#alex turner x y/n

[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]

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.

[goblinontour]

Awkwardly Stretching And Yawning

it’s always hard in the morning (would have been the better title but I’ve already used it)

warnings: fetus!al, fluff, smut, piv, young and in love, it’s cheesy

word count: 8k

His hair was sweaty the first time you met him, and it was sweaty every single time after that. Even in the cold, when the wind bit through your coat and left you shivering, his dark strands still clung damp to his forehead like he’d just run a marathon. He wasn’t a runner. You were sure of that — he was slow, always trailing behind like he had nowhere urgent to be. You’d once joked about it, something about snails moving faster than him, and he’d just grinned lazily, all soft lips and cockiness, like he knew something you didn’t.

Still, the sweat lingered. It made no sense, but you didn’t mind. It was the kind of detail you’d come to think of as uniquely his. Something only you knew because you were the one who reached for him. Always. Your hands threading through his hair, the damp strands slipping between your fingers as you pulled him closer — close enough to kiss, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his skin like he’d been out in the sun all day.  

Sometimes, you’d do it just to see what he’d do. Just to watch that stupid grin break across his face like it couldn’t be helped, like he couldn’t stop himself from leaning into the touch no matter how hard he tried to pull away. “Stop that.” he’d mumble, though his voice never carried any real weight, his hands always ghosting at your waist or curling around your wrists like he wanted you to keep going.  

You always did. It was impossible not to.  

And maybe you should’ve teased him more about it. His perpetually sweaty hair, his inability to keep from leaning into you — but you never did. Because when you pulled him closer, when his grin faltered just a little and his breath hitched, you felt it. That shift. Like the world had stilled, leaving only the two of you in its quiet aftermath. His hair was damp, yes, but it was real, and it was his, and you could never resist tangling your fingers into it just to feel something so alive beneath your touch. 

Now you’re in his lap, his hands splayed warm across your thighs, and your fingers are tangled in his hair like they always are. It’s still damp. Of course it is. But now you can blame it on the heater turned up to the max, the radiator rattling like it might burst, the heat heavy in the air and curling around you like smoke. It’s stifling, almost unbearable, and you swear you can feel it searing into you from across the room.  

You don’t care.  

Because you’re kissing him, and you’ve been kissing him for so long that you’ve forgotten where you are, forgotten the way the rest of the world feels. You’ve kissed him until your lips feel raw, tender and buzzing like a spark waiting to catch. Until your chest aches from holding your breath for him, like breathing was a luxury you’d trade just to stay close.  

And then you’re forced to pull away, gasping, your head swimming.  

His lips are red and slick, his hair more disheveled than it ever was before, and he’s looking at you with that expression like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. He licks his lips and it makes you want to kiss him all over again, the pull of it deep and restless in your chest.  

“Hot in here, isn’t it?” he murmurs, low and rough, words pressed out like he’s trying to catch his breath too.  

You huff a laugh, your hands sliding from his hair to his jaw, your thumbs brushing over the invisible stubble that’s just starting to show. “Yeah. Your fault, though.”  

His grin is slow and lazy, the kind of smile that makes you feel like he’s got you figured out, even when he hasn’t. “The heater?”  

“You.” you correct, nudging his forehead with yours.  

And you’re still so close you can feel his breath fan against your lips when he laughs. “I’m the problem?”  

“Always.”  

It’s teasing. You don’t mean it. Not really. Because there’s something about him that’s always been so easy, so natural, like you’ve known him your whole life, even if you hadn’t. It’s in the way he lets you pull at his hair, in the way he leans into you like you’re the only thing he needs. It’s in the way he’s looking at you now. 

You press your palms against his cheeks because you feel like you might float away without something holding you there. “You’re sweaty again.” you murmur.  

He groans, his head falling back with a dramatic thud. “It’s hot in here. Not my fault.”  

You roll your eyes, though you’re smiling. “I don’t mind.”  

“No?”  

“No.” you say, threading your fingers through his hair again, pulling just slightly so he tilts his head back to meet you. “Not if it’s you.”  

And maybe you’ve been kissing him all afternoon, maybe your lips are already swollen and your body is buzzing from the heat of him, but you kiss him again anyway. Slower this time. Like you’ve got all the time in the world. Because you do. You’re still young, and his room feels like the only place on earth that matters, and this is enough for you to live off of.  

His hair is damp, and his lips are soft, and his arms curl around you like he couldn’t hold you close enough if he tried. And for once, you don’t feel like teasing him about it. You just kiss him. 

When you break apart again his hands rest on your thighs, just barely there, and when you look at him, he’s grinning again — that slow, lopsided smile that’s all teeth and something else that makes your stomach flip. You roll your eyes at him, pressing your hands to his chest to steady yourself as you climb off, and he lets out this little whine of protest, though he doesn’t stop you.  

It’s later, and the heat of the room has settled into something quieter. You’re perched at the edge of his bed, rummaging through your bag with a growing sense of dread because, of course, you didn’t pack pyjamas. It wasn’t supposed to be an overnight thing. You were just supposed to hang out, maybe grab dinner, and then leave, but plans like that never stick when you’re with him. He’s too good at convincing you to stay longer, to forget the time.  

So now you’re stuck, turning your bag inside out like maybe a pair of shorts will appear, but nothing does. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” you mutter, looking over at him where he’s sprawled on his back, flipping a pen between his fingers.  

“What?” he asks, looking up with that innocent tilt of his head, like he hasn’t been watching you the whole time.  

You hesitate for a second before deciding not to care. “Nothing.” you mumble. You grab one of his shirts from the drawer — soft and a little worn, smelling like him — and strip off your jeans and sweater. You change with your back to him, just enough skin showing to get a reaction if he’s looking, but still leaving enough covered for modesty’s sake. His shirt hangs loose over your frame, brushing against the tops of your thighs, and you tug at the hem to make sure it’s long enough. You glance over your shoulder just in time to catch him biting his bottom lip, trying to look nonchalant about it.  

The corner of your mouth lifts. “What?”  

“Nothing.” he says, too quickly.  

You smile to yourself as you climb back onto the bed, sitting cross-legged near the pillows. “I forgot pyjamas.” you explain, tugging at the hem of his shirt again. “Totally not intentional, by the way.”  

He snorts, rolling onto his side to look at you properly, his hand propping up his head. “Sure it wasn’t.”  

“It wasn’t.” you insist. “Staying the night wasn’t the plan, remember?” You pause, biting your lip. “Is it okay? If I stay, uh, with your…”  

“Me parents?” he finishes for you.  

“Yeah.” 

His expression softens. “’Course it’s okay. They like you.”  

“Yeah?” you ask, glancing at him.  

“Yeah.” he says simply, his smile warm and a little boyish, and you know he doesn’t give it to just anyone.  

That quiet admission makes your chest ache in the best way. You watch him as he rolls out of bed, muttering something about needing to change too, and he starts pacing toward the corner where a pile of clothes sits precariously on his desk chair. You curl up beneath the blanket, watching as he picks through the heap, holding up shirts and tossing them aside.  

He’s smiling to himself as he sifts through the mess, the muscles in his back shifting under his skin. You can’t look away, even when you try to, and when he pulls his shirt off over his head, you stare. It’s instinctual, automatic. Even from a distance, you can see the little mole on the side of his ribs, and something about it makes you want to reach out and touch him, to trace the lines of him with your fingertips, to kiss him there just to see if he’ll shiver.  

You want to hold him. You want to kiss him until you can’t feel your lips again. You want to press your face into the crook of his neck and breathe him in.  

Oh, god. You’re really, terribly in love, aren’t you?  

“Eh, stop staring, you perv.” he says suddenly, teasing but his ears turn a little red as he tosses a shirt over his shoulder.  

You snap your gaze up to his face, cheeks flushing. “I’m not-”  

“Yes, you are.” he interrupts, grinning as he finally finds something that looks halfway clean. “Don’t think I don’t notice.”  

“I wasn’t staring.” you protest weakly, though you both know it’s a lie.  

He’s unbuttoning his jeans now, and you realise you hadn’t even noticed, too distracted by the more sensible top half of him. The more sensitive half, too, if you’re being honest. Ugh.  

He shimmies out of his jeans, and you bury your face in the pillow, groaning. But you don’t bury your face for long. Curiosity — or something far more dangerous — gets the better of you, and you glance up just in time to see him standing there in his boxers. The lamplight in the corner of his room catches on the soft angles of him, the long stretch of his legs, the slight dip of his hips, the way the waistband clings low. He’s lean but solid, just enough muscle to make him look effortlessly strong, the kind of strength that doesn’t demand to be noticed but somehow always is. His skin is pale in places where the sun hasn’t kissed it, and you swear there’s a faint flush climbing up his chest like maybe he knows you’re still watching.  

Then he turns, his back to you, just like you’d done when you changed earlier. He’s not subtle about it. He bends slightly as he peels off his boxers, and you don’t mean to stare — well, not really — but his butt is right there, perfectly shaped and smooth, and for a second you think about biting it, just to see what he’d do. If the bed weren’t so comfortable, if you weren’t tucked in just so, you might’ve actually gone for it.  

He knows. Of course he knows.  

“Enjoying the view?” he calls over his shoulder.  

“Shut up.” you mumble. You don’t look away.  

He’s tugging on a clean pair of boxers now. When he turns back around, he’s grinning — softly this time. He’s caught you red-handed but doesn’t mind one bit.  

You roll onto your side, pressing your face half into the pillow to hide the warmth in your cheeks. “Don’t flatter yourself.”  

He laughs, that low, throaty sound that always makes you smile. He crosses the room and climbs back into bed, the mattress dipping under his weight as he settles in beside you. 

“You stared, though.” he teases, turning his head to look at you.  

“You undressed in front of me.” you counter, narrowing your eyes at him even though you’re smiling.  

He shrugs, all nonchalance. “You started it.”  

You huff, turning to face him properly, and he’s close now, close enough that you can see the way his lashes brush his cheeks when he blinks. You want to kiss him again, but you’re too tired, too comfortable, too full of something soft and sweet that makes your chest ache.  

“What?” he murmurs, voice softer now.  

“Nothing.” you say, shaking your head.  

You’re still curled up, his shirt falling loosely around you, and when you peek at him, he’s looking at you too. 

“What?” you whisper, barely audible.  

“Nothing.” he murmurs back, shaking his head. But he’s still looking at you like you’re something he doesn’t quite know how to put into words. 

And you think, maybe, you’re looking at him the exact same way. 

“Your hair’s a mess.” 

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, well, whose fault is that? Yours.” he says immediately, propping himself up on his elbow. “You’re the one who kept running your hands through it.”  

“Because it’s always sweaty.” you shoot back, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye.  

He groans, flopping onto his back beside you. “Why do you keep bringing that up?”  

“Because it’s true.”  

“It’s endearing.” he mumbles, like he’s convincing himself.  

“It is.” you agree, and his head turns toward you, surprised. You look over at him, your expression softening. “It’s gross, but it’s cute. Like you.”  

He stares at you for a second, his lips twitching like he’s trying not to smile, and then he laughs. “You’re so mean.” he says, but his voice is fond, and he’s still smiling when he turns his head back toward the ceiling.  

“You like it.” you say. “Masochist.”

“Yeah.” he murmurs, almost to himself. “I do.”  

It’s quiet for a while after that. His arm brushes against yours as he shifts, and you think about reaching for his hand but decide against it.  

“What time is it?” you ask eventually, your voice cutting through the stillness.  

He twists to glance at the clock on his nightstand, squinting. “Half past midnight.”  

You groan, pressing your hands to your face. “I have class tomorrow.”  

“Skip it.” he says, so casual it makes you laugh.  

“You skip too much already.” you say, nudging him with your elbow.  

“Yeah, but I’m not you. You’re responsible. You’ve got, like…notes and shit.”  

“Notes and shit.” you echo, grinning.  

He shrugs, turning onto his side to face you. “It’s a compliment. You’re smart. Like, scary smart. Sometimes I think you’re gonna realise you’re too good for me and leave.”  

You blink at him, surprised by the sudden turn, and then you shake your head, rolling onto your side to face him too. “That’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said.”  

“It’s true, though.” 

“Alex.” you say, reaching out to brush your fingers over his knuckles where his hand rests between you. “You’re, like, my favorite person. Ever. I’m not going anywhere.”  

He stares at you, trying to find the words, but then he just nods. “Good.” he murmurs.  

“Good.” you repeat, smiling.  

And for a while, neither of you says anything. You just lie there, the space between you warm and buzzing, and when you close your eyes, you think you could stay like this forever.

It’s quiet, the hum of the heater filling the room, and the faint rhythm of Alex’s breathing beside you is already slowing. His right arm is tucked under your waist, holding you close, while your left hand rests just beneath the curve of his chest. You can feel the rise and fall of his breaths and it’s grounding in a way that makes your eyes flutter shut.  

He’s the first to doze, just like always. It’s something you’ve come to expect from him — how his tired eyes will eventually drift shut, his breathing will even out, and the little tension in his body will melt away. Sometimes, you wonder if he fakes it, just to escape the nerves that still creep up on him when you’re this close. But not tonight. Tonight, it’s all real, all soft breaths and tiny, quiet snores that have that same nasally tone as his voice.  

You shift, feeling his arm tighten instinctively around you even in sleep, like his body knows to keep you near. He doesn’t move much when he sleeps — always calm, always still—but you’re restless. You can’t help it.  

It starts small, just a subtle roll of your hips as you try to find a better position, but it never stops there. Halfway through the night, you turn over, your arm slipping from under his chest. Then you turn again, pulling the blanket with you, and then once more until you’re on your stomach, tangled in the sheets.  

He doesn’t stir, not even when your movements tug at the arm he has slung over you. But somehow, by the time dawn starts to creep through the window, you manage to end up back where you started. It’s always a guessing game — whether you’ll wake up as you fell asleep or in some entirely different arrangement.  

This time you’ve got it and you open your eyes to his face pressed into the pillow, and his hair’s a mess, sticking up in all directions. The first light of morning spills across him, catching on the curve of his cheekbone, the line of his jaw.  

You sigh quietly, turning away from him because the proximity is too much. If you had easy access to his lips for a second longer, you’d cave, and you know it. But you can’t — not now, not with your morning breath making itself known. You cringe a little at the thought, pressing your face into the pillow.  

Oh fuck. Do you even have a toothbrush here?

The thought nags at you for a moment, but you shove it aside. Later. You’ll figure it out later.

You settle into the sheets again, your back to him, hoping to drift off for just a little longer. But then he stirs, his arm tightening around your waist as his chest presses closer to your back. His nose nudges against the back of your neck, warm and soft, and you almost melt into the touch.  

And then you feel it.  

Your body goes completely still, frozen as the unmistakable pressure of him presses against you, firm and insistent. What the fuck.

Okay, yes, you’ve slept together before — slept. As in, shared a bed, tangled limbs, whispered secrets into the night. But this? This is new.  

You’re no stranger to intimacy with him. You’ve done things — things that have left you breathless, aching, satisfied. You’ve seen him naked, and he’s seen you. You’ve taken him in your mouth, made him groan your name. He’s touched you, too, kissed you there, made you come undone with his tongue and fingers in ways you didn’t know were possible. Equally mutual satisfactory fulfilment. 

But you haven’t done it together. Not yet. Not because you don’t want to, but because time has never been on your side. It’s always been a stolen moment here, a rushed goodbye there. Too much tension and not enough space to let it all unravel.  

You bite your lip, your mind racing. He’s so close, too close, and the heat pooling between your thighs is impossible to ignore. You’re…oh, God, you’re dripping just thinking about it. But now isn’t the time — not with his parents in the room down the hall, not with him lost in his dreams, innocent in his state of unintentional desire.  

You shift slightly, trying to ease the tension without waking him, but it only makes things worse. The movement causes him to press against you more firmly, and you have to bite back a whimper. ��

Okay, okay, breathe. Think unsexy thoughts. Math equations. Old textbooks. Your friend’s crush on her weird philosophy professor.

But none of it works when his hand tightens on your hip and his body is so warm against yours.  

“Alex.” you whisper, barely audible, hoping he doesn’t wake up but also kind of hoping he does because then maybe-

No. No, not now. Later. Later, when you have more time and privacy and not the looming threat of his parents overhearing something they definitely shouldn’t.  

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing your body to calm down, and after a few agonizing minutes, you feel his grip slacken, his body relaxing again. His breathing evens out and he’s still fast asleep. You exhale shakily, trying to steady yourself, and then close your eyes again, determined to fall back into some semblance of rest.  

Later, you tell yourself again. And God, you hope later comes soon. 

But later seems to be now because before you can settle yourself, you feel it — him, again. His hips shift behind you, pressing insistently against you, the heat and firmness of him unmistakable. He’s…rutting into you.  

Your breath catches, heart racing, and you think, No. He has to still be asleep. Right?

The soft, steady rhythm of his snores continues, only confirming it. And then they falter, turning into a deep, rough cough that rattles through his chest. He stirs, pulling back from you just enough to stretch, his arm leaving your waist. You can hear his joints pop as he yawns, long and loud.  

You don’t dare move, still frozen, thighs pressed tightly together in an effort to keep your body from betraying you.  

He turns toward you, his eyes heavy-lidded and his hair sticking up in every direction, but there’s no mistaking it: he’s awake now. And yet, the duvet is still covering him from the waist down, doing nothing to hide the outline of him. Oh, he’s very much awake.  

“Morning.” he whispers, his voice deep and scratchy, rough from sleep.  

“Morning.” you manage, though it comes out quieter, tighter.  

He doesn’t seem to notice, instead rolling onto his back and stretching again. You take the opportunity to lean over, pressing your face into the spot between his arm and chest. The crook of his armpit, warm and soft, the place where his skin smells the most like him. You inhale deeply, savoring the scent of him, that mix of sweat and soap and something you can’t describe but is so unmistakably Alex.  

He huffs a laugh, looking down at you as you nuzzle into him like a cat. “You weirdo.” he murmurs, his hand lazily brushing over your back.  

You’re too caught up in the warmth of him, in the way your nose fits perfectly there, in how his skin feels against yours even through the thin fabric of his shirt to respond. 

He shifts again, turning onto his side and pulling you with him, his arm draping over your waist. His thigh hitches over your hip, pulling you closer, and it’s only then that you feel him again.  

Pressed against you, hard and obvious, and he doesn’t even realise it. You hold your breath as he rubs against you, slow and absentminded, his body moving on instinct alone. It’s clear his brain hasn’t caught up yet. He’s still in that hazy space between sleep and waking, where dreams and reality blur together.  

But you are fully aware. Too aware. Every nerve in your body is alight, and the ache between your thighs is impossible to ignore.  

“Alex.” you whisper, your voice trembling just enough to give you away.  

He hums in response, his nose brushing against your shoulder as he pulls you even closer. His hand rests on your hip, his thumb stroking idly over the fabric of his shirt that you’re wearing, and he presses against you again.  

Your resolve is hanging by a thread, your body screaming for you to move, to push back, to let this moment become what it so desperately wants to be.  

But his breathing evens out again, and his lips brush your shoulder in a subconscious kiss, soft and lazy.  

“Alex.” you say again, a little louder this time, and his eyes finally flutter open, the hazy warmth in them clearing as his mind catches up to his body.  

“Oh, fuck.” he mutters, his cheeks flushing as he freezes, his hand still on your hip. “Oh, fuck.” he mutters again, louder this time, his face going beet red as he pulls back the covers to confirm what he already knows.  

And yep, there it is. His hard-on, unapologetic and obvious, tenting his boxers in a way that would’ve been funny if he weren’t so mortified.  

“Shit.” he hisses, scrambling to cover himself again. He turns away from you in his panic, rolling onto his stomach like that’ll fix it.

It doesn’t.  

As soon as his hips hit the mattress, he lets out a strangled noise, his face scrunching in pain.  

“Fuck- ow-” He twists awkwardly, trying to lift his hips off the bed, his voice breaking into a groan as he clutches the duvet beneath him.  

You can’t help it — you laugh. It’s not a mean laugh, more like a surprised, delighted giggle that bubbles out before you can stop it. “Alex.” you manage, caught somewhere between concern and amusement.  

He’s still half-buried in the mattress, his arms bracing against the bed, trying to hold himself up without putting pressure on his…situation. “Don’t.” he grumbles, his voice muffled. “Don’t laugh at me.”  

“I’m not.” you lie, even as your shoulders shake with barely contained laughter. “Come here, you idiot.”  

He groans again but finally relents, pushing himself off the mattress and turning back to you, his face still flushed. He flops into your arms like he’s seeking refuge, burying his head in your neck and mumbling something unintelligible against your skin.  

“What was that?” you ask, still grinning as you wrap your arms around him, pulling him close.  

“I said, I’m never waking up again.” 

“Oh, sure.” you tease, running your fingers through his hair. “That’ll fix everything.”  

He groans again, his hand resting on your waist as he tries to melt into you. Maybe if he stays there long enough he’ll just disappear.  

You lean back slightly, tilting your head to look at him, and you can’t help but smile at the way his eyes are squeezed shut, his nose scrunched in embarrassment. “Good morning.” 

He finally cracks one eye open. “Good morning.” he mutters back, his lips twitching like he’s fighting a smile of his own. “Sorry,” he whispers, “didn’t- didn’t mean to-”  

“It’s fine.” you cut him off. And it is. Fine. More than fine, actually. But you don’t say that part.  

He hangs awkwardly next to you, hovering just far enough away that it doesn’t touch you, his arm still draped over your waist but with a noticeable gap now. You can feel the tension, the way he’s holding himself stiffly to keep his hips from brushing against yours like that’ll make the situation less obvious.  

“Were you dreaming?” you ask.  

He shakes his head, face still tucked into your neck. “Nah.”  

“Then?”  

There’s a pause, and then he giggles, this soft, boyish sound and it makes your heart flip. “Think the knowledge of you half-naked in my bed was enough.”  

You laugh softly, your chest warming at his honesty. “Dirty boy.”  

He grins, his confidence peeking through despite the blush still dusting his cheeks. “Yeah, well, you’re the one wearing my shirt and no pants, so…”  

You can feel his gaze on you, lingering where the hem of his shirt just barely skims the tops of your thighs as you press them together, suddenly hyper-aware of the dampness pooling between them. “It’s comfortable.” you mumble.  

He hums, his hand brushing over your hip. “Yeah.” he says, almost distractedly. “Looks good on you, though.”  

Your leg brushes against his. He tenses. He’s still trying so hard to keep his distance, and it’s endearing in a way that makes you want to push him just a little. “You’re really embarrassed, huh?” 

