#i got that shirt idea from alex hes the one to thank | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

goblinontour · 3 months

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Nothing Gold Can Stay

a different side of him…and it’s really hot

part 5 | series masterlist

warnings: prof!al, age gap (not specified), smut, oral (m/f receiving), piv, spanking, orgasm denial(ish), backshots!!!

word count: 9.5k

It was hot. Unbearably hot. With the academic year winding down, you and Alex spent more and more time at home, finishing up final assignments and reports. Alex couldn’t stand it. He hated this part. Office hours were dull, writing reports even more so, and working from home felt more like a prison sentence than anything. But having you there made it slightly more bearable. A lot more bearable actually…If only the heat wasn't so stifling.

Alex couldn’t focus. He let you use his office for your studies, so you kind of claimed it as yours subconsciously. So he found himself wandering the house aimlessly, the oppressive heat making it hard to think straight. He peered into the office, seeing you deeply engrossed in your work at his desk.

You didn't notice him at first, but when you looked up, your eyes widened. Alex stood at the door, completely naked except for the chain around his neck and the tattoo on his arm. He caught your gaze, looking at him, staring, eyeing him up and down, and if you weren’t so shocked you maybe would have noticed him smirking at your reaction.

“What? Did you expect me to wear a suit in my own house? I’m choosing comfort today…and it’s so fucking hot.” he declared, moving to the sofa but never taking his eyes off you.

He lounged there for a moment, but his restless energy got the better of him. He began pacing the room, his presence an insistent reminder of his proximity. You tried to concentrate on your work, but his pacing, his very existence, was distracting you.

Finally, he approached you, sliding into your lap on the office chair. His skin was warm and sticky against yours, and you could feel his frustration with the heat radiating off him.

“God, it’s so hot in here.” he murmured, starting to unbutton your shirt slowly.

You raised an eyebrow. “I get that, but why are you unbuttoning my shirt?”

He grinned, pausing to kiss your neck. “First of all, it’s my shirt.” Another kiss. “And second…” His lips brushed against your skin, sending shivers despite the heat, “I can’t have you overheating in here, darling…you should thank me.”

His kisses grew more insistent, and despite the sweltering heat, you felt a different kind of warmth spreading through you. And yet, you couldn’t help but laugh, pushing him back slightly.

“If this is your idea of keeping cool, you’re doing a terrible job.” you teased, but there was no mistaking the affection in your voice.

He chuckled, nuzzling against your neck. “Maybe. But at least it’s more interesting than writing reports.”

You couldn’t argue with that.

“How are your boobs?” he asked, trying to stay serious, but you could tell he was playing.

You gave him a playful look, “They're just fine?”

“Let me see.” he insisted, grabbing one in his hand and acting as if he were inspecting it carefully. You stared at him, confused.

“What? I just wanted to make sure they're okay.” he said with mock seriousness.

You looked at him, trying to hold your expression, but then both of you burst out laughing. He kissed you again, this time with a deeper, lingering passion. His lips moved against yours, making you forget the heat, the work, everything but the feel of him.

His kissing became more telling, his lips moving with a slow, deliberate passion that sent shivers through you despite the oppressive heat. His mouth was warm and wet, his tongue dancing with yours, exploring and tasting. You could feel every movement, every shift of his lips against yours, soft yet demanding.

As his hips pressed closer, you felt the unmistakable hardness of his cock brushing against your thigh. Each subtle grind, each slow movement, teased both of you, slowly but surely building the anticipation. His breath hitched slightly with each thrust, the friction driving him to the brink.

You broke the kiss for a moment, your eyes meeting his, dark with desire. He smirked at how quickly he got you turned on, but it was edged with his own need. “You know,” he murmured, his voice husky, “If anyone walked by right now, they’d have quite the view.”

You glanced over his shoulder, realising you were right in front of the window. The thought sent a thrill through you, adding to the already heady mix of sensations. “Maybe I should open it," he continued to tease, “Let them hear us too. But it’s too hot even for that.”

You chuckled, but the sound caught in your throat as he ground his hips harder, the slow friction against his cock making him moan softly. “I’m so in the mood for a lazy fuck.” he confessed, sounding almost desperate.

You tried to muster some resistance, remembering the work waiting on the desk. “Alex, I’m busy, I can’t-“

He silenced you with another kiss, his lips pressing firmly against yours. “I’m your professor, you can’t say no to this.” he whispered, his voice a mix of pleading and confidence, his hands continuing their slow, deliberate movements.

You managed a playful smirk. “Is that so, Mr. Turner?”

“Mhm.” he replied, lips brushing against your neck. But you still shook your head, pushing him back gently.

“No, Alex. I really can’t.”

He sighed dramatically, “Ugh, fine.”

Sliding down from the chair onto his knees, he spread your thighs apart. The sticky sound of your skin peeling from the leather echoed in the room, adding to the already charged atmosphere. His eyes darkened as he saw your panties peeking from underneath the oversized shirt. The thin fabric barely concealed your arousal, and his breath hitched slightly at the sight.

With a mischievous grin, he pushed the light fabric of his shirt you were wearing to the side, teasing you over the material of your underwear. The subtle, playful touch made you jump, a spark of unexpected sensitivity coursing through you.

“Keep working.” he murmured, his voice laced with amusement and command.

His fingers traced light patterns over your panties, feeling the growing dampness. He watched in fascination as the material darkened with your wetness, a visual testament to your arousal. With a deft movement, he pulled your panties aside, revealing your glistening pussy. He took a moment to just look, his eyes drinking in the sight, his cock hardening and twitching at the view.

“God, you're so pretty.” he whispered, almost to himself.

His fingers returned, slipping past your slick lips, playing in the wetness. The sensation was electrifying, each touch sending jolts of pleasure through you. He found your clit between the tight folds of flesh and began flicking it, his movements precise and careful, driving you to the edge. The heat of his touch contrasted with the cool feeling of the wetness hitting the air, making every sensation more intense.

For him, the feeling was intoxicating. His cock, painfully hard, occasionally brushed against the floor from his position, the rough surface adding an unexpected layer of friction that only fueled his desire. The sight of your arousal, the way your body responded to his touch, made his own need almost unbearable.

He didn’t care about himself now though, his poor cock leaking precum onto the floor. No. All he wanted right now was to play with you, to watch you unravel under his touch. His fingers danced around your clit, flicking it with increasing intensity, each movement sending waves of pleasure through you. The wet sounds of his fingers moving in your slickness filled the room, a symphony to his ears.

He leaned in and his tongue flicked out, tasting your arousal, his lips following in the path of his fingers. The feeling was exquisite, his mouth warm and wet, every movement thought out perfectly to tease you. His cock twitched with every moan you made, his own arousal a constant reminder of his need for you.

Sweat quickly built up and dripped from the top of his thighs all the way to his knees, making the floor slick. He almost slipped, catching himself just in time, his movements becoming more deliberate and cautious. Your own thighs were slipping on the chair, the leather sticking to your skin from the heat and the sensations he was drawing out of you.

As he slipped a finger inside you, the wet squelching noises increased, growing louder and more obscene. The sound was intoxicating, a proof of just how turned on you were. He bit your inner thigh, the sharp sting pulling a gasp from your lips, his eyes locking onto yours with a mixture of desire and a plea for you to give in to him.

“Come on,” he murmured, his voice rough with need, "I need this. I need you."

The taste of you was addictive, a heady mix of salt and sweetness that coated his tongue and left him craving more. Each flick of his tongue was calculated to draw out your moans, his mouth exploring every inch of you. His fingers curled inside you, the slick, warm wetness enveloping them, the rhythm of his movements both torturous and perfect.

Your body reacted to his touch in ways you couldn’t control. His teasing strokes were too light, each one sending frustrating sparks of pleasure that left you wanting more. He lapped at you with slow movements, savouring every taste, every reaction you gave him.

His own pleasure was an afterthought, a dull ache between his thighs as his cock kept brushing against the slick floor. The sensation was maddening, the friction only adding to his desperate need. He bit down gently on your inner thigh again, a silent plea for you to give in, to let him have what he wanted.

The room was filled with the wet, lewd sounds of his fingers moving inside you, the intensity of the sensations making it hard to focus on anything else. His whispered pleas and the feeling of his mouth and hands on you were driving you to the edge, the line between pleasure and desperation blurring with every touch.

You couldn't resist any longer. The pen slipped from your fingers, everything you were working on forgotten. How could you even think you could concentrate with his mouth and fingers driving you insane? Grabbing his head, you bent down and kissed him, catching him off guard. He didn't have time to react, his fingers still buried inside you. You slipped your tongue into his mouth, tasting yourself on him. The mix of sensations was overwhelming, his wet, warm tongue meeting yours as you deepened the kiss, pulling him closer and surrendering to the heat of the moment.

You could feel his surprise melt into hunger, his kiss growing more urgent as he responded. Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, needing him more than anything else at that moment. His fingers continued their teasing movements inside you, the wet sounds mingling with the taste of your own juices on his tongue. It was intoxicating, overwhelming.

His other hand roamed up your body, slipping under the oversized shirt, his touch sending shivers through you despite the oppressive heat. You could feel his cock, hard and leaking, pressing against your thigh, the slick floor making his movements more frantic. He shifted, trying to find a better angle, almost slipping again, his breath hitching in frustration and desire.

You pulled back from the kiss, your lips brushing against his as you whispered, “I can't think when you do that.”

“That's the point.” he murmured back, his voice rough with need. He thrust his fingers deeper, curling them inside you, the sensation making you gasp. “I want you to feel nothing but this.”

You could barely hold back a moan, your thighs slipping on the chair as he pushed you closer to the edge. The heat was unbelievers, the sweat mixing with the wetness between your legs, amplifying every touch, every sensation. You could feel his need, his desperation, in every movement, every kiss.

His teeth grazed your neck, his breath hot against your already burning skin as he kissed his way down your body. He reached your chest, his mouth closing around a nipple, sucking gently before biting down, just enough to make you gasp. His fingers never stopped their relentless teasing, the wet noises growing louder, filthier.

You grabbed his head again, pulling him back up to kiss him, your tongue slipping into his mouth, tasting the salt of your sweat mixed with the sweetness of his need. His fingers slipped out of you, and he bent back down to replace them with his tongue, diving into your wetness, licking and sucking with a desperation that mirrored your own.

His tongue flicked against your clit, making it impossible to think, to do anything but feel, just like he said he wanted. Your hips bucked against his mouth, your body responding to his every touch, every kiss. He was relentless, his need alone driving him, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

His fingers joined his tongue, slipping back inside of you, curling and thrusting in rhythm with his licks. The sensations were too much, too overwhelming, and you could feel yourself teetering on the edge, ready to fall.

“Alex…” you gasped, your hands gripping the sides of the chair, trying to hold on to something, anything, as he drove you closer to your orgasm. Or to insanity. Maybe both. "I-I can't...I need…”

He bit your inner thigh again, harder this time, pulling a scream from your lips. “Give in to me.” he murmured, his voice rough and desperate. “Let go. I need you to let go.”

And with that, you did. The wave of pleasure crashed over you, pulling you under, your body trembling and shaking with the force of it. You could feel him smiling against your skin, his tongue and fingers never stopping, driving you through it, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you were nothing but a quivering, panting mess.

He rested his head on your thigh for a moment, catching his breath. The sheen of sweat on his brow glistened in the dim light, his chest rising and falling heavily.

“Have I earned my fuck now?” he asked, his voice joking but clearly out of breath, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

You chuckled, equally breathless. “Yeah.”

He sat up, balancing himself on the edge of the desk for a moment before picking you up from the chair. His grip was firm yet gentle, the warmth of his hands seeping through your skin. He settled into the chair, then pulled you back onto his lap, your still clothed back pressed against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart against you.

Alex's hands roamed over your body, fingers tracing the contours of your curves, enjoying the feel of your heated skin against his. His lips found the curve of your neck, placing lazy, lingering kisses there, his breath hot and heavy against your ear. The heat between you was almost too much, beads of sweat forming and mingling on your skin, but you didn’t mind it at this point. You could feel his cock pressing insistently against you, the hard length of him pulsing with need.

His hands snaked around you, his fingers dipping below the waistband of your panties. He pushed them down just enough, letting them slide to your knees before they dropped to the floor. The whole time, his hard cock rubbed between your arsecheeks, slick with both his precum and sweat, making it easy for him to slide against your skin.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice thick with anticipation. You nodded, feeling his hand guide his cock to your entrance. He slid inside you smoothly, the wetness making it effortless, yet the tightness due to your position made it all the more intense.

“Fuck…” he swore, his voice a low growl. “So tight...so perfect.”

Every inch of him was buried inside you, and you could feel his body shudder against yours. The sensation of him filling you completely, combined with the overwhelming heat, created a heady mix of pleasure and discomfort that was maddeningly good.

You gasped, gripping his thighs for support as he began to move, his strokes slow and deliberate, savouring the feeling of your walls clenching around him. The friction was exquisite, each thrust sending waves of pleasure through both of you. Everything was wet, slick with sweat and arousal, amplifying every movement, every touch.

“Take the shirt off.” Alex murmured, his voice rough.

You glanced at the window and shook your head. “But the window-”

“I don’t care.” he replied, his words taking a more commanding tone. He reached for the collar of the shirt and pulled it down from your shoulders. There was a momentary cool sensation, but the feeling of his hands roaming your now exposed body quickly brought the heat back. He kept the shirt in his hand, occasionally wiping the sweat from his forehead to keep it from dripping onto his face.

Alex's hands slid down your sides, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake. He wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you firmly against him as he thrust into you. The rhythm he set was slow and deep, each thrust a measured stroke that made you feel all of him. You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, the tightness of your position making every sensation more intense.

“God, you're amazing.” he murmured. His lips brushed against your ear, sending shivers down your spine again despite the heat. "So fucking wet...I can't get enough of you."

His words sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your core, and you could feel yourself clenching around him in response. Alex groaned, his grip on your waist tightening as he picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more demanding. The chair creaked beneath you, adding to the symphony of sounds filling the room. The wetness of your bodies moving together, the ragged breaths, the low moans of pleasure.

You could feel the sweat dripping down your back, mingling with his, making your bodies slide against each other with each movement. The heat was suffocating, but it only seemed to reel him further. Alex's fingers dug into your hips, guiding you as you moved together, each thrust pushing you closer to the brink.

He tried to take his chain off from around his neck but couldn't manage one-handed, his other hand wrapped tightly around you, keeping you from falling off his lap. “Help me take this off, please.” he said, his voice strained.

