#alex turner x y/n

[goblinontour]

Consequences

is there such a thing as too much love?

warnings: dad!alex (well, not quite), fluff, smut, raw fucking, ya know

word count: 7k

He had his eyes closed. He should’ve been dreaming. Instead, he was thinking of you. Not just you, but the spaces you occupied, the way you breathed air and made it yours. He wasn’t sure if it was obsession or something softer, something quieter but more profound, something that stretches across the distance between the two of you and doesn’t snap. Either way, it kept him awake, even now, as the rest of the world surrendered to sleep.  

They told him not to wait for it. Don’t wait for the world to align itself, for the stars to blink their approval. Create it yourself, they’d said. Your world. Alone. Stand alone. Build it brick by brick, carve it out of the nothingness. Then the love will come to you. Then it will come. But they never warned him what it would feel like when it did. How it would crash into him, fierce and unrelenting, how it would unravel him piece by piece until he wasn’t sure which fragments of himself belonged anymore.  

The day you met, the wind howled like it had something to say. A storm was caught in its lungs, a promise in its teeth. It yanked at his coat, bit at his neck, and wrapped itself around the moment like a ribbon tied to a gift neither of you knew you were giving. Later, he’d wonder if it wasn’t the universe itself exhaling, breathing out its relief as he whispered, under his breath, finally.

You were like that — something that wasn’t supposed to be here but was. A misplaced star, maybe. Or a stray thread tugging at the edges of his life, unravelling him just to see if you could put him back together in a new way. And he let you. Every time. No questions asked. Somehow, you always did it right, reassembling him into something unfamiliar yet more whole. A new version of himself, one he didn’t know he’d been waiting to meet.  

He hadn’t expected it to be so easy for you. The way you looked at him — steady, like you weren’t afraid of what you might find — left him feeling exposed. But it didn’t stop him from leaning closer. You had this way of throwing things off balance. He let you throw him too.  

You wandered into his orbit with the kind of quiet that still felt loud and changed everything without saying a word. And suddenly, colors tasted better on his tongue just from the sight of them, without even taking a bite. The sound of rain became music, no rhythm, no melody, just noise, and yet it sang.  

He swore — God, he swore — he could fly. Not in the grand, sweeping sense of it, but in the way a bird feels the wind cradle its wings, like gravity might just loosen its grip if he asked nicely enough. That’s what it was like with you. Effortless. Dangerous, too, because he knew he was risking the fall every time.  

There was something about you that turned the ordinary into something else entirely. The way you looked at the world — curious, amused, like everything was both a puzzle and a punchline — made him want to see it the way you did. And sometimes he could.  

He noticed the little things because of you. The sound of a door creaking open, the way sunlight moved across a room, the way your hands spoke a language he didn’t know he understood. You taught him how to look, not just at the world but at himself. And he hated it, at first. How vulnerable it made him feel. How much it made him want to be better.  

But then there were moments when it felt worth it. Like when you smiled at him — not just with your mouth, but with your whole face, your whole being. Like the universe itself was bending toward him, just for a second, just for the briefest of moments.  

He wondered if you knew what you were doing to him. If you knew how completely you’d taken up residence in his thoughts, in the spaces between them, in the cracks he’d refused to acknowledge until you. You were there now, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted you to leave or if he wanted you to stay forever.  

He told himself it didn’t matter. That he didn’t need to know, that the knowing wouldn’t change anything. But the truth was, he wanted to understand it — this thing between you. This force that felt too big to name, too wild to tame, and yet somehow quiet enough to fit in the silence between his breaths.  

You threw him off balance. And he let you.  

Because somehow, in the chaos, you always managed to put him back. Differently, but perfectly. Each time. No exceptions.  

And if he had to fall apart a thousand times just to feel this way again, he’d do it. Without hesitation. Without regret.  

Because with you, even the falling felt like flying.

There was silence and peace and dreams. Dreams of possibly him or possibly something else entirely — though most probably him. It was always him, even if you couldn’t be sure when the dream dissolved into fragments the moment your eyes opened. You could never recall them when you woke, no matter how tightly you tried to hold on. And this time, any hope of clinging to the memory of it was stolen by the sensation of something — someone — poking gently at your eyes.  

It was light, barely a touch, but the area was sensitive enough that it startled you awake. You blinked against the soft intrusion, vision blurry. But then you saw him, and suddenly, you didn’t mind.  

He was leaning over you, his face framed by soft curls and morning light. His smile was small but unmistakable, curling at the edges like it had nowhere else to go but wider. His finger was still hovering close to your face. Caught in the act.  

“You’re so cute when you sleep.” 

You frowned, not because you were upset, but because compliments always made you feel like you were being caught off guard, like a spotlight had been aimed directly at you. “Then why wake me up?” you murmured, your voice still heavy with sleep.  

“I didn’t mean to.” He tilted his head, and the way he said it was genuine but not regretful. Unapologetic in the way he always was. “You’re cute when you’re awake too.”  

Your nose scrunched instinctively, an automatic reaction you couldn’t control. You weren’t sure if it was because of the compliment or the sleepiness still clouding your mind, but either way, you turned your face slightly, almost embarrassed.  

And he laughed — soft, breathy, like he couldn’t help himself. The sound of it filled the room, made the silence feel alive again. He reached out with that same finger, brushing against your scrunched nose as if to smooth it out.  

“Don’t do that.” he teased, but his voice had softened.  

You closed your eyes for a moment, scrunching them too, tightly shut as if to escape him, but you could feel him leaning closer. It was a subtle shift, but you noticed it immediately — the warmth of him inching toward you, the space between you shrinking with every second.  

And then he was close enough that you could feel his breath on your skin mixing with your own. Your eyes fluttered open just slightly, enough to catch the way his gaze softened, how he looked at you like there was nowhere else he’d rather be.  

Maybe this was better than any dream you could’ve had. 

His thoughts tangled and unraveled in waves as he watched you. Watched you like he was trying to memorize every detail — the way your eyelashes fanned across your cheek, the way the light kissed your skin before he could, the soft part of your lips as you exhaled in quiet breaths. There was a gentleness to you in that moment, the kind of softness that made his chest ache. It wasn’t just beauty, though there was plenty of that. It was something more, something that couldn’t be captured in words or paintings or songs. And then he thought of nothing at all, because the need — the want — was too loud, too consuming.  

The longer he looked, the more the thought rose in him. It wasn’t impulsive, exactly ��� it was inevitable, a truth he couldn’t hold back any longer.  

“Kiss me.” 

You hadn’t moved a bone, a muscle, hadn’t even flinched or twitched in surprise, and there was no hesitation in your eyes. No question. There was no other choice but yes. In the stillness of your body, there was an answer.  

And in that moment, his chest swelled. Delight, relief, something brighter and bigger than both. His gaze flicked down to your lips, his own puckered, and for a second, he looked younger, freer, like all the weight he carried with him had been set aside in favour of this one, perfect moment.  

When he kissed you, he moved slowly at first, his lips brushing yours, feather-light, testing, savoring, like he was afraid to rush and ruin it. But the hesitation didn’t last long. It melted away as soon as he felt you leaning into him, your warmth meeting his, your lips parting just enough to let him in. But then you responded, tilting just slightly toward him, and that was all the invitation he needed.  

He tilted his head, his hand rising to cradle your face, his thumb brushing against the curve of your cheek. Every second of this must be engraved somewhere in his memory — how you felt, how you tasted, how you leaned into him like you too were falling and he was the only one to catch you.  

How could humans possibly be solitary creatures? How could they bear to live untouched when the dip of every neck and the curve of every palm seemed sculpted for connection, for closeness? The hollow of his hand fit against your face as though it had been waiting for this, for you. And in the way your cheek softened against his palm, like you were surrendering, he felt the answer to a question he hadn’t even known he was asking.  

His fingers traced lightly along the edge of your jaw, as though mapping something sacred, and it occurred to him — suddenly, achingly — that this was what people were made for. To hold and be held. To press themselves into the spaces of someone else and find that they fit. That they belonged.  

And as he kissed you, he thought maybe you knew this too. Maybe you’d always known, and that’s why you leaned into him so naturally, like the world itself had softened and settled just to make room for this. 

For you and for him. Together.

“Mhm…” he murmured.  

You pulled back slightly, just enough to catch your breath, your eyes fluttering open to meet his. “What?” you whispered.  

He stayed close, his forehead brushing lightly against yours, his lips curved in a lazy, lopsided smile. “I woke up wanting to kiss you.” The simplest truth.  

And then he kissed you again, slower, like he had all the time in the world. Like he didn’t want to stop. Like maybe, if he kept kissing you, he’d never have to.

Lips lingered on yours for a moment longer before he pulled back, just slightly. He couldn’t bear to move too far away. His fingers were still on your face, his thumb stroking gently along your cheekbone, a touch so light it felt more like a memory than a moment.  

“You once told me,” he murmured, quiet, like a secret being shared in the dark, “that the human eye is God’s loneliest creation.”  

You blinked slowly, still caught in the haze of sleep, of him, and his closeness. “Yeah.” you said softly, the word almost swallowed by the air between you.  

He tilted his head slightly, his lips grazing your temple, more instinct than intention, drawn there by some magnetic pull. “I don’t believe that.” he said, muffled against your skin.  

“God?” you asked.  

He laughed with a quiet exhale. “That too.” he admitted, brushing his nose against your hairline. You couldn’t help it — you laughed, and he smiled against you.  

“But…” His hand moved, slipping from your cheek to your jaw, his fingers tracing the curve there, trailing down your neck with the lightest pressure. “But…how so much of the world passes through the pupil, and it holds nothing. The eye, alone in its socket, doesn’t even know there’s another one, just like it, an inch away, just as hungry, just as empty.”  

Words sank. And for a moment you couldn’t respond. He didn’t seem to notice, his lips brushing a kiss along the curve of your jaw, so gentle it almost tickled. His other hand found your waist, resting there with no real purpose except to feel you beneath his palm.  

You swallowed hard. “That’s…sad.”  

“Yeah.” he murmured,  grazing your skin again, this time at the edge of your collarbone where your shirt had slipped just slightly. “But I don’t think it has to be. Not when there’s this.”  

His hand tightened, just slightly, at your waist. A squeeze. His fingers curled against the fabric of your shirt, pulling you just a fraction closer. His other hand stayed at your neck, thumb pressing gently at the hollow of your throat, like he could feel the rhythm of your pulse and was trying to match it with his own.  

Everywhere he touched felt like both too much and not enough. He seemed to be following some invisible thread that connected you both, pulling him closer, closer, closer. His lips pressed to your shoulder, his thumb brushed the curve of your rib, his fingers slipped to the back of your neck, tangling lightly in your hair.  

You felt his breath as he leaned in again, kissing the corner of your mouth, then your bottom lip, soft and slow, trying to draw out the moment forever.  

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours. “I don’t think the eye is lonely.” he said. “Not when it has this. Not when it has you.” And before you could answer, his lips found yours again, more sure this time. 

He pulled back just as slowly, resting his forehead against yours, his thumb tracing absent patterns along the curve of your waist. You opened your eyes and you forgot what words even were. His eyes held you there, heavy and unmoving, and you felt it — something alive and raw and impossible to name. Staring into him might undo you completely.  

“Maybe if we stare into each other’s eyes long enough,” you murmured, “they’ll reflect into a supernova.”  

You said it to lighten the air, to make him smile, to pull him back into something playful and safe. But he didn’t laugh. There wasn’t even a flicker of amusement on his face. He blinked once, and when he looked at you again, there was something there that made your stomach flip.  

“Maybe.” he said softly, and he wasn’t joking. Not even a little. “You think I’m joking.” he said, his breath warm against your mouth. “I’m not.”  

The way he said it sent a shiver through you, not because it was absurd but because you believed him too. The quiet in his voice, the steadiness in his gaze, the way his hand slid from your waist to your jaw, holding you gently, made you feel like the impossible wasn’t so far out of reach.  

“I know.” 

His touch wandered everywhere and nowhere all at once. He didn’t know where to hold you because there wasn’t a single part of you he didn’t want to touch.  

“Maybe.” he murmured again, quieter this time, like the word was for him, not for you. “Maybe we already have.”  

Heavy and electric, and you couldn’t tell if it was the room spinning or just you. All you knew was the way he was looking at you — like the supernova had already started, like the light was already spilling out of both of you, unstoppable.

His eyes were hungry. Not the kind of hunger that could be sated with a kiss, or even a touch, but something deeper, raw and untamed. It wasn’t desperation — it was desire, pure and unfiltered, like he’d been holding himself back for too long and now the dam was cracking.  

His lips were still parted, flushed from the kisses you’d already given him, but there was something else there now. Something darker. Lust, thick and heavy, dripping from him like honey. You could feel it in the way his hands twitched against you, in the way his chest rose and fell faster, like he was trying to keep control but failing.  

So you starved him a bit longer.  

You leaned back just slightly, enough to create space, enough to make him feel the loss of you. His hands followed instinctively, one on your waist, the other curling around the back of your neck, but you didn’t let him close the distance. Not yet.  

His eyes locked onto yours, dark and pleading, but you held your ground, tilting your head just enough to make it clear this was your game. You watched the way his throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, the way his tongue darted out to wet his lips, like he was preparing to speak but couldn’t find the words.  

“Please.” he murmured finally, his voice rough, hoarse, like it had been dragged through gravel.  

The sound sent a shiver down your spine, but you didn’t let it show. “Deprivation brings out our inner animal.” you said softly.  

His grip tightened on your waist, his fingers pressing into your skin just enough to make you gasp. His gaze was molten now, his hunger bleeding.  

“Is that what you want?” he asked, low and dangerous, barely holding himself back. “To see me lose control?”  

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. You leaned in just enough that your breath ghosted against his lips, close enough that he could almost taste you. His eyes fluttered shut for half a second, his resolve cracking, but you pulled back before he could close the gap.  

You wanted him wild.  

And when he opened his eyes again, there it was — the animal, unleashed. His hand slid from your waist to your hip, gripping you harder, pulling you flush against him. His other hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head back so your neck was exposed to him.  

“You want wild?” he growled, his lips brushing the sensitive skin below your ear. His teeth grazed the spot lightly, enough to make your breath hitch, enough to send a spark shooting through you. “Careful what you ask for.”  

His mouth was on you then, hot and demanding, trailing along your jaw, your throat, down to the curve of your shoulder. Rougher. Needier. His lips and teeth and tongue marked you in ways that felt dangerous.  

You gasped, your hands finding their way to his chest, his shoulders, clawing at him without meaning to. He groaned at the sensation, a deep sound that rumbled through his chest and into yours.  

And when he finally kissed you again — fully, deeply — it wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft. It was everything he’d been holding back, all his hunger, all his need, pouring into you.  

It was wild. Exactly the way you wanted him.

Balance was easy. Everywhere else. In your day, in your mind, in your carefully crafted world where everything had its place. But not with him. Not with you. Together, you tipped the scales every time. Because balance required restraint, and restraint didn’t exist here.  