You glance up at him, catching the way his eyes flicker to yours before darting back down again. He’s trying so hard not to stare, not to make it obvious how much he wants you right now, but the flush creeping up his neck and the way he’s nervously biting the inside of his cheek gives him away.  

“Maybe.” he mutters, his voice muffled. “It’s a little hard to be suave when you wake up like this.”  

“Who said anything about suave?” You drag your fingers lightly down the back of his neck, feeling the slight shiver that runs through him. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”  

“Don’t.” he groans.  

“Don’t what?” you ask, feigning innocence as your fingers trail lower, grazing his back.  

“Don’t- ugh- don’t mess with me.”  

“I’m not messing with you.” you say softly, your hand sliding lower until it rests on his hip, dangerously close to the duvet-covered evidence of exactly how not fine he is. “You’re the one who woke up like this.”  

“Yeah, well…” He trails off, biting his lip as he glances down. “Thought you said it was fine.” 

“It is.” Your hand moves just a little higher, brushing against his stomach, and he exhales sharply.  

“You’re playing with fire.” he warns, though it’s half-hearted at best, his hips twitching involuntarily toward your touch.  

You shift closer, your lips brushing his jaw as your hand moves lower, skimming over the waistband of his boxers. “Maybe I want to get burned.”  

His breath stutters and he doesn’t move, just staring at you like he’s trying to figure out if you’re serious. Then his hand moves, sliding down your side and over your hip, his fingers brushing the edge of your panties.  

“Al…” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, and he looks up at you, his lips parting like he’s about to respond. But he doesn’t get the chance.  

Your hand trails down.  

“Wait-” he stammers, his own flying to catch yours, though he doesn’t actually stop you.  

“Wait for what?” 

His breath catches again, and his hips shift, pressing against your hand. You can feel him, hard and insistent beneath the thin fabric, and it sends a thrill through you.  

His hand moves too, hesitant, his fingers brushing over your thigh before creeping higher. They hover between your legs, just barely grazing. You can feel his breath against your neck, shaky and shallow, before his fingers dip lower.

When he touches you — just barely, a featherlight graze over the damp fabric — you shudder, your thighs twitching.

“Shit.” he breathes, his voice low and strained.

And then he freezes.

“Oh, my God.” he mutters, his eyes snapping open as his hand flies back to your hip.  

“What?” 

“You’re…” He trails off, his eyes flickering down, and you realise what he means. He felt it — the wet patch on your panties where they’ve been soaked through. “You’re so wet.” he whispers, almost like he doesn’t mean to say it out loud. 

You shrug, your cheeks burning even as you try to play it off. “Well, you’re hard.” 

“Don’t say that.” he mumbles, his voice muffled against your skin.  

“Why not?” you tease, your hand trailing back up to rest on his chest. “It’s true.”  

He doesn’t respond, just lets out a low, frustrated laugh before finally meeting your eyes again. Pupils dark and blown wide, and there’s a quiet, unspoken question in them.  

“Alex.” you say softly, your hand sliding up to cup his cheek.  

“Yeah?” 

“Stop overthinking.”  

And with that, you lean in, pressing your lips to his in a kiss that’s slow and sweet and just a little bit desperate. Your hands splay against his chest as you settle over him, his erection pressing against you in a way that makes your whole body flush.  

“Still embarrassed?” It comes out breathier than you intended.  

His hands find your thighs, sliding up and under the hem of his shirt that you’re still wearing. “Shut up.” he mutters. 

“Make me.” 

“I can do that.” he says, and then he dips forward, capturing your lips with his.  

A tender slide of mouths that sends butterflies spiraling through your chest, all teeth and tongues and the kind of frantic energy that makes your heart pound so hard it’s all you can hear. But when you press down — accidentally, just slightly — and brush against him just so, you both gasp into it.  

It’s instinctive, the way you press into him, your body seeking friction and finding it. The pressure so delicious. A steady drag of him against you. His hands tighten on your waist, guiding you as you move, and when your lips break apart, it’s only because you need air.  

When you’re not kissing him, you’re biting his lip, tugging at it just enough to make him gasp. And when you’re not biting his lip, you’re biting your own, trying to keep quiet because you’re all too aware of the thin walls.  

But it’s hard to stay quiet when every roll of your hips sends a new wave of heat pooling low in your belly, and the sound of his breathing makes you want to give in completely.  

“Fuck.” he mutters, and the way he looks at you — lips swollen, hair messy, cheeks flushed — makes you want to ruin him.  

You lean down, capturing his lips again. And then you press down just a little harder, the angle shifting just enough to hit just right.  

It’s game over.  

“Can I?” he asks, barely above a whisper. His hand hovers at your hip, thumb grazing the edge of your panties. The intention is clear: more, baby, give me more, I need more.

You nod. That’s all he needs.  

His hand trembles slightly as he moves it lower, brushing over the curve of your thigh before tugging at the fabric, fumbling as he tries to pull it down. You lift your hips to help him, the movement brushing you against him again, and he groans low in his throat, his breath shaky as he finally gets the panties down far enough to push them aside.  

Then he pauses. “You’re sure?” he asks, his voice cracking just a little.  

You nod again, more emphatically this time. “Yes,” you murmur, your hands sliding up his chest, under his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your palms. “Yes, Alex.”  

It’s enough.  

He fumbles again as he reaches for himself, pushing his boxers down with a little too much force, and his dick springs free, flushed and hard and — oh god — so close. It would almost be funny, the way he struggles to get the fabric out of the way, but it’s not. It’s really, really not, because all you can think about is how much you want him.  

So bad.  

His breath catches as he looks down at you, his hand wrapping around himself almost instinctively, and you feel your whole body tighten at the sight.  

“You’re so-” He cuts himself off, shaking his head like he can’t even find the words, his free hand sliding up to cup your face. “I want you.” he says, his voice raw, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “So much.”  

You press your forehead to his, your hands gripping his shoulders as you whisper, “Then take me.”  

“Okay.” His breath stutters, his eyes squeezing shut for a moment before he shifts, guiding himself to you. He hesitates, just for a second, lips brushing yours as he whispers, “Tell me if-”  

“I will.” 

And then he pushes forward, just barely, and you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders as he fills you slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid of hurting you.  

“Oh, fuck.” he breathes, his voice trembling, holding himself back, trying to stay in control. He groans as he sinks deeper.  

And then he’s finally there, fully there, and you both pause, your breaths mingling as you adjust to the feeling, the weight, the sheer intimacy of it all.  

It’s everything. It’s too much. It’s not enough.  

And then he moves.

“Fuck, that feels so good.” he whispers, the words spilling out of him unguarded, and you can’t help the quiet sound that escapes your throat, a soft, needy confirmation that yes — yes, it feels so good.  

You shift your hips against him, slow and deliberate, so slow that anyone watching wouldn’t even know you’re moving. But inside, he’s shifting with every tiny motion, and the stretch, the fullness — it’s overwhelming. He’s so big, and every inch of him feels like it was made to fit you, and you’re not sure how you’ve gone this long without knowing this feeling.  

“Wait.” he says suddenly, his hands gripping your hips to still you.  

You stop immediately, your lips parted, your teeth catching on your bottom lip as you remember how undone you must look. Your hair is a mess, sticking out in every direction from the night before, and you’re sure there are still traces of sleep in the corners of your eyes. It hits like a bucket of cold water, and you want to disappear, to bury your face in his pillow and hide from the thought that he might see you like this and regret everything. But he doesn’t pull away. He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, an apology written in the tenderness of it.  

“Don’t.” he murmurs, and it’s like he can see the insecurity blooming in your mind. And then it hits you — he’s inside you. His body is wrapped around yours, his hands holding you like you’re the most precious thing in the world. It’s far too late for him to find you repulsive.  

You exhale shakily, relaxing into his touch just as he says, “We didn’t- I didn’t put on a- a…” He stumbles over the words, his face flushing as he looks up at you.  

“A rubber?” you offer. 

“Yeah. Fuck.” he mutters, his hand running through his already-messy hair.  

You know you should care. You should be concerned, should pull away and figure it out. But the thought barely registers, drowned out by the heat pooling low and the way he’s looking at you, all flushed cheeks and wide eyes and breathless uncertainty.  

“Alex.” you whisper, and he looks up at you like you’ve just spoken the most important word in the world. You lean down, your lips brushing his, and kiss him softly, slowly, until you feel the tension melt from his body, his lips moving against yours like he’s already forgotten the interruption.  

“Fuck it.” he breathes against your mouth, low and desperate, and you can feel the smile tugging at his lips as you press your forehead to his.  

“Fuck it.” you agree, and the moment you start moving again, the rest of the world disappears.

It’s soft. It’s lazy. Not so lazy that it doesn’t feel good — because it does. It feels too good. Like, you-know-will-ruin-you kinda good. The kind of good that turns your world upside down and leaves you wondering how you’ll ever survive without it again. And it’s not just the way he’s touching you or the way he fits inside you. It’s the way he looks at you. It’s dangerous, this feeling. You can already sense it sinking into your bones, settling deep in your veins, and you fear you’ll never get it out. How are you supposed to pull away from him when it feels like this? 

“God,” he breathes, his voice wrecked, “you’re perfect.” He laughs softly before he says “Can’t believe we waited this long.” 

“Worth it.” 

“Yeah.” he agrees, his hands sliding up to cradle your face. “Yeah, you’re worth it.”  

So honest, so sure that it has you pressing closer, your body trembling as the pleasure builds slowly, steadily, until it feels like it’s wrapping around you, pulling you under.  

“Alex.” you whisper, and his eyes lock onto yours, dark and full of something that feels so much bigger than the two of you.  

“I’ve got you.” he says, his voice steady despite the tremor in his hands. “I’ve got you, babe.”  

It’s so much. There’s so much of him — his length, his heat, the way his hip bones graze yours with every thrust. Each motion feels impossibly intimate, like he’s carving himself into you, piece by piece, and you can’t help the way your fingers dig into his chest, searching for something to hold onto.  

“Takin’ me so well.” he whispers, a secret meant only for you.  

The words make you whimper, a soft, broken sound that you wish could say everything you’re feeling. But it’s not enough, and you almost feel bad that you can’t muster anything more coherent in return. You hope he understands. You hope the way you’re falling apart over him — every little gasp, every shudder, every desperate press of your hips — tells him he’s doing good. Tells him he’s doing everything right.  

“God, love.” he breathes. His movements are still slow, but there’s more purpose now, more urgency, like he’s teetering on the edge and holding back just for you. “Feel so good. So fuckin’ good.”  

He’s hitting that perfect spot inside you that has you seeing stars and your body’s giving in. He’s pulling you down so your chest is flush with his, and his lips find your neck, brushing kisses along your skin that make you shiver. You can feel him twitching inside you, every little pulse. He’s losing control, you can tell, and it’s making you lose it right along with him.  

“Fuck-” he groans, his voice breaking, “I’m- I’m close. So close. Really close.” His head tilts back against the pillow, his mouth open as he gasps for air, and it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. He’s a mess beneath you, and it’s everything you’ve ever wanted. “I- how do I- tell me what to-”  

You know what he’s asking. He wants to make you fall apart, just like he is, but his brain is too scrambled to figure out how. Your hand moves instinctively, grabbing his wrist and guiding it between your legs.  

“Here.” you whisper, pressing his fingers where you need them. “Just- like this.”  

He gets it. He gets it so right. The circles he’s drawing are perfect, the pressure just enough to have you keening softly as your thighs begin to tremble.  

“That’s it.” he says. 

You’re shaking now, your body so tense you feel like you might break apart. His hand keeps working between you, his cock throbbing inside you with every desperate thrust, and you’re so gone. There’s no other way to describe it. You’re gone for him, gone because of him, gone with him. White-hot and all-consuming. Your walls clamp down around him, and he chokes out a curse, his hips faltering as he tries to keep moving through the vice grip.  

“Fuck- fuck.” he groans, his eyes squeezing shut, his face scrunching up like he’s in pain. “You’re- oh, my god, love, I’m- I’m gonna-” 

He’s fighting it. But you’re still pulsing around him, your body shaking with the aftershocks, and it’s too much for him. “I need to-” he stammers, his breath catching as he pulls out. 

The sudden emptiness makes you whimper, and you glance down just in time to see him. He’s slick and flushed, his cock impossibly hard and glistening from you, and the moment the cool air touches him, he gasps. He strokes tightly, quickly, his fist sliding over the slickness you’ve left behind. 

“Oh-” His free hand clutches at the sheets, his hips bucking up into his own grip. You’re transfixed.  

It only takes a few strokes before he’s gone, a choked moan spilling from his lips as his body tenses. His cock jerks in his hand, and he comes hard, painting his covered chest with thick, messy ropes that glisten in the soft morning light. He keeps stroking himself through it, his thighs trembling beneath you. You can’t help but reach out, your fingers brushing over the sticky mess he’s made. He groans at the touch, his hand falling away as he finally collapses against the bed, utterly spent.  

“Holy fuck.” he whispers. There’s a flush high on his cheeks, and his chest is still heaving as he tries to catch his breath. You collapse against him, your face buried in his neck, and he’s still gasping.  

“Yeah.” you giggle, and he laughs too.  

It’s messy, it’s clumsy, it’s perfect.

You stay draped over him, your cheek pressed against his collarbone as his arms lazily wrap around you. You just want to stay like this — floating in the quiet of the morning, the hum of his breath against your temple.  

After a few moments, he huffs a soft laugh, his chest rising beneath you.  

“What?” you ask, your voice muffled against his skin.  

“Just…y’know. That.” he says. “Wasn’t exactly how I imagined it’d go, but-”  

“Oh, shut up.” you say, swatting at his chest, and he winces dramatically.  

“Careful.” he teases. “Still recovering here. You wore me out.”  

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. Neither of you mentions the obvious — what just happened, the closeness of it, how real it all feels. It’s not awkward, though. Just…warm.  

“God, you’re heavy.” he murmurs, teasing, his voice still soft with the afterglow.  

“Shut up.” you mutter, lips brushing against the curve of his neck. “You’re sticky.”  

There’s a comfortable silence for a beat, the two of you just basking in each other. It’s peaceful, or it would be if Alex weren’t incapable of keeping still for longer than thirty seconds. He shifts, testing the waters, and then — suddenly — he’s twisting you both around, flipping you onto your back as he props himself up on his elbows above you.  

“Alex!” you squeak. “What the hell-”  

His laugh is bright, filling the room as he nuzzles his face into your shoulder. “Oh my God.” he says, dragging the words out as if he’s just had the greatest epiphany of his life. “You’re mine. I’ve got you. Right here. In. My. Bed.”  

“Alex.” you hiss, trying to keep your voice down as you squirm under him. “Shut up! What if-”  

He cuts you off with a kiss to your forehead, his grin so wide it’s getting infectious. “What if my parents hear?” he finishes for you.

“Yes, exactly!”  

“They won’t.” He pulls back, still grinning like a madman. “They’re not even here. They leave for work early, remember?”  

You blink at him, momentarily stunned. “Oh.”  

“Oh.” he mimics, laughing again. “We’re free, baby. Just you, me, and this very comfortable bed.”  

You groan, slapping his arm. “You couldn’t have told me that before?”  

“Before what?” 

“You know what.” you huff, trying to look annoyed but failing miserably because he’s looking at you like that.  

He props his chin on your chest, right between that valley of breasts. “Not talking about it, are we?” 

“Talking about what?” You blink, all mock innocence, and you roll your eyes.  

“You know what.” His grin widens, and for a second, you think he’s going to say something ridiculous but he stays quiet. 

“Maybe later.” you murmur, and he hums in agreement.  

“Relax, love.” he says, his voice dropping to something softer, gentler. “We’re good. Promise.”  

You narrow your eyes at him, but his smile is too infectious, and eventually, you find yourself smiling back.  

“You’re lucky you’re cute.” you grumble, and he laughs, leaning down to press a kiss to the tip of your nose.  

“I know.” 

a/n: This somehow went on so long but it feels very fast paced to me? I like it though. I think it turned out cute. I think I really want him. Based on this request.

[darbonime]

sleepy talk after sex

contains: fluff, silly meaningless bed talk.

word count: 1.1k

You are sprawled on bed after intense lovemaking, sheets rustling soothingly in a silence of a room as he shifts his body full of pleasant tiredness. Alex seems to be already half-asleep, usually dozing off quickly after sex. You run your fingers over his spine tenderly and slowly. Up and down. Shiver crawls on his skin making him lift his head from your bare chest and open hooded sleepy eyes and look straight at you.

“What?” you question quietly raising your brows slightly, still maintaining your caresses over his back gently, tiny smile appears on your lips.

He simply drops his head back nuzzling into your chest planting a lazy kiss on your smooth skin, leaving you without an answer. Alex mumbles something incoherent.

“Babe don’t hear you…” you say softly, your hand is running into his tousled hair. It has a lulling effect on him, making him even more drowsy. It’s a bit greasy near roots, he probably will wash them tomorrow. He always washes them on Thursday. You like his hair in any state, in every haircut. Even when he didn’t have hair at all. Yes, that’s what love made to you.

Quiet groan with a tinge of grumpiness can be heard from him. “Tellin’ it’s warm… Nice.” he mutters satisfied despite his grouchy attitude, leaving a light kiss on your shoulder blade, running his nose over it slothfully.

Little smile develops on your lips, you blink slowly being on a verge of sleeping yourself, feeling contented with a state of things. You glance outside the window seeing slow snowflakes adorn night sky and streets. It’s winter already, seasons seem to change every time you blink, and you involuntarily mull over with him about how time passes quickly. Both of you are old souls with deep attraction for past and nostalgia.

“That bloody weather…” Alex grumbles out of nowhere, his voice is thick, slightly raspy, because of how near he is to fall asleep. His muttering make you grin. He just made love to you a minute ago, but something little as weather on the background makes him whisper quiet curses. Such a grumpy he is. It’s cute.

His smile on a different level though. Every time when his eyes crinkle adorably, and he reveals a young boy from the depths of ocean inside of him, you can’t to look away. All his smiles are saved in your heart.

You chuckle quietly, ruffling his hair lightly, placing a small kiss on his hairline. Quietness lands in the room; your two light breathing is the only sound in the bedroom, it’s too late for people or cars outside.

Fresh chilly air is flowing from the tiny gap of opened window. Mild coldness settles on your shoulders that aren’t hide with blanket. His hair is melting between your fingers, and body is like a velvet against your own. Grey sheets that you both bought two years ago when moved in that current apartment are warmed against your bodies.

You feel his steady breathing on your collarbones. He doesn’t sleep but doesn’t talk either, looks on a wall of a room in front of him, zoned out, as it often happens to him.

Sometimes you like laying together after lovemaking, more than lovemaking itself. He is here, where he should be, where he wants to be, relaxed and comfortable. Often you just talk about some trivial things that aren’t matter after sex. Alex can grumble about weather with anyone, but now it feels very cozy. You feel like he is yours in these moments, in some strange way.

“The rice was amazin’…,” he mumbles still with zoned out face and distracted deep voice, staring on a wall with chocolate eyes of his, “Can’t help but still thinkin’ ‘bout it.” you smile on that, stroking his hair delicately, he emits a long humming of satisfaction closing his eyes as if soaking in touch.

He’s talking about the rice with vegetables you made for dinner. Alex couldn’t shut up earlier how delicious it is, and that you should cook that one more often. It was hours ago, and sophisticated head of his is still thinking about rice. That thought makes you chuckle again.

Silence again. It’s comfortable. It’s always comfortable with him. You and Alex could be in one room and don’t talk with each other and for both of you it would be nice. You can read a book, and he can write deliberately something in his notebook, but each of you will look up from time to time to see how another is doing.

No rush, no worries and no need to survive in that crazy world. Tomorrow will be tough again, but for now it’s a bubble of love and peace on earth, and both of you every time try not to fall into slumber long as possible to be in that little bubble of yours.

Your tender gaze falls upon his eased face. Alex dozed off not be able to be awake any longer, and you couldn’t blame him. Every day in a studio was taking a toll on him, and all your words about taking easy were skipped or brushed off with quick reassuring positive answer. Hair fell on his forehead, few wrinkles that he has due age straightened up in a problem-free sleep. His breathing is steady and calm, eyes are closed giving him a peaceful look. He lets out a quiet snore.

You can’t stop yourself from a giggle, covering your mouth with a palm trying to muffle the sound and not wake the sleeping beauty. Though little laugh makes Alex flinch anyway and lift head from your chest, opening his eyes with a frown breaking his face, his dishevelled hair all over in different sides.

Alex’s face is showing the full extent of not grasping what is happening right now. “The laugh... What ‘s funny?” his hand finding your waist under blanket brushing over it with a thumb.

“Sleep, honey.” you encourage him, still playing with his strands of silky hair. “It’s nothing.”

“What’s the laugh ‘bout?” he presses stubbornly with a sleepy kitten-like face, hand is securely on the curve of your side. You shake your head amused with a tiny smile, your hand comes to his cheek, feeling his prickly stubble with fingertips.

“Tell you in the morning. Just sleep” you gently nudge his head on your chest, and he doesn’t protest.

He closes his eyes again, exhaling and giving up. Alex is clearly too tired out to care about that small giggle now. He will ask you about it tomorrow when they both will have morning coffee on the kitchen. You won’t leave, and it’s one of the thoughts that keeps him sane.

a/n: that one is short and kinda silly and makes no sense, but that’s the exact point, i think. simple fluff. it was first thing i posted here, but deleted the day after because back then it looked much much worse… decided to edit it a bit and post in case if someone needs something easy to read!

merry christmas! 🩶

[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…”

[glassmarine]

lost in translation (mdni!)

You meet a man in a bar, in a foreign city neither of you belong to. MDNI!

ship: alex turner x reader, alex turner x you, bar hook-up, implied age gap

warnings: unsafe and drunken sex practices

word count: 6818

note: this was super self-indulgent (tokyo girl here)

“I don’t think this place is particularly great if you’re looking for a deep connection.” This is what you say when someone brings up dating in Tokyo. You’ve been here a while on exchange now, exploring the city as newcomers are wont to do and on a rainy Friday night, you’re in a new bar, surprised by how crowded it is with people you can speak proper English to. Not that you have any trouble with anyone else, but it’s refreshing being able to speak without slowing down your pronunciation or repeating a word or having to resort to your weak Japanese. “Tokyo is like, ever-expanding. I like it. But it’s not great, you know, for connections or something.”

