him being here?” Richard asked with voice laced of confusion and curiosity.

“I don’t have a problem just too much-“ drama? Bad memories? Good memories? Regret? All too much perhaps.

“Well that’s great then because he might be here.” Richard spoke hurriedly despite his promise he was just making the video he couldn’t dictate who could and could not be on set. Especially not the lead singer.

“What? What do you mean?” She asked with a dejected scoff, she believed him when he’d promised that Alex won’t be on set. “What do you mean here Richard you told me-“

“I mean here as in he may be around but he’s here for now-“ Richard fumbled with his words mentally preparing for the telling off y/n would inflict on him soon enough.

“Here as in?” She asked raising sharp brow at him crossing her arms.

“As in Ireland…” Richard trailed off and took a cue to hastily add the next information as she took in a sharp breath “Could also be on set”

“On set?!” She exclaimed “right now?”

“I’m not sure okay I don’t know-the video script had some changes and he was needed for some pretext or something. Also, y/n. He’s written this song, it’s his band—I can’t just say no to him if he wants to be on set.” Richard explained. The bickering went on back and forth for a while until a voice from behind broke them.

“Richard!” Alex exclaimed as he paced up to the man, all colour drained and also made her flustered when the air shifted with Alex’s hasty walk to Richard who she stood right beside. Alex greeted Richard with a hug. “This is a beautiful location, fantastic work yeah?”

“Ah thanks mate.” Richard said with a smile as they made a small talk about the set and think pieces. He tried to include y/n in the conversation too but Alex didn’t once look to the side as if she wasn’t even present there. Richard talked about some of the crew to Alex and then, wanting to relay it slowly. “And y/n, you know her of course”

“Right yeah” Alex scoffed and made a somewhat bothered expression, irritated in an instant. He did so as if she truly wasn’t present there. Intimidatingly he stood with his hands on his waist, leather jacket, the classic Alex. Soon enough without casting her as much as a glance he took his leave from the conversation.

She wasn’t ready for this conversation, not that it was a conversation at all. Y/n’s little ‘hi there’ was blatantly ignored by him too but it was all expected. She had planned to not cross paths with him but hypothetically after all that went down she had anticipated him being cold like this. She wasn’t mentally prepared for it, not today. However she didn’t hold it against him by all means he had the right to act this way. Even if she wanted to be somewhat offended by his harshness his pleading face, desperate tone, begging her not to leave on his knees all of it just came flooding back to sink her in regret. If the roles were reversed she would want to be far away from Alex and that’s what she would grant him. Keep her distance.

“So…” Richard trailed off pulling her out of her train of thoughts to talk about the unsolicited harshness. To an outsider, the breakup had been almost 6 months ago and neither of them made any big grievances about it so it was all very odd.

“Don’t.” Y/n shook her head not willing to go into this discourse.

-

I’ll do a few parts to this series let me know if you want to be tagged ;)

Comments and thoughts will be so so so very appreciated please please please let me know

[stardustloserdoll]

SITTING ON ALS FACE PLSSSSSS PLS PLS PLS AND PLS FETUS AL SO HE DOESNT REALLY KNOW WHAT TO DO BUT HES JUST HAPPY HIS FACE IS STUCK IN BETWEEN UR THIGHS

oh my god anon..

back from the dead 🔥🙏

get your face in between my thighs

female reader

alex had been quiet for the past days lately. his head cluttered with the thought of you, sitting on his face. he ate you out when you two got intimate but he always dreamed that you’d sit on his face. he was too shy and scared to ask, cause he didn’t really know what to do but he wanted to try it.

late at night he’d be dreaming about it thrusting his hips into the bed. just him gripping your thighs while you let out moans and whimpers, tugging on his hair. thats was when he decided to ask you one day.

you both sat on the couch watching a movie, your head on his shoulder. he wasnt even watching the movie, his eyes would occasionally wander to your exposed thighs. he licked his lips watching as your skirt slightly rode up as you moved.

"alex?" "alex!" he snapped out of it and looked at you "huh oh. sorry babe." he muttered rubbing the back of his neck "zoned out for a bit." you smiled "its okay. is everything alright? you've been kinda out of it for a couple days." you ran your fingers through his hair, he closed his eyes as you did that, a small moan escaping his lips.

"y-yeah im fine. just.. thinking." he sighed opening his eyes moving his hand to rub your thigh. "y/n?" he felt his face growing hot. "i-" he began. biting his lip looking down as he continued rubbing your thigh, moving under your skirt. "yes al?" he looked up still biting his lip "sit on my face."

"please." he gripped your thigh looking at you with puppy dog eyes.

he gulped looking up at you, licking his lips and pulling you onto his mouth making you gasp. he moaned against your cunt, muffled thank you’d coming from his lip. you watched his eyes rolling back in pleasure as his tongue moved sloppily on you. “oh god al.” you gripped his hair making him whimper.

he opened his eyes looking up at you with his big eyes. the more you moaned the tighter he gripped your thighs and pulled you more onto him his nose rubbing against you. “al..” you moaned, he groaned against you, his movements speeding up as he licked and sucked at your clit.

drool slipping past his lips soaking your cunt even more. he panted heavily against you swirling his tongue making you whimper as he moved his tongue back and forth. he murmured praises into your cunt, thrusting his hips up. you moved your hips on his mouth. he pulled away slightly breathing rapidly “am i doing good?” he asked his mouth and chin covered in your slick and saliva.

“y-yes al.. just keep going.. you’re doing so good.” he moaned nodding his head pulling you back onto his mouth. “oh god..” you whined, your mouth parting letting his name fall out your mouth. “al im gonna.” after a few more licks, he felt you come on his tongue. he sighed loosening his grip on your thigh pulling away licking his lips looking into your eyes. “oh my god.” he whispered “need your pussy on my face more.”

[goblinontour]

Awkwardly Stretching And Yawning

it’s always hard in the morning (would have been the better title but I’ve already used it)

warnings: fetus!al, fluff, smut, piv, young and in love, it’s cheesy

word count: 8k

His hair was sweaty the first time you met him, and it was sweaty every single time after that. Even in the cold, when the wind bit through your coat and left you shivering, his dark strands still clung damp to his forehead like he’d just run a marathon. He wasn’t a runner. You were sure of that — he was slow, always trailing behind like he had nowhere urgent to be. You’d once joked about it, something about snails moving faster than him, and he’d just grinned lazily, all soft lips and cockiness, like he knew something you didn’t.

Still, the sweat lingered. It made no sense, but you didn’t mind. It was the kind of detail you’d come to think of as uniquely his. Something only you knew because you were the one who reached for him. Always. Your hands threading through his hair, the damp strands slipping between your fingers as you pulled him closer — close enough to kiss, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his skin like he’d been out in the sun all day.  

Sometimes, you’d do it just to see what he’d do. Just to watch that stupid grin break across his face like it couldn’t be helped, like he couldn’t stop himself from leaning into the touch no matter how hard he tried to pull away. “Stop that.” he’d mumble, though his voice never carried any real weight, his hands always ghosting at your waist or curling around your wrists like he wanted you to keep going.  

You always did. It was impossible not to.  

And maybe you should’ve teased him more about it. His perpetually sweaty hair, his inability to keep from leaning into you — but you never did. Because when you pulled him closer, when his grin faltered just a little and his breath hitched, you felt it. That shift. Like the world had stilled, leaving only the two of you in its quiet aftermath. His hair was damp, yes, but it was real, and it was his, and you could never resist tangling your fingers into it just to feel something so alive beneath your touch. 

Now you’re in his lap, his hands splayed warm across your thighs, and your fingers are tangled in his hair like they always are. It’s still damp. Of course it is. But now you can blame it on the heater turned up to the max, the radiator rattling like it might burst, the heat heavy in the air and curling around you like smoke. It’s stifling, almost unbearable, and you swear you can feel it searing into you from across the room.  

You don’t care.  

Because you’re kissing him, and you’ve been kissing him for so long that you’ve forgotten where you are, forgotten the way the rest of the world feels. You’ve kissed him until your lips feel raw, tender and buzzing like a spark waiting to catch. Until your chest aches from holding your breath for him, like breathing was a luxury you’d trade just to stay close.  

And then you’re forced to pull away, gasping, your head swimming.  

His lips are red and slick, his hair more disheveled than it ever was before, and he’s looking at you with that expression like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. He licks his lips and it makes you want to kiss him all over again, the pull of it deep and restless in your chest.  

“Hot in here, isn’t it?” he murmurs, low and rough, words pressed out like he’s trying to catch his breath too.  

You huff a laugh, your hands sliding from his hair to his jaw, your thumbs brushing over the invisible stubble that’s just starting to show. “Yeah. Your fault, though.”  

His grin is slow and lazy, the kind of smile that makes you feel like he’s got you figured out, even when he hasn’t. “The heater?”  

“You.” you correct, nudging his forehead with yours.  

And you’re still so close you can feel his breath fan against your lips when he laughs. “I’m the problem?”  

“Always.”  

It’s teasing. You don’t mean it. Not really. Because there’s something about him that’s always been so easy, so natural, like you’ve known him your whole life, even if you hadn’t. It’s in the way he lets you pull at his hair, in the way he leans into you like you’re the only thing he needs. It’s in the way he’s looking at you now. 

You press your palms against his cheeks because you feel like you might float away without something holding you there. “You’re sweaty again.” you murmur.  

He groans, his head falling back with a dramatic thud. “It’s hot in here. Not my fault.”  

You roll your eyes, though you’re smiling. “I don’t mind.”  

“No?”  

“No.” you say, threading your fingers through his hair again, pulling just slightly so he tilts his head back to meet you. “Not if it’s you.”  

And maybe you’ve been kissing him all afternoon, maybe your lips are already swollen and your body is buzzing from the heat of him, but you kiss him again anyway. Slower this time. Like you’ve got all the time in the world. Because you do. You’re still young, and his room feels like the only place on earth that matters, and this is enough for you to live off of.  

His hair is damp, and his lips are soft, and his arms curl around you like he couldn’t hold you close enough if he tried. And for once, you don’t feel like teasing him about it. You just kiss him. 

When you break apart again his hands rest on your thighs, just barely there, and when you look at him, he’s grinning again — that slow, lopsided smile that’s all teeth and something else that makes your stomach flip. You roll your eyes at him, pressing your hands to his chest to steady yourself as you climb off, and he lets out this little whine of protest, though he doesn’t stop you.  

It’s later, and the heat of the room has settled into something quieter. You’re perched at the edge of his bed, rummaging through your bag with a growing sense of dread because, of course, you didn’t pack pyjamas. It wasn’t supposed to be an overnight thing. You were just supposed to hang out, maybe grab dinner, and then leave, but plans like that never stick when you’re with him. He’s too good at convincing you to stay longer, to forget the time.  

So now you’re stuck, turning your bag inside out like maybe a pair of shorts will appear, but nothing does. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” you mutter, looking over at him where he’s sprawled on his back, flipping a pen between his fingers.  

“What?” he asks, looking up with that innocent tilt of his head, like he hasn’t been watching you the whole time.  

You hesitate for a second before deciding not to care. “Nothing.” you mumble. You grab one of his shirts from the drawer — soft and a little worn, smelling like him — and strip off your jeans and sweater. You change with your back to him, just enough skin showing to get a reaction if he’s looking, but still leaving enough covered for modesty’s sake. His shirt hangs loose over your frame, brushing against the tops of your thighs, and you tug at the hem to make sure it’s long enough. You glance over your shoulder just in time to catch him biting his bottom lip, trying to look nonchalant about it.  

The corner of your mouth lifts. “What?”  

“Nothing.” he says, too quickly.  

You smile to yourself as you climb back onto the bed, sitting cross-legged near the pillows. “I forgot pyjamas.” you explain, tugging at the hem of his shirt again. “Totally not intentional, by the way.”  

He snorts, rolling onto his side to look at you properly, his hand propping up his head. “Sure it wasn’t.”  

“It wasn’t.” you insist. “Staying the night wasn’t the plan, remember?” You pause, biting your lip. “Is it okay? If I stay, uh, with your…”  

“Me parents?” he finishes for you.  

“Yeah.” 

His expression softens. “’Course it’s okay. They like you.”  