You both wanted all of it. All of him, all of you, all the time, every time. No measured doses, no patience. Just hunger, mutual and endless, spilling over like it had nowhere else to go but into each other.  

A hand cupped your cheek, firm but tender, grounding you even as it made you feel like you were floating. His thumb brushed the edge of your jaw, his fingers splaying out to cradle you. But the other hand — that was something else entirely.  

It slid down your side, slowly, before finding the curve of your breast. His palm was big, hot, and unrelenting as it pressed against you, his fingers dragging just so over the fabric covering your nipple. It was barely a touch, but it set you alight, your back arching instinctively into him.  

“You’re shaking.” he murmured, edged with satisfaction.  

“You’re irresistible.” you managed, breathy and uneven.  

He chuckled, low and quiet, his lips curving against your skin. “I know.”  

“Do you?” you said, trying to sound exasperated but failing when his thumb brushed over you again, teasing and firm all at once. “Because you-”  

“Did I tell you,” he interrupted, suddenly conversational, like you weren’t both teetering on the edge of something consuming, “that I had the weirdest dream last night?”  

You blinked, caught off guard. “What?”  

“Dream.” he repeated, trailing maddeningly slow kisses down your neck. “I was on a beach. Except it wasn’t really a beach. There was no sand. Just water. Endless water. And fish, flying through the air.”  

You laughed despite yourself, your fingers curling into his shoulders. “Flying fish? Seriously?”  

“Yeah.” he said. “But they weren’t normal fish. They had wings. Big ones. Like hawks.”  

You shook your head, laughing softly. “I can’t tell if that’s poetic or just bizarre.”  

“Both…you know me.” he said, shrugging like it didn’t matter. His hand, still on your breast, gave a gentle squeeze, dragging your attention back to the moment. “But I woke up thinking about it. Wondering what it meant.”  

“Maybe it means you’re going insane.” you teased, trying to steady your breathing as his thumb traced slow, deliberate circles over the fabric.  

“Or maybe,” he said, his voice dropping again, “it means I was dreaming about you.”  

The sudden shift in his tone made your laughter catch in your throat. “Me?”  

“You.” he confirmed, leaning in again. “You’re the water. The endless part. The thing I can’t get enough of.”  

“That’s ridiculous.” you whispered.  

“Is it?” he murmured. “Why else would I wake up wanting to kiss you? Tell me it doesn’t make sense.”  

“I can’t.” you admitted, your voice barely audible.  

He smiled against your skin, his hand sliding from your breast to your waist, holding you. “Thought so.”  

There was silence for a moment, heavy and charged, before you broke it. “Do you ever think about what you’d do if you weren’t…you?”  

He paused, his head tilting slightly as he looked at you. “If I weren’t me?”  

“Yeah.” you said. “Like, if you weren’t…you know. This.”  

He laughed, fingers tightening on your waist. “I’d be a fisherman.”  

“A fisherman?” you repeated, incredulous.  

“Yeah.” he said, his grin widening. “Out at sea. Catching fish. Flying ones, obviously.”  

You rolled your eyes, your laughter bubbling up again. “You’re ridiculous.”  

“And yet,” he said as his lips found yours, “here you are. Laughing with me. Touching me. Wanting me.”  

“Don’t let it go to your head.” you muttered, but it was much too unconvincing.  

“Too late.” 

And just like that, you were back where you started — off balance, undone, completely at his mercy. But you didn’t mind. Not even a little.

He was the kind of man who understood the subtle difference between heat and warmth. He knew how to be both, how to burn without consuming, how to hold you close without smothering. His touch was calculated, precise, but it felt instinctive, natural, like he’d known your body long before he’d ever laid a hand on it.  

His hand moved on your breast again, his fingers tightening slightly, teasing just enough to make your breath hitch. “Tell me how it feels.” he said, his voice softer now, but no less commanding.  

“It feels…” you started, your voice trailing off as he rolled your nipple gently between his fingers.  

“It feels?” he pressed.  

“Good.” you admitted, the word tumbling out of you. “Too good.”  

He smiled then, not just with his mouth but with his whole body, like he was basking in the effect he had on you. “That’s the point, baby.” he murmured, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.  

And then his hand left your cheek, sliding down your neck, your shoulder, until it joined the other. He was everywhere again, his hands roaming, exploring, mapping out every inch of you with the kind of care that felt almost reverent. But it wasn’t gentle. Not entirely.  

“Look at me.” he said suddenly. Your eyes fluttered open, and when you met his gaze, it was like the air had been sucked out of the room. “I want all of you. Every part. Every thought. Every breath. Don’t hold anything back from me.”  

And you couldn’t. You wouldn’t. Because you wanted the same thing. All of him. All the time.

He took your shirt off, slow and unhurried. The fabric pooled somewhere behind you, forgotten, and he leaned in, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, his breath warm and steady against your skin.  

“I love breathing you.” he’d told you once, the words so simple yet so heavy they’d stayed with you. He was doing that now, his chest rising and falling against yours, his lips brushing your collarbone as though he was inhaling you, drawing you in, needing you to fill every corner of him.  

His hands moved with that same steady rhythm, skimming down your sides, tracing the curves, writing something only he and you could understand. He spoke to your body rhythmically, each touch a sentence, each kiss a line of poetry. He didn’t rush. He didn’t falter. It was with ease. He knew every word, every movement, by heart.  

“You’re beautiful.” 

“You’ve said that before.” you whispered, your voice barely audible.  

“I’ll say it again.” he said simply, grazing the hollow of your throat. “Every day, if you’ll let me.”  

You didn’t respond with words. You tilted your head back, giving him more space, more of you, and his lips followed the silent invitation, moving down, pressing kisses to the sensitive skin along your chest.  

He whispered something then, something you couldn’t catch. “What did you say?” you asked, your voice shaky.  

He lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours. “I said,” he repeated, “you’re going to ruin me.”  

“Me? You’re the one-”  

His hands moved again, cutting you off, his fingers brushing the underside of your boob. “You.” he said again, his voice firm this time, like a declaration.  

He spoke to your body, and somehow his whispers made you scream — not with noise but with feeling, with the way your whole being seemed to vibrate, caught in the current of him. You never did understand how he did it, how his voice could unravel you with nothing but a murmur, a word, a sigh.  

You never cared to, either.  

So long as he’d — “Please” — keep talking.  

And he did. His words came in waves, washing over you, soft and relentless. Compliments, confessions, half-formed thoughts spilling from him like he couldn’t keep them in.  

“You feel like heaven.” 

He murmured, his lips brushing your shoulder.  

“My little trouble.” 

He teased, his hands skimming down your sides.  

“You’re everything.” 

He whispered, his voice breaking just slightly. 

And each word, each syllable, sank into you, filling the spaces you hadn’t even known were empty. Arching into him, holding him closer, whispering back with every touch, every gasp, every shudder.  

You didn’t need words. He understood you just fine.

The routine of it never got boring. Same steps every time, same heat every time. The way his hands found your body, the way your body responded like it was made for this — for him. Never stale, never cold. It always took your breath away, the way his body would talk for him when words weren’t enough. Like it did now. Automatic, instinctive. Clothes off, parts touching, skin to skin, deeper than deep.  

Penetrating.  

“Oh…” you gasped, the sound escaping before you could catch it.  

“Oh…” he echoed, his voice vibrating against your ear.  

Just as good as the first time. Just as good as the best.  

His hands tangled with your pillow, gripping it because he just needed something to hold on to. Yours roamed over his back, your nails raking down his sensitive skin, leaving traces, marks, scratches. Little reminders that this happened, that you were here, that he was yours.  

“So tight.” he murmured. Agrowl, a confession, a prayer.  

“So big.” you praised, your words coming out breathless, like they’d been pulled from the depths of you.  

He moaned at that, a deep, guttural sound that sent shivers through you. Without thought, your body responded, contracting around him, pulling him in, holding him there. It was heaven on earth, this give and take, this rhythm you’d perfected together.  

The pure, seductive nature of eye contact. The kind that never breaks.  

It was impossible to look away, impossible to do anything but drown in him. Your breath hitched, your hands clutching at him, pulling him closer even though there was no space left between you.  

People don’t say “the eyes are the doors to the soul” for nothing. You could see everything in his — the hunger, the devotion, the way he was completely lost in you, with you. And you knew he could see the same in yours.  

Your lovemaking was slow and patient, yet filled with an intensity that made your head spin. It wasn’t about chasing an ending — it was about this. About feeling. About being as close to him as humanly possible. About holding him and being held, about losing yourself and finding him in the process.  

It was the best way to start a day.  

The absolute best way to fuck.  

“Harder?” he asked.  

“Yeah.” you moaned.  

He shifted then, adjusting his angle, his pace, his intensity. His hips moved against yours with more force, more urgency, and the sound that tore from your throat was pure, unadulterated pleasure.  

“Harder?” he asked again.  

“Yes.” you whispered, then said it louder, breathier, “Yes, please.”  

Alex grinned, slow and cocky, the kind of grin that made you want to kiss him and slap him in equal measure. He didn’t make you wait long, though, shifting his hips and giving you exactly what you asked for. The first thrust had your head tipping back, and he chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to your exposed throat.  

“You’re so polite.” he teased, his breath hot against your skin. “Always asking so nicely.”  

“Shut up.” you countered, and his laugh turned into a groan as you clenched around him, just to make your point. “You’re cute.” you said, because you couldn’t help it.  

He rolled his eyes, but the grin didn’t leave his face. “Cute?”  

“The cutest.” you confirmed, teasing, but there was truth in it. He was the cutest thing you’d ever seen, and you were sure it would be the death of you one day.  

“Cute.” he repeated, as though testing the word. Then he shook his head, leaning down until your foreheads touched. 

And he kissed you again, slow and deep, and you sighed into it, your hands slipping around his neck to pull him closer. But impatience was building, a steady drumbeat in your veins that wouldn’t be ignored.  

“You feel…” he started, his voice breaking, his forehead pressing against yours as his thrusts slowed just slightly to drag out the moment. “My God, baby…you feel like everything.”  

You reached up, your fingers threading through his hair. “Don’t stop.” you whispered against his lips.  

“Never.” he promised, his hands sliding under you, holding you tighter, pulling you closer. “Never.” 

“More.” you begged. Or demanded. Or pleaded. Or somewhere in between. The word came out broken, trembling, desperate. How much more of him could there possibly be? He was already everywhere. Over you, under you, inside you, wrapped around you in ways that felt almost cosmic. And yet, somehow, he delivered.  

He gave himself to you more.  

It felt illegal, this level of connection. Like there was some universal law being broken, some boundary being shattered, some line you weren’t supposed to cross. This is too much, you thought, even as your body cried for more, for everything. It was too much. And still not enough. Never enough.  

“Baby.” he groaned, his voice cracking. He was unraveling in your arms. “I’m gonna come.”  

“Do it.” you whispered, your voice shaking with anticipation, your legs tightening around him, holding him to you.  

“God-” he choked out, his hips stuttering as his movements became frenzied. “I’m gonna fill you up-”  

Heaven. The words were heaven to your ears, a promise and a plea all at once. It felt obscene to think it, but you felt it, and he felt it, and that was all you needed. No logic, no explanation. Just this.  

And then he was gone.  

His body stiffened, his head dropping to your shoulder as his breath hitched, caught in his throat. He groaned, vibrating through you as his hips pressed flush against yours, burying himself as deep as he could go. You could feel it, the way his body gave in, the way he let go, spilling into you with a force that felt like surrender.  

It was warm, searing, a flood that made you gasp, made your body tighten around him instinctively, pulling him in, holding him there. He cursed under his breath, his voice hoarse and raw.  

“Fuck…” he breathed, wrecked and shaky. “You’re perfect. This is perfect.”  

You didn’t answer, couldn’t. Your mind was too hazy, your body too overwhelmed by the sensation of him filling you, completing you in a way that felt almost holy.  

He pulled back slightly, just enough to look at you, all heavy-lidded and full of…disbelief. Like he couldn’t quite comprehend that this was real, that you were real, that you were his.  

“I love you.” he whispered. It carried his whole soul.  

“I love you.” you echoed, your hands sliding up to cradle his face, pulling him down for a quiet promise in the aftermath of the storm.  

And for a moment, just a moment, it felt like enough.

He stayed there, pressed deep inside you. You thought he might speak, but for a moment, there was only the sound of your shared breaths.  

Then, finally, his voice came, quiet and raw. “What are you thinking?”  

“I’m thinking…” you trailed off, your lips curving into a small, tired smile. “I’m thinking I might actually melt into you.”  

His laugh was soft, but his eyes stayed serious, searching yours. “Good.” he murmured. “That’s good.”  

You shifted slightly beneath him, your body instinctively starting to move, to stretch, but his hands tightened on your hips, holding you still.  

“No, don’t move.” he said, his voice suddenly urgent. “Please.”  

You froze, your brows knitting together. “Why?”  

“Because,” he said, hesitant, “that way I can imagine we’re a single body.”  

Your breath caught at the way he said it, at the vulnerability in his tone. His hands softened their grip, but he didn’t let you pull away. His eyes stayed on yours, wide and unguarded.  

“That’s…” You swallowed hard, your voice faltering. “That’s beautiful.”  

He smiled, a small, almost shy thing, his lips twitching like he wasn’t sure he should be smiling at all. “It’s true.” he said simply, his hands moving up to cradle your face again, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks. “I don’t want to lose this. Lose you. Not even for a second.”  

“You’re not losing me.” you whispered. “I’m right here.”  

“I know.” he said. “But I want more than that. I want…” He trailed off, his eyes closing as he took a shaky breath. “I want you to be a part of me. Like…physically, spiritually. All of it.”  

“You already have me.” you said, your voice trembling with the weight of your own emotions. “Every part of me. You know that, right?”  

“I do.” he said softly. “But sometimes it feels like it’s not enough. Like I’ll never have enough…enough of you.”  

You didn’t know how to respond to that, so you didn’t. Instead, you kissed him, pouring everything you couldn’t say into the way your lips moved against his. And he kissed you back like he was trying to do the same, his hands sliding down to hold you closer, to keep you there, connected, inseparable. 

And you knew, somewhere deep in the quiet corners of your mind, that one day you would awaken with the bitter taste of regret lingering on your lips where his kisses used to live.  

Because he wasn’t the kind of lover you could replace.  

He was that Sunday morning, stay in bed till noon kind of lover. The kind who made the world outside your bedroom feel like it didn’t exist, who made time irrelevant, who made you forget there was anything beyond the warmth of his skin and the weight of his body pressed against yours. That lose ourselves between the sheets, forget where you end and I begin kind of lover. The kind who could turn every sigh, every gasp, every moan into a symphony, who knew the exact rhythm of your body like he’d been born to play it. That double climax, let me taste you again kind of lover. The kind who never seemed satisfied, who always wanted more of you, who could spend hours tracing your skin with his mouth like it was the most sacred map he’d ever seen.  

“Don’t leave me.” you whispered suddenly.  

His head lifted, his eyes finding yours, wide and questioning. “What?”  

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering in your chest. “I mean…don’t leave this.” you clarified, your voice softer now. “Don’t let this, us, fade. Promise me.”  