You nurse your drink, taking a sip from it. You’re surrounded by a few people older than you, who vaguely talked about being here for work. You can see their rough hands, the band tees, the worn shoes. Concert or something? you had asked, and they laughed, relaxing at your unsurprised expression, perhaps pleased that you had not immediately started asking when, what, or who.

Truthfully, you’re not incredibly curious. You just want a slow night. You didn’t have any class today, and you had spent last night partying to celebrate the end of your midterms. Now, you’re still slightly hungover as you drift through this little bar in a small alley somewhere in Tokyo, but you’re not really here to drink.

The warmth inside slowly begins to grow oppressive as you engage in mild conversation, alcohol hot in your throat and stomach. The ice in your drink is melting, watering down the sweet liquor. You swirl it in your glass and take the straw out, knocking back the drink.

“I’m going to go for a cigarette,” you say to the woman you’re speaking to, and pat your pockets for your pack and lighter.

“Oh, I don’t smoke.”

You glance around the room. It smells like cigarettes. You smile at her wryly and say, “You’re in bad company, then. See you in a sec.”

You frown as you dig through your coat, and try and pat down your pants until you remember you’re wearing one of your skirts with no pockets. You only find an empty pack of Seven Stars. 

It’s not a promise to return to the conversation, but it’s only polite. You set your drink down, thanking the bartender and you walk out to stand under the awning. There’s someone else there, patting their pockets, too.

You’re startled by the slightly slurred request from the man standing on the far side of the awning. He’s English, you notice. 

“Could I have one of those?” 

“If I had one at all,” you reply, and turn the packet upside down, shaking it. You stick your hand out and feel the rain. It’s not bad. You saw a convenience store a little down the road. “I’m gonna go get a pack, I think.”

The man walks up to you. “I’ll come with.”

“I’m glad you weren’t expecting me to give you one after I got back from the supply run alone.”

He shrugs, languid and loose. “You seem like a ray of sunshine.” He’s very handsome, you realise, with a nice nose and large, intense eyes, the colour of chocolate in the focused lighting under the awning. 

You smile at his comment. “Aren’t I? Come on.”

You pull your coat up over your head and begin walking in the direction of the convenience store, the only sound coming down the street the distant noise from the main road, your boots clicking on the wet pavement, and the rain coming down gently.

“I’m Alex, by the way,” the man says. Alex says. You commit his name to memory. “This th’part where you give me your name.”

You introduce yourself, slowing down to keep up with his tipsy–or maybe drunken–pace. “Are you with the rest of the party in the bar?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I work with them.”

He looks at you in a simultaneously intense and lazy way, as if he’s figuring out a new problem, the likes of which he already knows what to expect. There’s a naked feeling that comes with this, like he knows what he’s seeing.

“Will you be here very long?” you ask curiously. 

He raises a brow. “Need me for very long, love?”

That startles a laugh out of you and you blush, ever so slightly. “No! I mean–sorry, it’s kind of a thing you ask other foreigners. How long they’ve been here, how long they’ll be here for. This place is kinda… transitory, I guess.”

“Just here for a little while, then Osaka,” he says, answering your question, now his unspoken question clear in the air.

“England?”

“I study here,” you tell him. “On exchange. I do, um, astrophysics. I go to uni in…”

“How’d you know?” you ask suspiciously.

“You said uni.”

“I could be going to uni in Scotland. How Anglocentric of you.”

He shakes his head. “Real big words you’re shooting out there, darlin’.”

“Sorry,” you say, the slightest hint of humorous snark in your voice. “I’ll stop, you do need to keep up.”

Alex laughs. It surprises you, how warm it sounds as you go down the cool, dark street. The air is sticky with humidity, but it feels much lighter when he laughs. 

“You’re a cruel one,” he jokes. “Just the kind of girl I sing about.”

“You sing?” Now that you ask, you can see it in the way he carries himself despite his clear introversion–you can see the confidence and the charm, and when you make eye contact, you realise he knows you see it now.

“Here an’ there.”

A cyclist zips down the street behind you, racing the rain and you jump, shocked by how close he had seemed as he sped on. “Jesus.”

“Yeah.” Alex reaches out and you feel his hand on your shoulder, guiding you to the inner side of the road, and then his hand doesn’t leave. Maybe he actually is drunk. “Maybe don’t walk down th’middle right there, love.”

“I thought I’d hear him,” you grumble slightly. “They’re evil, the bloody bikers here. They cycle on the fucking pavement.”

“That’s your sign to start walking in the middle of the street?” 

You look up at Alex. “You’re a cruel one.”

He laughs again, and you finally see the dim glow of the convenience store a little way down the street. He makes a sound of realisation.

“Yeah, I thought it’d be farther,” you say, brow furrowing.

“I don’t know about you, but there’s somethin’ to be said about how everything feels closer at night.”

“That sounds incorrect,” you say. “But you’re a man with no fear of the darkness.”

He shrugs. “I spook easily. It’s closer when you start running.”

You can’t help your giggle at this admission. “Right,” you say, approaching the convenience store and shaking rain off your damp coat. “I’m so hungry. I need a cigarette so bad.”

The fluorescent lighting stings your eyes a little but you head to the counter and ask for a pack of Seven Stars before turning to Alex. “Which one?”

He examines the line-up behind the till. “Whichever you’re gettin’ darlin’, and… Reds,” he says decisively. 

You ask for those, too, and pull your wallet out, but Alex stops you with a hand on your arm as he pulls out a literal fistful of coins. You start laughing. “Oh my god. Why do you have so many?”

“The lads dumped them on me,” he grumbles, and pays for the cigarettes, cutting his coin balance in half. “Ah. Better.”

“Much,” you agree, giggling. “Come on. I can’t stand to see you in this lighting.”

He follows you as you walk out back into the darkness, rain still falling but gentler now. You don’t mind getting drizzled on for a short walk. It’s warm in the bar, anyway.

“You prefer me in the dark?” Alex says lowly, tone light as he nudges your arm with his elbow. 

You blush, letting out another laugh. “Jesus Christ, Alex. Take me out to dinner, first,” you joke. You open up a pack and pull out the lucky cig and put it back in before taking one out. Next to you, Alex opens up his pack of Reds and does the same. You reach into your pocket automatically, expecting to find your lighter, but your hand closes around air and you groan.

“What?”

“Lighter,” you bemoan, turning around.

“Wait,” Alex says, and pulls a really nice, silver one out of his pocket. He looks up at the dark, cloudy sky, and pulls you into an alcove, a locked-up door with the tiniest awning in the world, and he ends up gently pushing you against the wall. “One sec…”

You’re no longer getting drizzled on, but you’re close enough to feel the raindrops on his coat. You swallow nervously. You’re not put off by his proximity, but…

He places his cigarette between his lips, then lights it. His face is bright in the warm glow, his eyes glowing like amber and you’re struck by how handsome he is–and infuriatingly, your face warms, heart beginning to pound harder.

“Wow,” you say, your cigarette between your bared teeth. “Thanks a million, Alex.”

He leans in. If it were not for the cigarettes, you think he’d kiss you. He touches the tip of his cigarette to yours and you remember to breathe, inhaling deeply as your cig sparks to life gently. Your face is unbelievably hot and you’re deeply grateful for the darkness.

“I wouldn’t leave you wanting, now would I, love?”

You roll your eyes. “Evidently not.” You say this with a smile nonetheless.

“We should finish this here,” he says suddenly. “It’ll go out otherwise.”

“Fair enough,” you reply, and take a deep, calming drag. Your limbs loosen almost deliciously and you can’t help the low, dramatic moan you let out as you exhale. “This is addicting.”

“You don’t smoke often?” Alex’s voice is soft and low, the distinct timbre distracting you. 

“I mean, no, but I am just stating the obvious.”

He offers you his cigarette. “Try this.”

You wrinkle your nose. You tend to avoid the Reds. You like your Seven Stars just fine… but his posture is inviting. You reach up to take it from his hands, but he tuts and you flush before realising and you place your face in his open palm, taking the cigarette between your lips and inhaling deeply.

His thumb brushes your cheek. You feel hot when he does that, your chest tightening with a strange want for more. But you have self-control. You look up at him through your lashes and smile as you take another drag.

“Like it, hm?”

You pull back slowly and his thumb brushes your cheek again. Your fingers tighten around your forgotten cigarette, threatening to crush it. Your heart is pounding in your ears, from the hangover, the alcohol, the nicotine, Alex. 

“It’s… passable,” you murmur. 

“Ah. Give me yours.” His eyes flick to your hand, clenched in a fist and crushing your cigarette ever so slightly. He takes your wrist and your palm falls open as he lowers his head, and he uses you almost as a cigarette holder. You can feel his stubble on your hand and his lips on your fingers.

Mother of god almighty.

He takes a drag, then pulls out to exhale, and comes back in for one more, lips closer to your skin now, properly pressing against your palm.

“I think you like that,” you joke, voice coming out only a little weak, and you clear your throat in an attempt to strengthen it, because smoking makes you hoarse. Right. Smoking.

“I think you did, love,” Alex says with a little smirk as he lowers your hand, but he doesn’t let go of your wrist until you move to take a drag from your own cigarette.

“Don’t be vile.”

“Never have been, never am,” he quips, unbothered by your weak rebuke.

You two finish your cigarettes in oddly comfortable silence, you still against the wall and him half-facing you, half-turned to the road. You put it out, dropping it to your feet and crushing it with the tip of your shoe. There’s hesitation as you move away from the alcove under the awning, and you can’t help but wonder if the strange intimacy you shared there would pass.

Alex puts his cigarette out and places his arm over your shoulders, prompting you to start walking to the bar.

You wonder if he can hear your heart beating as loudly as it is right now. You don’t think you’ve ever been so attracted to someone in a while, and the last time must’ve been right as you started uni and a boy you had liked broke up with you because he was moving away to the mainland.

“Rain’s stopped.”

You look up, your thoughts of kissing him and its consequences sharply interrupted by his comment. “Oh. Yeah. It does that.”

He laughs at your reply, shaking his head. “What a fag does to a girl.”

“Hey,” you complain, nudging his side with your elbow and he laughs harder, jerking away but keeping his arm around your shoulder. “I’m trying. Real hard.”

“Right you are, love.”

“All these bloody coins, darlin’.”

“You drive me to drink,” you mutter, smiling.

It doesn’t take long to get back to the bar, and even as you enter, his arm doesn’t leave your shoulders as you order a drink at the counter, and Alex butts in, asking for his own and paying.

“You really didn’t have to.”

You wait for your drinks and you gratefully take yours, thanking the bartender and sipping on it. It’s heady and sweet, and the alcohol hits you harder than you thought it would. “This is good,” you tell Alex, who is watching you, holding a tumbler of whisky in his free hand.

His other hand squeezes your shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Very good.” Your eyes fall to the clock on the wall as you glance up over Alex’s shoulder. “I’m going to miss my train home, I think.”

He turns to look. “What time…?”

“In ten minutes,” you say with a sharp sigh. “It’s a fifteen minute walk there. Seven if I sprint.”

Alex looks down at your shoes, then smiles. “Guess you’ll be getting lucky at a hospital tonight?”

You laugh, closing your eyes and pressing your fingers to your temple. “Ughhhh. No. Not tonight. I’ll just…” You glance around the room, then look at him. “I don’t know. All-night karaoke.”

He raises a brow. “I’m not surprised they have that here. I can’t say I’m tempted, though.”

“It’s not half bad, but don’t worry, you’re not invited. Can’t let you upstage me.”

“Stay with me,” he blurts out. This is clearly uncharacteristic for him to do–to be so bold and direct, and it shows on his face when he glances away, slightly embarrassed. “If you haven’t got plans to sing all night.”

“Okay,” you find yourself agreeing. There is a certain peculiarity in this, considering the fact that you have never so easily agreed to a man, albeit without sexual innuendos, propositioning you spend a night with him. But Alex comes across differently, his charm subtle and almost excruciatingly calm, like it’s in his skin rather than a look he puts on. 

You finish your drink. The liquor burns sweetly. 

Alex knocks back his tumbler of whisky as if it was a shot, and you wrinkle your nose. “That’s meant to be savoured. You’re like a uni kid.”

He gives you a look. There's still a little left in his glass. “When in Rome…”

You’re a little clumsier under the influence, a little more comfortable being touched with every sip. “Think I should get another?”

Alex checks his watch. “One for the road.”

Someone tells his–yours too, now–party that their last train is in 15 minutes, and their station is closer. 

Alex orders you two more drinks, and when he lets go of your shoulder to point at the menu, he puts it back on your waist this time, hand warm against your body. You hardly resist, one hand coming up to gently squeeze his wrist before you lean in against him. Someone finds Alex, emerging from one of the more crowded corners.

“Alex,” the man slurs. He has one of the most English faces you’ve ever seen. 

You blink. “Miles Kane.”

“Miles Kane,” Miles repeats. “He’s somewhere a… oi, that’s me.”

“You know him?” Alex asks you, surprised. You had never shown any indication you knew Alex, but you know Miles.

“My best friend thinks you’re really fit,” you tell Miles. “She keeps showing me pictures of you.”

“Now, is your best friend in this room, and is she half as fit as you?” Miles drawls out with a grin. “Because, if so…”

“My best friend is at LSE,” you blurt out, surprised, unable to comment on your best friend’s fitness in surprise.

“LS… Oh, Jesus,” Miles whistles. “You’re young.” He looks at Alex, who you are leaning on, who has his hand on your hip.

You shrug. “And you are…?”

“The cheek of this one, Al!” Miles laughs loudly, and Alex laughs at your question. “Alright, alright, won’t comment on it. No need to give me a crisis, gorgeous.”

“I don’t give anything,” you reply, smiling. 

“Right,” he says, and drunkenly points at you and Alex, up and down. “Right.”

Alex feels your eyes on him. “I bought her cigarettes an’ drinks. I gave her things.”

“As I said. I don't give a thing.”

“Riiiiight,” Miles says, laughing. “Alright, join us, love. Your humour keeps me young.”

But with that, Miles wanders off, leaving you alone with Alex.

“You know him?”

“I guess I know you,” you say. “Alex Turner.” You had never seen him live, but you've heard his songs on the radio a few times. You never thought he'd be particularly attractive to you, but you're also not surprised anymore. 

He gives you a sidelong look as he finishes his whiskey. “Does that matter to you?”

You shrug. “Should it?”

There's a look that flashes in his eyes and he says, with a smile, “No, guess not.”

As it turns out, the Japanese interpreter they had brought along was utterly sloshed. You're not surprised by this either, so you end up telling Alex to tell everyone what to do, because you're hardly going to take charge of a group you're not part of. The two of you end up leading the way, anyway, but you earn no curious looks. 

“The rain is gentler now,” Alex notes as you walk, his hand warm on your hip, skimming the edge of your skirt, lifting the hem of your jacket.

“It’s still sticky.”

“Makes you wanna peel your skin right off,” he muses in a way that doesn’t make that sound creepy at all. Or only a little bit, at worst.

You make it down to the station and he tells you which stop. It's a little while away, and when you sit, he places his head against yours. It's been so long since you've delighted in any kind of intimacy. There was no envy when you saw couples do this on the train, sleeping on each other, waiting for their stop.

Now you might be a little envious after tonight, and you have the slightly nauseous realisation that you might do anything to capture this feeling again. The warmth of his body against yours, his shoulder pressed to your own, his soft breathing you ultimately end up mimicking. The train trembles to a stop.

“Our stop,” you say, words slurring as you realise how much you've had to drink when you get the chance to rest.

Alex mumbles something then rises.

“Stop mumbling.”

He shoots you a look. “Mean. I said ‘okay.’” 

Miles, on his other side, says, “No, he didn't.”

“What did he say?”

Alex shushes Miles drunkenly.

“He said, ‘I like the way you say that.’”

You shake your head and smile. It's a short walk to their hotel, a very nice one. You pile into the elevator in groups, Alex giving one of the security detail a look when they try and have you take the next one. 

“You're too confident for your own good,” you mumble to Alex in the crowded elevator, while everyone is drunkenly chattering in low, slurred voices. 

“Confident about what?” he whispers back. His mouth is warm against your ear.

It’s just the alcohol that’s very, very warm in your body. Right. Just the liquor. 

You and the group file out once you reach one of the uppermost floors and you realise that you have almost forgotten who you’re with. The opulence is dazzling and it makes your eyes burn. You sway, and Alex places his hand on your hip again. “Steady on, love.”

“Aye, captain,” you remark dryly. 

He pulls you towards a door and fishes a keycard out of his pocket, and he nudges you in, following and locking the door behind you with a soft click. The room is dimly lit, a suitcase left open on the floor, a few clothes strewn about on chairs, an acoustic on the coffee table. It’s a mess that room service had left behind–his bed is immaculately done up. Your mouth goes dry. Pillows have never looked so inviting before.

“It’s a Japanese thing to take your shoes off,” Alex murmurs from behind you, the hand on your hip casual yet persistent. What an oxymoron that is, but you can’t describe it any other way; his fingers are soft, easily shaken off, but they stay even as he kicks his shoes away, and he doesn’t bother with politely nudging them to the side.

“You’re like a stalk of wheat in th’breeze.”

You bend down to remove your boots and you sway even worse than before. 

“Don’t distract me,” you reply, focused on the laces of your boots. Then Alex casts a shadow in the dim lights as he bends down, deftly undoing the knot and taking your shoes off for you, breathing out a slow, drunken and sighing laugh.

You find that his hand is on your ankle and you look into his eyes—he looks up, he looks beautiful on his knees–and he looks hungry. Starved.

You’re not the type to sleep with strangers. Not with rockstars, especially. Those are the last thoughts in your head before you make the decision to lean down and kiss him. What a good thing that you do–his mouth is soft and warm as you press your mouth to his, pliant and open and waiting. Eager, if there’s anything to say about how his grip tightens around your ankle and his free hand comes up to your cheek and his fingers snake their way into your hair. You sigh into the kiss when he does that–he takes it as the opportunity to slip his tongue in your mouth. Tentative at first, then exploratory. Your head spins at the taste of his mouth, all liquor and Alex at once.

He only draws back to stand up, but in the brief moment you glimpse his face before he is on you again, you see the way he looks at you, like you are a struck match. You can smell him when he kisses you standing now: cigarettes, rain, leather. His hands are grasping your waist, your coat bunching around his fingers as he pulls it off you with what seems to be his oxymoronic attitude about these things: gentle, hurried. Desperate, steady.

“I don’t do this often,” you murmur when you two come apart for a little air. “Or–at all.”

Alex kisses you, then the corner of your mouth, your cheek, your jaw, your ear. “Good.”

It’s very tense silence for a moment when he says that, and then it’s a rush and his mouth is on your neck, sure to leave marks, and you slip your hands into his jacket and Alex takes it off, discarding it on the floor and his mouth–his talented, talented mouth is still on your neck, moving from one spot to another and his warm hands pull your tucked sweater out of your skirt; so many things are happening at once and you can feel him want so many things at once as he slips his hands up your top and his fingers tremble when your cold palms press against the sliver of skin where his t-shirt rides up as he pushes you against the wall, and he is slipping this thigh between your knees and you gasp–good god, you are kissing again, and the heat of his body comes in waves as he kisses you and you think your knees are about to give out and it hasn’t even been three minutes since you stepped into his hotel room and the bed is so close and so far away.

Your hand reaches up for his arms and you can feel the flex of muscle and the warmth of his skin and you don't think you've ever been so hungry before, paralysed with want as his hands reach for your bra—you almost thought he'd be deft with it, with those lovely hands but he's clumsy and he scrabbles for the hooks on either side in a frustrated rush that ultimately has you lifting your top off your head and you hear the hiss of his breath as his open, hot mouth finds the top of your breast while you are in the midst of stripping and he is in the midst of ripping your bra off.

“There,” you say, voice coming out in a hissing sigh as the hand that is not clutching your hip and pulling you into him finds your nipple as his tongue laves at the edges of the peak of the breast he had kissed. “Right—fuck—there.”

His thigh is nudging your weak, ineffective legs apart and you suck in a sharp breath as it presses against that spot, right there, there, there—

“You taste good,” Alex says. What an understatement for his urgency—his teeth scrape and you arch your back with a silent gasp. 

His fingers dig into your waist, nudging your skirt down and you reach for his belt, unbuckling it with shaking hands and he groans against your chest as you undo his jeans, loosening up the tightness and you can feel his cock better now, burning hot through his boxers into the side of your mons and you cannot help the gasping, breathless sigh you release that you didn't know you were holding when he kissed you, and now he kisses you again—short but deep and nearly careless with urgency. Then, somehow, when he pulls away to grind closer, the space between your bodies tighter, you manage to place your mouth on the soft skin of his neck and the heat of his skin is addictive, and the realisation that he's a real person who can feel all of this too is quite nearly too much until he pulls you away from the wall and walks you backwards into the bed, landing the two of you in a messy, hungry heap atop it.

“Ow, fuck—my cock—”

“Jesus fuck, did you have to be so rough—Alex,” you hear yourself say, pleading and demanding and breathless. “Alex.”

“I like it when you say my name,” he says, looking up at you. “Not that Jesus bloke.”

This startles a laugh out of you and he takes it as the opportunity to pounce, his lips sharp on yours, heady waves of pleasure crashing into your body as he reaches for the back of your skirt in an attempt to get it off—he’s successful and you can feel his excitement at that when he kisses you harder, presses his cock insistently into your thigh. Your hands come up to tangle through his hair and he groans into your mouth when your grip tightens, and you decide that you really, really like that sound.

“If I can't get your fuckin’ stockings off, love,” Alex slurs, the warning clearly on the tip of his tongue the way he says it with such sharp urgency, “I’m gonna rip them off.”

“Don't,” you gasp as his mouth finds your neck again and you squirm, pushing your hips up into his in such a way that has him shuddering and with a sudden need for air, “I like these.”

“Get you new ones,” he practically growls against your collarbone.

“I got these in London—”

“Better.” And rip your stockings he does, cleanly from the bottom up and he rips them off until you are finally, finally left in your panties and he pulls back, his eyes nearly black in the lighting and his pupils blown-out. His gaze is hungry, eating one glance of you at a time, almost in slivers as his eyes drag down torturously slow, from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. “Much better.”

“Fuck me,” you tell him, heart hammering in your chest. You sit up and your fingers find his hips, playing with the waistband of his boxers. You can see him closing his eyes, swaying for a second, and then he looks at you like a piece of meat dangling in front of a starved animal when you snap his waistband against his hips for his attention. “Are you gonna fuck me?”

“N… No, not yet. I want you to—unless there's lube—” 

You ghost your mouth over the hard tent in his boxers. “You were saying?” You breathe out, hot and soft over his bulge and his hands find your head, both coming down the side but one placing itself under your chin and the other on the side of your head.