“Yeah?” you ask, glancing at him.  

“Yeah.” he says simply, his smile warm and a little boyish, and you know he doesn’t give it to just anyone.  

That quiet admission makes your chest ache in the best way. You watch him as he rolls out of bed, muttering something about needing to change too, and he starts pacing toward the corner where a pile of clothes sits precariously on his desk chair. You curl up beneath the blanket, watching as he picks through the heap, holding up shirts and tossing them aside.  

He’s smiling to himself as he sifts through the mess, the muscles in his back shifting under his skin. You can’t look away, even when you try to, and when he pulls his shirt off over his head, you stare. It’s instinctual, automatic. Even from a distance, you can see the little mole on the side of his ribs, and something about it makes you want to reach out and touch him, to trace the lines of him with your fingertips, to kiss him there just to see if he’ll shiver.  

You want to hold him. You want to kiss him until you can’t feel your lips again. You want to press your face into the crook of his neck and breathe him in.  

Oh, god. You’re really, terribly in love, aren’t you?  

“Eh, stop staring, you perv.” he says suddenly, teasing but his ears turn a little red as he tosses a shirt over his shoulder.  

You snap your gaze up to his face, cheeks flushing. “I’m not-”  

“Yes, you are.” he interrupts, grinning as he finally finds something that looks halfway clean. “Don’t think I don’t notice.”  

“I wasn’t staring.” you protest weakly, though you both know it’s a lie.  

He’s unbuttoning his jeans now, and you realise you hadn’t even noticed, too distracted by the more sensible top half of him. The more sensitive half, too, if you’re being honest. Ugh.  

He shimmies out of his jeans, and you bury your face in the pillow, groaning. But you don’t bury your face for long. Curiosity — or something far more dangerous — gets the better of you, and you glance up just in time to see him standing there in his boxers. The lamplight in the corner of his room catches on the soft angles of him, the long stretch of his legs, the slight dip of his hips, the way the waistband clings low. He’s lean but solid, just enough muscle to make him look effortlessly strong, the kind of strength that doesn’t demand to be noticed but somehow always is. His skin is pale in places where the sun hasn’t kissed it, and you swear there’s a faint flush climbing up his chest like maybe he knows you’re still watching.  

Then he turns, his back to you, just like you’d done when you changed earlier. He’s not subtle about it. He bends slightly as he peels off his boxers, and you don’t mean to stare — well, not really — but his butt is right there, perfectly shaped and smooth, and for a second you think about biting it, just to see what he’d do. If the bed weren’t so comfortable, if you weren’t tucked in just so, you might’ve actually gone for it.  

He knows. Of course he knows.  

“Enjoying the view?” he calls over his shoulder.  

“Shut up.” you mumble. You don’t look away.  

He’s tugging on a clean pair of boxers now. When he turns back around, he’s grinning — softly this time. He’s caught you red-handed but doesn’t mind one bit.  

You roll onto your side, pressing your face half into the pillow to hide the warmth in your cheeks. “Don’t flatter yourself.”  

He laughs, that low, throaty sound that always makes you smile. He crosses the room and climbs back into bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he settles in beside you. 

“You stared, though.” he teases, turning his head to look at you.  

“You undressed in front of me.” you counter, narrowing your eyes at him even though you’re smiling.  

He shrugs, all nonchalance. “You started it.”  

You huff, turning to face him properly, and he’s close now, close enough that you can see the way his lashes brush his cheeks when he blinks. You want to kiss him again, but you’re too tired, too comfortable, too full of something soft and sweet that makes your chest ache.  

“What?” he murmurs, voice softer now.  

“Nothing.” you say, shaking your head.  

You’re still curled up, his shirt falling loosely around you, and when you peek at him, he’s looking at you too. 

“What?” you whisper, barely audible.  

“Nothing.” he murmurs back, shaking his head. But he’s still looking at you like you’re something he doesn’t quite know how to put into words. 

And you think, maybe, you’re looking at him the exact same way. 

“Your hair’s a mess.” 

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, well, whose fault is that? Yours.” he says immediately, propping himself up on his elbow. “You’re the one who kept running your hands through it.”  

“Because it’s always sweaty.” you shoot back, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye.  

He groans, flopping onto his back beside you. “Why do you keep bringing that up?”  

“Because it’s true.”  

“It’s endearing.” he mumbles, like he’s convincing himself.  

“It is.” you agree, and his head turns toward you, surprised. You look over at him, your expression softening. “It’s gross, but it’s cute. Like you.”  

He stares at you for a second, his lips twitching like he’s trying not to smile, and then he laughs. “You’re so mean.” he says, but his voice is fond, and he’s still smiling when he turns his head back toward the ceiling.  

“You like it.” you say. “Masochist.”

“Yeah.” he murmurs, almost to himself. “I do.”  

It’s quiet for a while after that. His arm brushes against yours as he shifts, and you think about reaching for his hand but decide against it.  

“What time is it?” you ask eventually, your voice cutting through the stillness.  

He twists to glance at the clock on his nightstand, squinting. “Half past midnight.”  

You groan, pressing your hands to your face. “I have class tomorrow.”  

“Skip it.” he says, so casual it makes you laugh.  

“You skip too much already.” you say, nudging him with your elbow.  

“Yeah, but I’m not you. You’re responsible. You’ve got, like…notes and shit.”  

“Notes and shit.” you echo, grinning.  

He shrugs, turning onto his side to face you. “It’s a compliment. You’re smart. Like, scary smart. Sometimes I think you’re gonna realise you’re too good for me and leave.”  

You blink at him, surprised by the sudden turn, and then you shake your head, rolling onto your side to face him too. “That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said.”  

“It’s true, though.” 

“Alex.” you say, reaching out to brush your fingers over his knuckles where his hand rests between you. “You’re, like, my favorite person. Ever. I’m not going anywhere.”  

He stares at you, trying to find the words, but then he just nods. “Good.” he murmurs.  

“Good.” you repeat, smiling.  

And for a while, neither of you says anything. You just lie there, the space between you warm and buzzing, and when you close your eyes, you think you could stay like this forever.

It’s quiet, the hum of the heater filling the room, and the faint rhythm of Alex’s breathing beside you is already slowing. His right arm is tucked under your waist, holding you close, while your left hand rests just beneath the curve of his chest. You can feel the rise and fall of his breaths and it’s grounding in a way that makes your eyes flutter shut.  

He’s the first to doze, just like always. It’s something you’ve come to expect from him — how his tired eyes will eventually drift shut, his breathing will even out, and the little tension in his body will melt away. Sometimes, you wonder if he fakes it, just to escape the nerves that still creep up on him when you’re this close. But not tonight. Tonight, it’s all real, all soft breaths and tiny, quiet snores that have that same nasally tone as his voice.  

You shift, feeling his arm tighten instinctively around you even in sleep, like his body knows to keep you near. He doesn’t move much when he sleeps — always calm, always still—but you’re restless. You can’t help it.  

It starts small, just a subtle roll of your hips as you try to find a better position, but it never stops there. Halfway through the night, you turn over, your arm slipping from under his chest. Then you turn again, pulling the blanket with you, and then once more until you’re on your stomach, tangled in the sheets.  

He doesn’t stir, not even when your movements tug at the arm he has slung over you. But somehow, by the time dawn starts to creep through the window, you manage to end up back where you started. It’s always a guessing game — whether you’ll wake up as you fell asleep or in some entirely different arrangement.  

This time you’ve got it and you open your eyes to his face pressed into the pillow, and his hair’s a mess, sticking up in all directions. The first light of morning spills across him, catching on the curve of his cheekbone, the line of his jaw.  

You sigh quietly, turning away from him because the proximity is too much. If you had easy access to his lips for a second longer, you’d cave, and you know it. But you can’t — not now, not with your morning breath making itself known. You cringe a little at the thought, pressing your face into the pillow.  

Oh fuck. Do you even have a toothbrush here?

The thought nags at you for a moment, but you shove it aside. Later. You’ll figure it out later.

You settle into the sheets again, your back to him, hoping to drift off for just a little longer. But then he stirs, his arm tightening around your waist as his chest presses closer to your back. His nose nudges against the back of your neck, warm and soft, and you almost melt into the touch.  

And then you feel it.  

Your body goes completely still, frozen as the unmistakable pressure of him presses against you, firm and insistent. What the fuck.

Okay, yes, you’ve slept together before — slept. As in, shared a bed, tangled limbs, whispered secrets into the night. But this? This is new.  

You’re no stranger to intimacy with him. You’ve done things — things that have left you breathless, aching, satisfied. You’ve seen him naked, and he’s seen you. You’ve taken him in your mouth, made him groan your name. He’s touched you, too, kissed you there, made you come undone with his tongue and fingers in ways you didn’t know were possible. Equally mutual satisfactory fulfilment. 

But you haven’t done it together. Not yet. Not because you don’t want to, but because time has never been on your side. It’s always been a stolen moment here, a rushed goodbye there. Too much tension and not enough space to let it all unravel.  

You bite your lip, your mind racing. He’s so close, too close, and the heat pooling between your thighs is impossible to ignore. You’re…oh, God, you’re dripping just thinking about it. But now isn’t the time — not with his parents in the room down the hall, not with him lost in his dreams, innocent in his state of unintentional desire.  

You shift slightly, trying to ease the tension without waking him, but it only makes things worse. The movement causes him to press against you more firmly, and you have to bite back a whimper.  

Okay, okay, breathe. Think unsexy thoughts. Math equations. Old textbooks. Your friend’s crush on her weird philosophy professor.

But none of it works when his hand tightens on your hip and his body is so warm against yours.  

“Alex.” you whisper, barely audible, hoping he doesn’t wake up but also kind of hoping he does because then maybe-

No. No, not now. Later. Later, when you have more time and privacy and not the looming threat of his parents overhearing something they definitely shouldn’t.  

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing your body to calm down, and after a few agonizing minutes, you feel his grip slacken, his body relaxing again. His breathing evens out and he’s still fast asleep. You exhale shakily, trying to steady yourself, and then close your eyes again, determined to fall back into some semblance of rest.  

Later, you tell yourself again. And God, you hope later comes soon. 

But later seems to be now because before you can settle yourself, you feel it — him, again. His hips shift behind you, pressing insistently against you, the heat and firmness of him unmistakable. He’s…rutting into you.  

Your breath catches, heart racing, and you think, No. He has to still be asleep. Right?

The soft, steady rhythm of his snores continues, only confirming it. And then they falter, turning into a deep, rough cough that rattles through his chest. He stirs, pulling back from you just enough to stretch, his arm leaving your waist. You can hear his joints pop as he yawns, long and loud.  

You don’t dare move, still frozen, thighs pressed tightly together in an effort to keep your body from betraying you.  

He turns toward you, his eyes heavy-lidded and his hair sticking up in every direction, but there’s no mistaking it: he’s awake now. And yet, the duvet is still covering him from the waist down, doing nothing to hide the outline of him. Oh, he’s very much awake.  

“Morning.” he whispers, his voice deep and scratchy, rough from sleep.  

“Morning.” you manage, though it comes out quieter, tighter.  

He doesn’t seem to notice, instead rolling onto his back and stretching again. You take the opportunity to lean over, pressing your face into the spot between his arm and chest. The crook of his armpit, warm and soft, the place where his skin smells the most like him. You inhale deeply, savoring the scent of him, that mix of sweat and soap and something you can’t describe but is so unmistakably Alex.  

He huffs a laugh, looking down at you as you nuzzle into him like a cat. “You weirdo.” he murmurs, his hand lazily brushing over your back.  

You’re too caught up in the warmth of him, in the way your nose fits perfectly there, in how his skin feels against yours even through the thin fabric of his shirt to respond. 

He shifts again, turning onto his side and pulling you with him, his arm draping over your waist. His thigh hitches over your hip, pulling you closer, and it’s only then that you feel him again.  

Pressed against you, hard and obvious, and he doesn’t even realise it. You hold your breath as he rubs against you, slow and absentminded, his body moving on instinct alone. It’s clear his brain hasn’t caught up yet. He’s still in that hazy space between sleep and waking, where dreams and reality blur together.  