His expression softened, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’m not going anywhere.” he said, his voice steady, reassuring.  

“But what if-”  

“No.” he interrupted, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there. “No ‘what ifs.’ I’m here. I’m staying. With you.”  

You nodded, but the weight in your chest didn’t lift entirely. There was a part of you that knew nothing this good, this intense, this all-consuming could last forever.  

“Hey.” he murmured, tilting your chin up so you were forced to look at him and nowhere else. “You’re stuck with me, alright? No one else is ever going to make me feel like this. Like…” He hesitated, his brows furrowing slightly as he searched for the words. “Like I’m alive for the first time.”  

Your lips parted, but no sound came out. What could you possibly say to that?  

So you kissed again. And in that moment, you believed him. You believed in him, in this, in the impossible, fragile thing you’d built together.  

But somewhere, in the back of your mind, you knew that someday you might wake up and realise it had all slipped through your fingers.  

And you would miss him like you’d miss air. 

But like everything touched by man, there would be consequences.  

Because now, you’re in that same bed, with that same man — your Alex, your same Alex — and she’s tugging on his hair with all the determination her tiny fists can muster. He’s wincing from the sting, his jaw tight, but he won’t pull away. He never does.  

She’s kicking him in the face with those minuscule  onesie-covered feet, relentless and uncoordinated, all raw energy and discovery. The kind of kicks that make you wonder how someone so small can have so much force behind them.  

And he’s tired. Bone-deep tired. The kind of tired that seeps into your soul and refuses to let go. His eyes are heavy, the dark circles beneath them a testament to too many sleepless nights and too many early mornings.  

But he keeps them open.  

He keeps them open because every time he blinks, every time his lids lower even for a fraction of a second, she stops. And then she waits. She waits for him to look at her again, and when he does, when his eyes meet hers, her tiny face lights up with a smile so pure, so full of joy, it’s as if the entire world was made just for her.  

And you’re watching it all unfold.  

You’re watching your daughter fall in love with the same eyes you did.  

Consequences.  

They’re everywhere now — in the scattered toys on the floor, in the half-drunk cups of coffee that go cold before he can finish them, in the tiny socks that never seem to stay on her feet.  

But they’re also here, in this moment. In the way Alex leans into her, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten, his hands gentle but steady as they cradle her wiggling body. In the way he whispers something soft to her, something you can’t hear, and she lets out a high-pitched giggle that fills the room like sunlight.  

“Did you hear that?” he asks, turning to you with wide, wonder-filled eyes, his voice hushed because he’s just witnessed a miracle. 

You nod, your chest tightening as you take it all in. “I heard.”  

“She’s perfect.” he says, his voice cracking slightly, and you know he means it with every fiber of his being.  

“She’s you.” you say softly, watching as his gaze shifts back to her, his expression so tender it makes your throat ache.  

“No.” he murmurs, shaking his head. “She’s…she’s us.”  

And in that moment, you know the consequences are worth it. Every sleepless night, every ache, every fleeting moment of doubt or fear. They are worth it for this — for the sight of your Alex, your same Alex, falling in love all over again, just like you did.  

Consequences.  

You wouldn’t trade them for anything. 

a/n: I think I’m getting a bit obsessed with the concept of him finishing inside. I went on about it for a bit too long in another thing you’ll see soon too. Ugh.

Also, adding this just because. I was scrolling through some old playlists and whatever, landed on this song randomly and it really gave me the vibe of this, like what I was tryna express in here.

[darbonime]

reunion

contains: smut, blowjob, a bit of fluff, ya’ll just read.

word count: 3.9k

A notification with message appears on his phone. Alex noticed it only because he was monitoring the phone all day. Usually, he doesn’t give a shit about the phone in general, it’s always somewhere and he doesn’t know where and he’s fine with it. But today she must have come back. Finally.

She is away in Paris with one of her colleagues. It is about work. Alex didn’t show it back then, when she said about that trip, but he wasn’t excited, considering that there’s some man colleague with her. He was respectful about it, and he had no choice anyway. His grouchiness became more evident though. He has that habit of mumbling something under his nose, that habit is a common thing for him like other ones – overthinking or trying to keep everything bottled up.

“They say it’s snowing hard in London. No way we fly today. Flight is delayed.”

The message made him groan quietly. He runs hand over his face slightly shaking his head in disappointment. It is showing hard. Alex glances at the window. He can see blurry buildings and streetlights, rushing people and lots of show. He thought about it even in the morning while he had a cup of coffee. He wasn’t a fan of snow or rain. He was a simple man at this point. He liked the sun. It just shines and doesn’t try to make any trouble for you.

“I’m sorry I won’t be able to come back today.” Another message.

He just puts the phone away. Tired sigh sounds all over the room. He gets up from the stool in the kitchen and moves to the bedroom with bitterness inside and a lump in the throat. The light is turned off everywhere. He climbed into bed, making the sheets rustle in the silence of a room. In the silence of the apartment. It drove him right to the edge slowly. Alex sighs deeply again and just places an arm over his face. Curtains don’t let in a lot of light in the bedroom and that pressuring on him too.

He didn’t want to be clingy. Just, a week has passed already. He really did miss her. And that man. He should have said about his concerns before, she would have listened to him, reassured him. She always does. Now he regrets it. It’s always so tough to let out the words when it’s not singing. His body needs familiar warm of her body. The soft affectionate tone she has. Who would have thought he got so anxious without her presence, even though it’s just one week? When did he miss the moment, he got so attached?

Next day he woke up in no mood as previous days exactly. The stress caused him to have some unpleasant and creepy glimpses of dreams that bothered his sleep and made him toss and turn. He didn’t go straight to the phone making himself wait not desiring to see there any other possible unpleasant news. He brushed his teeth, made the bed tidy as possible and then made coffee. The weather outside was peaceful compared to yesterday. No snow. And the sun is out. Alex couldn’t stop tiny smile from appearing.

He finally sat down sipping coffee not needing any more for a breakfast, scratched his own side a bit and shirt lifted a bit revealing hint of skin that has been untouched for long. He picked up the phone from exactly where he left it. Alex noticed a few messages from yesterday and a few texts from today thirty minutes ago.

“I had an awful night in the airport hotel.”

“But now we stand in the queue for boarding!”

“I’m really concerned that you didn’t answer yesterday…”

“Hope you just was sleeping already.”

That woman has a habit of texting few messages instead of just big one. Alex exhaled scrolling down.

“Remember the plan! I will wait for you in the airport.” That last message has emoji of kiss in the end of it, and he grins stupidly.

They do have a plan. He will pick her up at the airport. Maybe, he will be polite enough and give that colleague guy a ride to the tube. Just maybe. But he would prefer not to.

Now Alex feels contented, a bit giddy. The woman he loves deeply is going home. He hopes the sky is clear and the flight is good. She gets nervous during take off and turbulence, when they fly together, he always holds her hand. That guy better not get touchy… As thought crosses his mind, he feels a twinge of distress but doesn’t let it escalate. He gets up and washes the cup after coffee.

The thoughts of possible ways of reuniting fill his mind. A dinner together finally, and then a movie, or maybe making love instead of movie. A little trace of smirk on his lips.

He looks around slightly. Alex has nothing to do in the apartment. Its clean, because he’s the most careful and neat man on a planet, probably, in comparison to her. She’s a certified mess. When they just started living, he thought it’s a hell. They had lots of arguments about it. Now they are both came to terms with that. She tries to be cleaner, and he tries to be calm about the way she makes a mess everywhere. Though it’s lonely without her chaos, he thinks.

The lingering smell of cigarettes is usual for their place. It’s the only thing that ruins the neatness of their place. Alex smokes on the balcony but strong and bitter smell is is apartment’s air lingers there always as on his hair and clothes.

He starts to get ready, wanting to look a bit better than usual. Clothes, perfume. That one was her present on the previous Christmas for him. She said back then that she had no idea what to buy, but that one made her think of him, and he accepted the perfume with a sincere smile and grown quite fond of it. That perfume is dim with a woody undertone and doesn’t cause headaches for both of them. He hoped she would notice the perfume. Alex slips into his grey coat wrapping a scarf around his neck and fastening the buttons. Keys in his hands already. Glancing in the mirror and fixing hair he left the apartment.

When he leaves the building, the wind is enveloping him, it’s howling in his ears, and for a second he closes eyes feeling a shiver, trying to adjust to the freezing-ass weather. Alex gets in the car as soon as possible rubbing his hands and starting the car.

The ride was calm, he had gotten into small traffic because of the yesterday snow, but it quickly dissolved. Near the airport he became nervous. Lots of people, lots of cabs.

“Bloody ‘ell.” he mumbles, running fingers through his tousled hair driving slowly parallelly to exits of airport.

Alex scans the place to find some corner to park the car. He was going to park the car, and like a civilized person meet her inside of the airport. Exactly as they planned. Until he saw a familiar face with a wide grin. Contrast loud knock in the window. Nothing can be normal with her… He chuckles and leans to open the passenger seat.

“Alex!” she exclaimed slamming the door shut making Alex flinch slightly. She throws bag on the backseat and then tugging his face placing an unexpected kiss right on his lips. He hummed surprised in kiss trying to back away gently.

“Love– “ a honk can be heard from the back as other driver waiting for a way to drive. “Aye, I’m drivin’! For fuck’s sake...” he grumbles starting to drive. “Hate airports. So hectic.” says Alex as they start to leave the airport behind.

She stares at him with a satisfied full smile. She’s finally home. Familiar London, familiar atmosphere, familiar grumpy Alex that hates bustle. She is clearly happy to see him after all that week. He wasn’t the one who was missing the closeness. It’s mutual. Snow is starting to fall outside again, but it’s a light one. It sparkles and makes her mesmerized a bit. She pats his knee lovingly.

“So… Christmas soon. Did you decorate our cozy little place?” she teases him slightly.

He glances at her, making out only the one sound. “Uh…”

Speaking of bustle and Alex. Christmas is a bustle. A fuss. Tiring and loud. He doesn’t like Christmas. But she likes only Christmas out of all holidays. So, anything for her. They always decorate their apartment and that makes her light up like one of the lights on the garland. She always tries everything to do herself and he always stands behind to catch or help her, because he is still having it bad for her. That’s why a week without her makes him ache and that’s why he will help her make their place shine like a goddamn Christmas tree.

“No comments. I got it.” she chuckles, shaking her head amused.

Silence settled in the car. Alex wanted to ask about Paris, about that guy. She mentioned the guy even before the trip; she thought he’s a good employee in their field, also that he was like a puppy around her and too friendly. He wasn’t jealous. He wasn’t against gentleman behaviour. It just doesn’t sit right with him. There’s no fear that she will cheat. But crossing thoughts in his mind about some subtle caresses that this guy could try on her, the gentler tone he might talk with her, just the possibility made him annoyed, and he couldn’t help himself.

“That colleague, the one ya had a trip with, where is he by the way?” he asks with slight grumpiness, throwing a glance at her.

“Got a cab for himself.” she says casually shrugging, and he nods. Good, that he went his way, he thinks.

She looks at him, seeing the light frown hanging on his beautiful face, sensing something is up.

Ride is continuing, the hum of car is stable. His one palm lying securely but relaxed and confident on a leathered wheel, while the other one placed on his thigh. Eyes passing over changing scenery concentratedly taking everything in. The palm on a wheel runs over it gracefully and effortlessly from time to time. She bets he has no idea that even the way he drives the car is an art.

Snow is still falling creating the festive atmosphere. People rushing outside nestled in lots of clothes. There are middle-aged women sitting on the bench and gossiping, some man is carrying a Christmas tree on his shoulder trying his best and few girls with coffee cups laughing. Snow is crunching underfoot. Garlands are on windows in people’s apartments; storefronts are decorated already making it hard to skip them. Holiday is in the air.

When they get back into apartment, she finally breaks the ice addressing elephant in the room. “Al, is something wrong? You seem down.”

Alex sighs brushing the snow off the coat. And kicking the boots off after placing them together neatly. He didn’t really want to discuss it. It wasn’t something that needed to be discussed, he thinks. It will pass soon because she’s here so why he should worry about anything? There’s absolutely no need to show how vulnerable he is without her. Everything is under control. Right?

“Okay, that sigh is already means that something is wrong.” she is trying to prepare herself mentally for tough talk. Making a few strides towards him she puts her palms onto his slightly sagged shoulders.

“It’s ‘kay.” he mutters with low voice of his, eyes running over everything in the apartment but not her face. Wall, door, own hands.

She sees him through. At least now. He is too sophisticated to see throughout him fully. It’s impossible to know him completely and that upsets her. The desire to know every corner of his mind, every little fast thought in his gorgeous mind, every favourite places on his body. Entirely. Mentally and physically.

His lovely eyes are lying now.

“Al, look at me.” she cups his cheeks feeling stubble with her palms.

She makes him look at her and sees the deepest vulnerability in them, the apologize for that vulnerability, barely noticeable shame that he tries to hide so hard. Her own eyes are filling with sorrow and pain for him.

She wraps her arms around his neck pulling him in the balmy embrace and Alex leans in without a second thought. His face finds the base of her neck sensing her scent and sugary perfume. His arm is wrapping around her waist, and other hand is cupping the back of her head feeling her with all body as they pressed to each other. She runs her nose slowly and tenderly over his collar blade leaving a light kiss in the end. They don’t talk, just absorb each other’s warmness, sharing energy and love between each other.

She hums sniffing his neck. “The one I got for you on previous Christmas.” she affirmed and a little smiles creep on his face, pleased that she noticed the detail.

She backed away from him just a bit keeping him close, finding his face with her eyes.

“What’s wrong?” her loving, yet firm and demanding answer gaze, made him run finger into his hair anxiously under the force of her stare.

“Jus’ missed ya. That colleague guy also didn’t make any good for me…” his voice deeper as he uses all willpower to talk, but falters at the end of the thought his wants to express. He breathes out heavily shaking his head and his fingers in the hair again just trying to be composed now messing them to the different sides. “I don’t know.” he lets out a quiet chuckle, as he is at a loss for words, he looks up at her. His hand, a bit rough and calloused, reaches for her chin making few light caresses only to lower it down back on her waist again.

Her eyes darting over his face, over every wrinkle that formed on his face with age, contemplating his little awkward smile. No, that man for sure doesn’t know how cute he is. His barely noticeable smile made her smile too as reassuring him. She leans leaving a careful kiss in the corner of his dry lips after chilly wind outside.

“So… My colleague.” she begins watching his reaction.

“Jus’ don’t like him.” he mutters a short answer with a loud exhale. “He seems… I don’t know… Have no explanation.” Alex would like to stop there and not escalate the talk, and she senses it, nodding. Her delicate hand strokes his shoulder, making him at peace. Tranquillity is settling in his body and soul, making anxiousness and frustration disappear. He feels better now. Messy thoughts left his mind. All is residing is coziness and intimacy.