“Fuck.”

“I know,” you say, and you're pulling his boxers off, freeing his painfully hard cock and admiring the reddened, leaking tip, glossy with pre-cum. Your tongue darts out for a lick, his hand finds its way into your hair and tightens there, almost like a warning. You take him in, a bit at a time. First his tip, and then all the way down.

Alex gasps, properly gasps, his hips jerking his cock deeper and nudging your throat. You choke but hold in place, looking up at him through your lashes, eyes glittering and shining with want.

“Good,” he breathes, flushed and hungry.

Your tongue traces the underside of his heavy cock, the tip of your tongue dragging against the sensitive red tip–silky and hot around the red tip and then you swallow him back down again and Alex hisses your name, his hips thrusting into your mouth with barely controlled restraint, one hand coming up to clasp his opposite shoulder and the lower half of his face tucking into his elbow–distantly, you wonder if he’s going to sneeze, god forbid, then in the darkness you make out the red flush of his cheeks and he’s embarrassed, god, he’s embarrassed–

You suck in earnest, taking him in deep and when your throat tightens as you swallow around him, his cock jumps in your mouth, thrusting into the very back of your throat and you choke again and refuse to break your gaze–then Alex makes a decision, one hand grasping the back of your neck, the other on the side of your head. He fucks your mouth, his thumb trembling with restraint as it pads at your cheek, pressing under your glassy, hungry eyes.

Mouth open wide, cheeks hollowed as you suck, bright, teary, starving eyes shining with want—Alex pulls back from you suddenly with a shuddering gasp. “Oh, love, I can’t—not yet—”

You kiss the tip of his cock, tongue darting out like a kitten.

Alex moans, honest-to-god moans all low and deep and lifts your chin away from his heavy, leaking cock. “Stop. I don't—I still want to fuck you.”

You smile, razor sharp but softened by intoxication. Whether it's alcohol or his cock in your mouth, it's hard to tell. Alex looks at your grin and thinks of papercuts.

He swallows, throat bobbing, then he bends down to kiss you, pushing you back down onto the bed and finding your fingers. You think he's just gonna hold your hand and then he is clasping your wrist and pressing it firmly into the bed as his mouth closes on a nipple again. You arch your back, gasping as you push your breast into his mouth and he pushes back, teeth scraping on your soft skin, biting back a gasp when you feel his cock, wet with your spit pressing hard and insistently against the inside of your thigh.

His fingers dig into the soft skin of your thigh, slipping your panties down so quickly you would say you barely noticed if it hadn’t been for his sharp inhale as he pressed his fingers against your cunt, just the outside.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he says, words strained with hunger, drawn out by liquor. “God, you’re so fuckin’ wet…”

“I prefer it when you say my name–ah!” you gasp as he spreads your lips apart, searching for your clit with the rough pad of his thumb. “Better than that God bloke.”

“You’re mouthy,” he observes, and draws circles with his thumb, a smug, lazy grin forming on his face as your hips jerk in response.

“Just like you,” you shoot back, “Just like–fuck, fuck, fuck, that’s good–”

“Just like you,” Alex repeats, and replaces his thumb with his mouth, tongue flat against your clit, slickly flicking and dragging against your skin. He groans at the taste of you. It reverberates through your body, like his laugh when your hips jerk up involuntarily. He clicks his tongue. “Impatient.”

His hand abandons your wrist to loop around your thighs, one on each side, holding you wide open—exposed, so exposed and naked—and mercifully, his eyes are closed as he eats you out like a starving man, all lips and tongue and teeth scraping at your skin hungrily. And Alex moans when you arch into him, pushing your cunt further against his face, his nose digging into your pubic bone—you moan when he moans, begging yes, Alex, right there, please and he only groans and drunkenly laughs at your pleading and he doesn't stop his steady pace, it’s almost punishing how well he does this, and the shockwaves of pleasure turn into a low vibrational hum that echoes from the top of your head to the tips of your toes like standing too close to speakers at a concert, your body too hot, desperate to be pressed against another body, his body to be perfectly precise—and his mouth is perfect precision when he flicks his tongue.

“Good, yeah, cum for me, love. You look so pretty when you’re about to cum—”

You do, back arching, and you feel your teeth click on your knuckles as you stupidly try to hold a cry down but it doesn't work and Alex is laughing against your cunt, not mockingly but with far too much smugness for a man that got too shy to look at you while you blew him. 

Your head is pounding with pleasure, chest tight and breathing stuttering in time with your heart threatening to jump right out of your chest. You look at him, dazed and drunk, and say, “You gonna fuck me now?”

Alex is still laughing—giggling, really. “Yeah. Yeah, I will…” Then as he trails off he hauls your legs to side off his body as he lifts your hips up to match him kneeling on the bed. 

You can’t see what he’s doing, what his eyes are now trained on, but you can feel it–his cock slickly and delicately tracing your seam. And you can see Alex, the trembling in his shoulders, the restrained breaths as he teases himself almost as much he’s teasing you, the way he is biting his lip, brow furrowed with restraint. You see his throat bob as he swallows thickly, silently, the entire motion remaining with his body.

There’s a plea in the back of your throat, your body hot and dizzy, and you want him to just fucking do it, right now, right now, right now–but when his name exits your mouth, it’s coaxing. Warm.

“Alex…”

Then he pushes himself in with a low hiss, eyes falling shut. “Fuck,” he says, strained and breathless.

It pulls a soft gasp from you, the way he fills you, and he shifts forward almost gingerly, leaning forward and bending over you until you are nearly nose to nose and he grasps one of your wandering hands again, fingers closing around your wrist as he pins it to the bed, his weight sinking you into the mattress; your other hand is free to move, it finds the back of his head, his nape, his back and making a map out of his body.

Alex kisses you once, twice, and then he moves. There’s a certain drunk clumsiness to him now, not missing any spots but he’s careless with a steady, building force and your chest is heaving as you are jolted with each sharp thrust of his hips. Right there, you think, holding back a moan, but you realise you weren’t thinking when he lets out a strangled sound as you feel the pressure building, your body tightening up and around him, and he whispers, “Yeah, there?”

“There,” you gasp. 

There, Alex, there, there, there spills from your mouth with each shift of his hips, his head dipping as he kisses you with a wonderful desperation that makes you gasp his name into his mouth and he groans again as you feel his fingers tremble around your wrist and the heat of his body is everything now, coming off him in a sticky way like the hot Japanese rain, the scent of whiskey and cigarettes and clouds in his hair, but you want his skin to stick to yours, you want the pleasure of it–fuck, Alex, don’t–and he says your name, telling you he won’t stop in shaky breaths as he presses his lips to the corner of your mouth, your cheek, your jaw. His eyelashes flutter and scrunch against your neck.

“Good?” he says into your skin, teeth dragging on your sensitive flesh.

You arch into him, hungry for more, and he keeps moving, he said he wouldn’t stop so he doesn’t and you can feel it, the pleasure drumming in your head and your toes, your ears and your heart and your body tenses as if you’re running one last stretch, then Alex moans, low and sweet into your ear again, like he is feeling all of this too. And you’re already sensitive, already on edge from cumming just now, it’s tantalisingly close, you’re tantalisingly close and you only get closer when you feel his pace grow erratic and nearly harsh, and then his right hand which you had nearly forgotten about marks a firm path up your side and then your breast, tugging at your nipple and you cry out his name. Under him, your body twists with pleasure, raw and convulsing as you cum so hard the whole world seems to tremble with you sharply.

Alex groans. “I’m going to–”

“Not inside,” you gasp.

“Right, right, oh, fuck–” He bears down on his left arm, pinning your hand deeper and almost painfully tight into the sheets as he pulls out hurriedly, hand going down as he strokes himself roughly, head lifted and gaze down as he shudders almost helplessly, moaning as he cums, making a mess all over your stomach, warm and sticky and in a surprising quantity. 

You wish you knew him well enough to let him cum inside, now that you think of it through the last, pounding darts of heat that strikes through your brain from your orgasm.

Alex looks up at you, eyes heavy and satiated. “Good?” he mumbles. He sounds like he ought to be drinking water.

“Good,” you affirm with a trembling breath.

He groans and relaxes, slumping down and letting go of your wrist and utterly mindless of the cum that’s going to be a pain to clean up between your bodies. His face is back in the crook of your neck. You can feel his eyelids fluttering shut, as if he’s trying to stay awake.

“‘m so tired.”

“For good reason,” you murmur, fighting off a yawn. It’s a losing battle, and then Alex yawns against your shoulder.

“Don’ do that.”

You yawn again. “Should clean up. It’s so sticky.”

“Always time to shower in the morning.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says so quietly, and then he goes so quiet, his breaths evening out, that you know for certain that he’s asleep.

You close your eyes. There go your plans to leave on the first train in the morning.

[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!”

[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

[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!)

[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

[junedenim]

lover boy

he pays special attention

warnings: smut, angst, eating...you know, (slightly feet-loving), wet

word count: 4.3k

Weddings are lovely. This one in particular has good cake and nice decorations. The bridesmaid dresses aren’t hideous though you don’t have to wear one, which you’re thankful for. Green has never really suited you. 

A suit does suit Alex. His tie has come loose from tugging on it one too many times. He’s over in the corner with his friends and every once in a while you’ll feel a pull to look over at him and you find his eyes on you. He always has a small smile on his lips that grows two sizes bigger when he looks over at you. It’s a nice feeling to have someone beam at the sight of you.

You swirl the glass of champagne and count how many you’ve had. This is your third, you think. You’re chatting with someone at your table that you don’t know the name of. She and her husband are nice but the conversation isn’t exactly invigorating, but it passes the time.

“I Gotta Feeling” plays from the shitty DJ speakers and you feel like you’re at your 21st birthday celebration two sips away from barfing in a bathroom stall. You’re kind of mad at Alex for leaving you alone at the table. He has a habit of that. You’ve previously excused it as him catching up with his friends, now it starts to feel like forgetfulness, uncaring toward you, and your loneliness at this wedding. His smile reassures you but he’s still across the room all the same.

Maybe it’s your fault too. You could go over there and join the conversation but then you’d feel like some clingy girlfriend. Maybe it’s your fault for caring too much. Going over there might be the polite thing to do instead of moping at the table. But it would’ve been polite for him to include you in the first place. 

You go to the bathroom, not to vomit, just to pee. You leave your champagne and your purse at the table and wish you could leave your heels there too as they’re becoming a pain. You wash your hands and look in the mirror for too long. Exhaustion pours over you but you’re still going to be here for at least another hour. 

As you walk out, his hand grabs your arm. You have his hand memorized. Every crease, every callus, every bone. Early on, probably in the first month of sleeping together, you’d trace his hand because you loved the way it felt on you and how one touch could make you feel so much. It would knock you off your feet, leave you out of breath, and have you begging for more. It was transformative and then it became normal. It was impossible not to feel that way, even when his hand was just holding yours.

“You disappeared on me,” Alex says with an attacking smirk and a bruising touch. He can be so intimidating, yet so calm.

You shrugged and wished you brought your purse so you could have something to do with your hands. “You left me first.” 

He comes closer only a breeze could pass through the two of you. He doesn’t bend his head, he likes to have the hot air float between the two of you. He told you once how turned on he gets when you have to reach up to kiss him because he’s never been “the tall one” in the relationship. You’re not that much shorter than him, a fact you remind him of. He says he knows but his dick still gets hard all the same.

“Do you want me to babysit you?” He’s toying with drunk flirtation. It’s impossible not to feel something from it, despite how much it bugs you that he can just tilt his head and perk his lips like that and you’re a puddle.

“I want you to pay attention to me.” You think you sound like a whining child but you’re determined to stay strong in your firmness and fight off his taunting teases and that leering bravado.

His eyebrow raises and you’re not sure if he could come any closer without touching chest-to-chest with you. “Oh,” he sounds, a chuckle tipping at the end of his sound. He bends his head down, hiding his laughter from you like he’s breaking character. “I’ll pay close attention to you.”

His hand rubs down your arm. He slows at the crook, paying close attention to the inner elbow like it’s an aphrodisiac. You could tilt your head back and just enjoy him or you could pout some more. “I’m not doing that kind of thing here. In fact, I’m not doing it at all.”

It ticks you off that he laughs again. It’s starting to feel like he’s mocking you as if there’s a live studio audience and the laugh track is playing and everyone is making fun of you. “You becoming a nun?”

You cross your arms. “Maybe you should think about giving some of your vices up.”

Alex rolls his eyes and steps back, allowing you to come up from the water and gasp for air. “I’m working on it.” He means smoking. Not that you’ve been that hard on him about it, maybe more so lately, but he said he would try giving it up, but he still goes out for “walks” every day. You haven’t cared much in the past but the smoking has seemed to flare up into a bigger issue of him not committing to things you’d like him to do like paying closer attention to you and your needs—the non-sexual kind.

You hum and look over at the reception hall through the archway. People talking, drinking, dancin, some at the same time.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

You look back at him, now with his sad little boy look. His hands are in his pockets, his eyes looking down at the floor, an ever-present frown on his face. You roll your eyes at this act. “For what?”

Alex rubs his head, messing with his hair and pulling his face in various directions. “Want me to fuck you in the bathroom?” Deflection. Definitely deflection. 

“Al!” You smack his arm and he’s laughing at you but you’re laughing at him too. Fuck him for knowing the right thing to say to get out of anything. You want to slap him silly and kiss him, have him fuck you into the bathroom mirror. 

He shields his face. “Stop it. Stop it,” he begs with a chuckle. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

You let your hand fall at your side. “You’re a loser.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, placing his hands back in his pockets, “I know.”

You don’t want to fuck him and you don’t think he wants to fuck you either. You’d like to swallow each other up. You like taking him in pieces—his hands, his hair, his face—rather than just him. But now you’d like to take him whole. You’d like to have him take you whole and not just your body but your soul.

You extend your hand. “Could you dance with me?”

He sighs at the thought. He hates this part. His two left feet and the idea of people staring at him dancing when he hasn’t had enough alcohol or enough lights in his face to block them out. “Slowly,” he says, taking your hand. He likes your hands too, likes the daintiness and how naturally soft they are, completely opposing the way he touches everything. “Protect me.”

He says it as a joke like he does most personal things. He wraps them up in mystery and hidden meanings because he’s too vulnerable to speak to anyone, especially in public, which freaks him out. He’d rather be naked in public than feel like a stranger knows him. That’s why he won’t do therapy. But he’s never been the knight for you. He told you that you don’t need him but he thinks he’d fold in on himself without you. You stand guard against the dragon because he can’t handle the thought of being emotionally exposed to outsiders.

You lied naked with one another far before you knew him. It was so much easier than telling the truth, but then one day you cracked him up and nothing could be held back after that. What therapist would understand him better than you? You get him more than he gets himself. Things only make sense to him in writing or when he tells it to you. Both respond to him in a way nothing else has been able to understand. There’s no point in finding someone—anything—else.

“Okay,” you agree.

He squeezes your hand and trails behind you. He knows everyone here and you don’t know a single soul. It freaks you both out in your own way but that understanding that the other one is just as uncomfortable somehow makes this place the most comfortable place ever.

His shoes tap yours a few times like his nerves knocking on your heart’s walls. He whispers into your ear, “I don’t like this.”

You laugh. “I know.”

He kisses your neck, softly, finding a haven in there. “I know you do.” That’s your relationship in four words. The world swells around you two, encasing you in stone, carved into time, and you never liked dancing but it’s the intimacy of his hold on you as your feet move back and forth in a swaying fashion but not like a waltz more like the cool breeze on a humid day. It’s like floating away with your feet on the wooden floors. His loafer clicks your heel and you’re glad you didn’t take them off. It’s a secret language you’ve learned in the effort to decode, to know him fully, to know yourself more because he knows you. It helps you make sense of all this mess, all of life, just with a misstep he’ll be embarrassed by and mutter a sorry for, you feel like you’ve discovered secrets of the universe in it.

Alex takes you over to his friends after. It’s almost as boring as sitting with what’s-her-face and her husband, except Al’s arm is around you and yours around him and he’ll squeeze your side every once in a while to let you know that he knows you’re still there.

At the hotel, you take your shoes off on the end of the bed while he throws his tie somewhere near your suitcases. It’s an art to be so seductive when making a mess. You’d scold him for it in the daylight but in this nighttime light, it has you shuddering. You scatter your heels at the foot of the bed to seem as sexually temptating as him.

He eyes you from the tips of your toes up to the last hair on your head. “You make me want to get on my knees.”

“And do what?” You question in fake obliviousness.

He tilts his head and his eyes move back down, stopping at the curve of everything, your boobs, your torso, the crook of your elbow, the bend in your knee, the way your foot points, your toes curling. They tick back up to meet your eyes and he looks at them in parts like it’s a medical diagram and he’s examing the iris, the cornea, the pupil, the lens, the retina, all the way back to the optic nerve.

“I don’t like when you play dumb.” He bites on his cheeks like he’s starving for nourishment. “It makes me feel like you’re talking down to me. Like the teacher just called on me or something.”

You curl your feet under you to hide part of yourself from him. “Did you want to fuck your teacher?”

He shrugs and turns his back to you. He steps on the heel of his shoes, taking them off and lining them up against the wall so neatly it’s more distressing than him tossing his tie. “Mrs. Sterling was hot. Then again, I was going through puberty.”

“What’s your excuse now?” You watch him hang his jacket up in the hotel’s closet. 

Alex laughs through his teeth, air fighting its way out of his lips. “Maybe I’m still going through it. At least my penis is.”

You stand up and walk over to him. He’s running his fingers through his hair in the mirror like he isn’t about to go to bed. Almost like you aren’t going to fuck and mess it all up. You slide your head onto his shoulder and nudge your arms around him. He grabs your hands like he’s slipping them into his trouser pockets. You talk to each other through your breathing. He sighs and you take in the air he’s just let out.

“You smell nice,” you say. You give a peck to his neck before sliding out of his grasp, moving around to the front of him.

He grabs your waist now, just resting them there as if they are shelves. “Hmm. This is what happens when I don’t smoke for a day.”

You’re smiling but you don’t let him see it, ducking your head down and turning your back to him. “Unzip me,” you request. You can see him through the mirror. A smile gently emerges and his hands graze up to the top of your back. He rubs your shoulder blades with the faint touch of his knuckles. You lift your hair up out of the way. Alex smoothly lowers the zipper. His touch is non-sexual, only a caring way of easing your aches and pains but his face plays with temptation and an eagerness that he thinks is unseen.

You remove the straps and tug the dress down to the floor before hanging it up beside his suit jacket, mixing him with you. Your feet carry you away from him, leaving him stranded by the mirror. You pull your bra off and one of your old shirts on. You take off your underwear and wear one of his boxers.

He takes off his shirt and hangs it up. He hides himself in the bathroom, brushing his teeth. You lie down on the bed and wait for him. You don’t get under the covers. You don’t want to hide from him. You want to be exposed, physically all of you left for the taking.

Alex shuts off the sink water and taps his feet on the tiled floors. The bathroom light flickers off. He steps out, catching you on the bed with a smirk. He walks over to his suitcase. “I think this is the first wedding I didn’t get drunk at,” he says, shimmying out of his remaining clothes.

“Good. I want you to be upright.”

He unapologetically snorts at that. He’s naked, bending down, his ass staring at you. Part of you wants to go over there and just start eating him. You make a noise to yourself to do that at some other time but for now, you lie further back, sending a message to him. 

His boxers are blue with white polka dots. His hair is messed up again despite the time he spent in the mirror. His chest is bare with a slight roundness to it that makes him feel cozy, instead of stiff. He stands at the foot of the bed and takes one of your feet in his hands. His thumb makes love to the arch, easing the painful build-up from the evening. 

He kisses your ankle, the bulge that catches his eye. He licks his tongue over it as his mouth leaves your skin. You moan at the feeling of everything. The slight wetness on your joint and the relief of your muscles coming undone at the same time. “Do you want to have sex?” He asks.

It’s romantic for something that is so clinical sounding. His cheeks are red like an embarrassed schoolboy’s. “Do you?” You nervously return the question.

“Yeah,” he quickly answers. Then, he shrugs. “Maybe.”

You giggle. “Maybe?”

He drops your foot and picks up the other one. He repeats his act, leaving this one wetter than the left. “If you want to go all the way. I’m fine with just taking care of you.” That translates to “I’d like to eat you out now please.”

You lift your left foot and poke your toes into his cock. “What about you?”

Alex kisses your big toe. “What about me?” He chuckles as if it’s an absurd thing for a man to want to come all over the place: pussy, boobs, mouth, stomach, feet, the crook of the elbow.

You sit up on your elbows and nudge your foot against his dick some more. “I don’t want him to feel lonely.”

He places your right foot down with graceful care. He kneels on the carpeted floor. He kisses the arch of your left foot as if he’s saying goodbye to it. “I’m not lonely. I can hear it calling my name.”

Already knowing what he means, you ask him, “It?”

His hand slides up your legs and fiddles with the edge of his boxers hiding it from him. “Your cunt. Wet cunt, right?”

You swat his hand away. “Shut up.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh.” And with a chuckle, he says, “You’re soaking wet, aren’t you?”

You want it so badly yet you’re so embarrassed by it. This want inside you is so intense that no one should know about it, not even you. But he can feel it in the air alone just like you can feel how badly he wants it. Unapologetically wants it. This is where he lays himself bare, never hiding how desperate he is for you and the mess between your thighs. In fact, that’s probably all he ever thinks about. Your core and how to get back to it—to this, edging up into the pocket of you.

“I like how shy you get,” he teases. “You’re so bossy until I touch you then you’re just a mess I have to clean up.”

“Clean up?” You question.

He nods. “Yeah. I need a mop or something.”

It’s impossible not to laugh even if you feel so fucking sheepish over it. Like you want to cover your hands over yourself and hide everything, every desirable part (to him, that means pretty much all of you). “You hate me.”

Alex shakes his head and curls his fingers under the elastic band. “I’d like to fuck every inch of you.”

You turn your head, unable to look at him without turning completely red. “You’re so provocative.”

“Pft,” he sounds. “Barely. You’d die if you heard what goes through my mind.”

You shut your eyes as he begins to pull the boxers off of you. “Keep it to yourself. All of it.”

“No way.” You hear the boxers land and his hand pushes up your shirt. “I like it when you’re all red. It’s the only time I have one up on you.”

You feel that hot air between you two. You open your eyes to him completely over you. A second later his lips touch your lips. It’s always his opening, a greeting for the night to come. He lifts himself to look you in the eye. “Mouth or fingers?”