But you are fully aware. Too aware. Every nerve in your body is alight, and the ache between your thighs is impossible to ignore.  

“Alex.” you whisper, your voice trembling just enough to give you away.  

He hums in response, his nose brushing against your shoulder as he pulls you even closer. His hand rests on your hip, his thumb stroking idly over the fabric of his shirt that you’re wearing, and he presses against you again.  

Your resolve is hanging by a thread, your body screaming for you to move, to push back, to let this moment become what it so desperately wants to be.  

But his breathing evens out again, and his lips brush your shoulder in a subconscious kiss, soft and lazy.  

“Alex.” you say again, a little louder this time, and his eyes finally flutter open, the hazy warmth in them clearing as his mind catches up to his body.  

“Oh, fuck.” he mutters, his cheeks flushing as he freezes, his hand still on your hip. “Oh, fuck.” he mutters again, louder this time, his face going beet red as he pulls back the covers to confirm what he already knows.  

And yep, there it is. His hard-on, unapologetic and obvious, tenting his boxers in a way that would’ve been funny if he weren’t so mortified.  

“Shit.” he hisses, scrambling to cover himself again. He turns away from you in his panic, rolling onto his stomach like that’ll fix it.

It doesn’t.  

As soon as his hips hit the mattress, he lets out a strangled noise, his face scrunching in pain.  

“Fuck- ow-” He twists awkwardly, trying to lift his hips off the bed, his voice breaking into a groan as he clutches the duvet beneath him.  

You can’t help it — you laugh. It’s not a mean laugh, more like a surprised, delighted giggle that bubbles out before you can stop it. “Alex.” you manage, caught somewhere between concern and amusement.  

He’s still half-buried in the mattress, his arms bracing against the bed, trying to hold himself up without putting pressure on his…situation. “Don’t.” he grumbles, his voice muffled. “Don’t laugh at me.”  

“I’m not.” you lie, even as your shoulders shake with barely contained laughter. “Come here, you idiot.”  

He groans again but finally relents, pushing himself off the mattress and turning back to you, his face still flushed. He flops into your arms like he’s seeking refuge, burying his head in your neck and mumbling something unintelligible against your skin.  

“What was that?” you ask, still grinning as you wrap your arms around him, pulling him close.  

“I said, I’m never waking up again.” 

“Oh, sure.” you tease, running your fingers through his hair. “That’ll fix everything.”  

He groans again, his hand resting on your waist as he tries to melt into you. Maybe if he stays there long enough he’ll just disappear.  

You lean back slightly, tilting your head to look at him, and you can’t help but smile at the way his eyes are squeezed shut, his nose scrunched in embarrassment. “Good morning.” 

He finally cracks one eye open. “Good morning.” he mutters back, his lips twitching like he’s fighting a smile of his own. “Sorry,” he whispers, “didn’t- didn’t mean to-”  

“It’s fine.” you cut him off. And it is. Fine. More than fine, actually. But you don’t say that part.  

He hangs awkwardly next to you, hovering just far enough away that it doesn’t touch you, his arm still draped over your waist but with a noticeable gap now. You can feel the tension, the way he’s holding himself stiffly to keep his hips from brushing against yours like that’ll make the situation less obvious.  

“Were you dreaming?” you ask.  

He shakes his head, face still tucked into your neck. “Nah.”  

“Then?”  

There’s a pause, and then he giggles, this soft, boyish sound and it makes your heart flip. “Think the knowledge of you half-naked in my bed was enough.”  

You laugh softly, your chest warming at his honesty. “Dirty boy.”  

He grins, his confidence peeking through despite the blush still dusting his cheeks. “Yeah, well, you’re the one wearing my shirt and no pants, so…”  

You can feel his gaze on you, lingering where the hem of his shirt just barely skims the tops of your thighs as you press them together, suddenly hyper-aware of the dampness pooling between them. “It’s comfortable.” you mumble.  

He hums, his hand brushing over your hip. “Yeah.” he says, almost distractedly. “Looks good on you, though.”  

Your leg brushes against his. He tenses. He’s still trying so hard to keep his distance, and it’s endearing in a way that makes you want to push him just a little. “You’re really embarrassed, huh?” 

You glance up at him, catching the way his eyes flicker to yours before darting back down again. He’s trying so hard not to stare, not to make it obvious how much he wants you right now, but the flush creeping up his neck and the way he’s nervously biting the inside of his cheek gives him away.  

“Maybe.” he mutters, his voice muffled. “It’s a little hard to be suave when you wake up like this.”  

“Who said anything about suave?” You drag your fingers lightly down the back of his neck, feeling the slight shiver that runs through him. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”  

“Don’t.” he groans.  

“Don’t what?” you ask, feigning innocence as your fingers trail lower, grazing his back.  

“Don’t- ugh- don’t mess with me.”  

“I’m not messing with you.” you say softly, your hand sliding lower until it rests on his hip, dangerously close to the duvet-covered evidence of exactly how not fine he is. “You’re the one who woke up like this.”  

“Yeah, well…” He trails off, biting his lip as he glances down. “Thought you said it was fine.” 

“It is.” Your hand moves just a little higher, brushing against his stomach, and he exhales sharply.  

“You’re playing with fire.” he warns, though it’s half-hearted at best, his hips twitching involuntarily toward your touch.  

You shift closer, your lips brushing his jaw as your hand moves lower, skimming over the waistband of his boxers. “Maybe I want to get burned.”  

His breath stutters and he doesn’t move, just staring at you like he’s trying to figure out if you’re serious. Then his hand moves, sliding down your side and over your hip, his fingers brushing the edge of your panties.  

“Al…” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, and he looks up at you, his lips parting like he’s about to respond. But he doesn’t get the chance.  

Your hand trails down.  

“Wait-” he stammers, his own flying to catch yours, though he doesn’t actually stop you.  

“Wait for what?” 

His breath catches again, and his hips shift, pressing against your hand. You can feel him, hard and insistent beneath the thin fabric, and it sends a thrill through you.  

His hand moves too, hesitant, his fingers brushing over your thigh before creeping higher. They hover between your legs, just barely grazing. You can feel his breath against your neck, shaky and shallow, before his fingers dip lower.

When he touches you — just barely, a featherlight graze over the damp fabric — you shudder, your thighs twitching.

“Shit.” he breathes, his voice low and strained.

And then he freezes.

“Oh, my God.” he mutters, his eyes snapping open as his hand flies back to your hip.  

“What?” 

“You’re…” He trails off, his eyes flickering down, and you realise what he means. He felt it — the wet patch on your panties where they’ve been soaked through. “You’re so wet.” he whispers, almost like he doesn’t mean to say it out loud. 

You shrug, your cheeks burning even as you try to play it off. “Well, you’re hard.” 

“Don’t say that.” he mumbles, his voice muffled against your skin.  

“Why not?” you tease, your hand trailing back up to rest on his chest. “It’s true.”  

He doesn’t respond, just lets out a low, frustrated laugh before finally meeting your eyes again. Pupils dark and blown wide, and there’s a quiet, unspoken question in them.  

“Alex.” you say softly, your hand sliding up to cup his cheek.  

“Yeah?” 

“Stop overthinking.”  

And with that, you lean in, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that’s slow and sweet and just a little bit desperate. Your hands splay against his chest as you settle over him, his erection pressing against you in a way that makes your whole body flush.  

“Still embarrassed?” It comes out breathier than you intended.  

His hands find your thighs, sliding up and under the hem of his shirt that you’re still wearing. “Shut up.” he mutters. 

“Make me.” 

“I can do that.” he says, and then he dips forward, capturing your lips with his.  

A tender slide of mouths that sends butterflies spiraling through your chest, all teeth and tongues and the kind of frantic energy that makes your heart pound so hard it’s all you can hear. But when you press down — accidentally, just slightly — and brush against him just so, you both gasp into it.  

It’s instinctive, the way you press into him, your body seeking friction and finding it. The pressure so delicious. A steady drag of him against you. His hands tighten on your waist, guiding you as you move, and when your lips break apart, it’s only because you need air.  

When you’re not kissing him, you’re biting his lip, tugging at it just enough to make him gasp. And when you’re not biting his lip, you’re biting your own, trying to keep quiet because you’re all too aware of the thin walls.  

But it’s hard to stay quiet when every roll of your hips sends a new wave of heat pooling low in your belly, and the sound of his breathing makes you want to give in completely.  

“Fuck.” he mutters, and the way he looks at you — lips swollen, hair messy, cheeks flushed — makes you want to ruin him.  

You lean down, capturing his lips again. And then you press down just a little harder, the angle shifting just enough to hit just right.  

It’s game over.  

“Can I?” he asks, barely above a whisper. His hand hovers at your hip, thumb grazing the edge of your panties. The intention is clear: more, baby, give me more, I need more.

You nod. That’s all he needs.  

His hand trembles slightly as he moves it lower, brushing over the curve of your thigh before tugging at the fabric, fumbling as he tries to pull it down. You lift your hips to help him, the movement brushing you against him again, and he groans low in his throat, his breath shaky as he finally gets the panties down far enough to push them aside.  

Then he pauses. “You’re sure?” he asks, his voice cracking just a little.  

You nod again, more emphatically this time. “Yes,” you murmur, your hands sliding up his chest, under his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your palms. “Yes, Alex.”  

It’s enough.  

He fumbles again as he reaches for himself, pushing his boxers down with a little too much force, and his dick springs free, flushed and hard and — oh god — so close. It would almost be funny, the way he struggles to get the fabric out of the way, but it’s not. It’s really, really not, because all you can think about is how much you want him.  

So bad.  

His breath catches as he looks down at you, his hand wrapping around himself almost instinctively, and you feel your whole body tighten at the sight.  

“You’re so-” He cuts himself off, shaking his head like he can’t even find the words, his free hand sliding up to cup your face. “I want you.” he says, his voice raw, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “So much.”  

You press your forehead to his, your hands gripping his shoulders as you whisper, “Then take me.”  

“Okay.” His breath stutters, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment before he shifts, guiding himself to you. He hesitates, just for a second, lips brushing yours as he whispers, “Tell me if-”  

“I will.” 

And then he pushes forward, just barely, and you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders as he fills you slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid of hurting you.  

“Oh, fuck.” he breathes, his voice trembling, holding himself back, trying to stay in control. He groans as he sinks deeper.  

And then he’s finally there, fully there, and you both pause, your breaths mingling as you adjust to the feeling, the weight, the sheer intimacy of it all.  

It’s everything. It’s too much. It’s not enough.  

And then he moves.

“Fuck, that feels so good.” he whispers, the words spilling out of him unguarded, and you can’t help the quiet sound that escapes your throat, a soft, needy confirmation that yes — yes, it feels so good.  

You shift your hips against him, slow and deliberate, so slow that anyone watching wouldn’t even know you’re moving. But inside, he’s shifting with every tiny motion, and the stretch, the fullness — it’s overwhelming. He’s so big, and every inch of him feels like it was made to fit you, and you’re not sure how you’ve gone this long without knowing this feeling.  

“Wait.” he says suddenly, his hands gripping your hips to still you.  

You stop immediately, your lips parted, your teeth catching on your bottom lip as you remember how undone you must look. Your hair is a mess, sticking out in every direction from the night before, and you’re sure there are still traces of sleep in the corners of your eyes. It hits like a bucket of cold water, and you want to disappear, to bury your face in his pillow and hide from the thought that he might see you like this and regret everything. But he doesn’t pull away. He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, an apology written in the tenderness of it.  

“Don’t.” he murmurs, and it’s like he can see the insecurity blooming in your mind. And then it hits you — he’s inside you. His body is wrapped around yours, his hands holding you like you’re the most precious thing in the world. It’s far too late for him to find you repulsive.  

You exhale shakily, relaxing into his touch just as he says, “We didn’t- I didn’t put on a- a…” He stumbles over the words, his face flushing as he looks up at you.  

“A rubber?” you offer. 

“Yeah. Fuck.” he mutters, his hand running through his already-messy hair.  

You know you should care. You should be concerned, should pull away and figure it out. But the thought barely registers, drowned out by the heat pooling low and the way he’s looking at you, all flushed cheeks and wide eyes and breathless uncertainty.  