You didn’t understand at first, so he clarified, “The chain. Now, please. I can’t-”

You placed your left leg over his thigh, your other hanging between his legs, turning enough to unclasp the gold necklace for him. “Nothing gold can stay.” you whispered, stopping to kiss him. His thrusts slowed as well, your position making it difficult for him to move.

“Poetic…I thought that was my thing.” he whispered back between heavy breaths. “Any hidden meaning to that?”

“Are you asking me if I think we’ll last?” you asked.

“Hmm…so you’re saying we’re gold, huh?” he teased.

“I think we are.” you said.

“Yeah, you’re just as pretty…”

“And you’re just as soft, Mr. Turner.” you replied.

He responded with a hard thrust, making you moan and cling to him tighter. “Soft?” he asked jokingly, proceeding to push you forward, steadying yourself on the edge of the desk.

The shift in position intensified everything, making his movements even more pronounced. He resumed his rhythm, each thrust getting more powerful. You could feel the friction of his cock sliding in and out, the tension building with every stroke.

Alex's breath was hot against your back as he whispered, “You're driving me crazy, you know that?”

Your response was a breathless moan, the intensity of his thrusts stealing your words. His hands moved to your hips, gripping tightly, guiding you back into his hips as he pushed deeper inside you.

“Tell me how it feels.” he demanded, his voice rough and desperate.

“It feels…amazing.” you managed to gasp out, your nails digging into the wood for support. “So deep, so good…”

He groaned in response, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more erratic. The sweat dripping from his forehead onto your back made you twitch in his hold. You could feel the tension building inside you, the pressure mounting with each thrust.

“I’m close.” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“Me too.” he replied, his grip on your hips tightening as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge. “So close,” he groaned, his voice strained with effort, “I can't hold back much longer.”

“Don't.” you whispered, your own voice breathless with need. “Come inside me, I want to feel you.”

Alex still wasn't entirely used to coming inside you, despite you being on the pill for a while now. He loved the feeling, though, always waiting for your permission each time. The sensation of filling you up so deep, of his cum spreading around his cock as he fucked it into you, was something he cherished every single time.

He groaned as he thrust deeply into you, the slickness of your combined arousal making each movement more intense. “Fuck.” he swore, the word barely escaping his lips as his orgasm built. You felt his cock throb inside you, a sign of his impending release.

With a final, deep thrust, he buried himself completely within you, his grip on your hips almost bruising as he held you in place. The heat of his release filled you, spreading warmth throughout your core. He shuddered against you, his breaths ragged and heavy as he emptied himself inside you.

You gasped at the sensation, the fullness and warmth of his cum making you feel complete. His thrusts slowed but continued, each movement pushing his release deeper, mingling with your own.

“Fuck, I love this,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe and satisfaction, “Feeling you take all of me…”

You tightened around him in response, eliciting another groan from his lips. “I love it too.” you whispered, your body still trembling from the intensity of your orgasm.

He finally stilled, his head resting against your shoulder, both of you panting and spent. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close as you both basked in the afterglow, the heat long forgotten.

For a moment, neither of you moved, both too spent to do anything but hold each other. Finally, Alex pulled back slightly, his breath still coming in heavy pants. He pulled you back against his chest and held you tightly, heaving with each breath, his lips pressing gentle kisses to the back of your neck and shoulder.

“You’re incredible.” he murmured.

You smiled, leaning back against him, your body still humming with the aftershocks of pleasure. “So are you, Mr. Turner. So are you.”

As the sweat cooled on your skin, you felt a sense of contentment settle over you. The heat was still oppressive, but it didn't seem to matter anymore.

You and Alex sat at opposite ends of the bathtub, facing each other with your legs entangled. The water was almost frigid, sending shivers down your spine. Alex noticed and teased, “Did I not get you hot enough, love?” He smiled that charming smile of his, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

You couldn’t help but smile back, taking a moment to admire him. His wet hair curled naturally, especially the little pieces by his ears, making him look endearingly boyish. His clean-shaven face accentuated his puffy lips, giving him a soft, almost innocent appearance. His eyes, always so soft and full of warmth, met yours, and you felt a wave of tenderness wash over you. He was, in fact, soft, like you’d said earlier, you thought. And maybe he knew it too, though he didn't always want to admit it.

“Come here.” he said, beckoning with his hand for you to turn around. “Let me warm you up.”

You moved toward him, and he wrapped his arms around your shoulders, pulling you against his chest. He sank a bit lower into the water to make sure you were comfortable. You felt the immediate warmth of his body, and you sighed in contentment. “Muuuuch better.” you murmured as his fingers started to play with your hair.

A comfortable silence enveloped you both. The contrast between the cold water and the warmth of his body created a unique sensation, making you feel both relaxed and completely awake.

After a while, Alex broke the silence, his voice full of affection. “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world. You are my dream.” He placed a long, hard kiss on the top of your head, making you feel deeply loved, with just that tiny gesture.

You nestled closer to him, feeling his heartbeat against your back, and let the tranquility of the moment wash over you. His hands continued to play with your hair, occasionally trailing down your arms in gentle, soothing strokes. You closed your eyes, feeling completely at peace in his embrace.

“I love you.” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the sound of the water swooshing.

“I love you too,” he replied, his voice equally soft, “More than you’ll ever know.” He hugged you tighter, his fingers tracing small circles on your skin.

The bathwater slowly lost its chill, your bodies generating enough heat to make it comfortable. You stayed like that for a while, basking in the simplicity and intimacy of the moment, in the feeling of each other, of him. You loved him.

The last day of class felt unbearably tense. Your eyes were glued to Alex, unable to tear your gaze away. You didn’t even realise that you were staring at him the whole time. The months together had built up an intense connection, driving you both restless, but today was somehow worse than ever.

He noticed, stuttering when he caught your glance, or fidgeting with his jacket he insisted on wearing despite the sweltering summer heat.

When the lecture finally ended, a text buzzed in your pocket: “See me right after.” You waited until the room emptied, then approached him.

“What was that?” he demanded, frustration clear in his tone. You had no answer, only the overwhelming urge to close the distance between you. Grabbing his face, you kissed him desperately, your lips crashing into his so quickly he didn’t even have time to respond.

“Mmm…stop…we shouldn’t.” he muttered, breaking the kiss, but his resolve wavered under your gaze.

“But we could.” you whispered, looking up at him through your eyelashes, giving him those eyes you knew he couldn’t resist.

With a conflicted sigh, he said, “Meet me in the bathroom.” and hurriedly packed his things, shoving everything into his bag and throwing it over his shoulder.

As he left, a smirk played on his lips before the door closed behind him. You waited a few moments before following, your heart racing.

Entering the men’s room, you found him leaning against one of the sinks, with that familiar grin reserved just for you. He approached you slowly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, then kissing you once, softly. Grabbing your hand, he led you into one of the stalls, the door clicking shut behind you.

His lips found yours again, more urgent this time, unable to get enough. Your mind raced, a mix of excitement and fear. The forbidden nature of your relationship made each touch more endearing, every kiss more intense. Alex’s hands roamed over your body, pulling you closer, his need for you palpable. You melted into him, the thrill of being caught making it all the more exciting for both of you.

Slipping your hands under his jacket and up his back, you eventually pushed it off his shoulders. He caught it in his hand before it could fall to the floor, hanging it along with his bag on the hook behind him. That left him in only the tight white vest tucked in his jeans that he was wearing underneath.

His arms looked incredible, muscles taut and defined, each movement highlighting the strength beneath his skin. The vest clung to his back, damp with sweat, making the fabric semi-transparent. As your hands roamed over his body, you felt the heat of his wet skin, the sensation thrilling and intimate.

His lips were soft on yours, and you wanted to feel them forever. He tasted so good, and his tongue on yours felt electric. Alex had that way of kissing that was just perfect, leaving you breathless and craving more.

What began as an intimate yet not-so-intimate makeout session quickly turned into something that should only be done in private. And especially not here.

His leg wrapped around you, causing you to almost lose your balance if it wasn't for him holding you up, his hardness rubbing against the front of your jeans. With your lips still touching, you palmed at his jean-clothed length eagerly. His hand went to grip your neck, softly, not squeezing, just holding you in place. Your only goal was now to ensure he was satisfied.

The stall felt smaller with each passing second, the air thick with the scent of sweat and anticipation. Alex's breath was hot against your skin as he murmured your name, his voice a low, desperate whisper that sent shivers down your spine. You responded with equal fervor, your hands exploring the expanse of his back, tracing the contours of his muscles.

His fingers slipped beneath the hem of your shirt, teasing the sensitive skin there before moving higher, pushing the fabric up and over your head. You helped him, lifting your arms. The cool air hit your bare skin, but the heat from his body quickly enveloped you again.

Alex's eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you, his hands moving to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples. The sensation made you gasp, arching into his touch. He smiled against your mouth, a mixture of satisfaction and desire.

“Someone could walk in anytime.” he muttered, his lips moving to your neck, sucking and nibbling at the sensitive flesh there. “You know that?”

You could only moan in response, your hands fumbling with the button of his trousers. You needed to feel him, the barrier of clothing becoming unbearable. He seemed to sense your urgency, helping you with the zipper and pushing them down.

The stall was filled with the sounds of your heavy breathing, the rustle of fabric, and the occasional thud as your bodies moved against the partitions. Alex's hands were everywhere. Sliding down your sides, gripping your hips, caressing your back. He pulled you closer, your bare chest pressed against his, the contact sending a jolt of pleasure through you as your nipples brushed against the material of his top.

Your hands roamed over his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. The knowledge that this strong, composed man was just as affected by you as you were by him was intoxicating.

Driven by the desire to please him, you dropped to your knees, your hands finding the waistband of his boxers and pulling them down. His cock sprang free from its confines, hard and eager, the tip glistening. Without hesitation, you wrapped your hand around it, feeling the heat and firmness in your grasp.

Alex's hands found their way to your hair, his fingers threading through the strands as he gently guided you closer. His intentions were clear. He wanted your mouth. But he wasn’t going to straight up ask for it. You leaned forward, taking him into past your lips, savouring the taste of his skin and the salty hint of precum. His grip tightened slightly, a soft groan escaping his lips as you began to move, your tongue swirling around the head before taking him deeper.

The sensation of him filling your mouth was heady, each movement sending shivers of pleasure through him. Alex’s hips began to move in rhythm with your mouth, his breaths coming faster and more ragged. You glanced up, seeing the raw desire in his eyes, knowing that you were the one driving him to this point of ecstasy.

His hands continued to guide you, the gentle pressure urging you on as you bobbed your head, your mouth working him skillfully. The taste of him, the feel of him, the sound of his pleasure, it all combined to create an addiction, one that you never wanted to rid yourself of.

Having your lips around his cock, watching as you took him down your throat, your head bobbing quickly, making sweet sounds around his length. Ugh. You worked at him like a dog in heat. How precious. His pretty little thing. His eyes stayed on you. You were everything he wanted. And you knew it.

Your eyes stayed on him as well, you knew better than to look away. Would be blatant disrespect if you did. He loved making you remember the way his features changed as he got closer, making sure you remembered how his eyes filled with pleasure as he would come down your throat, holding the back of your head as you worked on his throbbing cock.

But then, the sound of the bathroom door creaking open shattered the bubble you were in. Someone was coming in. Alex’s eyes widened, and before panic could take hold, he quickly pulled you off his cock.

With a barely silenced growl, he lifted you slightly, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. You could feel the still hard length of him pressing against you, even through the denim of your jeans. The friction was delicious, and you ground against him, seeking more. His hand clamped over your mouth to stifle the sounds of your gasps. He tucked himself back into his trousers, his breaths heavy and erratic, the tension in the stall palpable.

You both remained frozen, hearts pounding in unison as you listened to the intruder's footsteps echoing off the tiles. Each second felt like an eternity, the fear of getting caught suddenly not as exciting as it became too real. You could feel Alex's heart beating wildly through the hand that still gently held your face. He glanced down at you, a mixture of frustration and arousal in his eyes, as he listened intently for any indication that you were alone again.

“You're going to be the death of me,” he whispered, his forehead resting against yours as he tried to catch his breath, “But what a way to go.”

You smiled, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling him in for a kiss. His hands moved to help you redress, handing you your top and watching as you slipped it back on. He pulled his jacket over his shoulders, the fabric clinging slightly to his damp skin.

Alex exited the stall first, striding confidently past the other doors towards the sinks. There, he saw a fellow colleague washing his hands, glancing up as he approached. Their eyes met, and Alex gave a curt nod, a silent acknowledgment of the shared awkwardness. The colleague's knowing smirk indicated he was well aware of the situation, but neither said a word.

Alex washed his hands, the sound of the running water masking the rapid beating of his heart. He quickly texted you to meet him at the car, the message clear and concise. He had started parking a couple of streets down to avoid suspicion, allowing you to leave together when your schedules aligned without raising any eyebrows.

You stayed in the stall for a moment longer, adjusting your appearance and calming your racing heart. The adrenaline still surged through you, making your fingers tremble slightly as you straightened your clothes and smoothed your hair. Once you felt composed enough, you took a deep breath and stepped out, making your way to the exit as quietly and quickly as possible.

As you walked down the hallway, you couldn’t help but glance around, hyper-aware of every sound and movement. The thrill of the near miss and the thought of seeing Alex again in just a few moments made your pulse quicken. You pushed open the door to the outside, the cool evening air a stark contrast to the heat of your encounter in the bathroom.

Walking briskly, you made your way to the car. You spotted Alex leaning against it, his jacket now draped over his arm. He was smoking a cigarette, the smoke curling up into the darkening sky, dissipating into the twilight. The soft glow of the cigarette illuminated his face, casting shadows that made his features appear even more chiselled. He looked so focused on nothing in particular, lost in his thoughts, the furrow in his brow suggesting the intensity of whatever was running through his mind. You could have probably guessed what that was.

He took one last drag from the cigarette, the ember glowing brighter for a moment before he tossed it to the ground, crushing it beneath his boot. The movement was almost practised, a small, unconscious ritual he performed without thinking.

As he met your gaze, his face softened, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He opened the car door for you, helping you in before getting in himself.

As he settled into the driver's seat, he turned to you, his hand reaching over to rest on your thigh. “You okay?” he asked, his voice slightly concerned.

You nodded, placing your hand over his. “Yeah. Just…that was close.”

He chuckled softly, his thumb stroking your skin. “Too close. But God, I can’t stay away from you.”