She leans in to kiss him properly after all the days of forced separation, and he can’t turn down the kiss. At the beginning the kiss is sweet and silky. Further gripping the waist harder, he insists a bit more, closing the eyes falling further into the kiss. The intimate moment makes them melt into each other completely. Demanding a deeper kiss, he senses she opens her mouth for him so he could slip the tongue inside. The warmth of her mouth and sensation of her tongue against his is making him desperate and hungry for prolongation.

She can’t stop only on lips determined to continue she carefully tilts his neck for a better access and keeps the palm there keeping his head on one place, her thumb caresses slowly the length of his neck which makes Alex breath out shakingly.

“On the couch…” she throws softly leading him to their living room. The scent of cigarettes is still there. The room has a dim light from the street, soon it gets dark. “Sit down, baby. Relax.”

He knows what is going to happen and he can say undoubtedly, there’s no better reunion than he could imagine. As Alex settles on couch, she is on his lap, nipping his neck very lightly to tease him. His hand instinctively sneaks under her sweater lingering on her lower back knowing he will get an instant reaction – she arches gripping his shoulder firmly.

“Alex…” she clenches shirt on his shoulder a bit harder, letting out half a hiss and half a whimper.

That’s what he thought, ghost smirk is on his lips. He doesn’t bother to answer, everything is clear for both of them. His breath is stuck in his throat as she slips down on the floor. What a sight. She’s on her knees fidgeting with button and zipper on his jeans, quite persistent to take them off as quickly as possible. He shifts on a couch closer to her so she can do it faster.

“Yes, sit on the edge of the couch…” she mumbles encouraging him.

Her fingers trembling a bit from excitement as she rushes to free him. She feels his obvious arousal that is begging to be out of imprisonment. Separation made him more sensitive, and his patience is wearing off.

She doesn’t stand on ceremony tugging his jeans down and off when she finally could concentrate and deal with button and zipper. The view of familiar pair of dark blue boxers makes her even more eager. She starts with peppering kisses on his thighs. Sensitively, slowly, to show how much she craves him, she knows he needs it. He lets out groan and his hand grips the edge of couch.

Her index finger hooks the elastic of his boxers only to snap it back. Alex huffs and his other hand is finding her head gripping hair a bit tugging her a bit closer to the prominent bulge.

“Don’t… Just, please…” his voice is husky and gruff, the need is obvious, and she can’t refuse.

She pulls out his strained cock, lowering boxers down. Making a ring of her fingers she moves it over his length, from the base to the tip and back, his hips meet her hand halfway letting out a curse. Her mouth is dealing with wet tip already, leaving feather kisses with attentiveness yet relaxed expression on her face, clearly enjoying it, licking off even the smallest amount of liquid.

“Fuck me.” he hisses through teeth clenching the handful of her hair, carrying away already. His head is tilting back on the back of the couch, as she changes the tactic now moving her full palm over his cock. Slowly at the beginning, and faster then. He lifts his head slightly to observe her. She looks up at him, only to see his flushed face and hooded dark eyes and heavy breath escaping his mouth.

She stretches her lips around his cock and starts taking him into warmth of her mouth, starting to finally suck him. Rough and hoarse moan left his lips, as his cock is burying deeper and deeper with each second. Only he thought he would reach the sweet back of her throat, when she pulled it out with wet pop making him groan and unconsciously gripping the hair harder in the process. She is taking long slow licks, lapping along all shaft, torturing him and at the same time making his body shudder in delicious pleasure. The bend of her tongue is feeling every vein tracing the form swirling at the tip which brings him closer to the edge with every second.

With no words he nudged her head closer making her open mouth wide again and starting thrust his hips into her throat collectedly taking the control. Letting out whispered curses under breath mixed with intense moans, Alex shakes his head, trying to get rid of dizziness. He runs his fingers through his hair, trying to move them away from sticky with sweat forehead. Muffled moans sneak out from her full mouth, spit from corners of mouth messing the couch and few droplets fell on the floor already. Her hands grip his tensed thighs feeling how heated his body had gotten.

Slight twitches of his cock inside her mouth are telling about how close he is. She feels her jaw is getting tighter and it’s hard to take the full length, but she knows there is no way out. She moves her head just further, shutting her eyes as he is stuffing her mouth fully with no more room inside left. He moans gravelly shifting his hips, finally hitting the back of her throat. The room was filled with sloppy sounds, her dull moans, and his in contrast loud moans. It is already darker outside, so in the room. If a person would walk in, they would only make out two dark silhouettes in moment of pure lust and the long-awaited connection.

“Open eyes.” he breathes heavily, overwhelmed with sensation. Alex makes a light tug of hair trying to get her attention. “Look at me, darlin’.” his thick voice is carrying desperation for release.

When she opens her glassy eyes, looking up he pushes a bit more, letting out an immediate moan, going senseless over how tip of shaft is feeling against her throat. Alex follows with his eyes her parted mouth and can’t hold back anymore. He can’t hold back anymore.

“Just a– “ strained load moan interrupts his speaking; he is gasping for air as his hand grips her hair keeping head in the right place spilling into her, he moves his hips a couple more times to ride out the orgasm and then he stops. She shuts her eyes again feeling tears in the corner of eyes. He pulls out his cock, licking his lips feeling they sting because of dryness and wipes forehead with back of palm.

Swallowing him down, she blinks few times trying to have a full breath after whole experience, looking up at him she notices that he is already leaning to help her get on her feet.

“C’mon, love. Get up. Come here, floor ‘s cold.” Alex tugs her on his lap, his shoulders a bit drooped after release, but he still is making sure to take care of her.

The room is quiet now, harshly quiet in comparison how it was seconds ago. She climbs on his lap, sensing familiar close scent and tenderness, nestling her head against his chest she closes her eyes trying to gain energy for existing at least for few minutes before she dozes off as always after intimacy. He leans on the couch feeling gratified, he wraps her arms around her securely.

“Okay?” he mumbles, not ruining the stillness of the moment.

She only hums, and her hand reassuringly strokes his chest.

“I carried away…” Alex murmurs, trace of guilt is clear in his deep honey-like voice. She shakes her head.

“I wanted to give you a release. And I don’t only mean the physical one.” she whispers drowsily. He sighs, just hugging her tighter.

She knew back then he didn’t tell her the entire truth. He did need a release, in both ways. And now he had it.

a/n: i finally got unshadowbanned thanks tumblr. i was changing plot during writing and i still have no clue if i like it.

[junedenim]

2012

beneath the boardwalk, part 10 (series masterlist)

why'd you only call me when you're high?

warnings: a whole lot of angst, temptation, nostalgia, and nothing

word count: 10.4k

Squished between two couch cushions watching Real Housewives, I got a call from Alex. "Did I wake you?" He questioned. It was late or early depending on who you asked. I had been woken up from a cold I was suffering from. He had never gone to bed.

"No, no, I'm just sitting around, suffocating," I complained. His voice was rough, but not thick with phlegm like mine. He chuckled in a rhythmic format, beat after beat. He sounded like he was sinking into himself, his flesh turning to goo. I heard his lips smack together as if he was chewing on a piece of hay. I coughed, the harshness reaching him miles and miles away. "You alright?"

"Yeah." I think he was chewing gum. "Just got home."

I hummed with understanding. "Did you have a nice night?"

He made a noise of indifference. "How long you been sick?"

"Two days now and it's not getting any better." I sniffled and stuffed a tissue up my nostril, thankful that I lived alone. "Think I caught it at a New Year's Party. I'm worried I have mono."

"Why? You've been kissing a bunch of people?" His words hung in the middle of us. Both of us moving on from one another had been unspoken. We were still on a break for all intents and purposes, even if he was with Arielle. Another thing we never talked about. 

I gave the best laugh I could do without coughing. "It's supposed to be good luck. I also ate 12 grapes and banged bread against the wall."

"Did you really?" He amusingly asked.

"No, well, not the bread part." I sighed. "Now, I'm just sitting on the couch watching shitty reruns. I can't fall back asleep."

"Neither can I," he said.

I hesitated and curled up under my blanket. "Is that why you called me at 4 in the morning?" I said it with a laugh to ease any tensions that may arise.

"It's only 1 here."

"Right. I forgot about the time difference." It didn't seem right for him to be so far away permanently. None of this seemed like the correct order of things. It was a misalignment but there could be no corrective measure.

"Yeah, I kind of did too." There was a pause like he was thinking things over. Like he might have had something to say but now he couldn't find it. "I'll let you go then." In more ways than one.

*

Alex was a cloud. He was away on tour, far away and out of reach. We talked less but not intentionally. We both just got really busy and we didn't need each other for that constant contact anymore. I was plummeting toward the wildest time of my life and he was up to his usual unable-to-contact schedule. Somewhere in Australia first then opening for The Black Keys. Plus, he had Arielle.

The new girlfriend thing didn't bug me much, at least, not in the form of jealousy. It was a strange thing. I hadn't fully adjusted to the idea but it was much easier when he was nowhere near my life. If it had happened when we were younger, I think I would've punished myself for it, but I had grown into a far lighter figure who understood not everyone was trying to make a mark against me. Alex was living his own life, which for the past few years had been dedicated to one person. It was "seeing what else was out there."

I was alone for the most part. I saw Jackson nearly every day, whether for work or leisure, but I was getting used to being alone for long grasps of time. I spent time writing in my notebook like the old days. A therapy session that I locked away in a drawer. I rotted in my room for days. I watched all of The Sopranos, practiced the splits, and thought about getting a cat. It was winter and a very boring time.

But around the end of January, I did my first interview. It was small and nothing huge, but it was talking about my work in-depth for the first time with a stranger. I pretended I was talking to Alex.

Alex and I didn't stop talking completely. I called him on his birthday, briefly, and we had a long chat toward the end of January where we caught up with one another. Neither of us had much to tell. He had been touring. I had been crawling around New York doing next to nothing, besides book matters and talking about my "marketability."

Alex laughed at this. "Yeah, they tend to do that. Try to whittle you down to one trait."

"It's making me feel insecure." I laughed at it but it felt small inside me, burning its way out.

Alex hummed in agreement. "Well, at least you're not a pimple-ridden kid doing it."

It wasn't something he talked about much. He hated people giving him attention, yet he was in a career that commanded eyes to be focused on him. It was one of our many skimmed-over conversations. In some ways, it made me feel like I didn't know Alex. We both hid parts of ourselves from one another and knew that the other did this. That burning curiosity we used to have probably went out once we started to live with one another. You know someone for long enough that it begins to feel like you know every inch of them. I slept with him night after night but I wondered if I ever knew what was ticking on in his head before he fell asleep. What was he thinking when he sat outside with a closed notebook? Why did he turn away?

I didn't even know why I turned away. I wrote repeatedly in my notebook, questioning why I couldn't make it work with Alex. I resisted jumping into a relationship because of that. If I couldn't make it work with Alex then it probably wouldn't work with anyone, especially during that portion of my life. I didn't know what it meant to be alone, like really alone.

I deflected a lot. I even deflected earlier in this book. I was devastated by the loss of Alex and I don't think it hit me until much later because I always had an anvil weighing on the back of my head telling me it wasn't over. Arielle complicated those ideals and I think for a while I was on my back unable to regain upright status. I was flailing.

That's why I paused. When 2012 hit, I was forced into a corner. I felt distant from who I was but still so far away from who I was becoming. I felt like I was the roots of the tree that had been cut down. I was left to be a stump.

One night, over a joint, I told Jackson I didn't feel British. Jackson, a Californian boy through and through, did not understand this. He laughed from the high while the smoke just made me more disoriented. He told me that I was "perfectly British." To me, that sounded like some marketing strategy. That's what the book would be marketed as—a British girl coming to America; her cold skin meeting the California sun. It made me hate the book. Or I hated myself, the lines were blurring.

I thought I had grown away from forms of jealousy. I have just previously insisted to you that I experienced no feelings of envy toward Arielle...but I did. It was ignored and then it couldn't be. The "R U Mine?" music video featured Arielle and a "new" Alex. I'm not a fan of the insinuation Alex suddenly changed after we broke up, besides his hair and fresh Sheffield tattoo, I would come to know Alex was exactly the same. Alex never quite changes. He's always been suave. It's hard to take a 20-year-old as seriously as a 25-year-old, especially when he is still pimple-ridden.

I found my jealousy toward Arielle in regard to "R U Mine?" was the same as when Alex showed me "Bigger Boys and Stolen Sweethearts" because, honestly, since then Alex's only explicit romantic muse (the word makes me want to barf, but that's what I was) was me. It's the weird thing of being with a writer, especially with personal subjects. It's beautiful when it's for you but then you realize that it was never really for you. It was about you. Alex didn't write a song to make me feel loved. He wrote a song because he liked writing songs.

Unknowingly, I always felt that. It's why I didn't swoon every time I heard "Mardy Bum." I loved it as a song but it didn't feel like a love letter. I felt Alex's love in far different ways. As the years went on, I would find love letters in songs, but at the center, I found his love in crevices: a note from college, a smoke outside a pub, a cooked meal, folded laundry—god, I sound old.

But his love wasn't restricted to those songs. Just as my love isn't restricted to this tome. This is a love letter in pieces for Alex but it's also for my youth. I found around this time, I began to reflect on those early years. Nearly 10 years out from 2003, I became a preservationist. I jotted down my memory of my first conversation with Alex. I tucked it away in my drawer, no use for it yet.

*

Alex called me on my birthday. He wasn't too far away, somewhere between Portland and Boston on a bus. It was late with only an hour left to my birthday, which I had spent drinking with friends. It was a rather simple birthday. It could've been just another night, minus the cake (red velvet with frosted flowers on top of it) that Fennel and Kaka purchased for me.

Alex texted me in the morning. Something akin to Hey. Happy birthday. Al.

It was formal and if it didn't make me laugh so much I think I'd be hurt by it. But Alex always texted like that as if he was penning a letter. The letter was awfully short but it was sent at 4 AM, which made me believe he either had no sleep or had just woken up.

I was expecting more and I got more. When I was drunk.

"Hi," I said, shoving the phone to my ear as a subway train came roaring by.

He chuckled, hearing the noise. "Hi." He waited for it to pass fully before continuing, "Happy birthday."

"Thank you."

"Did you spend it good?"

"Yeah. I'm pretty drunk."

"Alright, then, I won't keep you long."

"No," I insisted. "Stay on the phone with me." I was pleading. I didn't want to let go of him. "At least, until I'm home." I wasn't far away but I lied and acted like I was further away, keeping him on the line with me, even as we lost connection at various times.

"Sorry I didn't get you anything," he said halfway through the subway ride.

"I didn't get you anything,” I reminded him.

"Yeah. Feels weird."

We hummed in silence because we both knew how abnormal this was. We weren't friends. Alex and I were never friends. Nothing ever went away or could ever go away. We were struggling to redefine what we were. We could never disentangle from one another. It pulled us back toward one another, even when we shouldn't have.

"I was going to get you that, uh, milkshake maker so you wouldn't have to pay extra at Morgenstern's for one." I didn't know a person could get so emotional over a milkshake maker that they would feel like crying on the F train. I might be the only person ever.