“Alex.” you whisper, and he looks up at you like you’ve just spoken the most important word in the world. You lean down, your lips brushing his, and kiss him softly, slowly, until you feel the tension melt from his body, his lips moving against yours like he’s already forgotten the interruption.  

“Fuck it.” he breathes against your mouth, low and desperate, and you can feel the smile tugging at his lips as you press your forehead to his.  

“Fuck it.” you agree, and the moment you start moving again, the rest of the world disappears.

It’s soft. It’s lazy. Not so lazy that it doesn’t feel good — because it does. It feels too good. Like, you-know-will-ruin-you kinda good. The kind of good that turns your world upside down and leaves you wondering how you’ll ever survive without it again. And it’s not just the way he’s touching you or the way he fits inside you. It’s the way he looks at you. It’s dangerous, this feeling. You can already sense it sinking into your bones, settling deep in your veins, and you fear you’ll never get it out. How are you supposed to pull away from him when it feels like this? 

“God,” he breathes, his voice wrecked, “you’re perfect.” He laughs softly before he says “Can’t believe we waited this long.” 

“Worth it.” 

“Yeah.” he agrees, his hands sliding up to cradle your face. “Yeah, you’re worth it.”  

So honest, so sure that it has you pressing closer, your body trembling as the pleasure builds slowly, steadily, until it feels like it’s wrapping around you, pulling you under.  

“Alex.” you whisper, and his eyes lock onto yours, dark and full of something that feels so much bigger than the two of you.  

“I’ve got you.” he says, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. “I’ve got you, babe.”  

It’s so much. There’s so much of him — his length, his heat, the way his hip bones graze yours with every thrust. Each motion feels impossibly intimate, like he’s carving himself into you, piece by piece, and you can’t help the way your fingers dig into his chest, searching for something to hold onto.  

“Takin’ me so well.” he whispers, a secret meant only for you.  

The words make you whimper, a soft, broken sound that you wish could say everything you’re feeling. But it’s not enough, and you almost feel bad that you can’t muster anything more coherent in return. You hope he understands. You hope the way you’re falling apart over him — every little gasp, every shudder, every desperate press of your hips — tells him he’s doing good. Tells him he’s doing everything right.  

“God, love.” he breathes. His movements are still slow, but there’s more purpose now, more urgency, like he’s teetering on the edge and holding back just for you. “Feel so good. So fuckin’ good.”  

He’s hitting that perfect spot inside you that has you seeing stars and your body’s giving in. He’s pulling you down so your chest is flush with his, and his lips find your neck, brushing kisses along your skin that make you shiver. You can feel him twitching inside you, every little pulse. He’s losing control, you can tell, and it’s making you lose it right along with him.  

“Fuck-” he groans, his voice breaking, “I’m- I’m close. So close. Really close.” His head tilts back against the pillow, his mouth open as he gasps for air, and it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. He’s a mess beneath you, and it’s everything you’ve ever wanted. “I- how do I- tell me what to-”  

You know what he’s asking. He wants to make you fall apart, just like he is, but his brain is too scrambled to figure out how. Your hand moves instinctively, grabbing his wrist and guiding it between your legs.  

“Here.” you whisper, pressing his fingers where you need them. “Just- like this.”  

He gets it. He gets it so right. The circles he’s drawing are perfect, the pressure just enough to have you keening softly as your thighs begin to tremble.  

“That’s it.” he says. 

You’re shaking now, your body so tense you feel like you might break apart. His hand keeps working between you, his cock throbbing inside you with every desperate thrust, and you’re so gone. There’s no other way to describe it. You’re gone for him, gone because of him, gone with him. White-hot and all-consuming. Your walls clamp down around him, and he chokes out a curse, his hips faltering as he tries to keep moving through the vice grip.  

“Fuck- fuck.” he groans, his eyes squeezing shut, his face scrunching up like he’s in pain. “You’re- oh, my god, love, I’m- I’m gonna-” 

He’s fighting it. But you’re still pulsing around him, your body shaking with the aftershocks, and it’s too much for him. “I need to-” he stammers, his breath catching as he pulls out. 

The sudden emptiness makes you whimper, and you glance down just in time to see him. He’s slick and flushed, his cock impossibly hard and glistening from you, and the moment the cool air touches him, he gasps. He strokes tightly, quickly, his fist sliding over the slickness you’ve left behind. 

“Oh-” His free hand clutches at the sheets, his hips bucking up into his own grip. You’re transfixed.  

It only takes a few strokes before he’s gone, a choked moan spilling from his lips as his body tenses. His cock jerks in his hand, and he comes hard, painting his covered chest with thick, messy ropes that glisten in the soft morning light. He keeps stroking himself through it, his thighs trembling beneath you. You can’t help but reach out, your fingers brushing over the sticky mess he’s made. He groans at the touch, his hand falling away as he finally collapses against the bed, utterly spent.  

“Holy fuck.” he whispers. There’s a flush high on his cheeks, and his chest is still heaving as he tries to catch his breath. You collapse against him, your face buried in his neck, and he’s still gasping.  

“Yeah.” you giggle, and he laughs too.  

It’s messy, it’s clumsy, it’s perfect.

You stay draped over him, your cheek pressed against his collarbone as his arms lazily wrap around you. You just want to stay like this — floating in the quiet of the morning, the hum of his breath against your temple.  

After a few moments, he huffs a soft laugh, his chest rising beneath you.  

“What?” you ask, your voice muffled against his skin.  

“Just…y’know. That.” he says. “Wasn’t exactly how I imagined it’d go, but-”  

“Oh, shut up.” you say, swatting at his chest, and he winces dramatically.  

“Careful.” he teases. “Still recovering here. You wore me out.”  

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. Neither of you mentions the obvious — what just happened, the closeness of it, how real it all feels. It’s not awkward, though. Just…warm.  

“God, you’re heavy.” he murmurs, teasing, his voice still soft with the afterglow.  

“Shut up.” you mutter, lips brushing against the curve of his neck. “You’re sticky.”  

There’s a comfortable silence for a beat, the two of you just basking in each other. It’s peaceful, or it would be if Alex weren’t incapable of keeping still for longer than thirty seconds. He shifts, testing the waters, and then — suddenly — he’s twisting you both around, flipping you onto your back as he props himself up on his elbows above you.  

“Alex!” you squeak. “What the hell-”  

His laugh is bright, filling the room as he nuzzles his face into your shoulder. “Oh my God.” he says, dragging the words out as if he’s just had the greatest epiphany of his life. “You’re mine. I’ve got you. Right here. In. My. Bed.”  

“Alex.” you hiss, trying to keep your voice down as you squirm under him. “Shut up! What if-”  

He cuts you off with a kiss to your forehead, his grin so wide it’s getting infectious. “What if my parents hear?” he finishes for you.

“Yes, exactly!”  

“They won’t.” He pulls back, still grinning like a madman. “They’re not even here. They leave for work early, remember?”  

You blink at him, momentarily stunned. “Oh.”  

“Oh.” he mimics, laughing again. “We’re free, baby. Just you, me, and this very comfortable bed.”  

You groan, slapping his arm. “You couldn’t have told me that before?”  

“Before what?” 

“You know what.” you huff, trying to look annoyed but failing miserably because he’s looking at you like that.  

He props his chin on your chest, right between that valley of breasts. “Not talking about it, are we?” 

“Talking about what?” You blink, all mock innocence, and you roll your eyes.  

“You know what.” His grin widens, and for a second, you think he’s going to say something ridiculous but he stays quiet. 

“Maybe later.” you murmur, and he hums in agreement.  

“Relax, love.” he says, his voice dropping to something softer, gentler. “We’re good. Promise.”  

You narrow your eyes at him, but his smile is too infectious, and eventually, you find yourself smiling back.  

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” you grumble, and he laughs, leaning down to press a kiss to the tip of your nose.  

“I know.” 

a/n: This somehow went on so long but it feels very fast paced to me? I like it though. I think it turned out cute. I think I really want him. Based on this request.

[darbonime]

shower tenderness

contains: pretty much sub! al, smut, a tad of choking, handjob (m receiving).

word count: 2.7k

“Oh, so, you came?” you turn to him with a wicked and playful smile, adorned with soft features, pleased that despite shyness he decided to join. Hot water runs over your body, making his breath hitch in the throat only because of the sight in front of him. You, standing under water with turned face over your shoulder to him and dazzling gaze. Water droplets run down your figure, down your legs to finally reach the bottom of shower cabin; he can catch a glimpse of your chest.

Alex awkwardly but not lacking want, moves closer to you and delicately wraps his lean arms from behind you, not wanting to appear needy or too desperate. He glides his nose gradually over your wet shoulder gathering few waters drops with it. Tiny smile tugs on your lips and your hands cupping his, intertwining fingers together, leaning into him trusting completely.

“Thought that don’t want to skip the ability to make up for lost time…” he feathers short pecks on the same shoulder; thumb strokes your stomach, sternum, trying to learn by heart every little bend of your body.

You both date half a year already, but he still can be a bit too closed off, a bit too quiet and shy, you came to terms with that. He just needs some help, encouragement and soft-spoken words to make him reassured. Alex trusts you more after countless time together. He is more at ease with intimacy now, vocal and more open with his own needs. There he is. All over you. The idea of showering together sounded too appealing after the days when they both were too busy or tired for proper closeness.

He leaves a couple kisses over the beginning of your spine, shoulder blades, then yanking you closer savouring the moment. His chin is placed on her shoulder like it belongs there, calm soft breath of his hits your ear making a shiver crawl over your body leaving goosebumps, corner of mouth raises for a second experiencing pleasing impact he has on you. He is pretty much proud of himself by being a reason of your reactions.

“Is water good?”, suddenly question you, wanting him to keep less his thoughts at bay, “Tell me if something isn’t okay.” you remind him affectionately, turning your head trying to catch a small glimpse of his lovely face.

“Water ‘s good.” his voice cracks from time to time but there is something strangely attractive in that, every time he sounds like a kitten, that meows for first time. Alex’s flicks of tongue spill into sloppy kiss where your neck meets shoulder. He thinks you worry too much about him, at times he is sincerely surprised by it. How can a person care so much? Guess it is what love does to people, he supposes, because he found himself doing the same after they found each other.

The morning sun outside is dimmed by the tulle on a window in the bathroom, a couple of persistent rays of the sun got through it and settled down on milky beige tile of the room. Little birds already woke up singing soft ballads along with rustle of leaves. It’s a day off for both of you, which is a rare thing, so now you have all time of the world to revel each other, relax, feel love and then have a quiet peaceful breakfast together. None of you were a fan of loudness or big occasions. You both will just make up something quickly and lazily eat it in front of the telly unbothered by life and obstacles it has.

You sense his hand creeping over your ribcage slowly as if testing waters. Carefulness of his actions makes you shiver with anticipation and awakens persistent need to bite him and hear cracked surprised yelp. It’s just what you fancy to do, bite him when he’s not prepared and watch consequences of your actions. He always nearly jumps and lets out “Ouch!” and after “What’s that for?!”. Adorable.

Grabbing a bottle of shower gel, he spreads it carefully over your body and you inhale with a slight sharpness in throat, as if the last breath before dipping into passion. Sensation of his fingertips against your warm and steamed skin. His hands trembling with excitement as if he is a boy who is about to have first sex with a girl.

Favourite feeling in the world is distinct deliberateness of these moments. Time almost comes to a stop, and house outside of the bathroom is gravelly silent. His hands slide over your sides to the curves of hips, appreciating and memorising every piece of your body like sculptor with their creation. His mind at loss as fingers trailing over your frame drawing endless paths. Soft jets laving you, not leaving any bubbly foam after shower gel.

Alex treats you as if you are the most fragile picturesque porcelain he could afford. The gentleness of his touch can’t be spoiled by the callousness of his hands, only making it more familiar and desirable, with a peppering of roughness that finishes every touch as a cherry on top. He stopped scattering kisses on your neck and shoulder as if concentrating fully on the way his hand routes to your chest. You can’t really say if he is doing it with that dragging slowness because he doesn't want to rush or if there is any other reason. After all he has a thing for surprising you.