You leaned over, capturing his lips in a kiss that was both reassuring and needy. The car was filled with the quiet hum of the engine and the rapid thumping of your hearts. As the kiss deepened, you felt the tension from the bathroom start to dissolve.

Finally, being the one to break the kiss, Alex started reversing out of his spot. Well, not really his spot technically, but he kind of claimed it as his, parking there almost every time he drove to work.

You watched him, mesmerised by the sight of him reversing the car. His arm was draped casually across the back of your seat, the movement causing the muscles in his arm to flex subtly. The streetlights streaming through the windows highlighted his sharp jawline from all different angles, casting shadows that made his features even more striking.

“You’re so fucking hot.” you said mindlessly, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

“Oh, I know, love.” he replied, smirking as he started driving toward his apartment. He wasn’t full of himself. It wasn’t how that was supposed to sound, you knew that. He’d told you that you helped bring out a less insecure part of him, and you loved that.

“You’re still in trouble though, can’t have that with no consequences.” he joked.

You hit him softly over his thigh, making him jump subconsciously. The sudden movement brought his bothersome erection back to the forefront of his mind, causing him to shift uncomfortably in his seat, trying to find a position that didn’t put so much pressure on it. You noticed and started rubbing his thigh, trying to ease his discomfort, but likely doing just the opposite.

As the car moved through the city streets, the atmosphere between you was thick with unresolved tension. The sensation of your hand on his thigh, combined with the rhythmic motion of the car, heightened his every feeling. Every touch, every brush of your fingers, seemed to amplify the heat burning inside of him.

Alex's breathing grew heavier, and his grip on the steering wheel tightened. You could see the effort it took for him to keep his focus on the road, his need for you evident in the way his eyes occasionally flicked toward you, filled with want and frustration.

The drive felt both endless and too short, the anticipation of what was to come making every second feel like an eternity. You didn’t even know what he meant by ‘consequences’. As you approached his apartment, the tension within the vehicle almost reached a boiling point, what might await you behind closed doors hanging heavily in the air.

In his apartment, Alex hadn't said a word since entering. He slipped off his boots and headed straight to the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed. You followed him, and he patted the spot next to him for you to sit. As soon as you sat down, he grabbed you and bent you over his knees, making you gasp at the sudden move.

His hands spread over your ass, grabbing at your flesh a couple of times before undoing your jeans and pushing them down your thighs, leaving you unable to move your legs apart. You looked back at him in anticipation, waiting for his next move. He bent down to kiss you as his hand came down across your cheeks for the first time, your yelp getting lost in his mouth.

His touch alternated between rough and tender, his hands exploring your skin as his lips met yours again and again. The sensation of his hand striking your flesh mixed with the softness of his kisses, the blend of pleasure and sharp pain, was intoxicating.

You could feel the heat radiating from him, the tension in his body evident as he continued to spank you. His hand came down again and again, the sharp sting followed by the soothing caress of his fingers. The sound of each slap echoed in the room, mingling with your muffled gasps and his ragged breathing.

Each strike seemed to bring you closer to a breaking point, the intensity of the moment building with every touch. His other hand held you firmly in place, ensuring you couldn't move away from his lap. The vulnerability and trust between you deepened with every second passing.

Between spanks, he would pause to tease you over your underwear, his fingers brushing lightly over your clothed cunt. Each touch sent shivers through your body, amplifying your need for him. He knew exactly how to keep you on edge, providing just enough stimulation to drive you wild, but never enough to satisfy. The fabric of your underwear felt damp against your skin, a proof to your growing arousal. You were enjoying this.

Alex's teasing fingers moved with agonising slowness, tracing the outline of your lips through the fabric, barely dipping into your folds. Each featherlight touch was a tantalising hint of the pleasure that awaited you. Your hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more contact, more pressure, but he held you firmly in place, denying you the release you craved.

“You feel that, right?” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “That's how I felt the whole drive here. Desperate. Needing more. But I couldn't do anything about it. Now it's your turn.”

His words sent a thrill through you, the knowledge that he was controlling your pleasure as skillfully as he did your body only heightening your arousal. You could feel his breath against your ear, hot and uneven.

Alex's fingers continued their maddeningly slow exploration, brushing over your sensitive clit, making your breath hitch. Each touch was maddening, it felt so good, but it was never enough to push you over the edge. He was drawing out your torment, making you feel every second of your need.

“Tell me…” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. “Tell me how much you want it.”

“I want it…so bad.” you gasped, your voice trembling with need. “Please, Alex, I need you.”

A satisfied hum rumbled in his chest. “Mhm…Just a little longer. I want to see you desperate. I want to see you beg.” he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

His words sent another wave of arousal through you, and you felt your body responding, your hips rocking against his hand. The friction of your underwear against your sensitive skin was exquisite torture.

Eventually, he stopped teasing, his hand moving away from your aching core. You whimpered at the loss, but he shushed you gently, his other hand stroking your back soothingly.

“Patience, love.” he murmured. “You know I always give you what you need, just let me play this time.”

With that, he resumed spanking you, each strike harder than the last, the sharp sting a stark contrast to the gentle teasing. Your yelps were muffled, your body trembling with the mix of pain and pleasure. It was getting almost too much to take, but you trusted him completely, knowing he would take care of you.

Finally, he paused, his hand resting on your reddened skin. He bent down to kiss you again, his lips lingering on yours as he whispered, “Was that too much?” the raw emotion and worry in his voice made you melt in his arms, and you shook your head ‘no’, unable to find the words to respond.

Alex helped you sit up, pulling off your jeans all the way, his hands gentle now as he pulled you close. The intensity of the moment lingered, the air between you charged. He guided your hand to his excruciating erection over the tight material of his jeans. You struggled to undo his belt, so he helped you, slipping it off lazily as you worked on the button and zipper.

You pulled his vest out of his pants and he held it up out of the way as you freed his cock from his boxers, stroking it a couple of times. His eyes rolled back at the feeling. He nudged you down, and you dropped to your knees on the floor in front of him. He brushed your cheek with his hand lovingly, petting your hair and making it sit all pretty again.

Having you in front of him stirred something deep inside Alex. All the emotions still took a toll on him sometimes, and now was one of those moments. Did he go too far? Did he even enjoy it, or was it just something he did for no reason? But that didn’t even matter anymore. He needed you. So bad. He guided you to his cock, letting you take him in your mouth and setting the rhythm himself.

You didn’t mind his control, you wanted to make him feel the best. You tried to take him deeper and faster, but you accidentally nicked him with your teeth, making his grip in your hair tighten.

“That’s it, darling…” he muttered. “That’s it…do it again.”

Hearing that, you decided to scrape your teeth along his cock and see how he liked that. His hand fell from your head, and he leaned back on his arms, gripping the sheets instead.

“Uhhh, fuck- fuck, yeah. Again. I like the pain...” he said, his voice filled with raw need.

You obeyed, your teeth grazing his sensitive flesh as you moved. Each scrape elicited a shudder from him, his hips bucking involuntarily. His grip on the sheets tightened, knuckles turning white. The mixture of pleasure and pain was driving him wild too, and you could see it in the way his body reacted, the way his breath hitched, and his muscles tensed.

“You’re so good at this.” he breathed, his voice low and strained. His free hand tangled in your hair, not guiding you this time, but simply holding on as if grounding himself in the overwhelming sensation.

You hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper, the tip of his cock brushing the back of your throat. His eyes rolled back, a guttural moan escaping his lips. The praise, the raw desire in his voice, spurred you on, pushing you to take him even further.

Alex’s hips began to move in rhythm with your mouth, shallow thrusts that drove him deeper into your throat. You could feel him throbbing, the tension coiling in his muscles as he neared his release. His breaths came in ragged gasps, each one laced with the sound of pure, unadulterated pleasure.

“Fuck, I’m so close.” he groaned, his grip in your hair tightening as he held you in place. “Don’t stop…please, don’t stop.”

You had no intention of stopping, not when he was this close, not when you could feel his pleasure building, the climax just within reach. You wanted to be the one to push him over the edge. The only one to cause him so much pleasure that his mind shut down.

He came unexpectedly in between desperate thrusts, hot and pulsing in your mouth. You swallowed around him, taking everything he had to give, feeling his body shudder with the force of his orgasm. His moans filled the room, a melody of satisfaction that echoed in your ears.

As his glow subsided, he slumped back, pulling you up onto the bed beside him. He looked at you with his soft eyes that you still couldn’t believe were real.

“I’m not done with you yet.” he whispered, his voice hoarse from the intensity of the moment. He pulled you into his arms, turning you over so you were on your back under him.

He pushed your top up, exposing your breasts but not bothering to take it off. He just wanted to touch and see and feel them as he wished. Grabbing both your legs together, he bent them up, urging you to hold them in place. His hips began to thrust, his cock brushing over your underwear as he got rock hard again. The friction was exquisite, and you swore you couldn’t take it much longer, but he shushed you gently.

He pushed your panties to the side and rubbed his length over your wet pussy, wedging it between your folds. Each thrust brushed against your clit, eliciting countless soft moans from you. Occasionally, he would slap your clit with his cock, making your whole body twitch with the sensation. He went so far as to wrap the flimsy material of your panties around his hard length and thrusting into them, teasing you to no end. Seeing him and feeling him so close but not actually inside you was infuriating.

Your legs eventually grew tired in that position, and you were almost tired of his teasing as well. You rested them on his tummy, still keeping them up as he wanted. He liked that. He really liked that. He held them in place with one hand, massaging up your legs in time with his movements.

His fingers brushed over your clit, circling it with the same rhythm he had set with his thrusts. Your body arched into his touch, your breath hitching as the pleasure mounted. He leaned down, bending your body almost to a breaking point, capturing your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue in your mouth mimicking the movements of his fingers on your pussy.

“You're so beautiful like this,” he murmured against your lips, “I could watch you all day.”

You moaned into his mouth, your hips bucking against his hand. The teasing was driving you wild, the need for release becoming unbearable. You could feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter, every nerve ending on fire.

“Please, Alex.” you whimpered, your voice barely more than a breath. “I need you, please.”

He smiled, his eyes dark with desire. His fingers continued their teasing dance, bringing you to the brink only to pull back just enough to keep you teetering on the edge. It was sweet torture.

Finally, when you thought you couldn't take it any longer, he pushed his cock into you, filling you completely. The sensation was overwhelming, a perfect blend of pleasure and relief. You cried out, your hands clutching at the sheets as he set a steady rhythm, each thrust sending you higher and higher.

He watched you in awe and satisfaction, his eyes never leaving your face. The connection between you was electric. You were his, and he was yours, in that perfect moment of your bodies connecting, both physically and emotionally.

As he moved inside you, his pace quickened, the urgency building once more. The room was filled with the sounds of him sliding in and out, the wet slap of skin on skin, the gasps and moans of pleasure. It was raw, it was primal, and it was everything you needed.

Your orgasm came crashing over you with a force that left you breathless. Your body convulsed around him, your cries of ecstasy mingling with his as he felt you tightening around him. With a gentle but firm motion, he pulled out, only to flip you around.

“You’re doing so good.” he whispered, his voice filled with genuine encouragement. He positioned you on your knees, and you struggled to hold yourself up on your arms, but you wanted to be able to see him.

You watched him as he wiped the sweat off his face with his arm before giving you a quick slap on your ass, the sting from earlier resurfacing. He continued teasing you, or more so teasing himself, rubbing his cock right at your entrance but not quite pushing in. His hand planted on the small of your back, guiding you back towards him but not pushing in, only the head occasionally slipping past your lips in the wet mess pooling there.

And he loved it. The sound of his continuous moaning, intertwined with your weak whimpers, let you know just how much he loved it. Finally, he pulled you by the hips, pushing in all the way, feeling even deeper in this position. He started so gently, his hand on your back keeping you grounded while the other rested back on his hip. He kept that pace for a while, but the need for release took over.

He quickly pulled his top over his head, the need for skin to skin contact overpowering him, and he slid his jeans lower, pushing his boxers down with them.

He moved with an intensity that matched his desire, each thrust more powerful than the last. His hands roamed your body, one sliding up to grip your shoulder for leverage, the other moving down to tease your clit. The combination of sensations was so overpowering, your body trembling with pleasure and overstimulation. He whispered words of encouragement and praise, his voice hoarse with need.

As his thrusts grew more frantic, the room filled with the sounds of your shared moans. His breathing became ragged, his movements more desperate as he chased his own release. You felt him tense, his grip on you tightening as he finally came again, spilling into you with a shuddering groan. The intensity of his orgasm triggered your own, your body pulsing around him as you cried out.

Spent and breathless, he collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms. The sounds of your heavy breathing seemed so loud in the room. He held you close, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin as you both basked in the afterglow.

He looked down at you, concern flickering in his eyes. “Was I too rough?” he asked softly, the question hanging in the air. You could see the beginnings of doubt starting to cloud his features, and you knew he was already overthinking it. He often did that, and he only recently started to realise that it would be better to just ask than to torture himself with doubts and fears. He didn’t need to do that. Not with you.

You shook your head and gave him a reassuring smile. “I loved it,” you said sincerely, “But you don’t have to be like that all the time if you don’t want to. Just be yourself, whatever that might be.”

He sighed, relief mingling with lingering uncertainty. “I did like it,” he admitted, “but I felt a bit...out of character. I don’t want to hurt you.”

You shook your head again, squeezing his hand. “You didn’t hurt me. You were amazing. It’s interesting to see different sides of yours.” you assured him, reaching up to stroke his cheek.

He nodded, his fingers continuing their gentle caress on your skin. “I just want to make sure I’m giving you what you need.” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“And you are.” you replied firmly. “Always.”

He smiled, the tension in his shoulders easing as he pulled you closer. The rawness of the moment softened into something tender.

a/n: this one’s supposed to be set a good few months into them being together so he’s comfortable with himself and everything bla bla bla my friend said that first scene is the best thing i wrote so i really like it now🥺 also, i uploaded this whole fic to wattpad as well in case anyone prefers reading there, my user is the same as here. oh and, the title is from ‘Music To Watch Boys To’ by Lana, they’re always from songs so i thought i’d mention it :)

tags: @4chaos @st7rnioioss @theonlyoneswhoknowsblog @ohladymoon @rentsturner @yourstartreatment @avxoxo1 @menace-to-the-devil @jqsvi @turnersfav @youresodarkbabe @psychedelicrocker @feyasgotgroove @aacheinthejaw @hellcatshalalalaa @zayndrider @humbuginmybones

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

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petew21-blog · 4 months

Text

Family fun

"Hi, I'm Simon and I'm an alcoholic." Haha. I'm just kidding. I'm just a normal nineteen year old kid still living with his widowed father and his three brothers. Today I was suppose to go on a trip with my 4 friends - Michael, Nathan, Daniel and Connor. I was ready to leave, but suddenly my - always happy and kind dad - started screaming about me not doing enough for our family, not doing chores and he banned me to go on the trip. I texted my friends, but only Connor replied:"Better luck next time. C ya". Then my dad even took my phone from me. I have no idea what I have done, but I didn't question him right now. Maybe later when he cools off.