You push him down, away from you. “Stop it.”

He surrenders. Almost. “Okay. Okay.” He kisses your hip bone and from there on out you’re a goner. You lose the ability to articulate words, not even able to think.

Both his hands grab either side of your waist. He eases his head down to the mount of you, giving it a soft peck. It’s like a slow song, an instrumental one like those scores to all those movies he watches that you don’t understand. You get lost in it like a dance, your body internally swaying. 

His mouth touches the lips then he dives into the rest. He licks and kisses the clit. He swirls his tongue down your cunt until he finds the opening, pushing inside. Your hands mess his hair up more because that’s about the only thing you can do. You find him infuriating how beautifully he does this. He’s a painter with his lovemaking. If one could document such a thing he’d be Da Vinci or maybe Kilmt, that would be more aligned.

You wish he’d give as much attention to you as he does to your vagina. Not that you mind this bit either with his nose rubbing against your clit and his tongue running through you like your ice cream on a hot, melting day. 

He lifts his head, which shouldn’t be allowed. You whine and push against him to move his head back down. “Should take up permanent residency here,” he says before his fingers get involved in the mix. He re-attaches his mouth to your clit and reintroduces his fingers to the inside of you. They haven’t been separated for long, maybe three days at most. It’s hard to remember dates now. He’s moving just right.

“Fuck, please.” Maybe you’re answering his comment or just exclaiming with pleasure. It’s hard to keep track. He goes to the knuckle and sucks on you like it’s his life resource. Like he’s a baby and milk might come out of it. That’s a funny comment, you note to say that to him after you come if you can remember that.

“I’ll build a mansion down here,” he says against you, vibration running through. “With a pool to keep all this wetness in.” You’d roll your eyes at him if they weren’t rolling into the back of your head.

He moves deep but not quickly. His nose rubs against your pubic bone like his shoe knocking into your heel. He moves back but never away. It’s too much and too little all at once. You might have ripped a hair or two out but he doesn’t mind, he likes that type of thing. He might be bald at the end of this. 

He curls his fingers inside you and you might get a noise complaint with how loudly you moan. You feel Alex smile into your pussy. He shushes into your clit, which only makes you moan more, placing your right on the edge. He can feel it in the way your thighs shake, your muscles unable to take this feeling. Your brain is unsure of what to do like he’s turning the light switch on and off rapidly.

“Come on my mouth,” Alex says as he removes his fingers. His mouth is full-on, slurping like your soup and plunging his tongue into you like you’re the bottom of a jar he’s cleaning out. His hands push your legs apart more so he can take it all with no barriers in the way. No hiding.

You move against him, unable to control yourself. He goes down onto you deeper and your ears are ringing from how hot they are. The dam breaks loose and you give him what he wants and what you need. It’s all his, just like that.

He doesn’t stop, licking it all up like you’re the center of the Tootsie Pop. You thrust up into him. Unable to take anymore you tug at his hair to pull him off. His mouth is covered in your wetness. He wipes it off on his arm. He looks tired but doesn’t feel it, unlike you feeling like you just climbed and descended Everest. 

You push the shirt back to its proper position. You roll onto your stomach and rest your head completely on the pillow, absorbing the softness and how cool it feels against your hot cheeks. “Gimme the boxers back.”

“What if I want easy access?” You hear him moving but your eyes are closed.

“Too bad.” He bends your legs and helps put the boxers back over you, tucking your shared secret away under the cloth.

You hear the sheets rustle and the bed dip beside you. He tugs on the blanket under you. “Pick your feet up.” You follow orders before he covers you both with the blanket, even though it feels too hot right now on your sweating skin. “Don’t fall asleep yet. Open your eyes.”

You manage to flutter them open. Half-closed you say, “How’s this?”

The browns of his peek through along with his smile. “Good enough.”

“What time is check out?” Your eyes shut and his arm lands on your back, cooling you down just enough to not burst into flames.

He yawns. “Noon, I think.” 

You hum relief at being able to sleep in. “Want to wake up early for a blow job?”

He’s silent for a moment, thinking it over. “Nah.” The buzz of silence rings the air. You sink further into the bed. Sleep closes in on you. “Want me to wake you up with head?”

You laugh and open your eyes to see his toothy smile. You bite your lip, scared to admit it, but you reveal it to him. “Maybe.” You turn your head away from him and close your eyes.

He kisses the back of your head. “Okay.” Not forcing anything. There’s no attempt to crack you open and tell you to expose yourself to him. There’s no insistence on allowing him to see every side of you. He likes that you keep these parts of yourself hidden. That you got embarrassed when his friends briefly talked about sex like it was in front of your parents or something. Like when you had to give a presentation on STDs in sex ed. That’s one of his favourite stories of you.

It’s private only for you to see fully and he’s fine with just seeing it in parts because those parts usually involve his tongue, cock, or fingers and you moaning. Or that redness that enters your cheeks where you get all flustered and bury your head into his neck. It’s the only time he gets to be the protector. You give yourself over to him. You trust him. That’s all a man could ever want. That and maybe a cigarette.

*

a/n: when i started this i hated it but now i think it's one of the best things i've written, at least the hotel room part. i think i've used the tootsie pop line before, not sure. also listened to "amore mio aiutami" on repeat so that might have helped.

[doctor-dusk]

𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐚𝐝? | 𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐱 𝐭.

four margaritas and a bathroom break, please.

warnings: soft dom!alex, semi-public sex (piv), fingering (f receiving), a bit of a handjob and blowjob. 

word count: 6.7k

series masterlist

hello? is anyone still here? as you can see, i’m not dead (yet). i forgot about 60% of what i was supposed to write in this part during my disappearance lol i'm so fucked up lately, but i hope you enjoy it anyway :)

as the week went on, you found yourself getting more and more anxious to see him. it wasn’t like you couldn’t leave the house at night. of course you could. as long as you let your parents know if you were going to sleep at home or not and where you were.

when you said you were going to a pub, your mother scrunched her nose. it wasn’t exactly the kind of place she wanted you to go to, but she trusted you enough to know that you wouldn’t do anything that would make her have to leave the house to pick you up from the hospital or the police station. besides, she knew you weren't a little girl anymore.

alex would have liked to be able to pick you up so you could go together, but he needed to be there much earlier to get everything ready, but you didn't see a problem in taking a taxi to get there. it wasn't that far, but not that close either.

a place you had never heard of, but it seemed to be pretty popular when the taxi dropped you off a few meters from the entrance since parking in front was prohibited. you didn't get there that late, maybe around 7:45 pm. the small queue, but you knew the place was probably already packed.

the smell of vodka mixed with nicotine hung in the air. it wasn't exactly your favorite smell in the world, but you knew how to ignore it. you waited patiently in line, listening to the guys behind you talk about subjects that ranged from having sex with the pharmacy receptionist at the end of the day to exponential calculus tests.

‘’evening.’’ the security guard said to you when it was your turn. he was kind of intimidating, a huge tattoo covered his left arm and you were sure that if he flicked you you would end up on the other side of the street. ‘’id, please.’’

you held out your id card, seeing him take a good look, flicking his eyes between you and the card.

‘’it's not fake, i swear.’’ you said a little nervously. you didn't even need to be nervous, actually. he chuckled.

‘’you just look younger. careful there, doll.’’ he said, handing you back your id and letting you in. you gave a weak smile and walked in, taking in the new atmosphere around you.

surprisingly, it was a vibrant and lively place. imagine a cozy kind of environment, with soft lights and a decor that could range from rustic to modern. the round tables were full of people chatting animatedly, laughing and enjoying each other's company, a bit tipsy already. you walked slowly through the space, passing close to the kitchen to head towards the bar. the aroma of delicious snacks like fries, chicken wings and burgers permeates the air, inviting everyone to try. in one corner, there might be a pool table or a dart board, where friends compete amicably. 

at the bar, the two bartenders are busy preparing a variety of drinks, from craft beers to elaborate cocktails. the sound of clinking glasses and laughter mixes with the background music, which was limited to loud classic rock.

you looked for him there, but you couldn't see him. for a moment, you wondered if you were in the right place. but it couldn't be any other. this was the address, this was the name of the place.

you sat shyly on a stool, hands on your lap as you looked around restlessly.

“hello, dear. what can i get you tonight?” a bartender approached you, quickly wiping the counter with an orange cloth.

“uhm... i'm looking for alex.”

“well, we don't have that drink around here.” he said with a chuckle. you felt like rolling your eyes, but you knew he was probably just making fun of you.

“no, the bartender.” you specified patiently.

“turner or jenkins?” he asked. you stayed silent. what was his last name? you didn't even know. you only knew him as alex. he never told you his last name and you never tried to find out either. he noticed that you were quiet for a long time. “let me guess, is he hot?”

“pretty much.” you chuckled. he let out another chuckle.

“yep, it's turner.” he said, putting the flannel on his shoulder. “i'll get him.” he said, walking away to go to the door near the liquor shelf. “turner, you have a customer here!” he shouted loud enough for even you to hear.

a few seconds later, he appeared in your field of vision. you never imagined seeing him so... formal? you don't know how to explain better. a pair of slim black tailored pants to match the vest with all the buttons fastened over the ironed white shirt, sleeves rolled up to near the elbows. and oh, of course, the damn hair slicked back with gel. just the sight of him made you press your thighs together, but you'd be lying if you said his surprised smile didn't get you too.

‘’she said she wanted 'the hot alex'.’’ the other bartender teased him.

‘’fuck off, jenkins.’’ alex snapped back at him, almost hitting his colleague in the shoulder with the white flannel he was holding.

oh, so that was alex jenkins? yeah, it makes sense that he's not considered hot. or maybe he was, you just didn't think he was your type.

‘’hey, i thought you were going to tell me you got here.’’ alex said, his arms itching to hug you, but he just held your hand, giving you a quick kiss on your cheek. you understood that, he was working, whether he liked it or not. maybe it wouldn't be very appropriate for the attendant to be flirting with a customer there.

you smiled at him, feeling the delicacy of his touch, no matter how rough some areas of his hand were. ‘’i didn't mean to disturb you.’’ you replied and he scoffed softly.

‘’nonsense. i was checking my phone every five seconds.’’ he chuckled, tapping his cell phone in the front pocket of his pants. ‘’besides, it's not like i’m busy here. it's just a get-together, really.’’ he said as you looked around again.

‘’it seems like a nice place.’’ you commented. 

‘’when it's not crowded, it is.’’ he finished, pinching your cheek so you could look back at him. ‘’you look gorgeous, by the way.’’

it didn't matter how many times he complimented you, you always felt this way. your cheeks flushing, your heart skipping a beat as a shy smile appeared on your lips. he knew the effect he had on you, and he loved it.

‘’you look good too.’’ you said, taking a look at him again, taking in his outfit as far as your eyes could see.

he chuckled, scratching just above his right eyebrow. ‘’i'm pretty average. and definitely sweaty as hell, the inside is like an oven.’’ he pointed briefly to the door that led to the pub's interior, a place where only employees were allowed to enter. you never thought you could find someone attractive in a simple bartender's outfit. but oh, alex turner was capable of many things. the thought made you grin slightly, which didn't go unnoticed by him. ‘’what?’’

‘’'turner, huh?’’ you asked, wiggling your eyebrows a bit as you leaned your elbows on the glass bar counter, your shoulders tensing a bit.‘’i didn't know that was your last name.’’

‘’you never asked, love.’’ he retorted as you shrugged next. it was fair.

‘’it suits you.’’ you replied, the corners of his lips lifting in a subtle smirk. oh, he looked so good under those dim lights. devourable.

‘’and you know what suits you?’’ he asked, playing along as the word ‘you’ left his lips in a charming and flirty tone. you shook your head. ‘’a margarita.’’

you chuckled as he started to select the drinks he would use, sanitizing everything with a skill you didn't know he had, but you were certainly entertained. it was hot.

‘’the last margarita i had in my life wasn't good.’’ you told him as he sprinkled sea salt on the rim of the glass, making sure nothing was missing.

‘’forget everything else you've had in your life. this one's going to be special.’’ he winked at you, perfectly measuring the doses of tequila, lime juice and cointreau inside the glass, so impeccable that he seemed to know how to do it with his eyes closed if he could.

“and why?” you asked with a subtle smile. he noticed the way you bit your bottom lip, slowly making the lipstick that pigmented your lips disappear.

“because i made this one. just for you, baby.” he answered, placing a napkin under the base of the drink glass, finishing with a thin slice of lemon on the rim of the glass, handing it to you.

you looked at the drink. there was nothing there that made it unpleasant to the eyes. you looked back to him. “what if i don't like it?”

“i'll make it up to you later.” he suggested, the tone of his voice made your mind go places.

“so i hated it.” you joked, making him burst out laughing. you loved when he laughed. it was such a good sound to hear, even in a relatively noisy environment like that.

“silly girl.” he reached to poke your chin with his thumb, making you giggle a bit. “one sip is all i ask of you.”

you didn't take long. the liquid went down your throat like a delicious burning ember. your eyes threatened to water a little, making you close them tightly until you got used to the strong taste of the gin on your taste buds. 

“so?” he asked with a hint of expectation, paying attention to your reactions. you clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth, the strong taste of alcohol still lingering in your mouth. 

“not bad, turner.” you replied. "but i think maybe i need one more.” 

and it happened that he prepared two more drinks for you. god, you would drink 30 drinks if it meant seeing how the muscles in his arms flexed when he mixed the drink with the shaker, so agile and fast and hot. you didn't know if your body was now hot because of the alcohol or the immense desire to pounce on him and fuck him on top of that bar counter.

of course alex couldn't talk to you all the time. as a bartender, he had his demands and he had other customers to meet the orders. but his eyes were on you all the time, checking on you. and vice versa. you didn't mind the fact that he was working there. you understood that in the end and admired that even while working, he still wanted to make time for you.

you weren't drunk, at least not drunk enough. you were a bit tipsy, but you were still sober. sober enough to throw silly smiles at him whenever he looked at you. you couldn't help it, he was so…

“i want one more." you said as soon as he got close to you again after finishing the other orders.

“i think you've had too much to drink, young lady.” he tilted his head, looking at you, finding your flushed cheeks and half-lidded eyes so adorable, even though he was minimally concerned about how much you drank, he didn't know if you knew how to handle alcohol well.

“just one for the road.” you said, gesturing with your empty drink glass, batting your eyelashes at him. oh, how could he resist you?

“just one.” he pointed out, starting to prepare another drink for you. he took advantage of the fact that you weren't so oblivious to him to add less gin than usual and top up the rest with water so as not to make the drink too strong for you. 

when he turned to use the shaker, your eyes were on him again. you felt your mouth dry and the dampness between your legs increased like a waterfall. it was funny not to say that you were exploding with lust here with so little. 

running your not-so-discreet eyes over him, you noticed something you hadn't noticed before that only served as an icing on the cake. “nice tattoo.” you said and he frowned, following your eyes to his left forearm.

“oh, this?” he chuckled while he left the finished drink on the counter for you. “haven't you noticed before?" 

you felt kind of stupid for not noticing the tattoo sooner. you didn't remember a time when this tattoo appeared on omegle dates, or in the photos and videos he sent you. you paid attention to every detail of him and yet you let it go.

you tried to downplay it a bit, resting your elbow on the counter. “well, maybe i was too busy paying attention to something else to notice the tattoo.” you said before sipping the fourth and final margarita of the night. he seemed to like your answer. 

“getting frisky, baby. maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to let you drink a little every now and then.” he flirted back, his hands itched and twitched so he could tuck a strand of hair behind your ear or squeeze your flushed cheeks with his long fingers. 

“only if you want to watch me vomit my organs the next day.” you joked, watching him scrunching his nose. god, his beautiful nose. you still remember the way his nose felt against you and…

“you liked it?” he asked, rolling the sleeve a bit more so he could show you the tattoo properly. you turned your head a little, paying attention to the details of that tattoo. a rose — it wasn't colored, with the name ‘sheffield’ right below it. “it's my hometown.”

“it's a pretty tattoo." you replied, seeing that his eyes were now on the tattoo. “do you miss it there?”

“fuck, a lot.” he confirmed. “i love that city. my parents and relatives still live there." 

you nodded slowly. he really seemed to miss it there and liked the city to the point of tattooing it on his skin. you understood that it seemed to mean a lot to him.

“and why did you move here?” you kept asking. you didn't even know if it was right to ask him, if you weren't being too invasive by asking about his life, but you couldn't help but want to know at least a little more about him. damn, until 1 hour ago you didn't even know his last name and that he had a tattoo on his forearm.

“ah, y'know… i was young and stupid. i tried to follow some silly dreams and it didn't work out very well.” he explained very briefly, not sounding very enthusiastic about it.

you asked yourself about his dreams. why didn't they work? why did he end up standing there behind a pub counter making drinks? was he happy with it? as if he was feeling your doubts swirling around in your mind, not wanting to prolong the topic, he cleared his throat and offered a quiet smile.

"so love, i'm going to take my 20 minute break in a bit. wanna have some fun?”  

you didn't know when or how, but you now found yourself in the tiny restroom in the employee-only area. alex managed to sneak in with you after he was sure there was no one there to catch you by surprise, as if the two of you were reckless teenagers who blamed the night for the wild fun that was about to happen.

‘’do you think 20 minutes will be enough?’’ you asked him as he carefully pushed you into the bathroom, his large hands squeezing and circling your waist as if he needed to make sure you were real.

‘’it has to be enough.’’ he murmured, his mouth too busy kissing the back of your neck, nipping your skin and recording how the taste was mixed with the soft taste of your perfume impregnated on your skin. ‘’fuck, i've been dying to touch you. do you know how hard it is to control myself when you look so hot like this?’’ he growled against your skin, eliciting the most sincere and insane shivers from you, his words wrapping around your lustful thoughts like iron chains.

you barely had time to respond or wonder if he had done this before with somebody else. his hands grabbed your hips, forcing you to turn around so he could crush your lips with his in a fierce kiss. as he deepened the kiss by sticking his tongue in your mouth to taste the gin, he easily lifted you to sit on the bathroom counter. you felt your skin crawl at the cold contact of the counter on your skin, but it soon faded away when the firm touch of his hands on your thighs did the work of warming you from the inside out, as if you were erupting.

oh, you loved the way his tongue seemed to tie knots with yours, just throwing more fuel on a flame that seemed impossible to burn any more, feeding the anguish of never being satisfied with a touch or a kiss.

his hands, always so eager and hungry for you, moved between your legs, lifting your dress up to your hips, his fingers roaming and feeling the material of your panties in an act of anticipation.

“you sure about it?” he broke the kiss just to ask you that. it was the second time he asked. he wanted to make sure you were sober enough to know what was going on and if you really wanted it. 

“yes, alex. i'm not that drunk.” you reassured him, pulling him back so you could keep kissing. this put his mind at ease, because both he and you knew the risks, he would never want to do something with you completely out of your mind and out of control while he was sober. 

between kisses and nibbles, he had already dragged your panties down your legs, the piece now pooling at your ankles for a few seconds before falling to the floor. the music from the pub seemed to play inside you, vibrating and accelerating your heart rate.

the air seemed to disappear from your lungs as quickly as it entered when his fingertips teased your entrance, circling around the newly wet hole. you thought it was ridiculous the way he could make you feel like this. you wished you could hate it if the desire for him didn't burn so bright and strong.

‘’what get you so wet already, baby?’’ he murmured against the skin of your neck, a smirk forming on his lips as you whimpered. ‘’was it the margarita?’’

you felt his nose sliding along the line of your jaw as he traced teasing kisses, the length of his fingers already becoming lubricated just by the light act of sliding up and down. your saliva was thick when you licked your lips, ready to answer him. ‘’you. just you.’’ you said, your hands sneaking on his sides, feeling the smooth fabric of the black vest over the white shirt.

‘’just me, eh? mhm, i bet so.’’ he hummed, his tone slightly cocky as he slipped his two long digits inside you, your cunt clenching immediately around his fingers, as if it were automatic, as if you were just waiting for him, gripping his fingers like a vice. ‘’missing me, i suppose.’’

you held back a moan as he withdrew his fingers, as if it were the weirdest thing in the world to no longer feel his touch in such an intimate way, stretching your walls. you felt those same fingers parting your folds, his head tilting and angling so he could see you better under the bathroom light, practically groaning at the sight of your glistening cunt, clenching around nothing, as if it were screaming in agony because of the emptiness he had left.

‘’so pretty. don't worry, baby, i've been missing you too.’’ he whispered, his eyes looking back at you, stealing a soft kiss that soon turned into a desperate one, and your hands were already undoing his belt, somehow your brain reminding you that you needed to be quick, even though you loved the idea of ​​listening to him praising you all night long inside that bathroom.

so, you wasted no time in pulling down his pants, letting it pool on his ankles, his boxers on his thighs and his hard cock bouncing free before you wrapped your hand around him, feeling the protruding veins in contact with your fingers.

and apparently, just that stimulus was enough to give you one of the best views of your life: turner's eyes were narrowing and his adam's apple was pulsing up and down, almost in time with your soft strokes on him.

‘’fuck baby, see what you do to me? you barely touched me and i'm already hard as fuck.’’ he hissed, his fingers going back inside you, making you throw your head back against the bathroom tile, the burning desire getting the best of you now that you didn't even care about the idea of ​​being fingered inside the employees' bathroom of a pub in the west side of the city.

you slid your thumb along his tip, pressing softly on the slit, spreading the precum all around it like it was your favorite pastime. it wasn't like he didn't like it too, he would love to spend hours there, touching you, fingering you until his hand fell off, but he was impatient. and worse, he didn't have time.

his fingers abandoned you once again, going straight to his mouth, tasting you while his other hand went into his pocket to get a condom. one thing you liked about him was that he always seemed prepared, although a selfish and even reckless part of you wanted him to fuck you raw and fill you up like you were some kind of dessert to stuff.

your eyes vaguely registered when he tore the foil packaging with his teeth, spitting the small piece of packaging in an unknown place. you couldn't explain it, but god, this was fucking sexy, and above all, exciting.

one moment you had your hand around his cock, and the next moment you were grabbing his arms as he entered you in a single, fluid movement, burying himself to the hilt, the sensation eliciting a groan from both of you as if it were a relief, as if this were equated to drinking a glass of ice-cold water on a hot day.

it was inexplicable and certainly unfair how, even under the influence of alcohol, you thought alex looked a million times more beautiful and hot like this, under the incandescent light of a nightclub bathroom. the music outside tried, but nothing pleased your ears more than his moans muffled by the burning skin of your neck, and nothing hypnotized you more than the way his hair looked even more beautiful with the ebony strands betraying the fixing gel and rebelling as they fell over his softly furrowed and sweaty forehead.

his arms formed hooks around your thighs, a series of pat pat pat’s sounds bounced all over the walls as alex buried his face into your neck, his balls slapping against your ass as he shoved his dick inside of you over and over and over again, the sound mixing with the panting sounds that escaped from both of your mouths.

his eyes fluttered open to look at you, feeling his heart pounding in his throat at the sight of you, so flushed and handed over to him. ‘’will it be weird if i say that i've been going crazy lately thinking about how much i wanted to fuck you like this?’’ he asked, his nose wrinkled slightly, trying to concentrate on not getting lost in you so quickly. you couldn't tell if he found it romantic or sexy. maybe both.

you didn't answer him, letting your hands wander from his shoulders to his neck, your fingers grabbing the strands of hair on the back of his head, torturing him deliciously with the tugs while he rested his forehead on your exposed shoulder, his lips kissing the skin of your collarbone in a sloppily and ardent way.

yearning to feel your lips against his, his right, veiny hand goes to your neck, his four fingers gripping your nape while his thumb rests on your throat. he wasn't gripping tightly, just enough to feel your rapid pulse, pulling your face closer for a leisurely kiss.