His arousal starts prominently appearing against your bum and you can swear you have a sensation that his cheeks are filling with red strawberry colour as he inhales shakingly. His hand running through his sticking to forehead tousled damp hair. He is so simple to agitate. The sight of you only already makes him hard. What to speak of his reaction on your skin underneath his palms?

His hand finally reaches your chest, and he seems to stop breathing for a second, his thumb brushes over your faintly hardened nipple and the only thing that sobers him up is your voice. “Hey, baby, don’t forget to breathe.” you purr with playful undertone, and his grin, makes his eyes crinkle in the corners charmingly, and sheepishly hide his face in the back of your neck picking your scent.

Your breasts are something that just puts him in awe. The shape of it, the softness, the way it’s simply yours, and every time he melts like a teenage boy that never saw a woman before. He feels silly, somewhat embarrassed, everyone around seemed to treat their girlfriends with slight disregard, taking them for granted. He can’t behave this way. He wants to kiss the ground you walk on; he can’t let you be neglected. You are tangled in the roots of his soul. He simply can’t.

Alex is a sap. Trying to hide it so bad, does it even more noticeable to everyone but he refuses to accept it. Especially he attempts to be different in front of the band and his friends, but every time you both alone, he can’t keep his hands to himself. He is very much about cuddles and touching. It’s just not shown for everyone. Even in front of the guys he can’t stop himself from holding your hand a bit too tight, but when there is only you two, he always leans in full hugs, tucking his head in your neck and wrapping arms around your torso entirely. His hugs never can be with one arm or not bear hug, if they are then probably his love run out for you. You don’t want to imagine it.

Alex gets bolder; both of his hands now cup swells of your breasts which forces your pulse quickening only for him. His fingers capture your nipples in between them, tugging a little. You hum thickly, desire pools in your stomach, and your patience wears thin.

It’s torture not to see his face, but for him it’s an advantage. He gets cocky, he has a free hand to do whatever he desires following every naughty thought he has in the deepest corner of his mind. His teeth nip at your smooth shoulder, leaving hardly noticeable traces of him, while he massages your chest getting more and more pent up. His half hard length is vigorous now and he unconsciously rubs himself faster against inviting curve of your ass, which only make you lean into his body more, exhaling with sweet escalating pleasure.

“So good…” he mutters under his nose with closed eyes, not noticing the way words slipped out of his mouth. Craving closer proximity, he tightens arms around you. He squeezes you closer and your skin rumples under his demanding palms.

You know it’s not enough for him. He needs it deeper. He needs more. It’s a part when Alex feels it’s like broken rollercoaster. Out of control and he has no ability to stop it.

Your favourite part. When he starts losing hold of himself.

The primal desire to become one person, one and the same, consumes both of you in moments like these.

In the next second, you turn to face him, he catches your lips instantly not wasting a second. Alex rushes, it appears a tad clumsy, revealing the whole desperateness of his. The pattern of his tongue melts with pattern of yours. It’s messy. It’s needy. Every swirl, that twirl your tongues, caressing each other, fuels you two even more.

Every time it feels like nothing can fulfil the desire he has. His hand grips your back and another one cradles your head gently as he backs you against the wall of the shower accidentally brushing some shampoos and shower gel bottles dropping them, which compels him shudder and pull away to catch a breath. He is shaking, his nose brushes over your, your foreheads touching, he barely can breathe, neither can you. Every stroke is screaming with urgent want, every place where their bodies are meeting is in flames. The small humid space of shower cabin pushes them into each other, and no one is against it.

Alex isn’t a big guy, and it’s perfect, something intimate about it being small together. His little blemishes from acne that are still fading away can’t spoil his, it would seem, undistinguished, for others, but pretty for you, face. His frame isn’t buff and muscular, and, again, it only gives form of his real presence. Sometimes you forget he is yours and here. He is simple and immaculate. Alex thinks he has flaws, but you adore every little slice of him so deeply that it makes your heart squeeze and ache.

Tips of his short nails grip the skin on your hip leaving reddish half-moons, you hiss through the teeth quietly. Your hands grip his short and wet strands pulling them and he lets out a deep groan that forces his voice break, his cheek is pressed to your cheek. Skin to skin. Alex’s teeth bite your lower lip, but very lightly. His cock desperately rubbing against your hip. Every part of him tries to press into you, soak into you.

Boiling water pours over your bodies making you both almost literally drown in each other. The glasses of shower are fogged, sounds of intimacy are muffled.

Out of blue, he grabs your hand and guides it to his neck. His eyes hooded, mind is dizzy. He lost any possible embarrassment or shyness. He is franked to you like he never was to a woman before.

“Grip it. Not hard. Jus’ so I could feel it,” he is breathless, “Please.” his voice is shattering, he can’t breathe, and accent gets more profound. His eyes are pleading and needing. Somewhere deep in his soul, there is a pang of a fear. He just wishes you didn’t think he’s weird or disgusting. Alex just childishly and innocently hopes not to be judged.

Were you surprised? You still don’t know a lot about him. Were you bothered? Only wanted to satisfy his needs.

Your fingers on his throat, griping it. Delicately. If choking couldn’t be sweet, you definitely made it like that. You can feel him swallowing through the skin, can feel his fast-throbbing pulse, the curve of his neck fits in your palm like your hands were made for his neck. His eyes roll back before closing, his hard length twitches seeking for attention. His bitten lips barely open as he attempts to mutter prayerful. His hips can’t stop from grinding against her thigh urgently, even during being chocked. Alex thinks he could cum just from that. Too good. Too pleasurable and delightful. Every word in existence for pleasure meant nothing in comparison to what he is experiencing right now. Thoughts of hands on his neck lingered in his mind already long enough, and your hands suited effortlessly.

The view is a sin, beautifully inappropriate and erotic. He is about to fall apart and then you would pick up every little piece to get him together, glueing pieces with your kisses.

It would be a shame to accept it but having him like that was the best of possessions that people could have. Just a thought of seeing him that vulnerable made your heart overflow with hot darkest passion and devotion. You’d want to keep him in your palms forever and always.

Alex loses his breath slowly, his eyes on a verge of shutting, and eyelashes wet and parted. He looks even more vulnerable. When he clearly tries to step closer in attempt to wrap limbs around you frantically, you let go of his neck and he grasps you closely breathing heavily. His hips stop rubbing for a second. Stroking his head, you feel him getting to the edge. He is close to tipping over it.

“I need,” he gulps, shaking off the lightheadedness, Alex hisses, sensation down there becomes too unbearable almost painful, “Fuck…” his voice is cracking becoming a high sound.

“I know.” you pick up instantly, your fingers tremble in await, running over his flat stomach, then over his little not immediately obvious trail of hair leading to his cock. Exhaling, he leans with his hand on the wall behind you.

Your palm stretches over his deprived cock. Movements are slow, deliberate and incredibly relieving for him. Curled hand moves over his shaft, making it redder and fuller with every second, his hips carving into your hand with longing. Your thumb teases his tip, which makes him let out the softest moan ever. He loves it. When you first time found this little movement that drives him that mad, Alex gathered courage back then and told you to do that one in future, and you memorized it, of course.

An aroused head of his length was throbbing with desire to spill over. Puppy-like whimper left his mouth, gripping your body closer with blurry mind, image of you seemed to float in his eyes like underwater. Your hand strokes and encourages the tip of a cock with urgent movements, precum gathers around and among your fingers.

“Let it go, baby.” soft whisper tickles his ear, and he gulps as his arms wrap around you tighter. His knees buckle and he barely can’t hold his own body stable.

Lips both of you find each other, and you can feel him spilling onto your stomach with a muffled keening. You soothingly help to ride out his orgasm with slow loving movements, while you kiss him tenderly, giving him time to calm his rapid heart. His cum leaks over curve of your stomach streaming down onto your thigh.

Softly backing away, you let him breathe, as a steam of shower surrounds you. It’s damp here and both of you are spent because of thousands of emotions. Alex breathes heavily, but in a way of finding air and relief. His palms slip over your sides appreciatingly and lovingly, contented with a moment of silence and only noises of water.

“A mess…” he mumbles under his nose as if only to himself, looking down on splash of milky liquid on your stomach, wiping it with hit rough thumb. You giggle quietly, melted by his behaviour. There won’t be any other person who causes your heart beating faster than Alex. Something about his every move and word that screams him. And you love it.

a/n: new recent picture of al did unholy things to me. anyway, i seem to like what i wrote this time, but i still think the way i write is vey lame, so i try my best every day to be better. now i write something that is bigger then i usually write, and i hope i'll manage to do it good. and also happy birthday alex! i'll keep all words of love and appreciation deep in my heart.

[junedenim]

to say good night

sleep can happen anywhere

warnings: fluff, smut, blowie, piv, and raspberries

word count: 3.6k

You watched him make the bed. He was always slow and careful with this kind of thing. It was rhythmic, second nature to tuck the duvet under the mattress and fluff the pillows just right. It was weird for a man to be so careful after sex. The sheets had been a mess covered in each of you. He still spills out of you now, trapped by your underwear. You went to the bathroom to clean yourself but got trapped in the doorway watching this meticulous routine as he changed the navy blue sheets to baby blue ones. You wonder if he has any different coloured sheets or if they are all blue.

He's fixing the nightstand now. His alarm clock that your hand pushed off when he was going down on you. His spine curves, little rivets showing through the skin of his bare back. You get to drag your hand down it tonight when you lie side by side and go to bed with one another. Not just fucking bed but sleeping bed.

And he's so lovely. You're not sure you've ever seen something, especially a man so lovely as he sits down on the bed to fix the time on the clock. His eyes shine back at the glaring red digits. Your hand curls around the doorframe, trying not to give yourself away to him. He's so cautious when he knows he's being watched, but here, he's loose, uncaring, and serene, so serene.

His hair is a fluff mess. One that swirls and makes cascading waterfalls as it tries to fall forward on his face. He slightly jumps at the beeping noise the clock makes and a giggle escapes you, impossible to hold back at his cute, jolting, meticulous, lovely, serene self. No hand covering your mouth hides the giggle. His eyes snap up with the fear he's been caught out like you've accidentally caught him masturbating in his childhood bedroom, not fully grown fixing his alarm clock.

But then he releases, not everything, but just enough to lightly chuckle. "You snooping on me?"

Part of you wants to shrink behind the bathroom door and hide but his laughter is solaceful. "I'm just going to the bathroom," you say as you slowly shut the door.

He laughs, this time more boisterous. It's easy for him to let go when he's making fun of you. "Uh-huh, yeah, right."

"I swear!" You yell back through the closed door as you drop your panties and wipe him out of you (disgusting but not and that almost disgusts you more about how you can be so affected by a person that you start to cherish their semen) and dispose of it. Your cheeks are flushed red in the mirror and you splash water to temper the fire burning its way out.

Exiting the bathroom, he stands by the dresser having covered that gracious bare back with a T-shirt. It makes you want to yell at him for the crime he's committed. It was horrible that he covered his butt with his boxers but this. "Why'd you put a shirt on?"

Alex once again jumps at a surprising sound. He turns around and smirks. "Why'd you put a shirt on?" He counters.

Fair. But it's his shirt and your underwear, isn't that what most guys find sexy? He's in his pajamas, very cutely, but five minutes ago he was coming inside you so a tad more explicit behaviour tonight shouldn't be out of the question. So, if he needs something from you then you'll trail your hands down the shirt, fiddle with the bottom—teasing, of course—and take the garment off, dropping it at his feet as an offering.

His lust-filled eyes work as encouragement, straying you from an insecurity. His hands move from his side and meet the bottom of his shirt. He's slow, much more than you were. You ripped the Band-Aid off, and he's easing it slowly away from the skin. He nearly gets trapped in its collar and has to twist his head back and forth to withdraw from it. Then, he tosses it at your feet, a slight chuckle of embarrassment rippling through him. "Now get in bed," he tells you.

You look toward the pristine sight, something off of HGTV or an Ikea catalogue. "But I don't want to ruin it," you candidly reply. It even has one of those small useless pillows sitting there for merely display purposes.

He walks toward you. "Get in bed," he says with a smirk. He pats your ass giving a light squeeze to your right ass cheek before heading into the bathroom. You look behind you at the closed bathroom door and inch your way to the bed, carefully taking off the small useless pillow. You pull back the duvet and slide into the sea of blue and then you wait.