My brother Alex came downstairs and offered me to go with him to the store. He acted different. I can't tell why, but he kept teasing me, which he usually doesn't. He is the quiet one.

We got into the store. I went to get some vegetable and when I got back to him. He was standing there completely naked

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Hurry. Give my some clothes!!! I lost them!"

"How can you just loose your clothes you're wearing?!?"

"Doesn't matter. Give me something."

I gave him my jeans, my shirt, leaving me only with my socks, sweatshirt in my hand and my boxers. He put on the rest and then laughed as he took the sweatshirt from my hands and ran away.

I was standing in a storeonly in my underwear. How embarassing. Alex was standing outside of the store with a phone in his hand already recording and laughing

"What the hell is wrong with you today?"

"Haha. Nothing. Just... enjoying life."

We returned back home. Alex went to show my other two brothers how he humiliated me. I went upstairs to find my father in my bathroom completely naked. He held my phone in his hands and tried to take a nude.

"DAD! What are you doing?!"

He wasn't even shocked and kept trying to get a good photo.

"Oh hey, I was going through your phone and I found this Grindr app where most of the profiles had pictures like this. I thought that maybe it is a dating website and I might have a chance. Maybe I'll find someone there."

THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING

"Dad, please. Go away. And don't install that app. I'll explain that to you later."

He checked himself out again and then winked at me

"Don't act like this isn't the dick that made you. You owe me for that, you know"

Has everyone gone crazy this morning or what the fuck is happening?

I went downstairs, ready for some more weird stuff. But fortunately my two brothers - Joe and Kyle fought. Thank god. The most normal thing in our family that could be happening right now. I sat outside on the porch just briefly watching them fight.

But suddenly the fight turned into this

They made out passionately as many couples in love do. But THEY ARE MY BROTHERS!!!

"STOP! SOMEBODY EXPLAIN TO ME WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON!!!"

All four of the stared at each other back and forth. My dad was the first one who started laughing, then the rest did too.

"What's so funny? Have you all lost your mind?"

"Oh come ooooon. It's just a prank, BRO" said my father

"Besides, would your brother that you secretly have a crush on let you do this?" Alex came to me and placed my hand on his abs, just going up and down and finally going down.

"How... Connor?"

"BINGO! You figured it out. We swapped bodies with everyone in your family just to mess with you. We discovered we could do that last night when we arrived at the campsite, but we decided to surprise you. So, what do you think?"

"Wait. What about my dad and my brothers? Where are they?"

"In the campsite hopefully. But they keep calling your phone, so that's why we took it from you. Seems like we might have some explaining to do. So, until we give these bodies back and might never use them again?" All four of them smiled.

I couldn't believe how perverted my freinds are. And I couldn't believe I didn't really protest.

A story from the inbox: Hello! I love your stories😍😍😍 can u write a story about some friends are doing prank by body swapping with his male family members?

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lowkeyrobin · 6 months

Note

Headcanons for mcyt x reader doing a cooking/baking stream together??

I love your writing!!!

ooooo okay okay!!! yes of course bro ; also thank you!! I appreciate it sm 🫶🫶🫶🫶

MCYT ; cooking/baking stream

includes ; tommyinnit, ranboo, badlinu, nihachu, quackity, & foolish gamers

warnings ; language, grease fires

masterlist

TOMMYINNIT

you guys were making lasanga

Garfield jokes every five minutes

there's pasta sauce and cheese everywhere

he's constantly screaming to the viewers because you keep slapping him with the lasagna sheets, cooked or dry

"y/n! help! I'm being assaulted with lasagna sheets!"

he stained his shirt with pasta sauce 💀💀

almost set the house on fire bc he somehow left shit in the oven before preheating it

you turn on music halfway through and it turns into a karaoke stream

"CALIFORNIA GIRLS WERE UNFORGETTABLE-"

RANBOO

you were making soup because you found a good recipe you wanted to try

you accidently spilled the broth and covered your legs in it

he cut himself chopping up the celery (very minor cut dw)

"cooking stream? more like we injure ourselves for two hours stream"

"cooking stream? I hardly know her"

very chaotic but very good soup

during the intervals where you guys were just waiting for things to cook, you started a hashtag on Twitter to ask you guys stuff

and you answered them while keeping an eye on the food

afterwards you guys watch TV and eat your food while still streaming

"normalize eating on stream 2024!"

FREDDIE BADLINU

you were making breakfast for dinner on stream

you had to go use the bathroom while the bacon was cooking and left Freddie to tend to everything for less than a minute

and he started a grease fire.

after he got it extinguished he kinda just stood there waiting for you

meanwhile chat was exploding with panic and laughter

"Hey, y/n, I don't think we're having bacon tonight!"

"What the fuck happened???"

luckily no damage to anything other than the meat

the rest of it was really good though, and the stream had enough action for tonight 💀💀

NIKI NIHACHU

you guys were making cupcakes

you dropped like two eggs 💀💀💀 so while she was getting new ones you were cleaning up all the eggshell fragments and the insides

you got the camera to show stream your fucking mess and someone sent a dono saying "butterfingers ass"

the cackling after that 💀

you're able to get them into the oven though

and while you're waiting for them to cook, you watch dance moms and discuss everything wrong with it

commentary youtubers? I hardly know them

she begins making the icing while you pull the cupcakes out to let them cool

10/10 cupcakes they're amazing

you guys had a pride flag theme so lmao

ALEX QUACKITY

you were supposed to be making pancakes as a little challenge

his are literally raw and he put chocolate chips from the freezer straight in them

"that banana isn't gonna help anything"

"how do you know that??"

flour is everywhere. it looks like a war started

you put to much non-stick spray on the skillet and started a little fire

but Alex to the rescue dw

he couldn't even figure out how to use it and almost sprayed himself in the face!

goes on Twitter later to update that your kitchen was completely fine but the underneath of your microwave is a tiny bit melted

you blame him every time after that 💀💀

"my microwave melted a bit because you don't know how to use a fire extinguisher!"

"youre the one who used too much spray!"

chat always sides with you, too 😭😭

FOOLISH GAMERS

you thought making fried rice was a good idea? wrong

he literally has no idea what's happening

"can you make the scrambled eggs for me while I tend to the vegetables?"

"how many?"

"they're literally on the cabinet"

chat clipping every single funny moment too

"is the rice cooker even on? holy shit you left it on warm"

"I thought that meant it was on!"

"dude you've used this thing before, how long did it take for you to cook it?"

"like, forever"

"oh my god"

fried rice 10/10

he's complaining about the vegetables like he didn't have like two hours to say something about different veggies

#lowkeyrobin #mcyt x reader #mcyt preferences #mcyt oneshot #tommyinnit x reader #ranboo x reader #quackity x reader #badlinu x reader #freddie badlinu x reader #niki nihachu x reader #nihachu x reader #foolish gamers x reader

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littlebluespoon · 10 months

Text

Folie A Dix ~ Une

AO3 Link

For @auspicioustidings <3 Thank you for the idea, I am now consumed by it.

TW: 18+ MDNI, AFAB reader, Poly Stuff, Kinda Dub-Con as the exact circumstances aren't negotiated, Spanking, Oral sex, Explicit Language

~~~~~

You can remember exactly when this odd arrangement started. John had called to say he’d be working late again and that he couldn’t make date night but that you weren’t to worry, he’d sorted something out and you wouldn’t be missing your reservation and you should wear that pretty green dress he bought you. Safe to say, when Simon Riley showed up that night and escorted you to dinner you were confused, even more so when you got home and John picked up the conversation exactly where Simon had left off at the door. Simon hadn’t even said good night, just opened the door for you. There was no room to question it so you wrote if off as a one off, John not wanting you to miss out on something you’d been looking forward to. And then it happened again.

John had unexpectedly been called to base to deal with an incident while you were out shopping. You’d told him that you’d be fine with a taxi but he insisted he’d sort it. So twenty minutes later when Johnny showed up and started picking up things off your list and saying things like “Oh, we’re nearly out of this.” and “Why don’t you get it? It looks perfect on you!” when you tried on a dress. And once again, John acted like he’d never left your side. So it became routine, if John wasn’t there then one of his colleagues was. Simon, Kyle, Johnny, Keegan, Nikolai, Alex and even Farah and Kate on occasion. It just became part of your life and as you were getting used to it, it took another turn.

You’d felt pent up all day. Restless and full of energy that not even deep cleaning the kitchen helped with it so you had baked. And baked and baked. You had several trays of brownies and blondies and no intention of eating them all. So you packed them up and headed to base knowing full well that John would have several and the rest would be gone in minutes. Except you still felt restless.

~~~~~

You found John swamped with paperwork in his office with both of his sergeants. They all looked like they could do with a break and you had plans for John.

“Hey boys, I made some baked treats if you want to go hand them out?” Taking the cue you’d given them Gaz and Soap gave their thanks with kisses to your cheeks and rushing out with brownies in their mouths while John looked on with a fond smile.

“Love, why don’t you take a break? Have a sweet treat?” winking at him, you set a small tub of blondies off to the side while climbing onto his desk before reaching forward for a slow, wet kiss.

He let you have your fill for several minutes, kissing your way down his neck while pulling at his uniform shirt in an attempt to get it off. It was with a groan that he pulled away from you and captured your wandering hands,

“Hang on Love, I gotta get these forms done before three.” It was all he could do to not melt at your pout. He stood up and moved back when you reached forward again,

“Go lie on the couch Love. Skirt up, panties off. I just gotta get something.” He was out the door before you could reply, moving hastily he slammed the door behind him.

You and John had a relationship that was full of pre-discussed rules and boundaries. You knew what he expected of you when he gave an order and what would happen if you didn’t comply. The couch in his office had bourn witness to quite a few of the order he’d given you and this one was a familiar one. It was routine. It had been discussed, practiced, perfected. So as you lay down, cunt bared to the world, the last thing you expected was for Simon to walk through the door and John in behind him.

Scrambling to cover yourself you froze at the harsh bark from John,

“Doll. Is that what you were instructed?” He raised an eyebrow at you and watched as you shook your head and returned to your previous position. He made his way back to his desk while Simon position himself between your legs,

“You treat my people well Doll. You treat them almost as good as you do me, it’s time they returned the favour. My people, my people who follow my orders, who do my bidding. My people, who treat my wife for me, under my orders. My people, my orders, my hands.” There an odd look on his face, one you don’t recognise.

As your eyes never leave his, you stare as he settles back behind his desk. He picks up a pen and a blondie and starts to fill in the forms he’d been interrupted from. So caught up in what John was doing, you missed what Simon was doing. His hands had worked their way around your thighs and settled on your hips. The hips he had pulled towards himself and now had his head between. You could feel his warm breaths on your lips but even they could never have prepared you for his tongue. In one action his tongue had licked its way from your asshole, up the length of your cunt and around your clit before making its way between your folds and feasted like a starved lion.

“Si- Simon! W-Wh-“ Your mouth couldn’t vocalise what you were thinking as you tried to question him but it wasn’t Simon who answered,

“That’s not the name you scream Doll. After all it’s not Simon’s mouth who’s on you is it?” He wasn’t even looking at you, too distracted by those damn forms, “My people, my mouth, my hands Doll. Me. It’ll only ever be me that touches you.” His tongue darted out to lick up the remnants of blondie around his mouth at the same time as Simon swirled his around your clit again.

“John! Captain!” Were the only words that left your mouth from then on. As Simon licked, sucked and even softly bit your pussy, barely stopping for breath as he did. Going and going until you’d cum twice all over his face, until he was so drenched in your wetness that it would be all he smelled for the rest of the day. Until your taste had engrained itself on his tongue. He had done everything just the way you liked, exactly as John would have done right down to the nibbles on your clit as you came. It was like he’d been given a manual and had driven you perfectly and then gone again just to make sure.

Simon even took care of you after in the same manner as John would. Cleaned you up with gentle wipes, and made sure you recovered by drinking water and even fed you a brownie. Mumbling in your ear the whole time,

“Good Doll, such a pretty Doll, did so well for me Doll. Your Captains proud.”

He helped you sort yourself out and gave you a small kiss, chaste in comparison to what had just happened. He walked you back to your car, John not saying another word while you were in the office but Simon, Simon talked the whole walk. About the baked goods, about the options for dinner that night, upcoming events you and John were invited too, he was all clued up on your life.

~~~~~

The journey home left no time to contemplate what had happened. The demanding country roads needing all your attention no matter how many times you had driven them and by the time you were home John had text you,

Your lasagne for dinner sounds good Love. Be home by 6 xx

Simon had obviously told him what the two of you talked about. But with dinner to cook it left you very little time to think about the afternoon you’d had. By the time the door was opening you had just plated dinner and were in the middle of pulling the garlic bread out the oven. John made his way to you and without saying anything finished the kiss you had started that afternoon that now felt like a lifetime ago.

“That was a wonderful visit this afternoon Love and I fully plan to indulge in your cunt again after dinner,” He interrupts his sentence to kiss you again, giving you a preview of what he plans to do to your other set of lips, “So you go freshen up and I’ll get the rest of dinner out. And don’t bother with panties, I’ll just steal them again.” He moves and holds up his hand, dangling from his fingers is your underwear from this afternoon. You can feel the heat in your cheeks as you scurry upstairs to the bathroom to splash water on your face.

Dinner continues as usual, conversation about your lives and gossip about friends and co-workers. The only sign of what happened being when John says something about a topic you know you’ve only mention to Simon. Yet John talks about it as if you’d directly said it to him. But John never brings it up so you forget about it, write it off as a one-time fantasy or a reward for Simon and a way to take care of you in a time where John just couldn’t. Life goes on.

~~~~~

Well life did go on. And John was away for a month on a mission. Making your usual preparations such as making sure all his uniforms and gear were washed, double checking he’d packed everything and the little things you did to make him comfortable while away, you’d gotten to the last item on your list; cancel your date night reservations. You always made them in advance at John’s request so he could treat them like meetings for work and make sure he was available for as many as possible. Of course last minute changes happened but when it came to long call outs for missions you always cancelled your plans. Usually.