“god, i love how fucking tight you feel.” he mumbled between the kiss, rolling his hips to make sure you felt every inch of him inside you, filling you.

and you, equally distressed, moved your hands to undo the buttons of his shirt, but soon you remembered that he was wearing a vest over it, and consequently it would be a lot of work, so you moved your hands down, trailing under his shirt, just wanting to feel the warm skin of his abs against your palms, following the now rapid movement of his hips against yours.

you felt like you were in a cloud of tingling, your body responded to his every stimulus when you started frantically grinding your hips against his, rolling your body in desperate need. a low, guttural noise rumbled from his throat as his body responded on instinct. without meaning to, his hands tightened on you, gripping your neck and hip to leverage as you moved against him.

it was satisfying for him to feel how your legs began to tremble gently, but without any control and your eyes closed tightly with your head going back. you're close. so close.

his hand left your neck, knowing that now it was up to him to increase your pleasure even more, because now in addition to fucking you senseless, he added his thumb to the stimulus, circling it lazily, but with just the right pressure on your sensitive, pulsing nerves.

‘’alex, please…’’ you mumbled, your hips failing to keep up the rolling motion because you were already at your limit, turning into a quivering mess with how well he was fucking you.

‘’i know, baby, cum on my cock.’’ he said, almost like an order, but he was just as desperate as you. not only because he was hanging by a thread, but also because he didn't have any more time. ‘’please, i need you to cum, love.’’ he muttered, maybe more to himself than to you, he barely cared if he didn't cum in the end. if anyone had to leave here fully satisfied, he'd rather it be you.

you barely had time to ask him not to stop, hit fat tip hitting your cervix over and over sent you over the edge faster than you expected, needing only a few more deep thrusts and a few more clumsy movements of your hips for you to cum on his cock, just as he had ordered, creaming all over him, the white excess collecting at the base of the condom around the base of his cock.

‘’fuck, that's it, baby…’’ he breathed out, feeling how your cunt throbbed deliciously around him, trying not to stimulate you too much, but he felt he was so close, he could already feel his body heating up as if he were inside a pressure cooker, it was impossible for him to stop his thrusts completely.

you grabbed his shoulder, your fingers gripping the material of his shirt. you didn't know how or why, but you just blurted out the words to him. ‘’cum on my mouth.’’ you said to him, yearning for him to finish just like you. maybe you really should blame the drink for giving you this urge to say this. to want this.

‘’fuck the manager,’’ alex thought.

‘’get down on your knees.’’ he said, quickly pulling out of you, discarding the condom as you placed your shaking knees on the cold bathroom floor, opening your mouth, battling your lashes at him. it seemed so unreal, the closest you had ever gotten to it was on camera, that huge and veiny cock taking over the screen of your phone or laptop, and now it was there right in your face, looking more delicious than ever, pulsing and begging for release.

and without further ado, his cock was in your mouth, but not completely. your lips, all swollen and red from your nibbling, sucked hard at his tip, pulling the foreskin back to expose it more to your lips. his hips jerked softly and his right hand stroked the rest of the length you couldn't reach with your mouth. you looked up at him, but you couldn't see his expression because his head was thrown back, concentrating on not missing the rhythm of his strokes while his other hand squeezed the back of your neck.

‘’that’s it, fuck, ‘m gonna cum.’’ he announced, feeling the orgasm overtaking him as he fucked his fist, feeling your tongue licking the leaking tip as he looked down at you for a second, the sight being enough to make him lose that little control he still had.

alex closed his eyes tightly, throwing his head back as he felt the fire in his belly flare, and blood rushes to his ears in a buzz as he came, the thick, gooey, hot white liquid flying in a jet onto your tongue, reaching the back of your throat, almost making you choke on the surprise of the salty cum teasing your taste buds.

but you swallowed it like a good girl, licking it all up while he had a hard time controlling his legs so he wouldn't collapse on the floor like a puppet without strings.

‘’god, fuck.’’ he breathed out finally, his eyes looking for yours as he held your gauze, brushing your hair out of your face, bewitched by the sight of you licking him clean. it was an amazing sight. you're amazing for him.

before he could ask if you were okay, a knock was heard on the door, startling the two who were still recovering from the aftershocks.

‘turner, are you there?’’ the voice on the other side asked. alex was relieved to know that it was just one of his colleagues. it would be worse if it was the manager.

‘’yeah.’’ alex forced himself to answer, his thumb resting on your cheek discreetly as you kept silent.

‘’don't forget that the box is yours today.’’ he said and alex snorted softly.

‘’yeah, yeah, i know.’’ he replied and soon you heard the footsteps moving away. you swallowed, still feeling the taste of him in your mouth mixed with the taste of the now weak gin.

“are you in trouble?” you asked. he chuckled, shaking his head in denial.

“no, honey. it's part of today's job. you know, cleaning the tables and arranging the chairs in the box.” he sighed, his hand putting his limp cock back into the confines of his boxers. he helped you stand up, holding you by the hand and waist to make sure you could balance yourself.

“i can wait for you.” you said, but the truth is that you didn't know what time he would finish there, and he didn't want to leave you standing there either.

he shook his head softly, buckling his belt again, kissing your forehead after you put your panties back on. “nah, don't worry. come on, i'll take you home.”

“but aren't you working yet?” you asked worriedly.

“yes, but it's okay. i arrived early today, so i'll make up for it by staying longer on break.” he answered unconcernedly. his boss seemed to give him this flexibility, which didn't make him so apprehensive.

after the two of you had tidied yourselves up to look a little more presentable, alex was the first to leave the bathroom, looking around to confirm that it was safe for you to leave as well. he guided the way towards the adjacent exit, usually where employees entered and exited, which coincidentally led to the parking lot. you could already see his motorcycle parked in the first row.

“would you rather take a taxi?” he asked you before disabling the motorcycle alarm. you frowned slightly. “i mean, you had a little too much to drink there.”

“no, no, i'm good, i can handle it.” you shook your head, finding his concern for you kind of cute. he agreed, handing you the helmet.

even though you said it was okay, alex didn't drive very fast. every now and then, he would put his hand over yours around his waist to make sure you were steady, checking you out at every stop at the traffic light. the wind sounded like a muffled hum through the helmet, your body felt light, but it wasn't because of the drink, of course. you couldn't help but feel that way with him.

you knew that a trip by motorcycle tends to be faster than by car, so it didn't take long for him to stop the motorcycle near your house, in the same spot as last time. you went down slowly, resting your hands on his shoulders to get down, feeling him holding you by the waist to give you more support to get down safely.

“are you okay?” he asked, watching you take off your helmet and hand it to him, your hair was a bit messy, not that you cared.

“yeah.” you answered, looking at him, seeing that he was looking at you intently. "what?" 

he shook his head, taking off his helmet too. “nothing, i… just think that i owe you apologies.” 

your frown deepened. why would he need to apologize to you? you didn't think he had done anything that needed apologizing, but he felt it. before you could ask why, he grabbed your hand, pulling you closer so he could wrap his arm around your waist and rest his chin on your shoulder.

“i don't think it was very appropriate to take you to the place where i work. i mean, you only went there because of me and i was working the whole time instead of being able to stay with you and focus only on you.” he said, you could feel his jaw moving as he spoke, his tone and voice was regretful. 

“no, alex.” you said, pulling back a bit so you could look at him, your eyes searching his under the low light of the streetlight near you. “don't worry about it. i enjoyed coming and watching you work.” 

“i know, princess, i just…” he sighed, his fingers cradling the strands of your hair to tuck it behind your ear. “i just wanted to have a proper date with you, to look at you, to talk to you, to kiss you…”

you smiled. he seemed to be very honest about it, you could feel it in his voice and the way he looked at you. you shook your head softly, hugging him, your hands sliding up and down his curved back as he hugged you back.

“it's not like you can't take me on a proper date next time.” you reassured him. “but i'm okay with it, really. i just wanted to see you, no matter what. besides, i've never had sex in a nightclub bathroom. it was quite the experience.”

he chuckled through his nose, you felt the warm air hitting your hair and the skin on your neck. he liked the way you always saw the good in the end.

“well, i can't say the same, but i certainly never did that while i was working,” he admitted. not that he was sorry or afraid of losing his job. “but it was amazing. it's always amazing with you.”

you felt the butterflies in your stomach going wild. even though you were telling yourself that this was all just casual, just fun for the two of you, you couldn't help it, you surrendered more and more to him. and at the moment, it didn't seem to worry you.

alex pressed a soft kiss to your neck, his hand on your lower back keeping you close to him. “is there any chance you'll be free on monday?" he murmured against your neck.

“nope.” you answered and he huffed softly.

“tuesday? wednesday? thursday?" he continued asking between kisses on your neck that made you giggle and shiver.

“on thursday." you replied and he hummed victoriously, pulling his head back to look at you. 

“and what do you want to do?” he asked, wanting to know if you felt like doing something, going out somewhere. you thought for a bit, not quite coming to a conclusion. you didn't really like going out to places, you liked a calm, reserved meeting in a comfortable place.

“i don't really have a preference.” you shrugged as he nodded slowly, thinking that was his cue to suggest something that the two of you might enjoy doing as long as you were together.

“well, in that case, knowing that the closest i can get to your house is on the sidewalk, what do you think of going to my place? we can play, watch a movie, make dinner or order something to eat…” he suggested, not knowing exactly if you would like the idea. for the first time, he was feeling insecure about doing something with you. 

you thought a little about his proposal, wondering if he felt the same way as you did. 

“well, of course we won't just do that, we can fuck all night long too if you want." he chuckled, his words making you think he was being his normal self again. “but if you don't want to, we don't fuck, no problem." he said, you noticed his tone was nervous as he continued talking. “i just wanted you to know that i don't just want to have sex with you, i really like being with you and doing other things besides that and..." 

you silenced him with a soft kiss, taking him by surprise, chuckling at the way he seemed to swallow his words.

“alex, it's okay. i get what you mean.” you caressed the skin of his cheek with your thumb, making him feel like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. “your place, at 7pm?” 

“perfect.” he whispered before placing another soft kiss on your lips. “i’ll come get you here." 

“okay.” you smiled. “i think you have to go now. the box is waiting for you.”

“fucking hell, i had completely forgotten about that." he groaned in defeat, laying his forehead on your shoulder, squeezing you a little tighter against him, knowing he needed to go. “you make me lose track of time sometimes, girl.”

“i guess that's my charm.” you chuckled, feeling his lips crashing with slight desperation against yours, as if he wanted to taste as much of you as possible before he left. his tongue explored your entire mouth, and he could swear he could taste himself on your tongue. 

“probably. you make me not want to leave.” he said, panting softly as he squeezed your hips one last time before finally letting go. “but yeah, duty calls.”

“let me know when you get home.” you said. you always said that and he always kept his promises, even if he got home very late and you were already asleep, you would wake up more relieved the next day knowing that he was safe at home when you saw the message on your screen.

like last time, he waited for you to come home safely. he waved one last time and left, speeding up the bike so he could get to the pub as quickly as possible. 

on the other hand, you went to your room carefully and in short steps so as not to wake anyone, looking at your reflection as soon as you entered the bathroom. you were a mess, but a good mess. after a quick shower, you passed out on the bed, feeling a bit boneless, but so good, your mind reliving everything that happened that night like an erotic movie.

and you could hardly wait for thursday to arrive.

a/n: should i keep this taglist? honestly, i've forgotten how to post here :')

taglist: @thenightslikeawhirlwind, @goblinontour, @yourstartreatment

[goblinontour]

Baby, I’m Yours

santa is coming, indeed

warnings: dad!alex, fluff, smut, piv, raw, breeding kink (i guess), mentions of pregnancy and bodies and stuff like that

word count: 6.9k

If someone had asked him a few years ago how he thought he’d be spending Christmas, he’d have said anything but this.  

Anything but sitting cross-legged on the living room floor with his hair sectioned off into impossibly tiny braids and adorned with about a million butterfly clips — those obnoxiously small, multicolored ones that came in packs of fifty (and you had at least ten of those in the house). He knew he’d eventually step on them when he least expected it, like the Lego pieces of a girl dad. Not that he thought Legos were strictly for boys, she had those too, of course, but you know.  

“Alright.” he muttered under his breath, his eyes flicking to the mirror propped against the wall where he could just make out the glittering chaos atop his head. “I think that’s enough, girls.”  

“No!” you and Poppy exclaimed at the exact same time, your voice louder than hers, embarrassingly so.  

He turned his head to look at you, raising one eyebrow, and the corners of his mouth twitched upward despite himself. 

“What woman,” you began, defensive already, “what girl, soul, or being would say no to this?” You gestured toward him dramatically, and he rolled his eyes, but there was no real bite behind it.  

“Yeah, Daddy!” Poppy chimed in, tugging on the left side of his hair. Her side. “We’re not done yet!”  

Alex sighed, the kind of long-suffering sigh that made you laugh every time. “Okay.” he said quietly, turning back around, his gaze dropping to the tangle of clips and elastics scattered across the rug. 

The pull on his hair — gentle from you, enthusiastic from her — was a constant he’d grown used to. He didn’t even flinch anymore.  

He let his eyes wander to the Christmas tree, its lights casting a warm glow across the room. It looked like a scene from a postcard, all soft edges and muted colors, and for a moment, he let himself get lost in it. The music playing faintly from the speaker in the corner wasn’t one of his own songs — he never let his own voice be the soundtrack to days like this, or any days really — but something slow and nostalgic, a crooner he didn’t even realise he’d hummed along to until you pointed it out.  

He couldn’t help but think about how strange it all was, how far removed this was from the life he’d imagined for himself. There were years where he’d have spent Christmas nursing a drink in some dimly lit bar, or jetting off to some remote location just to avoid the holiday altogether. He’d been good at running, then. But now?  

Now, he had butterfly clips in his hair and a daughter who thought he hung the moon just for her. He had you, with your too-loud laugh and your insistence on calling him beautiful whenever you got him to sit still long enough to let you mess with his hair. He had this house, this tree, this moment.  

“Alright, what d’you think?” you asked, breaking him out of his thoughts. You were leaning back now, surveying your work with an air of seriousness.  

Poppy giggled, clapping her hands. “You look so pretty, Daddy!”  

Alex turned to you, his dark eyes narrowing. “Pretty?” he repeated, his voice dry.  

“Gorgeous.” you corrected, grinning at him.  

He shook his head, the clips jingling slightly with the movement, and you laughed again, that unrestrained sound that always seemed to fill the room.  

“Alright, but if either of you take a picture, I’m cutting you both off from biscuits for the rest of the day.” he warned. He wouldn’t. 

Poppy gasped, scandalized. “You wouldn’t!”  

You just smirked, holding up your phone and snapping a quick photo before he could stop you. “Too late.”  

He groaned, leaning back against the couch and running a hand through his hair — a futile effort, given the number of clips now embedded in it. But as he looked at the two of you, your faces flushed from laughter, he couldn’t bring himself to care.  

If someone had told him a few years ago that this would be his life, he might’ve laughed. Or maybe he’d have walked away, afraid of what it would mean to care this much, to have this much to lose. 

He wouldn’t trade it for anything.  

He wouldn’t trade this for anything, either. Your hands in his hair, leaned over his shoulder, your careful concentration as you plucked out those clips by the end of the night, your smile that curved wider with every one you removed. It was reflected in the bathroom mirror, the same mirror where he caught glimpses of himself on days he barely recognised the man staring back. 

Alex could have taken them out himself — there wasn’t much he couldn’t figure out when left to his own devices — but he let you do it instead. Maybe it was because he couldn’t see them properly in the back. Or maybe it was because he liked this, the way your fingers lingered in his hair, tugging gently, setting his scalp alight with a low, pleasant sting.  

“You know,” he said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence, “maybe I should buzz it again. Save us all the trouble next time.”  

Your hands stilled mid-motion, and your reflection whipped up to meet his. You looked scandalized, genuinely offended, gasped like he’d suggested chopping down the Christmas tree and setting it on fire.  

“Never again, Alex!” you warned, swatting him lightly on the shoulder.  

He grinned, leaning into the dramatics of it. “Why not?”  

“Because!” you exclaimed, as though the answer were painfully obvious — Oh yes, he knew — “If you do, I won’t be able to do this.”  

Before he could pretend to not know what this was, your fingers curled tighter into his hair, and you tugged — hard enough to make him gasp. His head tipped back instinctively, exposing the long, pale stretch of neck. You didn’t waste a second. Your lips found the sensitive skin beneath his jaw, brushing lightly before your teeth followed, scraping a slow path that made his breath hitch.  

“Christ-” he muttered, his hands flying to the sink for balance. His knuckles went white against the porcelain as you trailed your mouth lower, your teeth leaving soft, fleeting bites before you soothed them with your tongue.  

“Oh yeah…” he whispered — something tender, but also wanting.  

You smiled, your lips curving against his neck as you pressed another kiss there. And another. “You were saying?” you murmured, barely audible against his skin.  

His eyes flickered open, meeting yours in the mirror. His pupils were blown wide, his breathing uneven, and you smiled against his neck, pleased with yourself.  

“Thought so.” you whispered.  

“You can get so feral sometimes.” he murmured, his gaze never leaving yours in the mirror. He let out a breathless laugh, a sound that was almost a groan, and tilted his head further to the side, giving you more access. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”  

“Only to you.” you replied, letting your teeth scrape gently against his jaw before pulling back.  

He huffed out a breath and shook his head slightly. “Not sure if that’s a warning or a promise.”  

“It’s both.” you said, smirking as you plucked the last clip from his hair and set it on the counter beside him. “There. All done.”  

You punctuated the word by dragging your lips up to his jaw, pressing an open-mouthed kiss there, and then biting softly at the hinge.  

“Think I liked it better when they were still in.” He reached up, running a hand through his hair to shake it out, and gave you a look. “At least you were being nice to me then.”

You laughed, sliding your arms around his waist from behind and resting your chin on his shoulder. “You loved it.”  

“Careful.” he said. “You’re playing with fire, baby.”  

You pulled back slightly, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “Am I?”  

He turned his head just enough to face you. “You know you are.”  

“Mhm.” you hummed, swaying him slightly. “You’re a sucker for attention. Especially mine.”  

“Guess I can’t argue with that.”  

His breathing was shallow now, and your lips were still close enough to graze his. 

But then Poppy’s voice rang out from the living room, breaking the spell.  

“Daddy! Mummy! Look what I made!”  

The two of you froze, the moment suspended in time, before Alex exhaled sharply, a quiet laugh escaping him. “Saved by the kid.” he muttered, his lips twitching into a crooked smile.  

You grinned, pressing one last kiss to his temple before stepping back. “Go on, then. She’s probably building an empire of Lego castles.”  

He straightened, running a hand through his hair, again, wincing slightly when he hit a tangle you hadn’t yet smoothed out. “And I’ll be stepping on every piece of it when I least expect it.”  

“Your dad feet can handle it.” 

He glanced at you, his expression softening as his hand dropped back to his side. “What would I do without you?”  

“Buzz your hair, apparently.” 

“God forbid!” he said, shaking his head as he made his way toward the door.  

But before he left, he paused, turning back to look at you. 

“Hey.” he said softly.  

“Yeah?”  

He hesitated for a moment, searching for the right words. “I mean it. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”  

Your teasing smile faltered. “Good thing you’ll never have to find out.”  

Getting Poppy to bed had been a feat in itself. It always was. She was a tiny, determined ball of energy, fueled by excitement and the sugar cookies she’d insisted on helping “decorate” earlier…Alex had only managed to coax her into her little bed with promises of Santa coming in the morning — though he wasn’t entirely sure she even understood who Santa was or what he was supposed to do.  

It didn’t matter. When he mentioned there would be more hair clips and playing with his hair tomorrow, she’d finally relented, settling down with a sleepy grin. He sat by her bedside for a while, stroking her curls until her breathing evened out and her little hand loosened its grip on his thumb.  

God, he was lucky. So lucky.  

Really lucky, he corrected himself when he stepped into the bedroom and saw you waiting for him.  

You were lounging on the bed, propped up on one elbow, wearing…well, not much at all. A slinky piece of red lace that barely covered anything, with a sheen to it that caught the dim glow of the fairy lights strung along the headboard. His mouth went dry instantly.  

He could feel his pulse quicken, blood rushing downward, hot and immediate. It embarrassed him sometimes, how little it took — how just the sight of you like this, your bare legs stretched out, your hair falling loose around your shoulders, could make him so…hard.  

But then again, at least he could still get it up, right?  

“Merry Christmas, baby.” you said, as though you weren’t fully aware of what you were doing to him. You smiled, your teeth catching your bottom lip in a way that made his brain short-circuit.  

He swallowed hard, trying to keep his cool, but failing. Miserably. “Merry Christmas.” he managed.  

You stretched slightly, shifting so the hem of your lingerie rode higher on your thighs, and his breath hitched audibly.  

“I didn’t know what to get you.” you said, “so I thought…”  

Alex didn’t let you finish. He crossed the room in three long strides, practically lunging onto the bed and over you, his hands already on your waist as he pinned you beneath him in a tangle of limbs and heat.  

“You thought right.” he murmured as he leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “So, so right.”  

His mouth found yours, desperate and insistent, and the kiss was a mess of teeth and tongues and heat. He could feel your smile against his lips, the soft sound of your laughter muffled as he pressed you deeper into the mattress.  