You see the light spilling out from the bottom crack of the bathroom door. You hear him turn on the sink, the sound of him brushing his teeth. The water shuts off but he doesn't come out immediately. He takes his time and you wish you could peek in on whatever he's doing. Washing his hands, styling his hair, psyching himself up in the mirror, whatever it may be you want to be witness to it.

The door clicks open and he walks out, making his way to the bed and under the covers. He pulls the blankets over both of you and moves close by means of huddling for warmth. Your nipples rub against the blanket, shielding them from his view, but not his imagination. "Are you cold?" He asks.

You shake your head but tighten your hold on the blanket. You are a little cold but mostly nervous, just a tad. He nods and you can see the hesitance spilling from him. There's something intimate about sex but in comparison to this, it's nothing. The personal laying of your figures side-by-side. Your boobs are exposed and his chest is so close your palm can almost touch it. Instead, you two sit in silence, scared to be the first to speak because it's the first time you've done this with each other. 

Because it's not just spending the night or a hook-up, it's something far greater that you can't name. Something you want to work so badly it could kill you. Because he's looking at you like that: eyes warm and shiny, perfect for falling into. Him. Him. Because he's right up against you without touching you and now you have to relinquish yourself to him in a far more vulnerable way than sex. But the idea of falling asleep in his arms seems so nice that you can't bear any distance, even if it is small. 

"Do you always make the bed like that?" You ask him. You relax down into the pillow, turning onto your side to face him more clearly.

His smile grows warmer and it makes your insides feel less cold. "No. I'm neat but I'm not that neat."

"Why'd you do it that way then? Special occasion?" You smile back knowingly. He's always been one for silent gestures. Only the little things you notice way down the line. The little things you know now and the ones you have yet to discover.

He blushes, turning bashfully away from you. "Maybe. Yeah. Thought I'd make it look more homely."

You giggle, not because it's very funny, but because he's very charming. Enough to make any girl giddy. "It looked more like a display room to me but it was very pretty to watch."

Alex turns onto his side now, smirking in such a delight that it pierces through you. "Yeah. And you like to do that stalking thing?"

You bite your lip from mild embarrassment and in an attempt to hide to smile he's forcing increasingly on your face. "You're very cute to watch. I'm sure you know that."

"Well..." He trails off but his hand moves under the covers, landing on the curve of your side, just under your ribs. He's delicate, not trying to make a big deal out of it, the same with everything he does. But you notice. It's hard not to notice that warm touch.

"I don't even think I made my bed this morning," you tell him. Not that it matters much when you're lying in his.

He chuckles and gradually leans closer and closer. "I like to be organized." That's plenty nice under these nice sheets but his lips are far greater as he comes toward yours. He hovers before latching on. It's a smooth grip, nothing harsh as you lock lips. Everything about it flows.

His hand moves up your figure, his thumb lightly caressing the bottom of your boob. Your hand steadies on his shoulder. He feels firm as your hand grazes down his arm before shifting over to his chest, feeling him beneath your hand.

The kissing becomes harsher, not aggressive, but determined passion from both sides. You were drawn together and it felt impossible to ignore, even as things became more rushed. You rolled over and he followed with his body on top. His hand massaged your side and your bodies smushed together, your boobs stuck in between each other in that small space.

"You just changed the sheets," you mumble in the chaos of attached lips.

His lips strayed, moving down from your lips, kissing your chin, and down the column of your neck on that tender part of your throat. "Fuck that. I don't care," Alex kissed into your skin. He paid tribute to your right collarbone, briefly sticking out his tongue and running a line across it. He kissed your shoulder and moved down further to your breasts. 

He licks his way to the nipple, already sensitive from the cold and rubbing up against him. Suddenly, he makes a loud smooching noise and blows a raspberry on it. It's ticklish, erupting impossible to avoid laughter as you push his head away from the affected spot.

"Stop it," you manage to get out. "So much for being sensual."

Alex kisses one of your ribs like it's him and it may be what created you. "I never promised sensuality."

"I thought you making out with my breasts implied that." He laughs and kisses the untouched boob. His lips hover like he's threatening to do it to the other one. "I'll leave if you do it again. What if someone did that to your dick?"

He thinks about it, tossing his head back and forth. "It'd probably feel good." His eyes look away like he’s imagining the pleasure.

Your hands reached down, snaking in between your two bodies. You grab a hold of the waistband of his boxers, snapping it against his skin. "You want to bet?" You push him onto his back, gazing down at him.

"You don't know men very well if you think the threat of a blowjob is gonna scare them off."

Still, you descend him. Your fingers dance on his hip bone. He delightfully protrudes onto you. He conflicts with himself whether to revel in the feeling with his head on the pillow or watch you as you tease him. His eyes remain on you as your pointer finger grasps onto the elastic of his boxers. Edging him in anticipation. A dance between the dainty and the robust. 

You send him a mocking grin, displaying your teeth, latching onto that waistband, dragging it slowly, revealing the bottom portion of his stomach before stopping. You kissed the newly exposed skin as he sucks in a breath like he hasn't taken one in minutes. You press your face into him. Your nose inhaling him into you, the smell of him plain, only a simple bar of soap has passed this area. Yet, however plain, it calms you. You wish to rest your head here for a little while, maybe fall asleep here because he isn't restless here. This is where things calm.

You resume. Your hands drift further down, dipping into his boxers, giving a slight touch to him. Your hands are cold against the warm skin. It might turn him on even more. Finally, you pull his boxers down fully, letting his erection pop out on display. Your hand grabs a hold of it. He shivers from the cold, anticipation, and the soon-to-be relief.

You hold him carefully in your hand like you're observing him scientifically. You need to cover every surface with your eyes, every vein needs to be noted, and the way he twitches should be put in the records. "Come on," he just barely mutters.

It's the complete opposite from earlier when he was quick with you. When you were messy with each other. When alarm clocks were pushed on the floor and sheets were left with no choice but to wash. You're careful now, if not, torturous. Alas, you lick up the side of him to the tip. Your tongue grazes over the slit, enjoying the way it makes him stiff. 

You seal a kiss on it before your mouth covers the top of him. You suck on him, pleasurable for both him and you. Then, you blow a raspberry on him. You wish to capture the way he wiggles around and groans but you're too busy laughing at him. "How was that?"

Alex brings a hand to his head. He rubs his fingers between his eyebrows to calm that distress in him. "Not very sensual." You share a laugh before taking him off guard with how quickly you return to the task at (or in your) hand. 

You stroke him, moving the salvia from the top down to lubricate the bottom. Your mouth covers him again, but this time takes him fully in a slow controlled manner. The pressure pushes against your throat as your nose rubs that spot on his stomach again. You pull yourself off, wiping the string of spit that connects you. Your hand continues its work as you kiss his hip, then the top of his thigh, then his pelvis, then his penis.

His hand stops you from taking him completely in your mouth again. "Get on me."

"What?" You question.

"Let me fuck you again." He's almost begging, his eyes fluttering shut and his grasp on your upper arm strengthening. "Please."

"What about the bed?" It was so nice moments ago but the blankets have been thrown and the sheets exposed, a trace of your spit already covering them.

He shakes his head on the pillow, trying not to lose the moment. He pinches that glabella. "Let's just fuck on the fucking floor."

You hesitate on the bed but he's quick, already has his knees pressed on the cold wood floors. He reaches a hand up to you, which you take, kicking your feet out and meeting him on the floor. "I'm gonna get a splinter from this."

He laughs, placing his hands on your waist, his thumb stroking up and down. "How do you want to do this?" He doesn't hesitate, dragging your panties off as soon as he can.

"I don't know. It was your idea. Just fuck me, I guess."

"Okay," he mutters like he's still trying to figure it out himself. He looks around, trying to place the space on the floor, and then kisses you, overpowering you. You're on your back, your shoulders grazing the floor's rug. You could start a fire with the way your skin brushes against it. You clutch his neck to grasp on something desperately as he moves himself through your folds, soaked up in you.

Now, it's sensual as he eases slowly into you. It's barely anything but then it's barely nothing. Everything is touched and you were just like this less than an hour ago but it already feels different. The way his eyes land on you is much softer and his touch is caring. There's no rushing, roughness, or scratching. It's tender, graceful, and clutching. He's powering but not overtly. His hips snap but not aggressively.

It's fulfilling. He kisses every nerve ending in you. It's making love in all those stupid, cheesy, romance movie kind of ways but it's him and it's you, something yet to fully be explored and you get to be a first-hand witness to every touch he lands on you. His thumb strokes you so carefully but it lights you up completely. 

You arch up into him and you know he's much closer than you are, so, you reach up and smooth your hand over his cheek before wrapping your arm around his neck. You whisper into his ear for him to let go and give himself over to you. It's late and tiring, it's like falling asleep in each other's arms as he lets go into you.

Everything in him is sensitive. He shudders as everything comes over him. He buries his head into your neck, rubbing his nose against your jugular. Your hand runs through his hair as he groans the last bits of relief into your skin. It's content. Your heart rates settle against one another as if you're beating in time with one another. 

Alex starts to move again, even slower than before, but he's not willing to let this go. He doesn't like it just being about him. He doesn't like all that attention. So, he gives it, gives it all over, fucking you with the remnants of him still inside you. 

His overstimulation settles as he begins to rush forward. The thumb stroking picks up right over your clit and it's cold hands on warm flesh. It's so divine, an enhancement. It's not just a regular touch, it's an imprint as the cold seeps into you and he drives himself into you. He groans and you moan but it's all whispers for just one another. No soul will ever hear each other this way because it's never been like this before and you're not sure it will ever be like this again, even with him. It's a sliver of time for just the two of you.

Each of your breathing grows heavy and your hips lift. It all moves quicker and you can feel the rug burn forming on your skin as you come. It overrides anything. You clutch onto him in any way possible. Your hands in his hair, your legs around his waist, him still sitting inside you. It's a release. Completely. 

When everything relaxes just enough, your grasp loosens and he rolls beside you onto his back. You tilt your head slightly up to look at his profile, even with barely any light in the room it's scenic. It's like looking out at the ocean from the cliff. 

He has steadied himself when he turns his head over to meet your eyes. "Good?" It could mean a number of things. If you're okay, if the sex was okay, if you're alright staying here on the floor forever.

Either way, you are. "Good," you answer in the affirmative. You reach out to him, pushing his hair back so you can get the best view of his eyes. "You?"

Alex nods. His eyes are obviously tired, fluttering with the wind. "We should get back in bed."

"Or stay here for a minute more," you suggest because the moment will be gone, ending forever, the second you stand up from this small cocoon of space.

He doesn't reject the idea. His body is so relaxed against the wood. "When I was younger," he tells you, "I used to sleep on the floor because I was scared of my bed."

It's a privilege to know these small stories about him. To run your fingers through his hair as he tells you a childhood story that has him smiling. "Why?" You ask.

Alex shifts closer, his arm landing over your waist. He tugs you closer to him as if he wants to absorb you, live in one body with you. It almost feels like that in this small space where your breaths duel one another. "I don't know. It was my first big kid bed. I think I thought monsters lived in there."

You squint. "So you slept closer to where they lived under your bed?"

He chuckles and gives a light squeeze to your side. "I was four, I had no logic."

You recall, "I used to just sleep in my parents' room. Might've caused their divorce." Your hand drifts away from his hair and down to his back, at long last rubbing down his spine, feeling those notches in him. If he sleeps on his stomach, you might wake him up tomorrow by kissing your way down those vertebrae.

"Why?" He questions just like you.

"They could never have sex 'cause I was in there all the time." There's laughter shared, an increased amount, maybe because you just had sex and you'll have plenty more sex but for now you'll lie here. You want to squeeze him in between your fingers, pinch a piece off of him, and carry it around with you in your bag, in your pocket, in your skin.

His hand moves to your back, moving along your spine, massaging the muscles around it. "I walked in on them once. I think I'll take your side of things," he said. He pulled a disgusted face before dusting a smile. "I thought they were wrestling."

Your laughter is loud, infectious and it makes him laugh too and you'll get up off the floor at some point but for now, you'd like to stay here in a world with just the two of you.