“Don’t cancel that one Love, or that one.” He mumbled into your shoulder where he’d plastered himself for the last hour or so against your back, leaving marks deep and dark enough that hopefully they’d last the month.

“John, you won’t be here and I’m not going out to dinner by myself.” You roll your eyes, thinking he was trying to get you to treat yourself while he was gone,

“I’m telling you not to cancel them. And you won’t be going by yourself, I’ll work it out.” He told you, moving so that he was in front of you and waiting for your reaction. Except you couldn’t react, not when he covered your mouth with his, the second you opened it to reply.

~~~~~

Thoroughly distracted by John and his talents in the bedroom you never did get to ask him about the date night plans before he had to leave and all too soon date night arrived. It was the first one since he’d been gone and one of the ones he’d said not to cancel. The original plans were dinner and mini golf but you had fully expected to be watching romcoms on the couch with a takeaway John had ordered in advance for you. Something he had surprised you with in the past. So when your door opened and a voice called out to you, you jumped.

“Doll, you ready? I know you don’t want to be late to dinner.” Grabbing the hockey stick John leaves by the stairs for you when you’re home alone, you carefully make your way towards the door, “Doll? You here? Did you forget we had date night? Cause that’s not like you.” You could see the man now, it was Nikolai.

“There you are, you ready?” he holds his hand out towards you and reaches for yours. He takes hold of your hand and pulls you towards the door, you’re halfway there before you react,

“Nikolai? What the fuck?” pulling against him you try to stop his advances towards the door.

“Now, you know that’s not what you call me Doll,” He levels you with a look that’s straight from John, the one he uses when you’ve disobeyed an order, “Come on, we’re going to be late.” He manages to pull you out the door and push you into his car. Opening the door and buckling your seat belt, exactly like John does, with a quick kiss to your lips.

He takes you to your dinner reservations, you have the conversations you would have with John but every time you call him Nikolai he stops and gives you that look again. After dinner was mini golf. John’s choice for date night this time because you suck at mini golf and it means he would have gotten to hold you. Hold you just the way Nikolai does every time you get frustrated during the game, his arms caging you in while he murmurs instructions and praise in your ear as his hands guide yours into making shots. And then you’re home. You’re home and all the tension that had been built was gone. The car ride quiet with just the radio on, conversation exhausted over dinner. You’d expected to be dropped off at the door, like Simon had done all that time ago.

Nikolai walked you to the door which is when you realised you didn’t have your keys. He’d pulled you out the door before you could grab your things but the door was open. Nikolai had a key. Nikolai was picking you up over his shoulder and carrying you in. Nikolai was saying something?

“You really pushed it Doll. Eight times during dinner you called me the wrong name and then another five while we were at golf. Thirteen rule breaks, I think that means thirteen spanks. But seeing as this isn’t your first offense I think we’ll round up. Twenty should do, make sure it sinks in.” His voice was light but there was a sense of finality to it, no room for negotiating, as he makes his way up the stairs to you and Johns bedroom.

“You know the procedure. Strip, over my knee.” He says setting you down on your feet in front of the mirror, like John does because he says he wants you to see how beautiful you look while following his orders.

Nikolai settles on the chair, John’s chair, that’s always used when John wants to spank you with his hand. And that’s when it all clicks in your head. John. John’s people. John’s orders. John’s hands. John. John. John wasn’t here. But Nikolai was. But it was John’s orders. It’s John’s instructions. It’s exactly how John would do it.

“Lost Doll?” Nikolai’s voice jolts you back to current events, no. John’s voice. This was John.

“No Captain. Just realising.” You smile, brightly, softly, lovingly. Your husband was here. John was here.

~~~~~

Ask box and requests open <3

#bluespoonswriting #call of duty fanfic #john price x reader #simon riley x reader #nikolai x reader #call of duty x reader #cod fanfic #cod x reader

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hussyknee · 1 year

Text

Red, White & Royal Blue: Collector's Edition Henry PoV bonus chapter by Casey Mcquiston.

(transcribed from the page pictures posted)

This is the coda to the end of the book, so don't read it if you haven't read the book first. Sadly, the Collector's Edition doesn't seem to be available on Kindle so. Arrrr matey.

Download link for file at the end.

....

HENRY

“I am not asking you to believe in it, or even to like it,” Henry says stonily. It’s been a long morning already. He is beginning to perspire. “I am simply asking you to show a modicum of respect.”

“To–to your quiche?”

“Yes. To my quiche.”

Bea puts down her tape gun and wipes her eyes. “Pez!”

“Yes?”

“Henry says he’s going to make us a quiche!”

Pez’s squawk of a laugh bounces down the stairs. “Pull the other one!”

“I make them all the time for Alex,” Henry insists. “They are perfectly edible.”

“So, when you promised us breakfast if we got up early to help you.” Bea says, “you meant that you were going to make us breakfast?”

“Yes!” Henry says hotly. “Stop laughing!”

“I’m sorry!” Bea says. “It’s only that...well, Henry, the last time you cooked breakfast for me, you were twelve and you put a sausage in the microwave until it exploded.”

“That was your idea! And it’s been ages since then! I’ve studied, all right? I’m quite good now. Those pictures I send the group chat aren’t just for show.”

“Oh, aren’t they?” Bea says rudely, as if his incredibly generous offer to cook her a shallot-and-thyme quiche with mushrooms from the farmer’s market means nothing at all. As if he’s lived in this house for five entire years without learning to use its kitchen.

Perhaps if their lives weren’t so chaotic, if Henry weren’t flying out of New York every time Bea had a spare moment to fly in, he could have proven this to her earlier. But Pez, who lives mostly in the city now and visits so frequently he’s earned his own Secret Service code name (Cardinal, since Henry is Bishop), should know better.

“Percy Okonjo,” Henry says as Pez joins them, “you were here last weekend when I made mince pie. You loved it.”

“Did I?” Pez wonders aloud, with an annoyingly Bea-like lilt.

“Look at this apron!” Henry gestures to himself and the navy blue apron he’s wearing. Alex gave it to him for his birthday last year. “Would a man who can’t make a quiche have an apron like this? It’s monogrammed.”

“You’re royalty, babes,” Pez points out. “Everything you own is monogrammed.”

From the pocket of his serious-home-cook apron, his phone buzzes. Reinforcements. The FaceTime connects, and Alex says, “Good morning, love of my li–”

“Alex,” Henry interrupts, “tell them about my quiches.”

Alex pushes up his sunglasses and frowns into the camera. He looks so lovely with his faded T-shirt and jean jacket and shaggy hair. Pure American heartthrob, might as well have a cowboy hat on. Henry never does tire of it.

“Sorry?”

“Bea and Pez don’t believe I can make a quiche.”

“What? Have they seen your apron?”

“That’s what I said!”

“Henry’s quiches are great!” Alex says loudly, to the kitchen at large. “I almost never find shells in them!”

That sets Bea and Pez off again. On the screen, Alex’s face crinkles into laughter.

“Thank you very much, Alex, you’ve been a tremendous help,” Henry groans. “How are things? Florist this morning, wasn’t it?”

“Just finishing up.” Alex says with a grin. “Final approvals done. Everything looks great.”

With only one week until moving day and two until the wedding, it made sense to divide and conquer. Henry agreed to stay in New York and finish packing up the brownstone with help from Bea and Pez, while Alex, June, and Nora are ticking off the last of their checklists in Texas.

“Of all the surprises that wedding planning has brought us,” Henry says, “your ability to micromanage floral arrangements has certainly been...one of them.”

“You know I love to curate a vibe,” Alex says.

“That you do,” Henry agrees. “Where are the girls?”

“Getting donuts,” Pez answers before Alex can. He holds up his phone, open to a photo of June blowing a kiss while Nora fellates an éclair.

“Donuts!” Bea says. “Now there’s an idea!”

They spend the rest of the day drowning in cardboard boxes and bin liners, packing everything but the furniture and the downstairs television. Pez reminds him once an hour that they could pay someone to do this, but Bea is stubborn, and Henry is reluctant to let anyone else wade into all the intimate trappings of his and Alex’s life. It was bad enough explaining the contents of the trick drawer in their dresser to Pez, much less some mover he’s never met.

When it’s done, Bea puts A Knight’s Tale on in the living room and promptly falls asleep on Pez’s lap. Pez passes out too, but Henry stays awake, because Heath Ledger deserves an audience. And because he knows if he doesn't wake Bea and move her to the guest bedroom, he'll have to hear about her back spasms in the morning.

David hops up beside him on the loveseat, and Henry strokes the top of his snout until his little body relaxes into Henry's side.

"Nervous old boy," Henry hums. It still does seem like the ultimate irony that the dog he adopted for emotional support has anxiety. David has grown more and more worried all week, as more and more of his home disappeared into boxes. "We won't leave you, I promise."

The brownstone has been a good house for them. Sturdy brick walls, neighbors that actually let them be. Henry has loved it more than he ever loved Kensington, or at least as much as he loved Kensington when his parents both lived there too. Some mornings, when he comes downstairs to find Alex with the coffeepot and the kettle already on, he feels the way he did when his family all slept under one roof. This roof is quite a bit smaller than that one, but the feeling isn't.

So, perhaps David hasn't got entirely the wrong idea. It is hard to let the place go. For the past month, Alex has kept asking Henry why he's staring, and the truth is that he's been committing to memory exactly how Alex looks in every room. How the bannister fits in his hand, the place on the foyer wall where he always braces himself to pull on his shoes.

Everything that's happened in the past five years has happened, at least in part, inside this house.

…

It's seven months after Alex's mother's second inauguration, and Henry is wishing he had never even heard the word "credenza." Then he wouldn't have to decide where to put one. Alex is arriving in half an hour to help him move it, but Henry still doesn't know where. Across from the fireplace, perhaps? But what if he wants to put a sofa there? Does he want a regular sofa, or a sectional? Should it go upstairs, in his study? Or should he leave room for bookcases?

He longs to be back on a beach, sipping something from a pineapple.

It’s been a long, glorious summer since Alex packed up his White House bedroom, called Henry, and asked, "Do you want to get the fuck off the continent?" They did Dubai first, then Lagos. Rio, for old time's sake. Buenos Aires, paper lanterns in moonlight and Alex flirting with the bartender for free drinks. June through August became a lovely blur: Alex asleep against his shoulder on the plane, Alex throwing his Portuguese phrase book out the window of a speeding car, sand in unmentionable places, Alex Alex Alex. Endless runways and half-arsed disguises, swimsuits that got smaller and smaller until they simply didn't wear them anymore. Falling in love, the sequel, with fresh suntans and all the time in the world.

And now here they are in Park Slope, where Alex is renting the second floor of a brownstone two blocks from Henry's.

It's practical, they agreed, to live in the same neighborhood before they live at the same address. They've scarcely gotten a chance to date the normal way yet– if it can be called "normal" when their combined security teams are headquartered in an empty apartment down the street. Still, Henry wants this to last.

They've sprinted headlong into everything so far, but now he wants move slowly, in delicious increments. He wants to savor nights, minutes, firsts, to covet them and then let them dissolve on his tongue, like the sugar cubes he snuck off his gran's filigreed tea trays when he was small. He wants a life.

He wants someone to tell him where to put this damned credenza.

It's a vintage Broyhill Brasilia piece, walnut with clever brass drawer pulls. June helped him pick it out when she was in town with meeting her editor, but she never gave him any advice on where it should go. He hasn't ever been allowed to decide where furniture should go before.

So, it’s...there, in the center of the empty living room, the first piece in the entire house.

“Maybe you could start with a rug or two,” says Alex from the foyer.

Henry turns to find him with his keys in one hand and a paper bag in the other, smiling in a beam of mid-morning light, and, ah. Yes. There it is. That sweet, sharp gasp of nerves. The half second when he forgets how to use his mouth. If he knows nothing else, at least one certainty remains, which is that seeing Alex Claremont-Diaz in the flesh will always do this to him.

Alex in a photo is handsome, but Alex in life is a symphony. He’s refracted light with a cherry cola chaser. He’s got a Fibonacci jawline and a troublemaker smile and thick forearms built for posing in doorways with his sleeves rolled and thumbing corks out of champagne bottles. The first time Henry ever told Pez about him, he said, “God, but he’s lethal.” It’s only worse once you get to know him.

“Weird place for a credenza,” Alex comments. He kisses Henry’s cheek, then passes him a warm bundle wrapped in parchment paper. “Hope you like sausage-egg-and-cheese.”

“I don’t know where to put it.”

“Sandwich goes in your mouth, typically.”

“The credenza.”

“Ohhh, right,” Alex says, pretending to have just caught on. He winks. Henry sighs theatrically but accepts a second kiss, on the lips this time. “Why don’t you just put it right here?”

He points to his left, where a blank wall stretches from the front door to the foot of the stairs. It does, upon closer inspection, appear to be the exact right size.

“Oh,” Henry says.

This is where they overlap. Where he ends and Alex begins. Great gooey puddle of feelings, meet course of action; endless burning energy, meet point of focus. Agonies, meet your most obvious, most natural, most inevitable conclusions. It’s frightening sometimes for a person like Henry, who has spent his entire life pedaling his agonies about like baguettes in a posh little bicycle basket. What is he to do with them now?

Yes," Henry concedes, "I suppose I could," and Alex laughs.

...

It's the summer of 2022. Henry has opened his third shelter, and Alex has just finished bulldozing his first year at NYU Law.

A few boxes of books still wait at Alex's place, but otherwise, he lives in Henry's brownstone now. Their brownstone. A UT pennant beside a Chelsea scarf on the living room wall. A fridge full of Topo Chico and Bulmers. Two pairs of shoes by the front door, brown Barker derbies and Reebok trainers. Nobody could mistake it for anyone else's.

It's their first Chore Sunday (Alex's idea), and Henry has put the last of the laundry in the dryer. He's in the kitchen doorway, watching Alex unload the dishwasher.

Alex once told Henry the type of man he's typically attracted to: tall, broad-shouldered, pretty eyes, a little haunted. Bit of attitude and a smile that makes you curious. For Henry, it's never been so simple. He liked boys in his classes because they bothered with the assigned readings and fancied one of Philip's awful Eton friends because he could sail and smelled of cinnamon. The only thing all his Oxford boys had in common was that they didn't know how to speak to him. He's never had a type, and he's always been sure Alex was singular, anyway. Alex is unlike anyone he's ever met before or since.