“Fuck me…” he breathed, his hands already roaming over your body, fingers curling into the lace at your hips.  

“That’s the plan.” you teased, your voice a low purr as your nails dragged down his back, making him shiver.  

His head dropped to your neck, his lips finding the pulse point there, and he bit down just enough to make you gasp, his hands tightening on your hips.  

“God.” he muttered against your skin, his voice ragged. “You’re- baby, you’re perfect.”  

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as you arched into him. “You’re not so bad yourself.”  

He let out a breathless laugh, his teeth grazing your collarbone as his hands slid up your thighs, taking their time, memorising the feel of your skin beneath his fingertips. You squirmed beneath him, impatient as ever, and he grinned against your skin.  

“Patience.” he murmured, though he was quickly losing his own.  

“You’re one to talk.” you shot back, your voice breathless as you tugged at his shirt, your fingers curling into the fabric, desperate to feel him — all of him.  

Something shifted in his eyes, dark and molten, and for a moment, he simply stared at you. His lips parted as though he had something to say, but whatever it was dissolved before it could leave him. He reached down and gripped the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head.  

His chest was bare now, the lean muscle of his torso taut and glistening faintly under the soft glow of the fairy lights. His collarbones cast delicate shadows across his skin, and the faint trail of dark hair that started at his navel and disappeared below his waistband made your stomach twist in anticipation. His breathing was uneven, his chest rising and falling rapidly, and you could see the tension coiled in his body — the way his shoulders flexed, the way his hands twitched like he was holding himself back.  

And then he was on you.  

His hands were everywhere, all at once, moving with a sort of urgency that made your breath catch. He didn’t just touch you — he claimed you, his palms skimming over your hips, your waist, the curve of your ribs, before sliding up to cup your face. He kissed you like he needed it, like the air he breathed wasn’t enough, his lips trailing over your cheeks, your jaw, your throat.  

“Christ-” his voice came out muffled against your collarbone. “You’re-” words faltered as his lips found your shoulder next, his hands working to rid you of the thin scrap of lace that had been driving him mad since the moment he stepped into the room.  

When he finally pulled it free, he paused for a moment, his gaze raking over you, reverent and unhurried. You swore you could feel the heat of it, the way his eyes traced every inch of your bare skin.  

“You’re so beautiful.” he whispered, the words raw and honest, as though they’d escaped him without permission. His voice cracked slightly, and you could see the faint flush spreading across his cheeks, a mixture of awe and need.  

You smiled, soft and teasing, but before you could reply, he kissed you again, harder this time, his hands pressing into your skin like he was afraid you might slip away. His lips moved lower, leaving a trail of heat down your chest, over the curve of your breast, his teeth scraping just enough to make you gasp.  

He kissed you everywhere — everywhere. Your shoulders, your stomach, the inside of your thighs, until you were trembling beneath him, your fingers buried in his hair, tugging at the dark strands. His touch was possessive, his mouth lingering in places that made your breath hitch, his stubble scraping against your skin in a way that sent sparks of sensation racing through you.  

“God, you’re so perfect.” 

He was back up, pressing kisses to your cheeks. And then you felt him shift against you, the hard length of him nudging insistently against your thigh, a low groan rumbling in his chest.  

“Alex-” you breathed, tugging his head back up so you could look at him. His pupils were blown wide, his cheeks flushed, and his chest heaved as he hovered over you. 

“Can I fuck you now?” he asked, tinged with a desperate edge that made your stomach tighten.  

You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled out of you, breathless and a little giddy. “Can you?”  

His face turned red all over immediately, a crooked, embarrassed smile pulling at his lips. “Shut up.” he muttered, though the way his eyes softened told you he didn’t really mean it.  

But just as he leaned back down to kiss you, his lips brushing against yours, you saw it. A small figure in the doorway, clutching something soft and worn. You blinked, your stomach flipping — not the good flip this time.  

“Oh, fuck- Poppy!” you whispered, your voice sharp enough to make Alex pause mid-kiss.  

“Poppy?” he repeated, his brow furrowing in confusion. He followed your wide-eyed gaze over his shoulder until — “Poppy. Oh. Oh shit.”  

There she was, your little girl, her tiny legs and arms hugging Mr. Bear as she stood quietly in the doorway. Her sleepy eyes blinked up at the two of you, oblivious to the sheer chaos she’d just unleashed.  

Alex moved instinctively, his broad shoulders blocking your, well, compromising position from view. “Uh, Alex.” you hissed, trying to stay calm despite the fact that you were very much — not dressed — beneath him. “You said you’d put her to bed.”  

“I did!” he whisper-shouted back, glancing at you over his shoulder.  

“Well, clearly not well enough. Do something!” you whispered, gesturing frantically toward her.  

“What?!” he whispered back, incredulous.  

“Now, Alex!”  

With some very careful rearranging of the sheets — and an awkward shuffle on Alex’s part to ensure his, uh, situation wasn’t obvious — he climbed off the bed. His movements were stiff, his steps slightly stilted as he crossed the room to kneel in front of your daughter.  

“What’s wrong, Pop?” he asked softly, his voice a perfect blend of calm and concern despite the…circumstances.  

She looked at him with big, curious eyes, clutching Mr. Bear a little tighter. “Where’s Santa?”  

Alex blinked, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to formulate an answer. “Oh…well, uh, Poppy, if…if you don’t go back to bed, Santa won’t come.”  

“He’s not the only one!” you muttered from the bed, earning a quick glare from Alex over his shoulder.  

“Santa won’t come?” Poppy asked, her little face scrunching in confusion.  

“Not if you’re awake.” Alex said, nodding earnestly. “Santa only comes when little girls are fast asleep in their beds. So, you’ve gotta help him out, okay? Go back to bed, and I promise he’ll come.”  

Poppy seemed to think about it for a moment, her little brow furrowing. Then, with a small nod, she turned and padded back toward her room, Mr. Bear swinging from her arms.  

Alex waited until she was out of sight before letting out a long, slow breath. He turned back to you, his face a mix of relief and lingering embarrassment.  

“Well…” he said, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. “That’s a mood killer.”  

You snorted, unable to help the laugh that escaped you even as your body still hummed with unmet need. “I don’t know.” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “You did a pretty good job handling that. Very dad of you.”  

Alex climbed back into bed with a groan, pulling the sheets up around the both of you as if to erase the interruption. He flopped onto his back for a moment, one arm slung over his eyes, his chest still rising and falling unevenly from the tension of moments ago.  

“Yeah, well, I’m gonna need a minute to recover from that.”  

“Oh, take your time.” you said, smirking as you leaned in to kiss his jaw. “Santa can wait.” 

“Sure he can, but…” he said, dragging his hand down his face. “Kind of hard to, uh, stay in the zone when your kid asks about Santa mid-”  

“Mid this?” you finished, arching a brow as your hand trailed down his chest, brushing over his stomach.  

“Exactly.”  

You didn’t miss the way his cock was still hard, twitching faintly against his thigh as if it hadn’t gotten the memo about the interruption.  

“Doesn’t seem like it’s bothering everything.” you teased, your fingers dipping lower, brushing against the base of him.  

“Jesus-” he muttered, his hips jerking slightly as he looked at you, his cheeks flushing pink. “You’re relentless, you know that?”  

You smiled, wicked and unapologetic, as you wrapped your hand around him, marveling at the weight of him in your palm. He was thick and heavy, the velvety skin burning hot against your fingers and even though you couldn’t see it yet you knew his tip was flushed, glistening with evidence of just how much he still wanted you.  

“Don’t tell me you’re giving up already.” your voice got low as you stroked him slowly, watching his face shift from mock indignation to something much darker, much hungrier.  

“Giving up?” he repeated, his voice rough as his hand shot out, gripping your wrist to still your movements. “You’re kidding, right?”  

Before you could reply, he was on you again, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was hot and insistent, a sharp contrast to the tender, teasing pace from before. His hands slid down to his waistband, shoving his pants and boxers down in one hurried, almost clumsy motion.  

You pulled back just enough to watch as his cock sprang free, flushed and hard, the sight of it enough to make your thighs clench involuntarily.  

“See?” you said, smirking as you reached out to touch him again. “You’re fine.”  

“Just shut up.” he muttered, though the crooked smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.  

His palms were hot on your hips, gripping you firmly as he pushed you back onto the mattress. He hovered over you, his body warm and solid against yours, his cock pressing insistently against your thigh.  

“Where were we?” he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear as he rocked his hips, the slick head of him dragging against your skin.  

“Right about…here.” you replied breathlessly, your hands sliding over his shoulders, down his back, desperate to pull him closer.  

“Yeah?” he said, his voice dropping lower as he guided himself to your entrance, the thick head of him pressing against you, teasing you. “Think you can focus?”  

“Think you can?” 

He shifted, angling his hips to let the tip of him slide in, just barely. A tease of pressure that left you aching for more. He moved deliberately, dragging himself along your slick folds, his breathing ragged as he worked to build the tension.  

“Fuck.” he groaned, his voice thick and uneven as he watched himself move against you. “You’re so wet. Always so fucking wet for me.”  

“Alex.” you whimpered, your hips lifting to meet his, desperate for him to give you more.  

He gritted his teeth, his hands gripping your hips to hold you in place as he teased you further, letting the tip of his cock nudge against your clit before sliding back down. 

“God, I want to be inside you.” 

“Then do it.” you said, your voice shaking as you wrapped your legs around his waist.  

His response was a low groan, his head dropping to your shoulder as he slid deeper, inch by inch, until he was fully seated inside of you. His hands slid up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as he kissed you again, slower this time.  

“You-” he muttered against your lips, his hips pulling back before thrusting forward again, the movement unhurried but devastatingly deep. “You feel so fucking good. Always so good for me.”  

He slid his arms around you then, pulling you close, his hands splayed across your back as he shifted you into his lap. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, your chest pressed against his as he settled you over him.  

“Come here.” he murmured, his voice soft now, coaxing, as he guided you down slowly, the stretch of him making your breath hitch. 

His eyes met yours, and there was something raw in his gaze, something vulnerable and unguarded that made your heart ache. You cupped his face, your thumbs brushing over the sharp angles of his cheekbones, and kissed him, slow and deep, your lips moving against his in perfect sync. He groaned into your mouth, his hands tightening on your waist as you began to move.  

His head fell back against the headboard, his eyes fluttering shut as his hands roamed your back, pulling you impossibly closer. “You feel-” His voice cracked, and he shook his head slightly, as though words weren’t enough. “Like heaven.”  

Your hands tangled in his hair, your lips brushing against his jaw as you whispered, “So do you.”  

And for a while, there was nothing but the sound of your breathing and the quiet creak of the bed beneath you. It wasn’t hurried or frantic — it was slow, intentional, the kind of intimacy that left no room for pretense.  

Whenever he slid into you, it was like the air had been stolen from your lungs. You’d gasp softly, your body stretching to take him in, the familiar fullness making your back arch. The way he filled you, the way you took him in — it was the same as it had always been, the same old love, but it never failed to unravel you completely. The way he moved felt like second nature now. The way he’d fill you completely, only to pull out just enough to make you crave him again. He knew you like the back of his hand, like he’d memorised every nerve, every response.  

His hands gripped your hips, holding you steady as he moved inside you. You clenched around him. His tip hit you there, up and deep, that spot deep inside you, the one that made your toes curl and a soft, involuntary moan spill from your lips. 

Panicked, you bit into his shoulder to stifle the sound, your teeth sinking into the firm muscle there. You couldn’t risk it, couldn’t let yourself get too loud. He hissed quietly at the sensation, his fingers tightening on your waist, but he didn’t say a word.  

He didn’t have the same problem. Alex had always been quieter than you during moments like this. He never made much noise. It wasn’t that he wasn’t affected — you could feel how his breath hitched, how his grip on your hips tightened when you tightened around him — but he rarely let those sounds escape him. It was just who he was, the same shyness that sometimes bled into other parts of your life together. Even now, it lingered, making him quiet, careful, while you were left fighting to keep your own sounds contained. Even now, as his lips brushed over your jaw, his breathing ragged, he kept his composure in a way that made you curse him under your breath. You hated him for it, just a little — how he could stay do controlled while you had to bite your lip, dig your nails into his back, anything to keep from waking her up.  

You definitely couldn’t wake her up.  

He knew it, too. You could see it in the faint smirk tugging at his lips as he kissed along your jaw, his breath hot and uneven against your skin.  

“Al…” you whispered, a warning, though it came out more like a plea.  

He grinned against your skin, the kind of grin that made you want to both kiss him and smack him at the same time. “Shh…” he murmured as his hips rolled deeper, more deliberately, like he was testing you. And your nails raked down his back, leaving faint red lines in their wake. His smirk grew, and he kissed you then, his lips soft but insistent, swallowing the soft gasps and moans you couldn’t keep down as he thrust deeper and harder.  

And then, as if out of nowhere, he whispered, “We should get married.”  

Your head snapped back, your breath hitching as you stared at him. A “What?” tumbled out, half-gasped.  

“It’s the perfect time.” he said, his lips brushing over yours as he spoke, like the words had been building inside him, waiting to spill out.  

“Perfect time for what?” you managed, though the words were broken, fragmented by the way he was moving inside you now — harder, deeper, his hands guiding your hips to meet his thrusts.  

“Before…” He trailed off, capturing your mouth in another kiss, and you swore you could feel the words vibrating against your lips.  

“Before what?”  

“Before you’ll have a big belly again.” His hips snapped into yours, and you felt the words before they fully registered. “Because I’m gonna fuck another baby into you.”  

Your eyes widened, your body tensing in shock as you gasped, “What?!”  

“We should have another baby.” he said, his voice a little desperate now, as though the idea had overtaken him completely and he just couldn’t stop it from pouring out. “I- I want to have another baby with you.”  

“You’re insane.” you managed, though your voice was trembling, your hands gripping his shoulders as he held you close, his movements growing more erratic.  

“I’m serious.” he murmured, his lips trailing down your throat, his hands sliding up to cradle your face. “I love you. I love her. I want…more of this. More of us.”  

“Alex.” you whispered, your voice breaking, and he kissed you again, silencing whatever argument you might have had.  

“Say yes.”  

“To what?” you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair as he thrust into you.  

“To everything…To me. To this. To us.”  

You kissed him then, your lips soft and searching, though the answer to his question could be found there, in the quiet desperation of your touch. 

You were already his. And he was yours.  

And as he held you close, his arms wrapping around you like a shield, you realised you didn’t need to say anything at all.  

Except you did.  

“Fuck it into me.” you whispered, the words spilling out like a secret you hadn’t meant to reveal that held more tenderness in it then the way it came out. 

He froze for half a second, his eyes flickering to yours, his lips parted slightly in disbelief. “Yeah?” he rasped, his voice rough and thick, his breath fanning against your cheek.  

“Yeah.” you breathed, your lips brushing his jaw as you repeated yourself.  

His composure shattered in an instant. His grip on you tightened immediately, his fingers digging into your waist as he pushed you back down onto the mattress. The shift was sudden, almost jarring, but you didn’t care. You wanted this — wanted him — with a kind of intensity that left no room for hesitation.  

“You want me to put another baby in you?” Dangerous. He sounded dangerous and he needed to hear you say it again.  

“Yes.” you said, the word trembling on your lips as you reached up to tangle your fingers in his hair.  

“Fuck.” he groaned. 

His movements were different now — less careful, less restrained. There was a new purpose in the way he moved, a new fire that burned between you. Dirty words spilled from his lips, low and ragged, each one landing hot against your ear. “You’re so tight. So fucking perfect. Made for me.”  

You whimpered in response, your nails raking down his back as he drove into you.  

“God, you feel so good. Always so good for me, yeah?”  

“Always.” 

His hands roamed your body, gripping your thighs, your waist, your breasts, like he couldn’t get enough of you. Like he needed to touch every part of you, claim every inch of you as his own.  

“You’re gonna look so good,” he whispered. “You’ll look so fucking beautiful, you know that? All round and full. Carrying my baby again.”  

“Alex,” you whimpered again, your hands gripping his shoulders.  

“You will.” he continued, his voice softening slightly, though the hunger in his tone remained. “You’ll be glowing. Just like last time. Fuck, I remember it so clearly.”  

He slid a hand down your body, his palm coming to rest on your stomach, flat and soft beneath his touch. His movements slowed for a moment, his thumb brushing over your skin like he was trying to picture it, imagine what it would look like, what it would feel like.  

“I’ll feel it.” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “Every time I touch you, I’ll feel it growing inside you. My baby. Our baby.”  

“Yeah?” you whispered, your voice trembling as his words wrapped around you, making you dizzy with the weight of them.  

“I’ll talk to it, just like before.” he said, his eyes locked on yours. “Every night. I’ll put my hand right here…and I’ll tell it how much I love it. How much I love you.”  

Your breath hitched, your hands trembling as they clung to him, your heart pounding in your chest.  

“And you’ll be so beautiful, baby.” he continued, his voice breaking slightly. “All round and soft. You won’t be able to see your feet, and you’ll complain about it, but fuck, I’ll love it. I’ll love every second of it. You want that?” he asked, his voice low and rough, his lips brushing against your jaw. “You want me to fill you up?”  

“Yes.”  

“Say it again.” he demanded, his voice thick with need, his movements growing more erratic.  

“Yes.” you cried, your hands clawing at his skin as his hips snapped into yours. “I want it. I want you. I want-”  

Words dissolved into a moans as he shifted slightly, angling himself deeper, his movements pushing you closer and closer to the edge.  

“I love you.” he murmured, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss. “You’ll be mine.” he murmured, his lips trailing down your throat, the heat of his breath making your skin prickle. “You already are, but fuck me, I’ll make sure everyone knows it. You’ll be carrying my baby, and no one will ever doubt it.”  

You could feel him, the fat tip of his cock dragging against that sensitive spot deep inside you, pulsing and swollen as he pushed deeper, deeper, until there was nothing left of him that wasn’t inside of you. You swore you could feel every ridge, every vein, the way he throbbed inside of you as though his body was desperate to mark you in every way possible. You whimpered into his mouth, your body tightening around him. The pressure was building, coiling tighter and tighter until it was unbearable. You could feel him swell inside of you, his cock thickening as your walls fluttered around him, desperate and needy. His hands slid up your body, one of them coming to rest on your stomach again, his palm pressing against your skin like he was imagining what it would feel like to have you full with his child.  

“I can’t stop thinking about it.” he admitted, his voice low and breathless. “You. Pregnant again. Carrying my baby- Fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight.” he groaned, his forehead pressing against yours. “I can feel it- you’re close, aren’t you? So fucking close.”  

“Yes-” you gasped, your voice trembling as your hips bucked against his. “Alex, I-”  

“Come for me.” he urged. His hand slid down to grip your hip, his fingers digging into your skin as he thrust harder, his movements precise and unrelenting. “I want to feel you. Come on, baby, let go for me.”  

And when you did, it was like the world shattered around you. Your body tensed, every muscle locking up as the release crashed over you, wave after wave of white-hot pleasure that left you trembling beneath him.  

“Fuck, that’s it.” he groaned, his voice breaking as he felt you clench around him, your walls milking him for everything he had. “That’s so fucking good. You’re so fucking good for me.”  

He followed soon after, the sharp rhythm gaving way to something deeper, slower, his hips slamming into yours one final time as he buried himself as deep as he could go. You felt him pulse inside of you, thick and hot, as he came.  

“Take it.” he breathed, his voice trembling as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. “Take all of it. Fuck, you’re gonna look so perfect.” His teeth grazed your skin, sharp and insistent, and then he bit down, not hard enough to hurt but enough to leave a mark, a physical reminder of this moment. You gasped, your nails raking across his skin as if to claim him in return.  

“You feel that?” he asked, his voice softer now but no less intense. He pressed his palm against your stomach. “I can feel it- feel you taking me.” You gasped, your body still shuddering from the aftershocks as he continued to move, slowly. “You’re so mine.” 

And as he kissed you again, soft and unhurried, you couldn’t help but believe him. 

Your limbs felt disconnected, your body humming with a soft ache, the kind that only came from being completely unravelled. The world beyond this room felt impossibly distant, blurred at the edges, as if it had been reduced to the faint glow of the fairy lights above and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against yours.  

Neither of you spoke at first, the silence broken only by the faint rustle of the sheets and the soft, labored sounds of your breathing. For a while, there was nothing but that. It was that strange, floaty kind of quiet where time didn’t seem to exist.  

His hands wandered idly over your skin, tracing lazy patterns along your waist, your hip, as though he couldn’t quite let go of you yet.  

“Wow…” he muttered after a while, his voice soft and hoarse. His lips brushed against your collarbone, a gentle apology for the bite he’d left there. “You okay?” 

“Mhm.” you managed, still catching your breath. “I’m more than okay. You?”  

He lifted his head to look at you, his hair a wild mess, his cheeks flushed. “Yeah.” he said, grinning. “Though, uh…I think you scratched me.”  

“Good.” you teased, your fingers tracing the faint red lines on his back. “You deserved it.”  

His lips curved into a small, lopsided smile, the kind that always managed to undo you. He leaned in, kissing you softly, his hand slipping down to your stomach again, his palm pressing flat against your skin as if he could feel something there already.  

And then, after a long moment of quiet, he broke the silence with a laugh — low and almost disbelieving. Eventually, he lifted his head, his hair sticking up in every direction. He looked at you, his cheeks still red, his lips still smiling.  

“I definitely just got you pregnant.” he said, his voice tinged with something between amusement and awe. And then he laughed again. 

You laughed too, breathless and a little giddy, the sound mingling with his as you looked at him, your hand covering his on your stomach.  

“Oh, you think so?” you teased, though the way he was looking at you made it impossible to deny the idea.  

“I know so. Absolutely.” he said, his voice firm but warm, his thumb brushing over your skin in slow, deliberate circles. “And you know what?”  

“What?” you asked, looking up at him.  

“I can’t fucking wait.” 

You stared at him, your chest tight with something you couldn’t quite name. “Alex.” you breathed, your body arching beneath him as his words sent shivers down your spine.  

“I’ll take care of you.” he promised. “Every single day. Whatever you need. Whatever you want. Even-” He kissed you again, grinning against your lips. “-if it’s 3am and you want pickles and ice cream.”  

“Pickles and ice cream?” you repeated, laughing softly.  

“You never know.” he said, his grin widening. “You might get new cravings.”  

Later, much later, as the two of you lay tangled together beneath the sheets, Alex pressed another kiss to your temple. He stayed there for a moment, his arms wrapped around you as though he never wanted to let go.  