*

a/n: i like this one. maybe because i was more relaxed when i wrote it. excuse yet another 'perfect sense' title, it just fits so well. thanks, bye.

[doctor-dusk]

𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲, 𝐰𝐞 𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐭𝐨… 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤 | 𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐱 𝐭.

what would a musician be without his inspiring muse? 

warnings: soft dom!alex, smut, oral (both receiving), bit of anal playing, spitting, unprotected sex (piv). i think that's all, folks.

word count: 4.1k

i wrote most of this last year on a crowded bus on my way back from college, an old lady gave me a dirty look, but it's worth it. probably the dirtiest smut i've ever written so far because i was bored with my job today. hope you enjoy it :3

you had just gotten out of the shower. the skin of your shoulders and chest was still wet and the scent of grapefruit soap still perfumed the bathroom when you left the room amid a thin curtain of steam from the warm water. alex found it funny that you loved warm showers, even though it was almost forty degrees outside. you were wrapped in a dark gray cotton bathrobe, your hair was wrapped in a towel of the same color and you were drying your face with a white face towel. 

you noticed that alex was in exactly the same position since the last glimpse you had of him before entering the bathroom. he was sitting in a position that was not very comfortable visually speaking, wearing only moss green cargo shorts. his head was resting on his right hand, which held a pencil with a worn tip between his fingers, while his left hand was busy with a half-smoked cigarette, which released a thin curtain of smoke that escaped through the open window in front of him, his guitar resting on his lap, untouchable. 

he had been staring at the page of his notebook for almost twenty minutes. there were a few scribbles on the corners, loose words, but nothing that formed a sentence, much less something that made sense to him.

you tilted your head to see his face, seeing that his eyes were closed now, his hair, which was usually combed back, falling over his forehead, with some of the ends of the strands tickling his lowered eyelids. you gave a weak smile, hanging the face towel on the window and standing behind him, taking advantage of the exposed left side of his neck to give him a little kiss.

‘’what's up, huh?’’ you asked, giving him another little kiss and feeling his skin shiver with the contact of your lips.

‘’it’s all crap.’’ he grumbled, dropping the pencil on the table and straightening his posture, feeling you raise your hands to massage his shoulders. ‘’you know when you really want to write something, you have the idea in your head, but you just…’’ he said, his tone frustrated as he held the guitar. you knew alex well enough to know that he already felt this way before you even asked. you knew his frown, his sullen voice, his strong drag on his cigarette as if he were breathing the air with anger, and maybe he was.

‘’i know.” you answered in an understanding tone, letting your fingers massage the tense and stiff muscles in his shoulders. “but you’ll make it, you always do. you have a mini genius inside you who can think of the most incredible lyrics in the world in the blink of an eye.” you continued encouraging him, lightly tapping his forehead, watching him shake his head subtly.

“well, guess what: this genius is probably on vacation and i didn’t know about it.” turner replied. for a second, you liked to think that alex really did have a miniature of himself in his head, and that at the moment he was just wearing a pair of swim trunks while sunbathing on some paradisiacal beach on the italian coast. “or he must have died, i don’t know.” he finished with another mumble, leaving the guitar leaning against the wall next to it, standing upright and without any risk of falling.

‘’oh, you're so dramatic, turner.’’ you laughed, dragging his last name because of your accent. ‘’you just need some time. maybe relax. you demand too much of yourself.’’

“you know i've always been like this.” he replied, taking one last drag of his cigarette before putting it out by rubbing the butt on the wooden window frame. you've lost count of how many marks there were on the window frame from rubbing the butts of his cigarettes, but you never complained to him.

alex picked up the pencil again, pressing the end of the eraser to his cheek, glancing at the moment you walked around the chair, making a little space to sit on his lap. he felt the scent of the soap a little more intensely on your body, especially when you wrapped both arms around his neck.

alex liked it when you did that without warning, and you liked it even more. you liked the way he wrapped his long arms around you, letting his big hand wander around your waist, following the path further south and leaving it positioned on the warm skin of your left thigh, gently patting it in a caressing manner.

even though he was stuck in his little musical world, he didn't stop giving you the attention you deserved, even if it was just a little. but you knew he wouldn't be able to do anything now, not being so tense.

you had an idea, laying your head on top of his head, since the position you were in favor of the fact that you were sitting a little higher on his lap. you smelled the faint scent of shampoo in his hair, sliding your nose over his scalp, going down a little to kiss his temple, and then his cheek, and then his jaw. you kissed him as far as your mouth could reach, feeling his skin in contact with your lips and feeling the muscle in his cheek contract as he gave a small smile.

‘’what do you think you're doing, huh?’’ he asked, tilting his head a little to the left so he could look at you, but you were more focused on continuing to trail your kisses down his body, each kiss going down proportionally to the point that you had to get off his lap to get between his legs. ‘’you're distracting me, y’know?’’ he pretended to grumble in protest, but you knew him well enough to know that he was far from angry or bored by the fact that you were doing this.

“that's the intention.” you answered with a slightly muffled voice because you were kissing his belly now, letting your fingers slide over the skin of his abdomen in a slowly torturous way to reach the button of his shorts. not even if alex wanted to, he would be able to hide the shiver he felt with this simple act.

“you're crazy.” he laughed, now lightly nibbling the eraser on the tip of the pencil, his eyes not leaving your figure kneeling in front of him for even a second. it was almost majestic for him to see you like that, at an angle he loved, by the way.

“for you? of course.” he heard you retort in the same tone, feeling you unbutton his shorts and lower the zipper with one hand, while the other was resting on his knee. “but you like it.”

“i didn’t say i didn’t like it.” he said, dropping the pencil on the desk at the exact moment your hand reached the hem of his underwear, letting your fingers curl around the elastic to threaten to pull it down.

but you did it so slowly that it actually hurt him. by now, he was already throbbing just at the thought of feeling your hand wrap around him, or feeling your tongue play with the tip, or simply feeling every inch of him burying himself inside you. it awakened unbearable agony in him.

“you're such a twat.” he said through gritted teeth, squeezing the edge of the desk with his fingers. you raised an eyebrow as you feigned offense, threatening to stop. ‘’no, no, love, i didn't mean that, it's just…’’ he said in a frustrated tone with himself, watching you laugh and lower the piece again enough for his cock to practically jump out.

you saw how impossibly hard he was, with some veins marked all over his length, from the base to the beginning of the tip, which by the way was already merely lubricated with precum. it seemed to be calling your name, totally ready to let you wrap your hand around it and swallow it to the last inch, whether with your mouth or with your cunt.

you didn't waste time, you were as eager as he was. your tongue slid deliciously over the tip, tasting him and watching him suck in air forcefully between his teeth. it was as addictive and tasty as the sight you had of him, feeling his hand grab the back of your head, guiding your swollen lips to start swallowing him slowly.

as much as he had that urgency to see you choke on his cock, he could be content with feeling your warm mouth envelop the tip, your delicate hand stayed around the base, pumping slowly and gently and holding it firmly to make him erect as he entered more on your mouth. 

turner was already starting to feel the slight spasms with the vibration of your throat on his cock when you let out a muffled moan. he’s not the kind of guy who is a fan of advance warnings, because when you least expected it, you felt him bucking his hips, making you feel him deep in your throat, which made you cough. he moaned shamelessly when you pulled your head away to get some air, playing with his tip with your tongue, giving it kittenish licks from every possible angle before putting him back in my mouth, swallowing him again without him having to move again.

“oh, so fucking good…” he groaned, letting his head fall back, delighting in the feeling of your warm mouth wrapping around his cock, taking him deeper, feeling your throat closing around the tip. he felt his senses overwhelmed, every fiber of his body contracting as your tongue swirled around his pulsing length.

he looked down at you at some point, your eyes locked on his, he couldn't even try to explain how crazy he went when you looked at him like this, hypnotizing him with your warm mouth and enigmatic eyes, wide like cherry pies.

“such a good girl for me. you're going to make me want to put composition aside to fuck you.” he growled, his fist closing around the towel wrapped on your head.

“you say that like it's a bad thing.’’ you pouted, kissing his tip several times and he chuckled, moving his hand to run his thumb on your cheek, looking tenderly at you.

“baby, you know i love fucking you. really.” he purred, holding his cock and gesturing for you to open your mouth, tapping his shaft on your tongue, the slapping sound adding to the pleasure of both. ‘’love feeling your mouth, your tongue, your pussy clenching around my cock…’’ he continued, his words sending slight jolts of lust through your body. he always knew what to say to make you even wetter.

‘’mhm, so we should fuck, y'know?’’ you said, swirling your tongue around his tip, your eyes pleading for him. you said that like you hadn't already fucked that morning.

‘’we should.’’ he agreed with you, pulling the towel from your head, massaging your scalp, the damp strands of your hair tangled in his fingers. ‘’stand up and turn around.’’ he said in a gentle order, patting your neck lightly.

you giggled, obeying him without a second thought, standing up and turning on your heels, the open window overlooking the deserted street was all you had. could there be people passing by or neighbors who might appear at their apartment windows at any moment? possibly.

but you didn't care much about that as you felt alex untying the knot of your robe while standing behind you, you could feel his hard cock rubbing against your thigh as he made you bend over the desk, your bare tits pressing on top of his notebook. the rough paper pages combined with alex's hands holding the hem of your robe makes your nipples harden, the cotton fabric reached halfway down your back, your lower body exposed to him like a full meal.

“you smell so good.” he hummed, dragging his nose over the skin of your left buttock as if he were snorting coke, your soft skin and your refreshing post-shower scent made him want to melt all over you. he was completely crazy about you.

“it's because i took a shower.” you laughed, feeling his teeth sinking into your skin as if he wanted to take a bite, and he would do that if he could. he could devour you and not waste a thing.

“nah. just your natural scent. and a bit of grapefruit.” he hummed, his large hands gripping your buttcheeks, separating them to reveal your two puckering holes, your cunt already drooling, needing him to take care of it.

his mouth watered at the sight as his cock throbbed in need. he didn't think twice or wait for you to beg for him, his tongue was already darting out to taste you, collecting your slimy juices, feeling that his guts were being blessed by your taste, like a sweet nectar.

you gasped softly, your forehead resting on the rigid wood desk, his tongue molding between your slick folds as the tip of his nose tickled your asshole, making it gap at the slightest touch. the wet muscle made its way upwards, sinking into your needy hole, going as far as he could, holding your buttocks tightly to keep them apart.

you muffled your moans as he fucked you with his tongue, biting your arm to prevent some loud moaning. his tongue moved up just a bit, licking your perineum just to tease your tight hole, circling the spot with the tip of his tongue, making you squirm.

“too bad we're out of lube.” he sighed, more to himself than to you. he knew you still could try it just like this, lubricating you with lots of spit and stretch you with his fingers until you were relaxed enough to accommodate his cock, but he didn't want to risk hurting you and consequently never wanting to try again. 

you chuckled softly, remembering that you're indeed out of lube. alex ended up overdoing it last time because he felt like it was never enough. or maybe he just liked to see how easily he could fuck you from behind, seeing how his cock disappeared inside your hole that was tighter and warmer than your pussy.

“maybe next time?” you suggested, feeling the tip of his tongue threatening to enter, the sensation almost overwhelming you. 

“yeah. i'll remember to buy the whole supply of lube next time i stop by the drugstore.” he said, giving you one last lick, one of his hands went down to stroke his cock lightly, he was hard as a rock at this point, aching to be inside you. his internal struggle with music could wait a bit.

alex's right hand spread your right ass cheek while his left hand guided his cock to your entrance, playing a bit with you, his tip threatening to enter, making a small “pop” when he pulled back. you were about to complain about it, but your unspoken words disappeared when he eased inside you, his thick cock filling every space as if it was molded especially for you.

“oh fuck, yes…” you gasped, your hands closing into fists on the edges of the desk, your knuckles turning white as he bottomed out slowly, pulling back until he saw his tip, slamming back inside your cunt again.

“fucking love this pussy, did i tell you that already?” he groaned, lifting your leg so you could bend more on the desk, allowing him to bury his cock deeper inside your clenching walls. 