It was such a stupid gift. I would probably get two uses out of the machine before it broke and it wouldn't be as good as Morgenstern's makes theirs and it would go to waste. Still, I can imagine if he did get it for me. How after I unwrapped it we would go to Morgenstern's and get a pint of ice cream and Alex would make me a milkshake. One just for me. If I was feeling generous enough, we'd share the straw.

None of this would have happened, even if we were together. He'd still be in between Portland and Boston and I'd still be riding the F, wishing he was with me. It was comforting that maybe I had done the right thing, even if it felt so hard.

"Well, you can get it for me for Christmas."

He laughed and said, "Okay."

*

Black leather loafers with black wool flannel trousers. A white poplin shirt, two buttons loose at the top and at the bottom. I had a black corduroy jacket that Jackson held for me. I felt like I was dressing up in my mother's clothes. I was doing book press. It was an unfitting experience but I held the hardcover book in my hand. It felt unnatural but I liked my authour's photo.

By that point, I was so far removed from the contents of the book. I started to second-guess it even coming out. It felt like my diary, even if it was evasive at times and cut out the personal from that time (Alex is not mentioned once, not even as the person I moved to LA for). Still, it was exposing, but it was real now and it was sitting in my hand.

Alex came to town a week later, opening for The Black Keys. I didn't see the show—things were getting too busy by that point. I asked Alex if we could meet for a quick lunch and he accepted.

We met at Westville, a cute restaurant, but by no means romantic. I felt a need for that to be clear. I worried about Arielle worrying that I was trying to "steal" Alex or whatever that meant. I don't think she ever did. After all, she had the guy and I was resigned with no longer having the guy. It wasn't the bitch fight it has been imagined to be.

I waited for Alex outside the restaurant, smoking a cigarette to achieve my all-time high of cigarettes per day (this was not a good year for my lungs). I dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. I wanted to look cool but relaxed. I wore the previously mentioned black loafers to make it look like I didn't roll out of bed and throw some jeans on.

Alex wore the same thing: jeans, T-shirt, loafers...and a leather jacket. It was a hotter March day when spring was beginning to peek through and relieve the bitterness of winter. He was across the street stuck at a streetlight and I waved to him and he waved back. Then, we just stared at each other, waiting for the light to turn green.

He crossed, said hi, and hugged me. Every move was made with slight awkwardness. We hadn't been alone together since he moved out. "Have you been waiting long?" He asked.

I shook my head. "Got here early, just for a smoke. Do you want to go in now?"

"Yeah. Yeah." He bobbed his head.

I put my cigarette out and he followed me into the restaurant. "Your hair is back to normal." My natural brown. It was better for me to not play pretend when promoting a book about my own life.

"Yours isn't," I commented. It came off snarkier than I wanted it to.

He shrugged and smiled to ease the thick fat of awkwardness. "Yeah, well, you know." He didn't say it but this was the new normal for him, which was fine, but it was different from what I knew. When I dreamed about him or pictured him, it was still with a curling mop top or, you know, just the mop if I was dreaming of '09.

"Tattoo too," I added.

"Yeah."

"You're a changed man."

"Yeah."

Our heads ducked down and we stared at the menus in silence. It was a challenge of who would speak first—seriously speak, not those little comments over what looks good.

After we ordered, I said, "Sorry I'm not able to go tonight."

He waved me off. "You've already been to too many shows. Don't worry."

"Well, I like going. It feels weird not to go."

"Yeah." Somewhere in that word, I knew what he meant. It had been years since Alex had the ability to spot people in the crowd, but he told me once that there was a comfort in knowing I was somewhere in there, that even if he messed up, there would always be someone there at the end of it all. I wonder if he was still getting used to someone else being at the end of it all.

He sipped his water to cut off the look on his face. I decided to cut to the fat of it. "I, uh, have something to give you."

"Why do I feel like it's something bad?" He cracked a laugh, lifting the air in the room.

I picked up my bag. "I hope not."

I dug through my things slowly. It was held in my hands but I still had to catch my breath before I lifted it out. I saw a squint on his face as he tried to imagine what it was. I passed it across the table and his hands took it. That is when it all started to feel real; seeing his eyes land on it, his hands run down its spine with him smiling. "It's a first edition," I joked.

He raised an eyebrow, flipping it open. "Is it signed?" I laughed. I'm not sure what made me happier: him holding my book or joking around with him again. He opened the other end of the book. "Good author photo."

"I'm quite happy with it." Somewhere in that bittersweetness, I did feel content. It was never how I imagined him holding my first book. Parts of me were swallowed with sorrow that I would never experience this in the way I wanted—a desperate romantic lovemaking all-consuming kind of way—but there were small parts in me that were happy that we could still have this. I don't know if we kept dragging things out this would have been as joyous. That this would have felt like closure.

Alex looked up, meeting my eyes. A small smile played on his lips. The kind that can't be faked in any way. It was real and from the hurt. It was that pride he always had in me. The pride that kept me going for far longer than I'd ever imagined. I wrote the book, but he made the book. I never would've written anything close to it without him. I'd probably be stuck fucking Robert in London if it wasn't for him. It was my reassurance to him that he didn't have to make up for the sudden move to LA as he constantly tried to do. He wasn't in the book, but he was the book. It's why I dedicated it to him. It's why on the last page of his edition of the book I wrote: Don't make fun of me, Al. Thank you for this. I hope you know why. Love, Jane C.

I questioned the "love" part. I didn't want to make him uncomfortable but it would have been far more awkward to write something like "sincerely." I wasn't one for lying, especially about my love for Alex. It was something layered. It didn't rest in that romantic love. He wasn't just my boyfriend and he wasn't just my best friend. It's hard for a writer to find the word. It's nudged somewhere in this book. In all these little words.

"I wanted you to be the first to have it," I said. "Well, one of the first. Wanted to see the look on your face."

He looked back down at the book. Mild disbelief spread across his face as he looked back and forth between the book and me. "Thanks." He wasn't sure what else to say. He rolled everything around and looked as if he was choking on the bone of a chicken.

"It's been a little weird these past few months," I said while picking at my fingernails, an assured sign to Alex that I was referring to us. "I don't want it to feel weird. So, don't cry or anything," I joked.

He chuckled, dislodging the lump. He flipped the book over one more time before placing it on the table. "I'll try not to. I knew you could do it." He stared right at me, emphasizing every little syllable. The awkwardness faded from him and he leaned onto the table. His smile was small but bright. I could find a million different meanings in it, each meaning just as much.

"I know you did. You always did," I told him. "I had this dream last night. It was weird and blurry but we were driving around Sheffield or some weird ghost thing was driving us. It's hard to describe. I don't know. I think it was a sign or something. I'm not sure of what but just those early days of us talking. That's when I really started to write. I suppose my mind was thinking about this lunch and conjured up some old memories."

He smiled at me the whole time, eyes never leaving me, even when I glanced away. "Well, I had a dream that I was one of the animals left off of Noah's Ark, so, you tell me what that means."

I told him it had something to do with his fear of being left behind and he rolled his eyes and said I was trying to be Freud. Lunch came and we ate and laughed and agreed to split the check. He told me he would read the whole book tonight if he could. We hugged goodbye and he whispered in my ear, "I'll send you a proper review."

A few days later, Alex emailed me. It was long. Very long and detailed like he had taken a note on every page. He pulled the sentences he liked the most out, which turned out to be about half the book. I would later write back and ask what that meant for the other half of the book. He said they were left off Noah's Ark too. Continuing his initial email, Alex wrote at the bottom:

You did it. I hope you feel that too. Thank you, Al.

*

I had a book tour. A minimal one since there wasn't the highest of expectations and I didn't want to go to Omaha, Nebraska. So, there was Boston, New York, Atlanta, Chicago, Houston, and Los Angeles. I hated the whole thing. I always wanted to go to these places but I wasn't really going to these places. We lingered in Chicago at the end of July, but it was the equivalent of touring with Alex, except this time I was Alex.

I've never enjoyed talking about my work either but it was nice that people thought it was nice. But that part still felt awkward to me too. Like, people actually read this??? It eased up as it went along. It was a short tour anyway. I wasn't going to Tokyo or anything.

I thought about myself a lot. It was a little lonely but I had adapted to that. Jackson was my only company on the road and it was easy for us to get sick of one another. We had both grown bored with one another, both slightly exhausted from these months so closely intertwined. I thought about Al, often. I thought about myself, often.

Could it be possible that I did everything right? No. I never thought that but I didn't think I did everything wrong. I had cracks in the surface of me and guts that spilled out. I said everything with my pen but nothing with my lips. I hid myself under the disguise of a freshly lonesome girl who knew the only means to move on was to forget. But I didn't forget anything, only myself, just for a little. Pieces of me dropped on the side of the highway. We drove for days and I found no meaning in it, only wondering did he feel like this all the time? How did he bear this loss of self?

I asked myself questions and never got any answers. I felt everything but there was never any meaning in it. There were closed-off vessels, no means to transport blood or oxygen, yet, I was still moving. I suppose that was the only thing left to cling to. I still had the memory of it and those never made me sad. I experienced it. How fortunate was I to be cracked open and exposed to this impenetrable love? I still felt it. We were both on the end of the same wire. It was bent and twisted, knots made to keep strong but disrupt transmission. No love lost. Just changed. I know good comes from change. I didn't feel the goodness but I could taste it coming. So much else was happening. I would hate myself forever for wasting those precious few days of enjoyment in place of a relationship that didn't need nourishment anymore. It was about me. I wanted it to be about me for so long and it finally was. Don't waste it.

The mini-tour ended in LA at the start of August. Summer had whipped me in the face so hard I forgot the season even existed, until I was stuck in the sweaty, SoCal heat, dying for a drop of water. The first night—the day before the Q&A and book signing—Jackson and I got dinner and drinks with Opal.

It was nice to let loose after feeling so pinned up for most of the summer. The liquor soothed my sunburnt skin and I decided the tour as a whole wasn't too bad—I was about 3 drinks in at this point. Then, after another drink, I texted Alex telling him I was in town. The last we chatted was a week or so before when the band opened for the London Olympics. I watched it later on YouTube and told him he did a bang-up job. He told me he nearly shat himself.

Alex had returned to LA since. The city had become his permanent home since the tour had ended. He bought a house out here and everyone in the band, for the most part, had relocated too. So, in my drunken state, I told him I was there and we should hang before I went back to New York.

When I woke up, it was an embarrassing text of I'm in LA, AL. Even in my drunken state, I wrote with proper grammar. Alex wrote back, Come on over. This was in the early hours of the day so he must have been up by some similar means too.

The following night, I panicked. I wondered if this is what single people felt like all the time. Prior to this, I had never faced intimidation when hanging out with Alex, except maybe when I was 17 and that type of thing could be labelled as teenage anxiety. But, no, this was a thing that would plague me the rest of my dating life and I wasn't even going on a date with him. Alex is the only "ex" I had stayed in contact with up to that point. Most of my friends didn't do this type of thing either, at least not Opal who lived by the mentality that once people were gone they were gone forever.

Half my anxiety came from the limited wardrobe out of my suitcase but considering it was just dinner and a dinner that would be had with the other bandmates and the girlfriends, there should've been no pressure. I wouldn't have told you this at the time, I barely want to write it down now, but the nerves I felt weren’t because of Alex, they were because of Arielle. Part of me wanted to be conceived as a non-threat. I was over those days. The other part of me—the stronger part—wanted her to be jealous of me and question why Alex and I ever broke up. I wasn't fully-formed yet. 

The two sides fought and then I just settled on jeans and a tank top because it was boiling outside and I was having drinks at Al's place, not the Windsors. Luckily, I showed up after Jamie and Katie so I thought of using Katie as a shield. I didn't accept Katie and Arielle to be talking though. The word traitor crossed through my brain and then I thought I must be regressing to my college days when Rosie and Will would feel each other up in front of me. Arielle was nice and I was probably an anxious bitch.

So, I hugged both of them as Alex came into the living room. He was staggering, dressed casually beside his uniform slicked hair. "Hey there," he greeted. He was calm, not an awkward bone in his body. He knew he had the upper hand. We were on his home turf with his hot girlfriend and I was a single mess who had been on plane after plane and stunk of cigarettes.

The room was hot with sweat dripping off every surface it seemed. The air conditioner was running but the flaming air came rushing in with the swing of the front door as Matt and Breana entered. The room became distracted by them, both looking darling. I hugged each of them, distracting myself in their grasp.

Arielle had lit candles for the dining table. It was the only thing formal about the informal event. The house itself was rather bare. Alex never carried much, I was always the one with the shit. 

Alex tapped my arm. "You want a drink?"

"What do you have?" I asked.

He waved his arm and I followed him to the kitchen, isolating ourselves. "Beer, wine, tequila, vodka, all the fixings. I can make you something if you'd like. Margarita?"

"Anything non-alcoholic?" Alcohol would ease my nerves but it would lead to my loud mouth and I couldn't afford that tonight.

He looked bewildered. "Who are you?" He joked.

We kept our distance. I pushed my hair behind my shoulder. "Got real drunk with Opal and Jackson last night. Figured I'd keep it clean. At least for now."

"Right then. Iced tea?"

He knew me well. I laughed at his smile and agreed to this. I moved closer to the refrigerator to just feel the cold air on my skin. He poured the glass, leaving the door open for me. I chugged the coldness like it was the elixir of life. It felt like my lungs re-inflated when the liquid dispersed and his eyes looked at mine again, so clearly over that fogged-up glass. Wet brown eyes into my baby blues and it felt like he might reach out and snatch them out of my eyes and keep them for himself. He always liked them. He has a thing for blue eyes.

We talked around the dining table, eating a mix of something Arielle had cooked and pizza. I had the pizza. Everyone talked loosely about things I had no knowledge of. Jokes about LA and all these people I had no concept of. I suppose if they had come to New York it would have been similar, except they all shared this with one another.

The sweet Breana turned the attention onto me, which partially made me shrink and revel in the joy of being included. "Oh, Jane, I loved the book!" Everyone chanted in similar sentiments all at once.

I laughed and took a bite of my pizza crust. "You didn't all read it," I laughed.

"I read parts of it," Jamie said. They were all sweet but I'm unsure how often any of them even had the chance to pick up a book, let alone their best friend's ex-girlfriend. Because that's what I was now. That was my title.

Alex looked at me. I could hear my mother's words ringing through his lips so I smiled and said, "Thank you."

"Disappointed I wasn't in it more," Matt said. "You know if it wasn't for me the book would've never been made." The long story of it has made that true but I can't give Matt credit for everything, it might go to his head too much.

"How's that?" Arielle asked. Everything shifted after that. We could all tell that she had been the wrong one to ask that question. Whether she was clueless and curious or was trying to make a dig at Alex, I wasn't sure, but I felt like an imposition being there. I didn't feel like an out-of-town friend. I felt like an ex-girlfriend.

Nobody spoke so I spoke. "Matt introduced me and Alex." I sipped my drink to wash down any other awkwardness.

Everyone seemed awkward other than Arielle. She quickly nodded and said, "Oh, yeah, Al told me that." I wondered why everyone else was so stiff when Arielle didn't seem to have much of a problem with it. Why should she when she looked like that?