But here, now, watching Alex bend to remove a salad bowl from the bottom rack, he is confronted with the hard truth. All those boys did, actually, share one trait.

"Are you gonna help me with this," Alex says without even an investigatory glance over his shoulder, "or are you just gonna keep staring at my ass?"

...

It’s Christmas 2022, their first since Alex officially moved in, and Henry is going to make a yule log if it kills him.

Perhaps he’s been too ambitious. He’s rather new to all. Growing up, he was rarely permitted in the kitchens, and he concentrated his uni diet on fast food and takeaway. He can make toast and boil an egg, and he’s got a deft hand with the coffee percolator and a gin swizzle from time to time. He knows about food– the finest foods, actually, he’s yet to meet an Englishman who can select a better brie– but he never learned to cook, until recently.

Recently, as in when Alex became too fanatically involved in his second-year coursework to remember to feed himself.

It began with force-feeding Alex a bacon butty twice a week. Henry’s arms suffered little constellations of grease burns, but bacon was easy. And those faded, so they didn’t deter him for long. Curiosity piqued, he taught himself the basics of pasta, how one can simmer almost anything with garlic and onion and butter and it will taste good over noodles. It bolstered his confidence enough to truly commit, and now, between hours at the shelters and video calls with his mum, he watches tutorial after tutorial on how to brown butter and roast chicken. Only half of what he makes turns out the color it’s meant to, but he loves it.

He loves walking to the market on the corner and hunting down specific ingredients from the family recipes June sends him. In fact, it’s become such a regular pastime that the paparazzi have cottoned on, which is why his mother finally forced his security team to hire an actual body double. Now some bloke named Angus with his height and build and nearly the same face goes on diversionary strolls while Henry peruses jarred chilies.

With all his independent studying, he was certain he could manage a dessert. He wanted to do something impressive, since they’ve convinced their families to let them host Christmas dinner. Only, his sponge has gone all wrong, and if he’s learned anything from Bake Off, he knows it’s not meant to have cracked in five places when he tried to roll it up. Paul Hollywood would have him pilloried.

“Think you might’ve left it in too long?” Oscar asks from across the kitchen island. He’s wearing his white elephant prize, a sweatshirt airbrushed with the slogan YOU CAN’T SPELL CONSTITUTION WITHOUT TITS. Inexplicably, Henry’s own mother brought that one. “Lookin’ kinda dry there.”

“I appreciate that you are trying to be helpful,” Henry enunciates, “but if you say one more word I may start crying, and then we’ll both lose some respect for me.”

Later, when Pez has persuaded him to “call it, mate, put it out of its misery,” he carries his disgraced platter of ganache and cake and marzipan out into the living room and lets everyone go at it with spoons. The house feels full to bursting, and not just because of the Christmas crackers. There are all three of Alex’s parents, Henry’s mum, June and Nora, Bea and Pez, Shaan and Zahra on speakerphone, occasionally an awkward Philip and Martha via FaceTime, and, because he had nowhere else to go for the holiday, Angus.

(“I don’t like him,” Alex muttered when Henry suggested inviting his own body double to Christmas dinner.

“Why not?”

“Because he looks exactly like you, but I find him deeply unattractive, and that freaks me out.”)

Ellen tells everyone the story of the year Alex got his first real bike for Christmas and knocked out his two front teeth by Boxing Day, which prompts Catherine to recite eight-year-old Henry’s letter to Father Christmas, in which he requested a leather-bound journal and a holiday to East Wittering so he could gaze at the sea. Bea pushes Henry behind the upright piano, and he takes requests for an hour. It only ends when Pez rewrites half the lyrics to “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen” to be about his own lactose intolerance. No one wants to follow “tidings of Lactaid and soy.”

After the third round of mulled wine, when Alex’s parents have called their drivers and his mum has retired to the guest room, June and Nora find themselves under the mistletoe. Everyone whoops and whistles until Nora finally pulls June in by her Christmas-light necklace and kisses her to a round of applause. June's cheeks turn red, but she looks pleased as anything.

"I can't believe it took this long for y'all to finally kiss." Alex says, to which Pez bursts into laughter. "What?"

"Alex," he says fondly. He drains his glass and pecks Alex on the forehead. "You gorgeous, stupid little turnip."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Pez just shakes his head and strolls off to the kitchen.

"Wait," Alex says.

He frowns, like he does when he's trying to recall something incredibly minute and specific from his torts textbook. Then, suddenly, a light goes on, and his own mug is clunking on the lamp table, and he's running off after Pez.

"Pez, what's that supposed to mean?"

...

It's late morning the summer before Alex's last year of law school, 2023, and Alex is the first word out of Henry's mouth.

Truthfully, that's how he begins most mornings. On a Monday morning five time zones away, "Alex" pitched low to the screen of his phone. On a Friday when Alex's early lecture is cancelled, "Alex" in F major, muffled in the pillow as his body moves and the day stretches out before them. Half three the night before an exam, a hoarse "Alex," followed by, "turn the bloody light off and come to bed."

This morning, it's because David is barking at the door. A rainstorm is brewing, and if jet lag didn't have Henry dead under the bedclothes, the gray gloom would. Alex was the one who surfaced from sleep half an hour ago and blearily ordered three entire pancake breakfasts from some 24-hour diner a few neighborhoods over. He should have to get up and answer the door.

“Alex.” Henry mumbles, turning over.

Alex has got the quilt tugged up so high he’s only a shock of wild curls on white linens.

“Nnnghh,” Alex groans from the depths.

“Breakfast is here,” Henry says. The doorbell helpfully rings again. David howls.

Alex’s face appears, pouting. There’s a crease from the pillow down one of his cheekbones, a comet’s tail in a constellation of freckles. “Can you get it?”

Henry rolls his eyes but smiles. Inevitable.

He drags himself out of bed and pulls on the joggers and hoodie from last night’s flight. It’s not until he feels the breeze on his ankles as he descends the stairs that he realizes they’re Alex’s, not his.

On their doorstep, a pink-haired delivery girl is looking bored under her bicycle helmet.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Henry says. He fishes a crumpled bill out of Alex’s pocket. “For your trouble.”

The girl pulls a face.

“Got any real money?” she asks. Her accent reminds him a bit of Alex’s mum.

He blinks down at her hand, which is holding a twenty-pound note. “Ah. Sorry again. Er.” He snatches his wallet out of the bowl on the credenza and gives her all the American dollars he has.

“She’s gone, Davey,” Henry says afterward to David, who’s now fretfully circling the living room. “You’ve protected us from another fearsome home invader. Well done.”

He lets David out into the back garden to do his business, then carries the food upstairs. Shockingly, Alex is awake and propped up against the headboard.

“I’m getting too old for red-eye flights,” Alex says, rubbing his eyes.

“Love, you’re twenty-five,” Henry reminds him. He deposits the bag on the nightstand, and Alex wastes no time tearing through the plastic and tucking in to his breakfast. “And I’m older than you.”

“Yes, you are. But like... I get why we have to go to Philip’s kids’ christenings. The cousins, though?” He sets to work smothering his pancakes in syrup. “I mean, at least my cousins would stack their baptisms. One and done, baby.”

Henry opens his mouth, prepared to answer with one of a thousand things. That the tabloids will have even more of a field day than usual if he stops doing his chores, that there will always be a church dedication or a swan upping or an appointment for a top hat fitting, that he’ll always be obligated to have one foot in London and one day they’ll have to choose where to settle down. It’s far from the first time they’ve had this conversation.

But then Alex shovels a massive bite of pancakes into his mouth and says, “Anyway, I love you. Do you wanna have June and Nora over tomorrow? We can play Mario Party again. I wanna see them get in a fistfight. Oh, and my dad’s in town next week, and he said to tell you he’s bringing that book you asked about–”

And that’s when Henry knows: He doesn’t ever want to go back.

...

It’s the end of spring 2024, and Henry is not eavesdropping, per se. He excused himself to answer a call from Shaan, which really could not be avoided. Shaan has taken to his new life as a househusband with predictable aplomb, and most of his calls these days involve Henry getting to talk to a baby who is clearly destined to become prime minister. He simply can’t send that to voicemail.

It’s the first time they’ve had room in the schedule for his mother to visit since Alex accepted his law job, which Henry understands very little about but has been assured is the most strategic next step for Alex’s career long game. When Henry left the room, Alex was still trying to explain it to Catherine. It all sounds terribly prestigious.

He is just returning to the sitting room with a fresh pot of tea when he hears his name from around the corner.

“–and the next morning Henry and Arthur vanished,” his mother is saying, “and when Uncle Algie called, I told him that Henry couldn’t go on the annual pheasant hunt because he was violently ill, but actually Arthur had taken him to Rome for two weeks on the set of that go on ridiculous car heist film he was working on, the one with, oh, what’s his name–“

“Jason Statham,” Alex says promptly, through wheezing laughter.

“That’s the one!”

“Loved that movie,” Alex says. “I can’t believe Henry got to be on set.”

“It was all Arthur’s idea, but he was right to do it. Uncle Algie is a dreadful bore, and Henry despises his son. Guilford. Did you meet Guilford at the wedding?”

“Henry made sure I avoided it.”

“Yes, that’s for the best,” Catherine says daintily. “He has matured into an absolute dickhead.”

Henry wishes he was in the room to see the way Alex sputters out, “Oh my God.” Alex always forgets that Catherine went to uni and married a commoner from Sheffield.

And then Alex sighs and says, “When Henry and I get married–”

Henry manages to recover the teapot before he drops it.

It’s not a surprise to hear Alex mention marriage. They’ve been sorting it out for years: political logistics and Alex’s child-of-divorce anxiety and a thousand questions about a royal wedding neither of them actually wants to have. He’s already bought an engagement ring, even, and judging by how tetchy Alex gets whenever Henry tries to put his underwear away for him, he’s not the only one.

But it is the first time he’s heard Alex mention it to his mother. He dropped it so casually, so matter-of-factly, as if he’s been talking to her about marrying Henry for years. Henry supposes it’s possible he has been. Is this why Alex had tea with her in London last month and told Henry he wasn’t invited? Have they been conspiring?

They’re discussing hypothetical guest lists now, which cousins secretly hate one another and who wore an inappropriately large fascinator to whose birthday tea, but Henry isn’t listening anymore. He’s thinking of a cafe table in Rome, his dad waving over a second round of gelato.

In his memory, he’s nine years old, and his father is saying, Whoever you marry, Henry, make sure they think your mum is a laugh, because she is. She really is.

He clears his throat and finally rounds the corner. “Tea, anyone?”

...

It’s 2024, and nobody knows they’re engaged.

Granted, they’ve only been engaged for about three hours, but Henry is curious to see how long they can go. It feels nice to keep a secret that doesn’t have to be a secret. It’s more that they’re keeping it like a pet, or something especially beautiful from the garden that they’ve coaxed into a jar.

A record is spinning on the turntable, one of Alex’s, maybe the Joni Mitchell he borrowed from Bea. They’ve shoved their phones under the couch cushions and ordered a pizza the size of the moon, and now they’re sitting in the center of the living room floor, demolishing it. They kiss, then eat more pizza, then get distracted kissing again. Henry licks a streak of pepperoni grease from Alex’s forearm, which is a fantasy he didn’t know he had until he’s living it. They tangle up on the rug, and Henry decides he’ll take Alex sailing next weekend, or even out to the edge of the river, just to see him against a horizon.

Four-nearly-five years in, the main thing he’s learned is that Alex is a world without end. All Henry wants is to go on with him forever. To keep finding new favorite parts, to keep turning things over and studying their soft bellies and finding the best bits.

So, he will.

...

It snows on New Year’s Eve 2024. Alex looks out the window and shrugs off his coat.

The Young America Gala may be no longer, but Nora, June, and Pez aren’t to be stopped from throwing a New Year’s party, especially now that Pez has gotten his own part-time flat in the city. They’re the three fates of New York City’s holiday social circuit: birth (June, managing invitations), life (Pez, topless), and death (Nora, also topless).

“What if,” Alex says, turning to Henry on the foot of the stairs, “we don’t go to the party?”

“Nora will murder me,” Henry says. “She told me she’s not afraid to do that now that I’ve given up my title.”

“Murder is still a crime even if you’re not officially a prince.”

“Yes, but she said, quote,” he puts on his best American accent, “They can’t put me in the Tower anymore. Who’s gonna arrest me now? Mr. Bean?”

“Why don’t we just send Angus? It’s dark. Maybe she won’t notice.”

“Where’s your double, then?”

“We live in New York, I’m sure I can find a male model somewhere.”

“As always, sounding the very bass string of humility.”

“Is that fucking Shakespeare?”

“Henry IV.”

“I’m gonna give you a wedgie, you fucking nerd.”

In the end, it doesn’t take much to convince Henry to stay in. Lately, it never does. Alex texts June a flimsy excuse, and they toe off their shoes and relax out of their button-downs.

Henry does have to admit he’s exhausted, in the way that one only can be on the last day of the year, when every other day of the year piles way up behind it. It’s been a big one: Alex’s first law job, the endless press about Henry’s decision to surrender his title, the engagement, Bea’s wedding, the incident with the croquet mallets and the Dutch ambassador at Bea's wedding.

Sometimes Alex jokes that they squeezed it all into one calendar year because no headline can stick if there's another next week, but it's only half a joke. They've been bone-tired for months.

"I'm surprised you're the one who wants to stay home," Henry says. "I remember a young lothario who lived to ruin people's lives on New Year's Eve."

"Ruin?" Alex says. "That's not how I remember it."

"It certainly felt that way at the time."

They drift to the kitchen, past all the traces of the year. The dried flowers, the new scuffs on the floorboards. The box of bound manuscripts of Henry's first finished poetry-ish short-fiction-ish essay-ish collection. The holiday cards from senators and diplomats and old Texas friends, topped off with Alex's favorite of Rafael Luna and his astonishingly fit partner in matching Christmas jumpers. Henry would think Raf had been forced into it if it hadn't come with a case of beer and a note of thanks for letting him stay over the last time he visited Alex and had one too many tequila shots at drag bingo.

Alex withdraws a bottle of Clicquot from the refrigerator and says, "We're not washed, are we?"

“We're aging," Henry points out.

"That's right," Alex says, eyes immediately sparking at the opportunity. Henry preemptively sighs. "You're almost thirty."

"Almost twenty-eight is not almost thirty."