“I meant it.” he whispered, his voice soft now, almost hesitant.  

“Meant what?” you asked, your fingers brushing through his hair.  

“Everything.” he said, his eyes meeting yours. “The marriage. The baby. All of it.” 

“Okay.” You smiled sleepily, curling into his chest. “Merry Christmas, Alex.”  

“Merry Christmas.” 

And as the two of you lay there, tangled together, he thought again about how lucky he was. How, somehow, he’d ended up here, with you. How this had become his life.  

He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve this, but he knew one thing for certain.  

He wouldn’t trade it for anything.  

Okay, maybe two things, because he also wasn’t letting go of it. Ever. 

a/n: Is it weird to post something Christmas-themed in February? If so, forgive me. I did start it in December but I kinda wanted to end it for a bit there so I wasn’t really in the mood to finish something so happy but it’s finished now, roughly. It was mostly finished anyway but I didn’t really like it that much and then I forgot about it but he looked kinda dad-like in the pics from today (may lolll) so I thought I might as well…It’s not really proof-read I just skimmed the unfinished bits so sorry if there are mistakes. Okay gn.

[darbonime]

shower tenderness

contains: pretty much sub! al, smut, a tad of choking, handjob (m receiving).

word count: 2.7k

“Oh, so, you came?” you turn to him with a wicked and playful smile, adorned with soft features, pleased that despite shyness he decided to join. Hot water runs over your body, making his breath hitch in the throat only because of the sight in front of him. You, standing under water with turned face over your shoulder to him and dazzling gaze. Water droplets run down your figure, down your legs to finally reach the bottom of shower cabin; he can catch a glimpse of your chest.

Alex awkwardly but not lacking want, moves closer to you and delicately wraps his lean arms from behind you, not wanting to appear needy or too desperate. He glides his nose gradually over your wet shoulder gathering few waters drops with it. Tiny smile tugs on your lips and your hands cupping his, intertwining fingers together, leaning into him trusting completely.

“Thought that don’t want to skip the ability to make up for lost time…” he feathers short pecks on the same shoulder; thumb strokes your stomach, sternum, trying to learn by heart every little bend of your body.

You both date half a year already, but he still can be a bit too closed off, a bit too quiet and shy, you came to terms with that. He just needs some help, encouragement and soft-spoken words to make him reassured. Alex trusts you more after countless time together. He is more at ease with intimacy now, vocal and more open with his own needs. There he is. All over you. The idea of showering together sounded too appealing after the days when they both were too busy or tired for proper closeness.

He leaves a couple kisses over the beginning of your spine, shoulder blades, then yanking you closer savoring the moment. His chin is placed on her shoulder like it belongs there, calm soft breath of his hits your ear making a shiver crawl over your body leaving goosebumps, corner of mouth raises for a second experiencing pleasing impact he has on you. He is pretty much proud of himself for being a reason of your reactions.

“Is water good?”, suddenly question you, wanting him to keep less his thoughts at bay, “Tell me if something isn’t okay.” you remind him affectionately, turning your head trying to catch a small glimpse of his lovely face.

“Water ‘s good.” his voice cracks from time to time but there is something strangely attractive in that, every time he sounds like a kitten, that meows for first time. Alex’s flicks of tongue spill into sloppy kiss where your neck meets shoulder. He thinks you worry too much about him, at times he is sincerely surprised by it. How can a person care so much? Guess it is what love does to people, he supposes, because he found himself doing the same after they found each other.

The morning sun outside is dimmed by the tulle on a window in the bathroom, a couple of persistent rays of the sun got through it and settled down on milky beige tile of the room. Little birds already woke up singing soft ballads along with rustle of leaves. It’s a day off for both of you, which is a rare thing, so now you have all the time of the world to revel each other, relax, feel love and then have a quiet peaceful breakfast together. None of you were a fan of loudness or big occasions. You both will just make up something quickly and lazily eat it in front of the telly unbothered by life and obstacles it has.

You sense his hand creeping over your ribcage slowly as if testing waters. Carefulness of his actions makes you shiver with anticipation and awakens persistent need to bite him and hear cracked surprised yelp. It’s just what you fancy doing, bite him when he’s not prepared and watch the consequences of your actions. He always nearly jumps and lets out “Ouch!” and after “What’s that for?!”. Adorable.

Grabbing a bottle of shower gel, he spreads it carefully over your body and you inhale with a slight sharpness in your throat, as if it is the last breath before dipping into passion. Sensation of his fingertips against your warm and steamed skin. His hands trembling with excitement as if he is a boy who is about to have first sex with a girl.

A favorite feeling in the world is distinct deliberateness of these moments. Time almost comes to a stop, and the house outside of the bathroom is gravelly silent. His hands slide over your sides to the curves of hips, appreciating and memorizing every piece of your body like a sculptor with their creation. His mind at loss as fingers trailing over your frame drawing endless paths. Soft jets laving you, not leaving any bubbly foam after shower gel.

Alex treats you as if you are the most fragile picturesque porcelain he could afford. The gentleness of his touch can’t be spoiled by the callousness of his hands, only making it more familiar and desirable, with a peppering of roughness that finishes every touch as a cherry on top. He stopped scattering kisses on your neck and shoulder as if concentrating fully on the way his hand routes to your chest. You can’t really say if he is doing it with that dragging slowness because he doesn't want to rush or if there is any other reason. After all he has a thing for surprising you.

His arousal starts prominently appearing against your bum and you can swear you have a sensation that his cheeks are filling with red strawberry color as he inhales shakingly. His hand running through his sticking to forehead tousled damp hair. He is so simple to agitate. The sight of you only already makes him hard. What to say of his reaction to your skin underneath his palms?

His hand finally reaches your chest, and he seems to stop breathing for a second, his thumb brushes over your faintly hardened nipple and the only thing that sobers him up is your voice. “Hey, baby, don’t forget to breathe.” you purr with playful undertone, and his grin, makes his eyes crinkle in the corners charmingly, and sheepishly hide his face in the back of your neck picking your scent.

Your breasts are something that just puts him in awe. The shape of it, the softness, the way it’s simply yours, and every time he melts like a teenage boy that never saw a woman before. He feels silly, somewhat embarrassed, everyone around seemed to treat their girlfriends with slight disregard, taking them for granted. He can’t behave this way. He wants to kiss the ground you walk on; he can’t let you be neglected. You are tangled at the roots of his soul. He simply can’t.

Alex is a sap. Trying to hide it so bad, does it is even more noticeable to everyone, but he refuses to accept it. Especially, he attempts to be different in front of the band and his friends, but every time you both are alone, he can’t keep his hands to himself. He is very much about cuddles and touching. It’s just not shown for everyone. Even in front of the guys he can’t stop himself from holding your hand a bit too tight, but when there are only you two, he always leans in full hugs, tucking his head in your neck and wrapping arms around your torso entirely. His hugs never can be with one arm or not bear hug, if they are then probably his love run out for you. You don’t want to imagine it.

Alex gets bolder; both of his hands now cup swells of your breasts which forces your pulse quickening only for him. His fingers capture your nipples in between them, tugging a little. You hum thickly, desire pools in your stomach, and your patience wears thin.

It’s torture not to see his face, but for him it’s an advantage. He gets cocky, he has a free hand to do whatever he desires following every naughty thought he has in the deepest corner of his mind. His teeth nip at your smooth shoulder, leaving hardly noticeable traces of him, while he massages your chest getting more and more pent up. His half hard length is vigorous now and he unconsciously rubs himself faster against inviting curve of your ass, which only make you lean into his body more, exhaling with sweet escalating pleasure.

“So good…” he mutters under his nose with closed eyes, not noticing the way words slipped out of his mouth. Craving closer proximity, he tightens arms around you. He squeezes you closer and your skin rumples under his demanding palms.

You know it’s not enough for him. He needs it more deeply. He needs more. It’s a part when Alex feels it’s like a broken rollercoaster. Out of control and he has no ability to stop it.

Your favourite part. When he starts losing hold of himself.

The primal desire to become one person, one and the same, consumes both of you in moments like these.

In the next second, you turn to face him, he catches your lips instantly not wasting a second. Alex rushes, it appears a tad clumsy, revealing the whole desperateness of his. The pattern of his tongue melts with pattern of yours. It’s messy. It’s needy. Every swirl that twirls your tongues, caressing each other, fuels you two even more.

Every time it feels like nothing can fulfil the desire he has. His hand grips your back and another one cradles your head gently as he backs you against the wall of the shower accidentally brushing some shampoos and shower gel bottles dropping them, which compels him shudder and pull away to catch a breath. He is shaking, his nose brushes over your, your foreheads touching, he barely can breathe, neither can you. Every stroke is screaming with urgent want, every place where their bodies are meeting is in flames. The small humid space of shower cabin pushes them into each other, and no one is against it.

Alex isn’t a big guy, and it’s perfect, something intimate about it being small together. His little blemishes from acne that are still fading away can’t spoil his, it would seem, undistinguished, for others, but pretty for you, face. His frame isn’t buff and muscular, and, again, it only gives form of his real presence. Sometimes you forget he is yours and here. He is simple and immaculate. Alex thinks he has flaws, but you adore every little slice of him so deeply that it makes your heart squeeze and ache.

Tips of his short nails grip the skin on your hip leaving reddish half-moons, you hiss through the teeth quietly. Your hands grip his short and wet strands pulling them and he lets out a deep groan that forces his voice break, his cheek is pressed to your cheek. Skin to skin. Alex’s teeth bite your lower lip, but very lightly. His cock desperately rubbing against your hip. Every part of him tries to press into you, soak into you.

Boiling water pours over your bodies making you both almost literally drown in each other. The glasses of the shower are fogged, sounds of intimacy are muffled.

Out of blue, he grabs your hand and guides it to his neck. His eyes are hooded, mind is dizzy. He lost any possible embarrassment or shyness. He is franked to you like he never was to a woman before.

“Grip it. Not hard. Jus’ so I could feel it,” he is breathless, “Please.” his voice is shattering, he can’t breathe, and accent gets more profound. His eyes are pleading and needing. Somewhere deep in his soul, there is a pang of fear. He just wishes you didn’t think he’s weird or disgusting. Alex just childishly and innocently hopes not to be judged.

Were you surprised? You still don’t know a lot about him. Were you bothered? Only wanted to satisfy his needs.

Your fingers on his throat, griping it. Delicately. If choking couldn’t be sweet, you definitely made it like that. You can feel him swallowing through the skin, can feel his fast-throbbing pulse, the curve of his neck fits in your palm like your hands were made for his neck. His eyes roll back before closing, his hard length twitches seeking attention. His bitten lips barely open as he attempts to mutter prayerfully. His hips can’t stop grinding against her thigh urgently, even while being choked. Alex thinks he could cum just from that. Too good. Too pleasurable and delightful. Every word in existence for pleasure meant nothing in comparison to what he is experiencing right now. Thoughts of hands on his neck lingered in his mind already long enough, and your hands suited effortlessly.

The view is a sin, beautifully inappropriate and erotic. He is about to fall apart and then you would pick up every little piece to get him together, glueing pieces with your kisses.

It would be a shame to accept it but having him like that was the best possession that people could have. Just a thought of seeing him that vulnerable made your heart overflow with hot darkest passion and devotion. You’d want to keep him in your palms forever and always.

Alex loses his breath slowly, his eyes on a verge of shutting, and eyelashes wet and parted. He looks even more vulnerable. When he clearly tries to step closer in an attempt to wrap limbs around you frantically, you let go of his neck and he grasps you closely breathing heavily. His hips stopped rubbing for a second. Stroking his head, you feel him getting to the edge. He is close to tipping over it.

“I need,” he gulps, shaking off the lightheadedness, Alex hisses, sensation down there becomes too unbearable almost painful, “Fuck…” his voice is cracking becoming a high sound.

“I know.” you pick up instantly, your fingers tremble in await, running over his flat stomach, then over his little not immediately obvious trail of hair leading to his cock. Exhaling, he leans with his hand on the wall behind you.

Your palm stretches over his deprived cock. Movements are slow, deliberate and incredibly relieving for him. Curled hand moves over his shaft, making it redder and fuller with every second, his hips carving into your hand with longing. Your thumb teases his tip, which makes him let out the softest moan ever. He loves it. When you for the first time found this little movement that drives him that mad, Alex gathered courage back then and told you to do that one in future, and you memorized it, of course.

An aroused head of his length was throbbing with desire to spill over. A puppy-like whimper left his mouth, gripping your body closer with blurry mind, image of you seemed to float in his eyes like underwater. Your hand strokes and encourages the tip of a cock with urgent movements, precum gathers around and among your fingers.

“Let it go, baby.” soft whisper tickles his ear, and he gulps as his arms wrap around you tighter. His knees buckle and he barely can’t hold his own body stable.

Lips both of you find each other, and you can feel him spilling onto your stomach with a muffled keening. You soothingly help to ride out his orgasm with slow loving movements, while you kiss him tenderly, giving him time to calm his rapid heart. His cum leaks over curve of your stomach streaming down onto your thigh.

Softly backing away, you let him breathe, as a steam of shower surrounds you. It’s damp here and both of you are spent because of thousands of emotions. Alex breathes heavily, but in a way of finding air and relief. His palms slip over your sides appreciatingly and lovingly, contented with a moment of silence and only noises of water.

“A mess…” he mumbles under his nose as if only to himself, looking down on splash of milky liquid on your stomach, wiping it with hit rough thumb. You giggle quietly, melted by his behavior. There won’t be any other person who causes your heart to beat faster than Alex. Something about his every move and word that screams him. And you love it.

a/n: new recent picture of al did unholy things to me. anyway, i seem to like what i wrote this time, but i still think the way i write is vey lame, so i try my best every day to be better. now i write something that is bigger then i usually write, and i hope i'll manage to do it good. and also happy birthday alex! i'll keep all words of love and appreciation deep in my heart.

[elementaryhallelujahs]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ strawberry lace

mdni, 18+ only

he’s always been cold on his birthdays, that much is a given. he expects the indoor parties and the alcohol blankets. he expects the raging hangovers the next day and the oily regret and the bitter realisation of one more year gone by; lingering in the air like the cold. 

what he doesn’t expect is to wake up on the other side of the world. 

the south side, that is. 

he’s never been one for spontaneous travel—not one to throw caution to the wind and say fuck it! and all that jazz. 

well, he wasn’t anyway. not before her. 

alex is a planner. alex is careful. alex wants to vet things and carefully structure everything. 

she does none of those things. 

she’s a whirlwind of all things frazzled and exciting and chaotic. she’s everything he’s not; everything he wants to be. 

and so when she begs and begs for a spontaneous birthday trip, (not for her birthday, it's for his birthday) he gives in for once. 

he’s 38. he counts as a middle-aged man, alex is sure of it. and yet with her he wants to chase his youth again and again. 

the morning of the fifth he wakes up in his own bed. 

the morning of the sixth he wakes up in fiji.

what’s more is that he wakes up in an inexplicably pink, princess bedroom. there are balloons—so so many balloons! pink and white and silver and the foil ones that spell “HAPPY BIRTHDAY AL” on the wall in front of him. and the moment he moves an inch, she jumps on him and smothers him with kisses. 

“there you are. i’ve been waiting!”

“waiting for?”

“for you to wake up!” she laughs. alex smiles in return and properly pulls her against him. “happy birthday, baby.”

her lips latch onto his, making him melt. 

her entire body is warm—not the kind of warm that comes from being in front of the radiator. she’s sunshine warm, like she’s already been outside before he’s even ventured away from the land of the dreaming. 

sleep makes his body melt into hers and alex happily nuzzles his face into her tits. 

“what’s all this?”

“do you like it?” she asks and presses a kiss into his messy hair. “i could only find pink balloons at first so i just went with the theme.”

“‘s all very cute. just like you.”

alex presses a kiss on her collarbone and inhales the sent of her skin—sunshine and strawberries and vanilla. utterly sweet. once he’s started, there’s no way he can bring himself to stop tasting her skin, breathing her in. drinking in her soft sounds and shivers and relishing the feel of her fingers digging into his bicep. 

alex hasn’t even properly opened his eyes yet and he knows he’s already in heaven. 

“stay,” he murmurs and finds her lips.

she lightly runs her fingers along his stubbly jaw, all the way to the nape of his neck, sinking them into his hair. then her hand runs lower, gingerly raking her nails down his bare back, making him shiver in delight.

warmth coils in his stomach. 

january is supposed to be cold and pine scented, it’s supposed to be stubborn remnants of christmas and bittersweet new years excitement. it’s never been warm, salty breeze and a sweet, sunshine girl in his arms. 

“stay in bed with you all day?” she giggles and tries to kiss him again. alex lets her chase his mouth, then smugly pulls back at the last minute.

“stay and keep me warm.”

“you’re plenty warm!”

now that his eyes are properly open, he takes her in inch by inch—first the red of her lips and then down her jaw, her chin, her neck… she’s clad in a bikini top: white lace, printed strawberries, a bow tied at the back. before she can even object, alex pulls on the string and the knot comes undone. 

“you’re like my little birthday gift, aren’t you? i get to unwrap all the layers.”

“mmm, is that what you’re doing now?” 

her already red lip becomes redder when she bites on it and throws her leg over his so his knee hovers just below her cunt. one movement and he’ll have her shaking under him. 

he takes his time though, time is what he has in abundance today. 

alex feels his skin tingle, every press of her skin against his is electric—little sparks dancing in the barely-there space between them. her breaths comes out in quick pants and her eyes roam over him. over his face and then his chest that’s devoid of any clothes. 

the only clothes he’s wearing are some cotton pyjamas. easy to discard. 

the bikini top falls apart and there she is, right under him now, back arching so she can brush her chest against his. get any friction on her nipples really. goosebumps rise on her skin wherever his fingers touch. 

“look at you,” alex breathes and swallows roughly. he feels a little drunk then, almost like he’s been intoxicated since the moment he woke up. “my beautiful, perfect girl,” alex hums. 

his kisses turn feverish as his lips move along the hollow of her throat, her collarbone. the heat in his stomach intensifies, his hand comes to rest on the back of her neck. he’s often used this position to hold her in place, to stop her from squirming but this time his hold is gentle. 

his mouth travels lower, ghostly kisses trailed down to her breast. 

she mewls when his tongue circles around her nipples.

it doesn’t take another second before her legs are around his middle and his big hands are gripping her thighs. rough, calloused fingers digging into soft flesh while she tugs at the hair at the nape of his neck and makes him groan. 

“oh, baby baby,” he breathes on her skin and lets her pull the pyjamas off him. “how am i supposed to let you go anywhere when you look like this.”

“don’t then,” she laughs. 

her hands trace his spine and alex feels his cock twitch in his boxers. he needs to be inside her right now, needs to feel her walls clenching around him. 

he also wants to taste her but they have all day for that. 

“want to be inside you,” alex groans when he feels the wetness between her legs. 

she tries to lightly grind onto his stomach, tries to get herself off even if it’s just a little bit. 

fuck she’s beautiful, and he doesn’t want to was poetic but the sunlight streaming in through the windows and onto her skin makes her look utterly luminous. 

as if in a daze, alex slides the waistband of her underwear off her hips and traces the exposed skin with his fingers. she moans something softly.

“i want you too, al. fuck! baby…”

they barely use their words after that. the room is far from silent though—it echoes with moans and sighs and the sound of her laughter when alex nips at her skin. it’s like a little rhythm—he bites softly and chases away the sting with a lick. he leaves a mark and then rewards her with a kiss. 

she doesn’t resist him at all when her underwear joins the heap on the floor with the rest of their clothes.

his hang inches between her legs and finds her clit, fingers rubbing lazily over it, almost in circles, slow at first and growing faster until she’s squirming for more—more friction and more of him and this and ecstasy and alex knows whatever he’s doing isn’t enough but just this once he wants to hear her beg. 

(oh, who is he kidding! he always wants to hear her beg and plead and show him how much she wants him.) 

“stop being a tease,” she whines and he laughs at her desperation.

finally, alex decides to end this misery. for her and for him. the need is driving him insane too. 

when the first thrust comes, slow and sensual—and without warning—her eyes roll back in her head. she whimpers something, curses softly and holds onto him, legs locking around him so she can take him in deeper. 

“shit baby…” he moans too. she’s squeezing him so tight. all he feels is her wetness and warmth. all he feels is his cock stretching her open. 

she closes her eyes and alex tuts. “open your eyes,” he nudges, “i want you to look at me when you cum.”

and so she obliges, looking him in the eye and moaning his name softly with each thrust, lifting her hips to meet his and grinding her clit on his stomach.

the pressure inside him builds with each thrust, his entire body feels charged and taut and a current runs right under his skin. 

under him, she’s as electric as a live wire. 

“look at what you do to me,” she moans and alex feels her thighs begin to tremble. 

she must be close now, she’s certainly acting like it—nails scratching his back, teeth softly sinking into his shoulder so she doesn’t scream loud enough for everyone to hear. (if it weren’t mid morning, he would have liked to make her scream. alex mentally marks it for later tonight.)

her hips thrust upwards, trying and failing to match him. she’s erratic, almost manic. there’s no rhythm to her movements, only lust and desire and so much want for him that he feels a wave of it run through his whole body. 

under him she shudders and cries out. 

“al, baby… gonna cum, f-fuck!”

he’s about to speak, about to tell her to let go but she’s already there. her body goes tense as alex feels her squeeze around him, so fucking tight that it tips him over the edge. 

alex thrusts into her as the orgasm hits him hard. ropes and ropes of his cum filling her up, spilling from the sides under the insides of her thighs are sticky and wet with slick. both their release combined dripping out of her. 

alex can’t help but drip a finger in the mess they’ve made and bring it up to her mouth. 

“taste us,” he says and shivers when she swirls her tongue around his fingers. 

he doesn’t know how long it takes them to comes down from the high. all he knows is that they stay like that, bodies locked together, him on top of her, breathing her in. the strawberry scent of her body lotion has dulled a bit now, replaced by sex and sweat. he makes absolutely no move to pull out, only adjusts himself so his entire weight isn’t on top of her. 

“happy birthday, al.” this time her voice comes out breathy and soft. it surrounds him, permeates through his skull and bounces around his brain. 

birthday. yes. his birthday. that’s what they’re here for. 

“mmm, thank you, darling. you’re my gift, aren’t you?” his mouth moves to hers again—another sultry, lazy kiss. another long minute passes. “the absolute best birthday gift i’ve ever had.”

“is that so?”

“would you like me to show you my gratitude?” alex smirks. 

and then he moves again to position his mouth between her legs.