I felt frumpy and had to pee badly from all the iced tea I had drank but I was too scared to go to the bathroom and see her things mixed with Alex's things. I could leave there with ambiguity and the belief that Alex didn't move on so quickly and I was stuck being alone.

"That was our first gig," Matt said. He seemed to relax, always the person to slice through any amount of tension. "Almost 10 years ago now."

"What was it like?" Arielle asked.

"Awful," Alex said. His eyes pointed toward me. "Right?"

"I don't know. I never reviewed it, remember?" He laughed and it felt inappropriate to display this inside language in front of everyone. "It feels weird that I'm the only one here who watched it." Even if that had been the case for many years, it had been a while since we all gathered around in a circle and talked about those days.

"I wasn't even there," Nick remarked. The room buckled with chuckles.

I laid my forehead against the palm of my hand resting against the table. "God," I said, "I spent that whole show with Will’s hand on my ass and Joanie screaming in my ear."

"Oh, god, Joanie," Matt muttered.

"Oh, god, Will," Jamie cracked.

"She got married last month," I told them. She had invited me but I was in the middle of the tour. We talked about once a year and everything was always nice. The only time I would've had the chance of running into her was when Alex and I visited Sheffield and that obviously wasn't happening anymore.

"Bless that man's heart," Matt quipped.

I shook my head. "No, she seems to have settled down in the last few years. I guess we all did. Seems so long ago."

"It was," Alex said. "We're getting old, Janie." His silence punctured the air. My lungs felt like they were deflating. He poured himself another glass.

Things grew looser and looser. They rattled off stories of LA, I rattled off stories from the road. Arielle excused herself to bed, citing an early morning. Her bed was upstairs.

Each couple left one by one until Alex and I awkwardly remained. I figured then I should leave. He walked me to the door with a freshly poured glass in his hand. "Hope I didn't keep you up too late," I said because I wasn't sure what else to say. It reminded me of what my parents said to each other after a fight. It was the one thing they clung to in order to keep their marriage somehow working.

He shook his head and sipped. "No, no. It's fine. You're always good company."

I shrugged. The whole thing kind of felt awkward, at least with him. I could laugh with Matt and throw my arm around Katie, even hug Arielle good night, but whenever my eyes landed on Alex, I tensed up so tightly I knew I'd be sore the next day. "If you're ever in New York or whatever."

He nodded and smiled. He would be visiting his old apartment. I wondered how that would make him feel. Was it the same when I walked into his house and noticed different shoes by the door than mine? Would the emptiness of his presence leave him uneasy? "I'd like that," Alex said.

"Thanks for having me." We reached the door and the end of the night but we stayed awkwardly staring at each other.

"Course. Text me when you're back at the hotel and safe and all that." He was drunk, rambling with an incapability of holding his tongue.

I smiled. "I will."

I didn't know whether to hug him or not. He leaned forward and kissed me. It wasn't affectionate. It was a peck. The kind my mother used to give me when left for school in the morning. Of course, she was my mother and I was 7 and Alex was drunk and I was, well, awkward. 

I said, "Night," and turned away. We never talked about it because there was nothing to talk about. It very well could have been a kiss on the cheek just like I gave Katie and Breana before they left. Of course, that was Katie and Breana and this was Alex—no longer mine.

*

Rain pattered against the window. Jackson and I returned to New York a week prior and we were now sitting in my apartment, drinking, and about to call Opal to join us. I felt dizzy and Jackson looked sleepy. It had been a long month.

"So," he said, "what's next?"

I finished off my glass. "What do you mean?" The year felt empty as the cold was beginning to creep into my summer warmth. 2012 was a bumpy year where so much yet so little happened. I was growing sick of my apartment because no matter how rid it was of Alex, he still had a whole life with me here. When I returned to it after the book tour, I was ready to move on.

Jackson placed his arm on the back of the couch. The tips of his fingers softly poked at my shoulder. "Now it's time to think about the next book."

I tossed my head back with a groan. "Gimme a break."

He chuckled and placed his empty glass on the end table. "No rush. For now."

I sat up straight, finishing off my glass, and growing more and more serious every day. "Thanks for doing this for me, Jackson."

He nodded. "My pleasure."

"I feel kind of empty," I confessed.

His brows furrowed. "What do you mean?"

I didn't feel like explaining it. I was growing tired of doing that with people. My stomach ached and I pushed Alex out of my mind. I felt that I had sacrificed our relationship for this success, even if it wasn't true. I thought I would have been over it by that time of year. It had been over a year. But it still felt so unnatural for him to feel so far removed from my life. Every word we spoke felt tinged with sadness and I didn't want it to feel that way. I wanted to move on.

I kissed Jackson. He kissed back. We never called Opal.

*

Jackson and I started dating in a casual way. We were exclusive to one another and treated each other as a boyfriend and girlfriend would but I suppose my association with dating was always a far deeper connection. I wasn't alone in this. Jackson had long-term girlfriends prior to me. He was older than me, not by some outrageous amount. He was born in 1979, seven years older, but I was 26 and 33 didn't feel so far off.

Opal loved it. She felt like the ultimate matchmaker and wanted to be both the maid of honor and the best man. My New York crew loved him. Fennel and Kaka found him to be rich in conversation. He liked going out more than Alex but then again most people liked going out more than Alex. Except more and more it seemed Alex enjoyed the going out part. (I was taken but I was still a snooping ex-girlfriend).

I didn't tell Alex. It felt awkward to call him up and tell him I got a new boyfriend. I decided to tell him when I saw him again, which didn't come up. He was in Los Angeles. I was in New York. We didn't talk very often either. I think I called him once in October because I couldn't remember the name of a restaurant we went to (he didn't remember either). 

Other than that, there wasn't much reason to talk. We had completely separate lives. But I was aware of what he was up to. I wasn't cyber-stalking him much anymore (only on nights when I was wildly intoxicated). I talked to Katie occasionally and texted Breana from time to time. Things about Alex would slip through the cracks and get to me but the majority of it was just that they were recording their new album.

We had both moved on. Or we were both pretending we did. At least I was pretending, in some form. I thought about him all the time. I didn't feel like a day went by when I didn't think about him. It wasn't in some romantic longing way. I had shared a life with him from such a young age and to be forced apart from it felt unnatural. There were so many jokes and stories that went untold because no one would get it but him.

When I went back home for the holidays, I confided this to my mother. I don't know why, maybe because of what she had told me so many years ago in Florida. I don't know if my mother ever actually liked Alex so I figured if she said awful things about him it would make me feel better. Of course, she didn't.

"It goes away," she said. "One day, you wake up and you're numb to it. You just get numb to it in the end, Jane. All those people you hated and loved turn to nothing. Even the ones you still want to love. You'll be thankful for it when the day comes that you don't feel anything anymore."

I frowned and my mother left me on the couch to fetch another bottle of wine. In retrospect, my mother was suffering from mental illness, but I was oblivious to that because I had grown oblivious to most of my mother's behavior. I just didn't want to engage with it anymore. Maybe part of me was numb toward her.

I didn't want to feel nothing. I couldn't imagine not feeling anything for Alex, even if we remained friends for the rest of our lives. I had tethered so much sentimentality toward him, he might as well have been a knick-knack on my shelf. Letting go of him would be letting go of an entire part of myself. I was content if that part only came out once a year when I saw him but I couldn't let go of it forever.

*

Joanie was having a baby. She likely got pregnant on her honeymoon. Someone my age having a child felt unnatural. I pictured Joanie being a teen mum, not a 26-year-old pregnant woman. She invited me to the baby shower taking place right after Christmas. It was ideal timing since all her closest friends would be in town or, like me, the country.

I debated going but decided that since I missed the wedding the least I could do was go to the baby shower. So, I drove the Beetle up to Wakefield. I figured it would be a mini-reunion. The only one I had seen as of late was Claire, who lived in Bristol now, and I hadn't seen since last winter.

We drove up together and listened to Radio 2 on full blast the whole way. I don't think I had ever felt more like a teenager even when I was a teenager. Claire continued her streak of always being a comfort for me. While other friends might be wedding and birthing, Claire had just ended her two-year-long relationship and gagged in her mouth at the thought of being a mother one day. 

It made me miss England so desperately. I forgot how much I ached to drive, which I hadn't done in years. The closest I had gotten to a car was the one taxi ride home drunk at 4 AM. And to drive on the left side of the road! I hadn't heard someone speak in a British accent since the dinner at Alex's. It eased my ears and made me wonder why I ever left, which just led to me thinking about Alex again.

Claire said, "I hate Alex, which sucks 'cause I like Alex." In a way, it summed up how conflicted I felt. Hate is a strong word but I was resentful for how everything went down. Then again, I probably didn't have much of a right.

Joanie's house was straight out of a picture book. I didn't know houses like that even existed in Wakefield. It wasn't fancy but at the sight of it, you'd call it a home. She had a little garden in the front that she said her husband grew herbs in that she used for cooking. It made Claire and I roll our eyes but we both desperately wanted that kind of companionship. If I ever would learn how to cook or grow plants, maybe that could be my life. I refused to do either, but it was a nice thought.

I bought Joanie—or Joanie's baby—these cozy fleece booties because that's what New York Magazine said to get. I never bought anything for a baby before (I got away with it two years ago during Harper's unmentioned pregnancy of my first nephew, Benjamin, by having my mother buy a gift for me) so I had no clue what to get. I bought Joanie this nice set of body washes that were her favourite when we were 17 with the hope that they either still were or she would feel nostalgic over them.

Claire and I ate a slice of cake and watched Joanie open her presents. Halfway through we turned to each other and decided we were going to go out drinking after. I love Joanie but oohing and awing over baby gifts with a bunch of women I barely knew got old quickly, especially incredibly sober and in the middle of the winter blues. The cake was good though.

The shower ended around 4 and while I was down to get hammered that early, Claire wanted to go out to lunch first. We ended up meeting up with AB at a pub. I hadn't seen AB since 2006 and I nearly cried at the sight of him all grown up. Claire and AB had broken up long ago but stayed in touch as good friends and if they could do it—two incredibly mature people—maybe Alex and I could too. 

AB's girlfriend of two years (and future wife), Shay, joined us as well. It almost made me barf how gorgeous they were together and I was shocked Claire wasn't fuming more over how beautiful Shay was. I was almost fuming over how beautiful Shay was!

AB sipped on a beer, which I don't think I had ever witnessed. He shared it was Shay and I swallowed down my drink at the painful thought that Alex and I once did things like that. I was such a sad sack. I thought about calling Jackson. Thank god I didn't.

We left the pub, hugging AB and Shay goodbye next to the Beetle. Claire and I were going to go back to the hotel to change out of our baby shower clothes and "hit the town.”

We waved goodbye to the couple and that's when I saw Alex with his mum. I turned my back to him and grabbed Claire's arm. "I think I'm gonna vomit."

She looked at me completely puzzled. "What? Why?"

I was so freaked out by the sight of him. I think the unexpected nature of it threw me off-balanced. I had never been that unnerved by the sight of him. My head felt like my brain was about to burst out of my ears. "Get in the car," I harshly muttered to her.

She was still unaware but she raced around the side of the car to get into the passenger seat. We bolted out of there before he crossed the street.

*

It was midnight when I called him. I was definitely drunk, but not wasted, standing outside a club smoking while Claire chatted up with some guy inside. I was freezing and felt so childish for doing it, even in the moment, but I wanted to see him. It shouldn't feel right that I was here and he wasn't.

"Hello." His voice was clear so he hadn't been sleeping. I wonder if he was in bed (with Arielle).

I swallowed whatever dignity I had left and let the rest loose. "Hey. I'm in Wakefield for Joanie's baby shower 'cause apparently we're old enough to have children now and now I'm out with Claire at a club. We drove up together from Bath, well, Bristol for her, Bath for me, but you know that. Jesus. I saw you earlier today and raced into my car because I was so scared by the sight of you, which made me realize I'm not as mature as I thought I was. And it was just after we went to lunch with AB and Shay and Claire and AB still get along like they didn't have this romantic relationship and I know that we get along too but I raced to my car and nearly shit myself. Now, I'm outside a club smoking in the middle of winter because I apparently regress back to teenage tendencies when I'm in Yorkshire or maybe just England in general. Anyway, I'm drunk and I'm thinking this was stupid and it probably is but I know you're probably laughing at me right now but I'm freezing my ass off and I can't figure out how to get back inside the club and Claire isn't answering her phone, which means she's probably shagging someone or something and I wouldn't want to interrupt that, you know, and I probably should just get a cab back to the hotel but I called you for some reason. Well, not for some reason because I'm drunk. Okay, now you talk."

I was out of breath and sure I had just lost my mind. I need another shot of tequila. I felt I was growing too sober to face the repercussions of this. I took a drag of my cigarette and listened to his breathing on the other end of the line.

I could hear his smile. I still had a knack for that kind of thing. "I saw you too, you know."

I slapped my forehead and thought about slamming my head into the brick wall until it broke my skull and my brain gushed out. "Did it look like we were being held at gunpoint?"

He chuckled lowly. "A little. But I must've looked like someone pointed a gun at me. I'd recognize that car anywhere, Janie."

I didn't know what to say. My car was such a sensitive topic for both of us. It was the cornerstone (ha) of our relationship, especially for the car to be returned to its rightful county. I thought I'd feel weird driving it but everything felt right like it was a complete homecoming. Like nature had found its way and every piece fell perfectly into the puzzle.

"I thought I would be grown up by now," I confessed.

He suppressed a laugh. "I like you this way. Makes me feel less alone."

"How so?"

He waited, not wanting to fully let the truth go but it was me he was talking to. There wasn't much point in lying. "I've called you in various states of intoxication too."

"Not after running to your car," I pointed out.

"Yeah, well, I'm sure I'll do it one of these days." It was a silence but a vibration rang across the line to one another. Call it a vibe or a wavelength or just a feeling, but I could feel him like he was standing right next to me. "Where are you?"

It was so embarrassing I laughed. "Che & Coco." It was Barnsley College's resident bar and nightclub. The average age of the crowd was barely 20 and I felt like such a loser trying to claim that nostalgia is what made me want to club there.

"Geez, you really are down bad." His laughter rang through the phone and I nearly hung up due to how beet red my face was. He laughed and laughed. I could picture him with his hands on his knees, walking home from Will's house, unable to breathe he was laughing so hard. Then, I couldn't breathe. "You want me to pick you up?"

I'd like that a lot but I couldn't take it. That was a bridge too far. "No, no. I'll just call a taxi or something. Maybe even walk. My hotel isn't that far."

"You're gonna walk in Barnsley at midnight? Hope you don't get hit with a beer bottle," he joked. That had happened to Will back in the day. I'm convinced it made him even dumber if that's possible.

"I've walked later than this in New York," I reasoned.

"Janie," he stopped me, "I'd like to see you if you won't run away from me."

I sighed. "I'll see you in 20. I'll be waiting on Peel." Because maybe I would like to see him too.