"It basically is. You're old. You'll be thirty a whole year before me. You'll be popping antacids and I'll be in the club, popping my p-"

"You're not even in the club now."

"I could be, I'm just choosing not to, because I don't want to deal with the snow. That's not aging, it's growth."

He slides Henry a glass of champagne and adds, "It's probably time for us to start talking about what's on your Do Before Thirty list, huh?"

Henry takes the glass and chooses going with Alex's bit over pointing out that he's entering his late twenties, not dying.

“I’ve done quite well on that front so far, actually,” he says. “Wrote a book. Started a nonprofit. Engaged to the love of my life.”

“Involved in an international sex scandal.”

“Shook the hands of all five Spice Girls.”

“Best dressed at the Met Gala.”

“Cried in the Water Lilies room at the MOMA.”

“Grew your hair out, then cut it all off.“

“Taught myself to make beef Wellington.”

“That one’s, uh, still in progress,” Alex hedges. Henry gives him an affronted look. “But, yeah! Definitely. And you got really good at scones.”

“That I did.”

“Right,” Alex agrees. “So what’s left? Streaking? Dropping acid? Having sex on our kitchen island?”

Henry takes a moment with that one.

“Having sex on our kitchen island?”

When the clock strikes the new year, the house is quiet. The timer on the light over the front stoop clicks off. The champagne bottle rests between two glasses on the edge of the sink, spent and sticky around the rim, a single soggy strawberry at the bottom of each flute. Miles out from their apartment, fireworks fight the snow over the East River, but in their kitchen in Park Slope, the only sounds are the two of them.

Henry, almost twenty-eight, presses his warm body to the cool marble and gets his midnight kiss.

...

“Do you know what today is?” Alex asks on a lukewarm September.

It’s 2025. He’s in the doorway of Henry’s study, where Henry has been all evening, answering emails.

“Hm? No.”

When Alex doesn’t immediately fill the silence, Henry looks up from his laptop screen.

“What is it?”

“Five years since the story broke,” Alex says.

It takes a moment for him to realize what story Alex means; there have been so many of them. But of course, he means that gigantic, terrible one. The one that changed their lives forever.

“Oh,” Henry says. He closes his laptop, leaning back in his chair and away from it. “Well. Hated that.”

“Yeah,” Alex agrees. “Zero out of ten. Would not do again.”

His tone is light and casual, but when he folds his arms across his chest, Henry can see his glasses in the front pocket of his flannel. It’s been months and months since the last time Alex didn’t feel confident enough to wear them.

For his part, Henry can remember much of that day, but not all of it. He remembers stirring sugar into his morning tea when Shaan walked in wearing an expression Henry had never seen before. He remembers Pez arriving like the cavalry in Gucci slippers, hustling Henry away from his handlers with the same graceful disdain he used to direct at Eton classmates who stared at them too much. He remembers Bea finding them in the music parlor and refusing to hear Henry’s apology, and he remembers Alex’s call and Alex’s arrival.

The funny part, though, is he can’t remember anything between Bea and Alex. He knows that Philip was involved, and there were stories on every news channel, and he spoke to his mother at some point. But the space in his memory where those hours belong is simply blank. His psychiatrist says it’s post-traumatic stress disorder, and Henry is inclined to agree, considering the two of them spent the entire following year recalibrating Henry’s anxiety and depression medication around the event.

Those hours will always be gone. There are things he will never get back.

Most of the time, though, when he thinks of that day, the second worst thing that's ever happened to him, he thinks of Alex's hand in his under a Buckingham Palace table. He remembers, clear as a bell, Alex's voice telling him they would survive it together. It happened to Alex too. It wasn't what they would have chosen, but it was what they received, and they've done their absolute bloody best with it.

He rises from his desk, crosses to the doorway, and gathers Alex up against his chest. Their size difference isn't that pronounced—Henry is taller but lean, Alex shorter but sturdy—but in moments like this, he's thankful for the way Alex's cheek perfectly aligns with the crook of his neck. He's grateful for how effortless it is to slip a kiss to Alex's temple.

Neither of them says anything else. It's all been said a thousand times, in speeches and through official statements and in the dark when it's only the two of them. It's enough to stand here in the center of the house, in the quiet, and let it hold their weight.

...

At the end of 2025, Henry has a bad day.

There's nothing specific that causes it. The days just happen like this sometimes, even with all the therapy and medication and supportive partnership and fulfilling creative projects in the world. There are other people, he supposes, who don't spend their lives waiting for the next bad day. He's had every bloody luxury but that one.

Alex comes home from work to find him curled up on the armchair in the study, staring out the window at the light-polluted night sky over the row of brownstones across the street.

“What are you doing?" Alex asks him.

"Looking for Orion," Henry deadpans.

Alex kneels on the rug in his tailored suit pants and rolled-up sleeves and rests his cheek on Henry's knee, the way he often does when Henry's in a mood. Henry's fingers slide into his curls. They've grown a bit longer in the past few months. Lately. Alex looks quite like he did when they met, except for the glasses and the stubble dusting his jaw.

“I’m tired of big law, “ Alex confesses. It would appear he’s in a mood too. “I know it’s only been a year and a half, but...I kind of hate it.”

Henry contemplates that, along with the dark circles around Alex’s eyes.

“You don’t have to do it, you know.” Henry tells him.

Alex looks at him like he did in that hotel room in Paris the first time they woke up together, like the only thing he knows for sure about what he’s being offered is that he wants it completely. It’s an intimidating look to receive, but it’s only ever improved Henry’s life in the end.

He kisses Henry’s knuckle, just below his ring.

“I have some ideas.”

...

In February 2026, a flu sweeps through Park Slope. Neither Alex nor Henry can agree on who gave it to whom first– Henry knows it was Alex, since he’s been up late consulting with his mum about a voting rights bill in Texas, and his immune system always suffers when he gets upset about Texas—but regardless, they’re trapped in the brownstone together for a week. At least Alex doesn’t have to work through his illness the way he usually does, since he resigned from his job last month.

Somewhere around day five, Henry realizes it’s the longest consecutive amount of time they’ve both been home in years. They always seem to be leaving or returning: rushing off to appearances, climbing out of security caravans in half-undone suits, meeting Cash at the curb at three in the morning with bags over their shoulders. It’s nice, in a way, to get reacquainted with this home they’ve built together.

While Alex naps, Henry paces the entire floorplan.

The first floor, with its long living room and the original beams and mantelpiece, which Henry had restored before he moved in, because he always has been precious about the history of things. Then the kitchen and the deep blue cabinets and the wide back window over the knotty pine dining table handed down from Alex's dad. Upstairs, on the second floor, the guest bedroom with all of his mum's preferred hand creams in the attached washroom and the sitting room with the shelf of swan figurines Pez started collecting years ago in a dramatic fit of June-related yearning. One more flight up to the top floor, with his study and Alex's office and the hall with their photo from Shaan and Zahra's wedding and, at the far end, their bedroom.

The bedroom is his favorite part of the house, and not only for the obvious reasons, no matter how much Alex tries to imply otherwise with suggestive eyebrows. He loves the high ceiling and the chipped plaster medallion of roses at the center. They picked out the bed together, and every morning that he wakes up in it, he gets to turn over and see Alex's loose pens and glasses wipes scattered atop the dresser and know that this, his life, is still real. Perhaps he likes the room best because it feels separated from every other part of the house, lifted up and bundled in, which is the first time he's ever been safe in a tower.

Most importantly, of all three levels of bay windows jutting from the redbrick front of the brownstone, only the one in the bedroom has a seat. They've filled it with velvet pillows and mossy green cushions, and once or twice a year, on one of their vanishingly rare slow days, Alex will climb in and fall asleep.

That's where he finds Alex when he eases into the room with a mug of soup in each hand. He recognizes the quilt wrapped around him: they slept under it in Alex's childhood twin bed the night Ellen won her second term, and then Alex crammed it into his suitcase and brought it back to Washington.

He stirs as Henry sets the mugs down on the dresser.

“Thanks,” he says in a hoarse voice.

Henry nudges in beside him, gingerly removing Alex's glasses from beneath his elbow before they get crushed.

"You know," Henry says, "I chose this house for the bay windows."

Alex blinks at him, fully awake now. "Really?"

"I thought you might like them. You always talked about the one you grew up with. Hoped they might make the place feel like home."

Alex smiles. "They do."

Henry looks at him in his quilt, sleep-mussed and flushed from fever and overdue for a shave, and he remembers that night in the yellow house in Austin. Before Alex led them back to his old bedroom, he peeled up the cushion in the living room window seat and showed Henry pages of elementary school scribbles still hidden there. And he told Henry that he thought once of hiding a picture there too, if only he'd had the nerve to tear it out of his sister's magazine.

Love, Henry has found, has a way of growing backward. You fall in love with a person in the present, and then every person you've ever been gets to fall in love with every past version of them. A sleep-deprived Georgetown freshman falls in love with an Oxford sophomore who's testing out undoing the top button of his shirts sometimes. A ruddy-cheeked teenager with his nose in a book loves a backtalking lacrosse captain. A boy comes home from school with perfect marks and sees a picture in a magazine, and the boy from the picture pauses on a palace staircase.

The crux of it is, he loves every version of Alex to ever sleep under that quilt. Everything else is mostly set dressing

"I'm having a thought," Henry says.

"Congratulations," Alex deadpans automatically. Then, "Tell me."

"This life we have here," Henry says. "This house. It's good, yeah?"

"Yeah, of course it is."

"But we could have a good life somewhere else too."

Alex frowns. "Like where?"

"Somewhere... farther from everything, maybe? Somewhere we could slow down, and things could be quieter, and you could do the work you want to do. I think I could use some time away from it all, honestly. Maybe I wouldn't even have to have a body double anymore."

Alex considers that for a long moment. They both know where Henry means, even if he doesn't say it. Besides New York and DC, and London on its best days, there's really only one place Alex would seriously consider living. They've joked about it before, but Henry's always thought it might be nice to spend a few years somewhere completely different than he's used to. A place where he could see the stars.

At long last, Alex sniffs and says, "You're gonna fire Angus? He was just starting to grow on me.”

...

“If you don't wake Bea up, you're gonna have to hear about her back spasms in the morning,” says a voice that is most certainly not Heath Ledger's.

Henry startles awake to find Alex leaning over his shoulder from behind the loveseat, curls everywhere. The room is dark, and the end credits are rolling.

"You're not home until tomorrow," Henry mumbles.

"Moved up my flight," Alex says. He's so close to Henry's face, he's gone a bit cross-eyed. His lips bounce off the tip of Henry's nose. "I missed you."

It's only been a few days, but the truth is Henry missed him too. He supposes he should be used to empty beds and time differences by now, especially when they began that way, but he suspects he'll never stop waiting at the door. You know what will be the best part of getting married?" Henry asks Alex.

"The line dancing."

"The way I won't have to miss you nearly as often."

Alex softens, then maneuvers himself over the armrest until he's draped across Henry's lap. David climbs on top of him and curls up on Alex's left buttock.

Letting go of the house has been hard, but this particular decision was easy, once they finally said it out loud. A gradual, careful withdrawal from public life, at least for a few years. They’ve given so much of themselves to the world and had the privilege of feeling a legacy take shape beneath them, but they need rest too.

It was June who convinced them, actually. Even now, there are certain things only June can say to Alex. Early in the spring, when she was finally transitioning out of her speechwriting job for Raf, she called Alex from Colorado and told him she was moving to New York to be closer to Nora and Pez, and she wanted to sublet the brownstone. When Alex pointed out that he was still living in it, she said, "We both know you've been looking at farmhouses in Austin for six months, it's time to shit or get off the pot."

(Henry loves his particular collection of Americans. They truly do say what's on their minds.)

The new house is beautiful. Henry's only seen it in person once, but the previous owner was a reclusive tech executive with shockingly good taste, so Architectural Digest featured it last year. He's had the article open in a tab on his phone for two months, and he scrolls through all those perfectly lit photos twice a day, getting high on possibilities. Lazy mornings in the wide sunroom, midnight dives in the lake. It's easy to imagine Alex mellowing into a brisket-smoking, tamale-rolling Texas dad out there, and it's just as easy to imagine them basking under cedar trees until their mid-thirties and then deciding they're ready for another round. The wonderful thing is, they can take their time either way.

It isn't a full release from their obligations, but it is the next step after formally relinquishing his title. More boundaries, more of their own rules about what they will and won't do. No royal wedding, but a private ceremony at the lake house and a honeymoon unpacking boxes. A job for Alex at a smaller firm where he can finally get his hands in the earth. A quieter life.

"You're right," Alex says. "You know what else is gonna be awesome about married-people life? We can have actual, real-life date nights. Just imagine it: free refills and bottomless chips and salsa."

"Oh, I've got another one," Henry says. “You can finally show me how to navigate an H-E-B."

“Baby, don’t talk dirty to me in front of company.”

“Please,” says a groggy voice from the couch.

“Hi, Bea.”

“Time’s it?”

“One in the morning.”

“Ugh.”

Grumbling and tugging a blanket around herself, Bea wakes Pez and the two of them head off to wash up before bed. The odds of Pez returning to the couch for the night or availing himself of their bed so that Alex has to sleep on the couch are just about even, based on six years of Pez falling asleep at their house. It’s a comfort to know that when they leave the brownstone and June moves in, Pez will still be making himself at home in it.

Downstairs, surrounded by boxes, Alex crawls out of Henry’s lap and slides a large shopping bag out from behind the loveseat. “I brought you something.” Alex says.

Inside the bag is a box made of the sort of heavy cardboard that augurs something expensive. He imagines Alex hurling his patched-up rough-ridden leather duffle into the overhead compartment of the airplane and then sliding this bag under the seat so carefully that there’s not even a crease in the paper.

He takes the lid off the box and unwraps layers of tissue paper to reveal a hat. A cowboy hat. It’s made of gorgeous, thick felt, with a cattleman crown and a satin lining. A nearly identical one has hung in Alex’s office since he moved in, though Alex’s is midnight black and this one is a warm, pale sand. Where Alex’s hatband has a small gold buckle, this one has a silver pin in the shape of an English rose.

“It’s a Stetson,” Alex says. When Henry looks up at him, his cheeks have darkened faintly. “I know it’s not really your thing, but you ride horses, and it’s kind of a big deal where I’m from to get your first Stetson, so I wanted to be the one to give it to you since you’re about to be an honorary Texan. You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want–“

“I love it,” Henry interrupts.