“everyday.” you said. you almost smiled at the thought if he wasn't picking up his pace gradually, your mind and body filled by him and only him. his fingers gripping the flesh of your ass cheeks, leaving a red mark upon their wake. 

alex collected a small amount of saliva on his mouth, angling his head to spat directly on your asshole, watching how it slided, coating his cock as he moved in and out of you at a frantic pace, the desk hitting the wall with each violent thrust. 

he couldn't help but brought his thumb there, circling the tight ring teasingly, threatening to go in a little bit more and more, until the tip of his thumb went through, stretching you just a little, but it was enough to make you gasp and clench more around him.

“do you like that, hmm? do you like having your holes filled by me?" he growled when he reached your ear, his thumb sinking deeper into your hole until his knuckle, making you squirm even more, whining in pleasure as you nodded, the idea of letting him take you from behind like this didn't sound so bad even with the lack of lube. “dirty little thing.”

you brought your hand to your clit, your eager fingers trying to build the pleasure faster as your body heated up, like there's an inferno inside you. but no, it was alex. just alex.

alex notices your subtle moves between your legs, his thumb abandoning your gaping hole to grab your wrist, pinning it behind your back, holding it tightly with his other free hand.

“no. only i can do this.” he said, his voice sounding demanding and authoritative despite the husky tone. it wasn't like you couldn't touch yourself, but he loved the idea of touching you, of being the only reason you're completely destroyed after he's done with you. he wanted to be everything to you and do everything for you.

your hand was replaced by his, his fingers already coated with your wetness when he rubbed against your folds, feeling the outline of his cock sliding in and out of you, filling you to the brim and even making you stand on the tip of your toes.

“a-alex, i'm gonna cum, please…” you panted, almost passing out, he was taking you so hard, like he was angry or frustrated with you. yeah, he was frustrated, but not with you. never with you.

“yeah, i know, baby.” he whispered, rubbing your clit sloppily because of the position, but still making you go crazy with his movements, hitting that sweet spot inside you over and over again, determined to reduce you to a crying mess as you came on his cock and your body collapses onto the desk. 

in no time, the feeling of orgasm hits you hard, your whole body lost all strength and you felt the knot in your stomach undoing abruptly, your breath completely disappearing for a few seconds, replaced by a moan that was almost a scream.

contrary to what you thought, he didn't stop there. firstly, you didn't even know why you thought he would stop. he never stops after your first orgasm.

he flipped you over, slipping out of you just to fill you up again, not even giving you time to open your eyes to look at him, forcing your sore pussy to accommodate his veiny and angry cock once again.

“too cockdrunk already?” he smirks at your wrecked state, making you rest your calves on his shoulders. you didn't even need to answer him, even because you could barely form coherent words.

he continued at the same intensity while you tried to escape because you were already crying and didn't know if you could handle the overstimulation he was giving you, your legs wobbly like jelly failing on his sides, being supported by his forearms since his hands were gripping your thighs, preventing you from running away or closing your legs.

“come for me again, darlin’. i know you can do it.” alex said to you, his voice sounding like a rough melody as his face came close to yours, placing kisses along your jaw. 

and again, another orgasm consumed you in a much more intense way, your cervix hurt and you felt that you're so aroused and wet that it was already running down your legs as you cried out.

“so pretty.” he praised you, his index finger strolling through your half-open lips, passing through them and entering your mouth, pressing on your tongue. “wider.” he commanded, putting more pressure on your tongue with his finger, forcing you to open your mouth wider.

he took his finger out of your mouth, squeezing your face with his firm hand as he spat inside your mouth, hitting your tongue and the back of your throat. it didn't catch you by surprise, actually. it just turned you on, even if you were already at the height of your sensitivity.

“swallow.” he tapped your cheek, allowing you to swallow it without even thinking, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out just to show him that you did it. “good fucking girl.” he said proudly, his cock twitching at your submissive side, teetering the edge. “fuck, 'm gonna cum, baby. where do you want?”

“inside me.” you answered without thinking twice. it wasn't like you didn't like it when he came on your face or in your mouth or on your tits. but you liked the primal feeling of him spilling all his cum inside you. he chuckled darkly.

“greedy. want my cum all to yourself?” he asked and you nodded, finding the strength to lock your legs around him as he picked up his pace slightly, chasing his own release after making you cum twice. 

“you know that i love it when you fill me up.” you whispered, propping yourself up on your elbows to reach his bottom lip, nibbling it gently as he grabbed you, holding you close as his head sank into the curve of your neck.

“oh fuck, f-fuck…” he choked on his own words as he came inside you, spilling jets his seed deep inside your cunt to the point that it leaked out, staining your legs and your bathrobe. “jesus fucking…” he paused, catching his breath as the last remnants leave his body to fill you. “christ.”

you finally could let your body dismantle on the desk, your head resting on the window sill, your blurry vision trying to get used to the view of the blue sky on that particularly sunny afternoon. 

“you good?” he asked you, still buried deep inside you, giving you sweet kisses along your stomach. 

“always good with you.” you smiled at him when he reached your chest, resting his head on your left boob, listening to the rapid beating of your heart. 

“you just gave me an idea, y'know?” he whispered to you, his warm and ragged breathing tickling your skin. “my beautiful inspiring muse. don't know what would become of me without you.”

“you flatter me.” you chuckled, running your hand through his messy hair, his sweaty scalp moistened the tips of your fingers. 

“just telling the truth.” he chuckled along with you, his pretty and wide eyes looking at you in awe. “i love you.” he whispered again, as if he was sharing a secret that only you needed to know.

you looked back at him, taking the sight of his face so close to yours. you were looking at him with that loving gaze while you felt the blood flow increase in your veins because your heart was beating too fast. but it was impossible not to have that feeling when looking at his slightly contorted mouth as he absentmindedly bit the inside of his cheek, his cheekbones were flushed and his eyes again took on that slightly greenish brown hue when the light reflected off them in that underexposure of colors that matched the ebony of his hair unruly now without the hair gel.

yeah, you loved him too.

“i love you too.” you answered him, seeing the smile forming on his lips, the corners of his eyes getting a bit wrinkly. you loved these little features of him. 

he leaned in to kiss you, his body moved and consequently his soft cock slipped out of you, you both groaning softly at the disconnection. but the kiss made it better. 

“i’ll have to take another shower.” you mumbled between his lips when you felt his cum running out of you, running down your thighs. he chuckled, it wasn't like you're complaining, much less that he had regretted it. “when will you work on your idea?”

he pretended to think, his lips still sealed in yours.

“after the shower.” he blowed some air inside your mouth like he was inflating a balloon. you laughed, rolling your eyes. he always played these stupid pranks on you, but you loved it. 

“will you join me?" you asked with raised eyebrows.

“only if you have me.” 

you didn't have to answer him.

[joekeeryswife]

hi hihi can u do an age gap fic w alex - like both alex and reader are famous and reader gets a ton of hate for dating him and alex js comforts reader 😕

Age Gap - a.t

a/n: hey loves! i haven’t written for alex in ages! my requests are open for him so please send me some through, enjoy 🫶🏼 y/n is 26 and Alex is 38

you had been with Alex for over a year and a half but only just recently announced it. you knew that you both would get hate for it but you didn’t realise the extent of hate you would receive. you had a big following, you were a famous supermodel and an influencer and met Alex when you were at one of the music release parties and hit it off straight away.

you’d gotten hate before, being a model came with the thousands of people hating on you just for being yourself but it never got to you because you knew that these people were either jealous or just bored and you never even looked at their comments because it wasn’t worth it.

there had been speculation of you and Alex being together your whole relationship which never bothered you, you didn’t feel the need to explain yourself when people would ask questions about it but you and Alex were both sick of not being able to go out in public and do normal stuff together.

Alex had gone out to the studio a few hours ago to do some recording and you took the opportunity to look through the comments of your post. you weren’t shocked at you getting hate but shocked at the amount of hate you were receiving.

your post was cute, a few pictures of you and Alex in a photobooth together which showed how much you were in love and you were upset that people didn’t agree. there were obviously hundereds of lovely comments, people saying how great you looked together, how loved up you looked but they were overwhelmed with the thousands of hate comments.

yn.yln: 🤍 @AlexTurner

View 104,628 comments

honeymoon: babies🥹

yourbestfriend: surprised i could keep this quiet 🤫

ynfan01: YAY OMFG

ynfan5183: NEVER BEEN SO EXCITED IN ALL MY LIFE

arcticm0nkeys: ew wth. Alex should be with someone older than this girl, isn’t she like 20 or something?

fan61838: y/n is so gorgeous i can’t deal! Alex is a lucky guy.

user0183: no one wants you here, you shouldn’t be with someone like Alex. he deserves so much better than you.

user163: wtaf is this. why would he want her?

yn.alexfan163: the update we have all been waiting for🤭

user74: no because tell me why alex chose her? she is way too young.

monkeys5363: our boy looks so happy, they deserve the world 🥰

user260: please leave y/n, you don’t deserve alex.

monkeysfan: alex looks so happy guys, leave them be 🫶🏼

ynswife: they’re so in love🫶🏼

alexturnershair: don’t even they looks so happy🥹

user54: these photos are vile. Alex honey we forgive you for choosing her but please leave. you deserve someone so much better than y/n.

your eyes filled with tears and you quickly put your head in your hands. the hate never usually got to you but this was a whole new level. were these people right? did alex really deserve someone better? were you really too young for him? your mind was filled with a million questions. what if alex decided that you were too young for him and that he deserved someone better than you?

a few tears spilled down your cheeks, this was awful. you had never felt so pick on up until now. yes you were a lot younger than him but that didn’t mean you weren’t mature enough. it wasn’t like you were underage, you were a full grown adult and these people were picking on you because you were younger than alex?

your mind was going so crazy that you didn’t even hear Alex come through the front door. he had even called out to you and got worried when he got no response. he found you sat curled up on the sofa, your small sobs could be heard and his body filled with worry.

“sweetheart? what’s happed?” he quickly sat down next to you and pulled your body into his. he kissed your forehead and rubbed his hand up and down your back soothingly. he heard you sniffle as you tried to calm yourself down but it was no use, a sob escaped you making his heart break. “take a deep breathe, talk to me honey”

you tried to regulate your breathing, listening to his heartbeat as you hugged him closer. “you’re gonna leave me” he was confused, where has this come from? it was completely out of character for you and he had never ever seen you like this before. “what are you on about baby, i’m not going to leave you” he felt your arms squeeze his waist.

you pulled away so you could look at him, his face was filled with concern and confusion. “i was reading the comments on our photo” he sighed, he knew something like this would happen when you announced your relationship but he didn’t think it would make you cry like this. “you shouldn’t read them sweetheart, you know them people are just jealous” his thumb reached out to stroke your tear stained cheeks.

“i know but they were all saying how you deserved so much better than me and how im way too young for you. that you deserve someone who’s closer to you in age and it just got my mind going. maybe you do deserve better than me” now his heart had full on shattered. you sounded so vulnerable and scared and the look on your face made it even worse. you just looked so sad and he hated that. deep down he was fuming that these people had made you cry but he didn’t want to show you that.

“do you really think i listen to what the comments have to say? do you think i let my so called fans dictate my life? i don’t listen to them. they can’t decide who’s good for me and who’s not, they don’t even know me. and if i had an issue with your age i wouldn’t of dated you in the first place, it isn’t like you’re a minor. you’re an adult same as what i am. i know it’s hard to not read the comments but i really don’t give a shit about what they say” his eyes were soft as he looked at you, he hated that these people had made you this upset.

“i love you and those dickheads can just fuck off. you are the only girl for me, yes i’ve had relationships in the past but i’ve never ever felt like this and we don’t need their input, we never did before so why listen now” he lent in and gave you a quick kiss on the lips. “now i bet there were some nice comments in there, they can’t be all bad surely” you showed him your phone which was still showing the post.

he looked through the comments and shook his head as he read the bad ones. “most of these people don’t even follow me, they’re just doing it because they want attention and they want to hurt you but don’t let them get to you, they’re just a bunch of assholes who don’t have a life” he passed your phone back to you and pulled you into him again.

“you’re too pretty to cry honey, i love you and that’s all that matters. no more looking at these silly comments” he felt you nod “i love you too” he kissed your forehead softly.