He pulled up in his mum's car. It wasn't her car from way back in the day but it made him feel sophomoric to me. His hair wasn't gelled up, instead falling around in tendrils of combed-back magic. He had a hoodie on and a smile on his face. He honked the horn of the car and I dashed across the street to his car.

The car was warm, at least warmer than outside where I had been suffering. I tugged my coat closer and put my seatbelt on. "Hi."

Alex smiled over at me. "Hi." He pulled back onto the road and I couldn't remember the last time he had driven me. "How've you been?"

I shrugged in his peripheral vision. "Fine. Christmas was fine. My dad bought me Slouching Toward Bethlehem."

Alex laughed. "About 10 years too late."

"Yeah, but at least he's trying. I can't remember the last time he bought me a gift." My mother handled all the presents, something she was rather good at, even if it always felt like she didn't know me.

We stopped at a red light. "I didn't get anything for you," he said while looking over at me.

"Well, I didn't get you anything either." First time in eight years. It didn't even cross my mind. "This is enough of a present anyway."

He nodded in agreement. "Good." I believed him. The nod of his head told me that this meant as much to me as it did to me. Drunk actions are sober thoughts and sometimes I just wanted to hear his voice.

We kept driving. I had yet to tell him any directions. He was headed the right way but I wouldn't have had the willpower to tell him anyway. I liked driving around with him. I liked just this. The vibration of the road beneath us and the scent of him washing over me. The slowness of Yorkshire and the heat of him beside me. It made everything feel right.

"Arielle come with you?"

He rubbed his eye. He looked tired. "Nah. She went to her parents’." I nodded and he waited, looking over at me. I stared at him blankly. He looked back at the road and kept the car moving. "What about, uh, Jackson?"

My head snapped toward him. "He's at his parents’." I picked at my nails. I didn't want to talk about this. Why did it feel like I was cheating on him? It felt like Alex had died and I was some widower trying to move on but his ghost was coming back to shame me.

"Katie mentioned something," he muttered.

"Yeah," I explained, "just a few months."

He nodded slowly. "He's a nice guy." I laughed out loud. He laughed too, for some reason. "What?"

I shook my head. "We don't have to talk about my boyfriend."

"Okay. We don't have to talk about Arielle." It was probably some form of cheating, emotionally. We gazed at one another and never acted on anything, but the aftertaste of it didn't feel right. But in the moment, everything had fallen perfectly into place.

We went nowhere and neither of us said a single thing about it. The drive from the club to my hotel was ten minutes. We drove around for an hour.

"Joanie's house is beautiful. It's like my dream house. It isn't big but it's not a cottage or anything. But it's quaint. She's got plants and I never thought Joanie could take care of a living thing and now she's gonna have a baby," I told him. I fiddled with the radio, even though we weren't gonna listen to it.

"Are you sure they aren't fake?" He joked. I chuckled and hit his shoulder. "Eh! Watch it. I'm driving here, missy."

I held my hands up as a defense. I eased them back down with a giggle and tugged on my seatbelt strap. "You know, I thought I'd have a baby by now."

He snorted. "No, you did not."

"At one point I did. I mean, back before you. Like when I was still playing with dolls." 

He laughed again and everything made sense. "Good thing you don't. You can't even keep a plant alive."

"They're not self-sufficient enough."

"And you think a baby will be easier?"

"Not anymore but at six I did! It was right around when Stacey was born. I took good care of her."

Alex felt warm with a smile. "You did." He was an only child but at times I felt he might consider her a sister too. She considered him a brother. He had been around since she was 11. She was only a little over a year away from graduating university. 

"Granted I didn't have to breastfeed her."

It was still dark outside but it felt like the sun was rising in that car. "You wouldn't be happy living Joanie's life."

"How do you know?" I questioned. "Maybe if I was settled I'd feel better."

Alex's jaw gaped. He breathed a laugh and I looked over at him curiously. "Jane, you'd be losing your mind. The whole time I knew you here, you were begging to get out of here."

"Maybe I had it all wrong."

He shook his head, never looking over at me, just driving. "You're a completely different person because you got out of here. You're gonna get all that stuff one day. The kid, the garden, whatever the fuck you want, but you'd never have what you have no if you stayed put. You always knew what you wanted. Your gut is always right. I've learned that."

I sighed and accepted he was right. "Grass is always greener, I guess."

"Yeah," he agreed. "But I think you have the greenest grass. You're the one who's a bestseller."

I rolled my eyes and leaned on the center console. "She's the one with the husband and baby."

He scoffed, "So is half the world. You have a tough time being proud of your accomplishments."

I gasped. "Look who's talking. My god!"

Alex chuckled and it felt like food for my soul. Fertilizer to my soil to keep growing. "Fair enough. But be cocky every once and a while, Janie. You deserve it."

I took what he said to heart but ignored him. I wanted to talk about something else. I wanted to put my feet in his lap and ride to Charlton Brook. Instead, I leaned back and looked at him. "We used to talk about the future so much and now it's come and gone."

"You're not dead yet." But we were. I think that's what I really meant. All those things I had planned with him and I had to be content with letting them go. Watching those promises slip through my fingers. I had no right to feel that way but it's all I felt.

I wanted to tell him I loved him with the windows rolled down and the cold air rushing in because he used to let me do that. I believe that right had been revoked. "I missed it here." The truth was hidden in those words, in between the lines, deep in those letters, stuffed in between them.

He hummed, glancing over. "Me too. Everything feels a little simpler."

I heard the radio speaking, ringing some familiar tune that I couldn't think of the name. Maybe if it had been a little simpler and Alex and I stayed there forever, in the car ride between Wakefield and High Green, we'd have a house, a garden, a ring, a little thing on the way. 

But I would've missed out on a lot more. I would have missed out on a lot of Alex. How he was with his hair long in the middle of Joshua Tree, looking over at me instead of the night sky. How he made up our bed in our London studio apartment into a couch because we didn't have enough space for one. How he felt sitting next to me on the C train at 2 AM. How he felt in the dead of winter in Yorkshire, somehow ending up at my hotel with a hoodie I used to wear and a smile he still wears just for me.

I'll never know otherwise. And that's fine.

*

a/n: this was a struggle but i think it landed right in the end. much, much more to come.

[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.

[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.

[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.

[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]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐩𝐞𝐭 | 𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐱 𝐭.

when you discover that the hardest thing than paying attention to a movie during a sleepover with your boyfriend (early sias!alex) is to keep quiet while your friends are in the same room.

warnings: soft dom!alex, fingering (f receiving), public sex, unprotected sex (piv), bit of biting, cockwarming.

word count: 2.1k

this one has been forgotten in my drafts for months, i'm embarrassed. i mean… it's early fucking sias alex lol. hope you enjoy it :3

“oh, why are you always the last ones to arrive?” 

that was the first thing katie said as soon as she opened the door and saw you and alex waiting to go in after ringing the doorbell. 

“we were looking for our air mattress.” you responded, giving her a warm hug. “blame alex, he forgot to bring it with our luggage.” 

“c'mon,  i already apologized.” alex protested, poking you slightly, coming in right behind you when katie opened the door so you could enter the house. 

you were taking advantage of the break the lads were taking during the production of the fourth album to rest and visit the family in sheffield. you barely saw katie, breana and kelly lately, so when katie and jamie suggested a sleepover party at their house on a saturday night, you were the first to accept, dragging alex along with you. 

of course, he would never dare refuse when he saw that you were really excited about it.

“no worries, we've already got everything ready.” katie reassured you, leading the way into the living room, perfectly set up with several pillows and air mattresses taking over the rug in the center of the room.

“told you.” alex poked you again and you rolled your eyes playfully. okay, maybe he said something about katie being in 2050 when it comes to organization, so she would have already taken care of everything.

you guys were excited about the idea, even though the boys stay together all the time when producing an album or touring, it was nice to get together to do absolutely nothing, just chilling and chatting about random things like good friends do.

the movie was chosen. a horror movie, for a change. everyone was lying on their respective air mattresses, covered up to the waist or torso, occasionally passing the bucket of popcorn around like a rotation through the dark room that was lit only by the big screen of the tv.

you and alex were closer to the couch. you were laying on your side with him lying behind you, spooning you while his back was against the couch. he was propped on his left elbow, resting his head on his palm while his right arm passed across your body, his hand resting flat on your stomach, making almost invisible caresses.

eventually, his fingers danced across your stomach, doing some random patterns, moving to your side, his fingertip moving up and down, from your rib to your hip.

you absolutely loved when he touched you like this, he can't get his hands off you somehow, and that alone excited you. you took a handful of popcorn in your hand when matt offered it, eating a little and bringing it to alex's mouth for him to eat too.

he smiled in gratitude, still keeping his light caresses, moving his hand to your thigh, caressing the bare skin that your dress did not cover under the blanket. that alone was enough to make your breathing heavy a little, but you maintained your posture, paying attention to the movie.

when his fingers moved under your dress, his fingers playing with the elastic of your panties, you looked at him over your shoulder.

“what are you doing?” you whispered to him, almost inaudible that he needed to lip read.

“nothing, babe. pay attention to the movie.” he said, his voice dripping innocence as he gestured with his chin to the screen to get you to pay attention to the movie again.

you looked back at the screen, but you were completely aware of his actions, touching you, playing with the waistband of your panties, kissing your shoulder every now and then. you scanned the room, but no one was paying attention to you there for now.

and that's why alex was taking so much advantage, pulling your panties to the side in one swift motion. 

you widened your eyes slightly, looking back at him, your eyes simply repeating the question you did earlier. he kissed your temple, his mouth moving a bit to whisper in your ear. 

“this movie is fuckin' boring. let me have some fun with ya', hm? just keep quiet, baby.” he whispered, his hand softly massaging your bare ass under the covers, feeling the softness of your skin.

“they will notice.” you whispered back to him, your restless eyes swept the room again.

“not if you keep quiet. keep an eye on them for me, alright?” he said, blowing some air on your face to move away some strands of hair that were falling over your forehead, almost reaching your eyes.

you nodded, your heart pounding, almost surpassing your ribcage, but you were willing to obey. after all, it wasn't the first time you had done this. 

you felt his fingers dancing over your folds, the sensation sending shivers down your spine, making you squirm discreetly on the air mattress. 

“wet. i haven't even done anything yet and you're already like this.” he hummed in your ear, spreading soft and teasing kisses on your neck, his middle finger invading you without warning, making you put your hand over your mouth to stop any moans from escaping.

alex was a born instigator when he knew you were using all your self-control. actually, he liked to test your limits, see how far you were willing to go with him. for him. oh, and you never disappointed him.

the volume was loud, there were screams, chase, the real thriller before everyone's eyes. no one was aware that now turner was shoving two of his fingers inside your cunt, massaging your hidden spot inside your tight walls that wasn't that hidden for him. he knew you too well.

you squeezed the pillow under your head, trying to keep quiet, feeling his chest pressing slightly on your back while he peppered kisses on your cheek and your jaw.

“doing so good for me, pet. so good.” he praised you, withdrawing his fingers, making you whine a bit at the loss of contact. he licked his fingers clean discreetly, looking around to make sure no one was watching.

you could breathe a sigh of relief for a moment, thinking that you wouldn't have to pretend anymore. but alex had more for you, much more.

taking advantage of the fact that everything was noisy because of the movie, no one — not even you — heard him when he unbuckled his belt, fingers working to unbutton his pants and lower the zipper.  he kissed your shoulder again, catching your attention. 

“i want you to warm me up a little." he whispered, his hand already wrapped around his hard length, ready for you.

“now?” you asked, already feeling his tip on your entrance, spreading the wetness all over it. 

“now.” he answered, kissing right above your eyebrow and not giving you time to respond, moving his hips forward, his cock now being wrapped by your warm walls, stretching you. 

you threatened to gasp at the stretch, your body tensed up and he shook his head slightly in a slight warning gesture, his arm going back around your waist, holding you close. your breath shook a little as your toes curled under the covers. your widen eyes looked around, seeing your friends' faces, making sure that none of them had noticed that you and alex were fucking right there.

“ew, that's gross.” you heard jamie commenting in the background, for a second you thought you had been discovered, but he was clearly talking about the movie. alex let out a soft chuckle, both for his comment and for your look of relief.

“gross indeed. right, love?” turner agreed, squeezing your hip, burying his cock inside you, the tip kissing your cervix and making you close your eyes momentarily so you could roll them back under your eyelids.

you nodded, your hand rested above his under the blanket, squeezing it slightly. your legs were closed, trying to get some relief since you can't reach your clit to rub it. it was even difficult for alex to move, even though he wanted to very much. he knew that it was too dangerous, but he loved that adrenaline, to see you struggling, taking him so deep inside you.

turner peppered kisses on your cheek, his hand leaving your waist to move up, passing through your belly and the valley between your breasts until reaching your neck, his fingers wrapping around your throat. it wasn't a very tight grip, but it was enough to add more pleasure to the moment.

“i didn't know you liked being fucked like this, love. you're milking my cock already.” he whispered to you, his thumb tracing the line that outlined and delineated your jaw in a gentle caress, his words and the thrill of being caught at any moment pushed you further and further to the edge.

“don't stop, ‘m close…” you managed to whisper back to him, his cheek rested against yours as he smirks. 

he wished he could fuck you hard like he always does. he wanted to put you on all fours and fuck you until your pussy was swollen and sore so you could feel him for days. but he could be content with that now knowing that you were enjoying yourself, pressing your thighs so hard against each other, feeling your climax approaching.

he thrusted into you slowly and deeply. one, two, three, four times and by the fifth time you were already cumming on his cock, your legs twitching as you buried your face in the pillow to keep from moaning, as if electricity was running through your veins and you were doing the possible and the impossible not to let anyone notice it.

alex stood still for a while, moving meticulously slowly when he felt safe, fucking you through your orgasm, knowing that no one would notice the movement or hear the two of you. and he loved it so much that he already felt he was close, so close that it was ridiculous.

he rested his face on the crook of your neck, taking deep breaths, feeling the faint scent of your perfume and nibbling your sensitive skin. you glanced at him.

“what's the matter?” you asked, turning your face a little, pressing your ass against his hips purposely, his hand squeezed your throat tighter.

“i'm close.” he mumbled, letting out a low chuckle through his nose. you raised your eyebrows, your other hand went up to his hair to comb it back, even though you knew it probably wouldn't budge.

“yeah? i thought you could handle it.” you whispered back to him. you said that like you hadn't just came seconds ago.

“me too. apparently i was wrong.” he pouted and you pouted too, clenching around him, making him swallow a low groan. “stop it.” 

“what?” you asked innocently, clenching around him again. you're still sore and sensitive, but you wanted more. 

“stop fucking clenching around my cock.” he said between gritted teeth.

“or what?” you asked, clenching again and again, your walls tightening so hard around him that he could feel his control slipping away.

“or i'm gonna cum inside this pretty pussy of yours and you're gonna have a hard time keeping it inside of you without making a mess in this bed that isn't even ours.” he explained, pretty methodical. but oh, it was so sexy to hear him saying that, it makes your cunt throb involuntarily.

“i can live with that.” you answered him. that was certainly the answer he wanted to hear, since he pressed his hips against your ass again, the heat making your bodies sweaty under the covers. 

“mhmm, i bet you do. you'll keep it all inside you, won't you? don't waste any drop.” he hissed, feeling his cock twitching as you kept clenching around him, needing to feel him falling apart inside you. his hips bucked slightly a few more times, just enough so he could feel his release hitting him.

his teeth sank into your shoulder to keep from groaning as he painted your walls with his hot load, he hid his face in your back, trying to control his breathing, his vision blurry as he poured everything inside you.

“fuck, baby, you're the best.” he panted softly, kissing your cheek, his nose poking yours. you smiled, satisfied to feel him inside you, the aftermath still tingling on your body as you felt his cock softening inside of you, but he didn't seem to want to let you go now. 

you both stood there, silently enjoying the subtle aftershocks as the movie continued, you both knew there was a big risk of you staining the clean sheet if he pulled out of you slowly.

“have you thought about how we're going to deal with this without raising suspicion?" you asked him, seeing him give a sheepish smile. 

“no, love. you know i usually never think about what might happen next.” he kissed your cheek, then your shoulder soothing the mark of his bite that was etched into your skin like a tattoo. “guess we're going to need to stay like this for a little while longer. not a bad thing, hm?”

you chuckled, bumping your nose on his.

“not at all, baby.”

[tilebytiles]

till you tell me to leave - a.t.

summary: alex would probably let you stay at his house for the rest of your life, right? word count: 3k warnings: making out so a little suggestive, major fluff otherwise a/n: this was SUPPOSED to be a short little drabble but quickly turned into a whole self-indulgent thing bc cowboy!al is very special to me. smiles cutely settle for a draw

the first time you went to Alex’s farm, you were immediately reluctant to leave. you were situated on Twilight’s saddle, ambling along behind Alex and Lizzie and barely past the front gates that he’d just opened before already trying to cook up some lame, half-assed excuse for your parents so you could stay another day. or two. or maybe for the rest of your life. he had a lot of land to his name; the fence around his property stretched on for a while, and the path that led to his house was a bit of a long one, although not unbearably so. to your immediate right was a little pond and — were those fucking ducks?

“you alright?” he asked, his low chuckle snapping you out of your momentary mystification. you gripped the reins and nudged Twilight around so you could face him, watching as he pushed the gates shut. you did, admittedly, watch the way his arm muscles flexed in the sunlight for just a little too long to be considered normal.

“you have ducks,” you said, as if that explained everything.

“that I do.” Lizzie’s reins in hand, he approached you and your steed, peering up at you from beneath the rim of his hat. if you didn’t know any better, you would have reached over and snatched it from his head to put it on your own. unfortunately, you did know better, and your relationship with Alex was nowhere near the level that you felt was appropriate for riding a cowboy.

the dirt shifted and was kicked up beneath his boots and your horses’ hooves as the two of you made your way down the path to his house. the silence that settled in the air was comfortable, although you did still try to search for things to say. finding none, you opted to look around the property some more, now that you weren’t so distracted by the ducks. the area immediately surrounding his house and, consequently, the farm had been cleared of trees, although there were trees closer to the perimeter, making the fence almost imperceptible. you could hear birds chirping in the distance, and one of the ducks quacked. scattered throughout the grass were flowers of different kinds. the sun was out, but it wasn’t uncomfortably hot; just bright. you felt like you’d stepped into a scene out of a fairytale, not your boyfriend’s farm.

ah. boyfriend. that term still felt weird to use.

although he’d given you his phone number and texted you regularly (you remembered the smile he’d given you when he said “I’m not good with phones, but f’you, I’ll try”), your relationship with him hadn’t been solidified until the last time he’d dropped by your house for a quick visit. it wasn’t intentional — neither of you had planned to bring it up to your parents, but when you’d sat down for dinner, your father chewed his food and eyed Alex for several seconds before saying, “you want my blessin’, boy?”

Alex nearly choked on his water. he coughed a few times and set his glass down, spluttering, “what?”

“hon, what did I tell you about scarin’ him like that?” your mother scolded, lightly swatting at your father’s arm.

his resolve was stronger than steel, though. “you think I’m blind?” he pointed his knife accusatorially at Alex. “I’ve seen the way you look at my daughter. I might be old, but I’m no fool. I’ve seen it all, boy.” he lowered his knife to carve another piece out of his steak. “you’re pinin’ after her the same way I pined after m’wife.”

you dropped your fork and buried your face into your hands. “papa, please,” you groaned.

“your … wife.” Alex’s foot nudged yours beneath the table, a silent plea for your help. you all but kicked him, making him hiss under his breath. he was on his own.

"don't pay him any mind," the wife in question said, waving her hand dismissively at her husband's words. "he's jus' grumpy 'cause I didn't let him have his nightly beer."

"right." Alex didn't seem to buy her reassurances — he might've looked a little more panicked, actually — but he certainly wasn't about to dwell on it. he glanced over at you then, setting his fork down. "marriage wouldn't be ... so bad."

"Alex!" you hissed, kicking his foot again. he winced. you glared at your father. "no more marriage talk. I'm not even twenty-one yet."

later that night, as Alex laid beside you, arm draped over your waist and fingers drawing lazy circles against your back, his expression grew contemplative. "I meant what I said earlier, y'know."

you opened your eyes. you'd almost fallen asleep. "what do you mean?"

"about marriage. I think I'd like t' marry ya someday."

you were sure he could make out your blush in the darkness. "well ..." you let out a small huff. "that's not for a while."

"no, I s'pose not." silence, then, "can I at least call you mine?"

and that was that.

Alex’s home was quaint; not too big and not too small, it was constructed of wood and had a porch with stairs that led up to it. on the porch were two rocking chairs, as well as a table with a lantern. one of the chairs had a blanket draped over its back; you wondered how much time he spent out there. with his help, you hopped off of Twilight and followed him up the steps to the front door. late nights were etched into the wood that surrounded you, and when he saw you eyeing a small stain beside one of the rocking chairs, he said, “Nick spilled his whiskey there. was never able to get rid of that damn stain.”

his keys jingled as he pushed one into the knob and unlocking the door, swinging it open. he turned to you with a soft smile, the kind that made your heart flutter every time. “go ahead and make yourself at home, alright? I’ll take the horses ‘round back an’ bring your stuff in for ya.”

“okay.” he freed his keys from the doorknob and stuffed them back into his pocket, then turned to retrieve the horses, but not without giving you a quick peck on the forehead first. affection had become easier between you two over time, as natural as breathing. every touch, every soft utterance, felt like hot chocolate on a bleak winter’s day. the affection he held for you — you weren’t sure yet if it was love, and frankly, the L word was a scary one — never failed to set off fireworks in your head, momentarily putting your neuron pathways on halt as every cell rejoiced.

the walls of the home were painted a creamy white — briefly, you wondered if he’d built the home himself, but while Alex was a lot of things, he was most definitely not a carpenter. the floor was comprised of wooden planks that were polished and shiny, and the sight of it reminded you of sliding around your house in socks as a kid. the door that led to the backyard was situated beside a large brick fireplace. in the living room, different photographs sat framed on the walls, some of landscapes and others of Alex and his friends. he had a couple of guitars hanging by the fireplace, and they made you wonder how serious of a hobby playing was for him. did he know any other instruments? could he sing? you’d have to ask him at some point. there was a sofa and an armchair, and a giant rug sprawled out in the center of the room. there were bookshelves, too, and they were filled to the brim with novels, biographies, and the like. they hosted random trinkets, too. there was even a potted plant in the corner.

you made sure to slip off your shoes and leave them by the door before venturing any further. despite appearing quite rustic on the outside (and on the inside, to some degree), the interior had clear modern touches. one of these was the partially open floor plan, with a wall that spanned from floor to ceiling but not wall to wall and served as a barrier between the kitchen and the living room — it had a window installed in it, offering a glimpse of the kitchen. behind the wall sat the dining table; it was a paler wood than you’d seen so far, as were the chairs. the kitchen walls were painted the same cream color, and there were a couple of photos here, too, including some held up by magnets on the fridge. the sink and dish rack were both clear of dishes — Alex must have cleaned up before he left to get you. the ceiling fan overhead had a light bulb in its center, protected by a small glass dome. the microwave sat above the oven, and there was a door that led into the pantry.

wandering back into the living room, you headed for the stairs next. there was a closet built underneath the stairs that didn’t house much, likely due to its size. you quickly ascended the staircase, which opened up into a hall on the second floor. both sides had two doors, and there was another door at the end of the hall. opening the first door on the right revealed another closet; the second door led to what you assumed to be a guest bedroom. the first door on the left was the master bedroom (where Alex slept), and the second was the bathroom, which was connected to the bedroom. the door at the end of the hall led to a bigger closet than the one downstairs.

the room you were most interested in was Alex’s. it wasn’t as decorated as the living room, which surprised you. one of the only photos you saw sat idly on the nightstand, right beside the bedside lamp. there was a book on the nightstand, too; you guessed he was in the middle of reading it. the window provided a nice view of the front of the property, and you peeked through the blinds to see if you could spot Alex below. he was nowhere to be found, though. his bed was neatly made, and you wondered if that was a regular habit of his or if he’d only done it for you. his closet was full of jeans and button-down shirts — typical for a cowboy, you thought. he had a fair number of shoes, too.

“if you wanted to wear my clothes, you coulda just asked.” you jumped and whipped around, spotting Alex in the doorway. he leaned against the frame, arms crossed, and cocked an eyebrow at you. he was smirking, too. you wanted to punch him.

you refrained, though, and smiled sheepishly. “I was just looking.”

“well, the offer stands as long as you’re here,” he said, approaching you. he stood beside you and peered into his closet, as if it, too, was his first time seeing his own wardrobe. “I think you’d look real cute in one o’ my shirts.”

you flushed and looked away. “I’d probably look kind of weird. they’d be too big on me.”

he snorted. “yeah? that’s why you’d look cute, doll.”

deciding you needed to end this conversation before you combusted, you quickly asked, “where’d you put my stuff?”

“in the other bedroom.” he jerked his head back towards the hallway. “figured we can jus’ move it in here later an’ get you properly unpacked.”

“you want me to stay in here with you?”

he threw an arm around your shoulders and pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. “what kind of prick would I be if I left my girl to sleep on her own?”

his girl — you liked how it sounded coming from him.

•••••

“Alex, that’s cheating!”

“it is not! Y/N, I swear on m’life, I’m not tryin’ to cheat!”

the two of you were sat in the middle of the living room floor, engaged in an intense game of uno. you hadn’t even planned to play at first, but after having dinner about an hour ago, you’d found the pack of cards on one of the shelves (one of his friends had left it after a visit). your first round, which was a practice round, was comically short-lived (“I’m rusty,” he’d said after losing in less than ten minutes). the game you were currently locked in had lasted about half an hour and showed no signs of stopping soon; each time one of you approached victory, the other took it away.

“I have to be able to see all of your cards,” you huffed. “it’s cheating.”

Alex sighed, rolled his eyes and made a dramatic show of fanning his cards out further, revealing the card that had been hidden behind another. “I wasn’t trying t’ do it on purpose,” he grumbled. “why does it even matter?”

you put down a yellow 7. “because it’s the rules, alex.”

his tongue darted out to wet his lips as he set down a draw four card. “blue. I didn’t expect you to get so worked up over this, y’know.”

“the aggression is a staple of uno.” you drew four cards and swore under your breath when none of them were blue.

he planted his hand down on the floor behind him and leaned back, eyeing you over his cards. “it’s not like you.” a beat of silence, then he said, “I like it.” he dropped a blue 5.

that made you pause. “you like it?”

he hummed in response, his gaze dropping to your cards as you mulled over what to put down next. “you’re attractive when you’re frustrated.”

ah. that was what he meant. you set down a green 5, hiding behind your hand as heat rushed to your cheeks. “you’re just saying that.”

“yeah? just to get under your skin and tick ya off?”

“yeah.”

he sighed and plucked a green 6 from his hand, dropping it into the discard pile. “my mama didn’t raise a liar, so I’ll say it again: you’re hot when you’re mad, sugar.”

you looked up at him, only to find him staring right back at you. you both remained silent for a few seconds, although you were the first to speak up. “um ...” you looked away again before setting down a green draw two. "thank you." I think, you muttered internally.

he cracked a grin and set his cards down beside him, then motioned you over. “c’mere.”

you set your own cards down and maneuvered over the discard pile, being careful to not knock or scatter any cards. once you were within reach, one of his hands went to your waist and the other to the nape of your neck, pulling you in for a bruising kiss. your home quickly became his lap as you straddled him, and your hands found purchase in his hair in a desperate bid to maintain as much contact between the two of you as possible. although you had kissed like this before, it had only been very occasionally, and the way he pressed himself to you made you feel warm all over.

his teeth grazed your lower lip before his tongue plunged into your mouth, rehearsing its usual dance with yours. a quiet groan crawled out of his throat, muffled by your lips on his, and the hand that had been at your nape moved down to your ass, giving it a light squeeze. you yelped and broke the kiss, practically panting as you stared down at him. a faint string of saliva remained as the only tether between your mouths, although it quickly snapped. you were sure your face was redder than a firetruck, and you dipped your head down to hide it in his neck. his chest rumbled beneath you as he chuckled, his arms wrapping around you and keeping you tucked against him. "so shy all of a sudden," he teased.

you rolled your eyes and nipped at his neck. "shut up."

"I don't think you want me to."

you chose not to satisfy him and turned your head, looking down at his cards on the floor. you squinted. "you had a yellow 4 this entire time?"

he hummed. "that I did."

"you cheated!"

"Y/N, you didn't even notice!"

after you (rightfully) called him out, the two of you decided to wrap it up for the night and head to bed. although your belongings had since been moved into his room, you opted to steal some of his clothes for the night instead. you were right — his shirts were too big on you. his shorts were, too, and they sat low on your hips. he thought you were absolutely adorable, though, and couldn't help but take pictures with his phone when he thought you weren't looking.

as you settled down for the night, he turned to lay on his side, staring at you amidst the darkness of his bedroom. "you should come over more often," he mumbled, almost as if he was talking to himself.

you turned to face him; there was hardly any space between you now. "I was kind of hoping you'd say that," you quietly admitted.

even in the darkness, you could make out his smile, soft and lazy and reserved for only you. "maybe I should kidnap ya. keep you here forever."

"I don't think my parents would like that."

he scoffed. "if I kidnapped you, I wouldn't give a damn 'bout your parents, sweetheart. wouldn't even bother with a ransom, I'd just keep ya all for m'self."

you giggled softly. "I don't know how much I'd complain if you did that, y'know."

he cocked an eyebrow. "you wanna be kidnapped?"

"that's not what I mean, Alex, and you know it."

you both grew quiet after that, and you could feel sleep tugging at you, begging you to succumb to its siren song. you were a breath away from doing just that when he spoke up again. "I really oughta marry you someday, Y/N."

you really hoped he would.

tags: @elexnorislingtxn / @edandmollydeservebetter / @sagegreensimmr / @billyseye / @supernaturalandpain / @not-a-big-slay