Alex pauses, then breaks out in a grin. “You do? I was afraid you’d think it was a joke.”

“It’s the least ridiculous hat I’ve ever been given,” Henry tells him. “It didn’t even come with a matching tailcoat.”

“Nah, but maybe we can get you some Wranglers,” Alex says.

“Some chaps, perhaps.”

“I just told you not to talk dirty to me.”

Henry laughs and kisses him over the open box, thinking of the next year of their lives. Sunday morning fry-ups, swimming holes, a wedding cake that doesn’t wind up on the floor. Tomorrow he needs to ask if Alex checked on the bakery while he was in Austin, and if they have any more packing tape, and whether Amy’s daughter has gotten her flower girl dress yet.

Tonight, though, Alex is home a day early, and the house is making all its soft, familiar night-time sounds around them. No one sees in through the windows. No one comes in through the gate.

“Henry,” says Alex.

“Alex,” says Henry.

“You and me,” Alex says.

“You and me,” Henry agrees.

End.

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the-froschamethyst4 · 8 months

Note

Could you please write some gaz x f reader smut? Maybe breeding kink or anything. There’s not much about him and he deserves more cause let’s me honest..HE IS HOT. 😻. Anyways thanks byeeee

Just a Thought

𖤐Pairing: Husband! Gaz x Wife! Reader

𖤐Pronouns: She/Her

𖤐AN: I am SO glad I got something like this. Of course I will and I will deliver 🫡

𖤐Warnings: smut, breeding kink, language, P in V, eating out, fingering, married couple, dirty talking,

𖤐Summary: Kyle's friends all have kids, he's met them before and fell in love with the idea of having his own kids running around his home and taking after him and his wife

————

Gaz was coming home from the base. The thought of having his own little family ran through his head.

Everyone he works with has kids. Price, Soap, König, Alejandro, Alex, hell even Ghost.

He has seen the way his friends are with their kids, and it hits him in the heart when he doesn't have kids running to him, wanting to be picked up and spun around when they come to the base every once and a while.

He parks in the driveway and opens the front door to his house. The house was dark with just one light from a room, it was his wife's home office.

His wife Y/n works from home every now and then. Today was just that night. He opens her door and saw her looking at a file and she looked up.

"Gaz, welcome home."

"Hey, angel," he walks to her and kissed her temple.

"How was work?" She asked, he takes his gear off and sat on the light grey chair in front of her desk.

"Boring," he bluntly says.

"How so?"

"Price's kids came and visit today...Y/n."

"Yes?" She looks from her file at Gaz. He placed his hands on his knees and leaned forward and his fingers interlaced with each other.

"Do you ever...want kids?"

"Kids? Gaz where is this coming from?"

"I want kids...with you obviously..."

"Gaz-"

"I want a little us running the house, I want them to come to the base every now and then running up to me, I pick them up and kiss them and love them...but..."

"KYLE! I understand..." Y/n gets up from her desk and walk to him. He leans back and lets her sit on his lap. Her arms went around his neck, she stares at him. "We can give it a try."

Immediately Gaz had picked up Y/n. Taking her to their shared bedroom and placing her on the bed, he starts stripping from his clothes kissing Y/n's lips and his hands traveling up her shirt and squeezing her breasts.

"Oh my god," she moans.

"I can't wait...to see your breasts swell with milk...for our baby," Gaz says in between kissing Y/n's breasts.

"K-Kyle," she moans.

His lips traveled down from her breasts to her stomach.

"I want to see this...this beautiful stomach grow...grow with our baby inside..." he says. Then he moves down to her thighs. "I want to see you...struggle to walk...seeing you need me..." he says. Kissing her thighs and biting her inner thighs.

Seeing the way he looks up at her and the way he comes back up close to her clit. Her skirt being bunched at her hips and her tights being ripped open.

Her heels hit his back and dropped loudly on the floor. He brings her legs up to his shoulders as he started to lick his lips and pulled aside her panties.

He then starts pulling the torn tights off and tossed them somewhere in the room.

"Kyle!" She moans, her heel of her foot accidently dug into his back, he groans but not in pain but likes the feeling of pleasuring his sweet wife.

Y/n's hands went to Kyle's hair pulling at his short hair. His tongue was like magic, she tossed her head back, her head resting in her soft pillow, her thighs wanting to close around his head.

"AH!"

Gaz instinctively smacks Y/n's thigh, definitely leaving a red mark on her thigh. He earns a soft moan from Y/n's lips.

Gaz smirks up at Y/n and looked at her soft face holding back a moan.

"Come on, mamas, moan for me, moan my name," he says with a smirk on his face.

He then moves up and kissed her lips. His hands went under her shirt and started to remove her buttoned shirt and then pulling her skirt off her lower half.

He lines himself up and started thrusting inside of her, quickly and wasting no time. Gaz kissed her lips as he was moving a bit faster.

"God, I can already see you pregnant and needing my help," he groans. He gets closer to her ear, her moans were soft and she could still hear him talking to her. "Your belly will get so big, carrying around our baby..."

"G-Gaz," she moans. She looks down at her back seeing a small scar and some on his shoulder. She leans forward and kissed his scarred shoulder and moaning into his shoulder.

His hands held her back, holding her against his chest, her arms around his neck, she looked like a koloa holding onto him for deer life. As he was thrusting as hard as he could and feeling her squeeze around him and loosening up and squeezing again.

She did it over and over, Gaz himself was a moaning mess.

Gaz leans back sitting on his butt as Y/n was bouncing on his dick, her hands resting on his shoulders, moving her hair from her face and just moaning as she stared into Gaz's eyes, both looking half dazed but still very, very, very active in their sex.

Gaz let Y/n do most of the work but will still thrust up every now and then. Her face was red as the thought of her being pregnant ran through her mind and how Gaz will act when she is big.

"Gaz," she moans.

"I know, I know, I'm close as well," he says, placing his hands behind her head bring her into a kiss and his other hand holding her ass and letting her grind on him now.

She holds Gaz's face kissing his lips and let out a breathy moan feeling cum leak inside of her and her cum dripping from her lower half.

Gaz holds her face to look into her eyes. "I hope our baby looks just like their mama." Y/n's face was red, Gaz was always a flirt for random compliments.

---------

5 Months later

Just as Gaz said, she would be begging for Gaz's help. Gaz had stayed home from the base and was helping Y/n around the house.

"Gaz can you do the dishes please? My feet hurt."

"Sure, my love."

"Gaz, could you be a dear and help me with the laundry?"

"Of course, little mama."

"Gaz, can you make dinner tonight, I'm too tired."

"I'm on it, love."

Left and right, Y/n would ask for Gaz to do something and he'd do it so willingly. And no argument, he knew better then argue with his pregnant wife.

Y/n sits on the couch rubbing her 5 month belly, she looks at the TV playing a random show she found.

Gaz smiled at his wife and continued dinner.

---------

A Year Later

Gaz was walking in the base heading to Price's office and once at the door, he hears some talking behind the door. The voices sounded familiar and then a tiny voice calling for her mummy.

"Mummy, when's is daddy coming?" Gaz knew that voice.

Gaz didn't bother knocking on Price's office and saw Y/n sitting on a dark brown chair in front of Price's desk and then a little toddler running to Gaz.

He placed his files down and quickly bent down picking his baby girl up.

"How is my little Skye?" Gaz asked.

"Good daddy," she smiles and wraps her arms around her daddy's neck.

"Are you behaving for mama?"

"Yes."

"Sometimes," Y/n says, getting up from the chair and kissed her husbands lips.

"Shall I give you three some time?" Price asked.

"No, it's fine, I came to give you this and head on," Gaz says as he placed his file down and picked his daughter back up and took Y/n's hand and headed outside of Price's office and were now outside.

Y/n and Gaz were talking as Skye ran up to Ghost and Riley. Skye was petting Riley as Ghost was showing Skye some of Riley's new tricks.

"Were you heading back home soon?" Gaz asked.

"Yeah, we wanted to come see you," she says, standing on her tippy toes and leaning forward and kissing his lips. "See you at home?"

"Of course, love," he says.

"Skye, baby, come on," Y/n says as Skye told Ghost and Riley bye and ran to Y/n taking her hand and heading towards Y/n's car.

"She's a beauty," Ghost says.

"I know...I'm lucky," Gaz says.

"Come on, you hound dogs," Price calls to them.

#cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod x reader #fandom #fanfic #call of duty #mw2 #cod #gaz x gn!reader #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost x reader #gaz x reader #gaz cod

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kayschariot · 7 months

Text

QUACKITY X READER (NSFW)

I got this idea a few days back so ima write it out<3

I found myself at my friend Alex’s house with a couple others. they were all just drinking but i stayed sober. Everyone was decently tipsy or drunk but Alex was definitely..drunk.

I knew that when he started getting clingy with me. he came up behind me as i was talking with everyone and hugged me from behind. He buried his face in my neck and held my waist doing that thumb thing. I smiled and continued chatting with our friends until he started fiddling with the waistband of my pants which i thought was odd but i didn’t say anything.

“Your so pretty..” He mumbled in my ear his hand slowly going to the button of my jeans. My whole face went red and I was glad our friends where drunk and not paying attention to me.

“T-Thanks..” I mumbled as he stared fiddling with the button of my jeans trying to get them loose. “Alex..” I mumbled moving his hand, “Just a little bit..” He mumbled his fingers slipping into my waist band making me go absolutely insane. “A-Alex!” I yelped and twitched. Everyone just stopped and looked at me, luckily for me Alex had already had his hands off me. They just went back to talking and Alex went back to hugging me from behind.

“Come on..” He spoke, “Just wait..” I spoke as he groaned. “When are you guys leaving?” Alex said out of the blue, “Oh i’m a bit when the uber comes,” one of our friends said as Alex nodded

It came shortly but for Alex it felt like an eternity. I found myself alone and in the kitchen with Alex. He was still hugging me from behind, “Is this necessary..?” I mumbled as he slipped his hand in the waistband of my pants..again..

“Alex..let’s get you to bed..” I spoke softly. “no.” He spoke his hand slipping further down my pants. I rolled my head back, “Alex..your drunk.” I whispered softly taking his hand out of my pants and turning around. He rolled his eyes, he looked tired.

“come on..” I spoke walking him to his room. “Your so beautiful,” He spoke as i sat him down on his bed, “Thank you.” I rolled my eyes giving him a water bottle. I was standing in front of him and he looked at me, mainly at my waist and i have to say, i’ve never seen Alex like this.

he sat the water bottle down and put his hands on my waist, “Alex!” I tried to pry his hands off me. not that i didn’t want this, cause i did..but hes drunk so it’d be wrong. and i don’t even know his intentions anyway.

He started unbuttoning my jeans and pulled the zipper down. “A-ALEX-..I-I!” I was lost for words. He ignored me and pulled me down by the collar of my shirt and kissed me.

I’ve never done anything like this with him but i must admit i liked it. He pulled me back further deepening the kiss making me get on top of him, straddling him. He slid his tongue in my mouth, the make out was fairly sloppy as he was drunk and tasted of beer.

He had one hand on my ass and the other on my neck. he was moaning softly into the ‘kiss’ and i felt him get hard beneath me.

we paused to breath, “A-Alex..Y-Your drunk..” I painted reminding him once again. “and your so fucking hot right now.” he whispered, “let’s get to bed.” I spoke

“no make out with me longer, your so beautiful..” he spoke pulling me down. I sighed as he made out lips connected once again. this time he slipped his hand under my shirt squeezing my tit. I moaned softly and he seemed quite proud of himself.

i broke it sitting up as he removed his hand from my shirt, “come on..I know that felt good..” He whispered. “N-no-..just-just! let’s go to bed,” I got off him buttoning my pants and zipping them. He rolled his eyes and i covered him up. When i was gunna leave he pulled my hand back, “sleep with me,” He slurred and i sighed laying next to him as he clung onto me..-

I woke up the next morning Alex still clung on me. i was stuck there.

it felt like an eternity but he finally woke up, and when he did he his breath hitched when he saw me and i looked at him deadpan.

He moved away from me curled up with the blanket. “Well, that’s a nice way to say good morning.” I giggled leaning back on the headboard of the bed as he seemed to be processing what he did. “Uhm..” He mumbled.

“It-It wasn’t..a-another wet dream..?” He mumbled to himself as my eyes widened “ANOTHER?!” I giggled flabbergasted.

“W-Wai-shit..” He mumbled, “gotta say your a good kisser, especially for being that drunk.” I giggled watching his face go red. “Y-You liked it..?” He asked as i shrugged.

IDK HOW TO END THIS SO WOMP WOMP

#Qsmp #quackity #qsmp quacki #smut #touchstarved #quack quack #mexican #quackity x reader #x reader

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syoddeye · 6 months

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14. Assign a fashion aesthetic to this character.

because i can't be Normal, here are 11 mini moodboards + blurbs lmao. thank you canva. some of the photos are low res, that's my b.

disclaimer: this is clearly for fun. i don't want to hear about how wrong i am lol.

Price: Maybe this is because the strong visuals from Ursa Major by @the-californicationist is rotting my brain (affectionate), but my favorite dude likes workwear and high quality clothing. I don't think he prioritizes fashion, but at the same time, he puts on Hard Pants whenever he leaves the house because you never know who he might meet! (You. At the store. Where he gets that pesky can of whatever off the top shelf for you.) Need to commission an artist to draw him as Tom Selleck.

Rudy: Inspired by Bayardo. Rudy likes moto style, worn-in/lived-in clothing, and cleans up real nice. I could see him gravitating more color and knit button downs/polo shirts. I didn't include much western/cowboy stuff, but I imagine Alejandro's aesthetic rubbing off on Rudy since they've known each other for decades.

Ghost: To no one's surprise, his favorite color is black. But, he wouldn't wear clothes that draw even more attention. He's already a big fella, I just don't see him trying to stand out on purpose. He favors darker neutrals, layers, regular cloth or paper face masks, and workwear. Pretty plain aesthetic. Just a Guy™.

Kate: "Sy, that's a lot of Gillian Anderson." AND? What about it? Anyway, I think younger!Kate saw If These Walls Could Talk 2 and emulated Amy's (Chloë Sevigny) style for a number of years. I think with her work and maturation of style, her style is more utilitarian/streamlined, but when she dresses up, ooh baby. Some of Maya Erskine's outfits in the new Mr. and Mrs. Smith show also scream Kate to me. Obviously we have a vest outfit here, because if there is one thing lesbians love, it's utility. /jk

Nik: Similar to Price in that he values clothes that can hold up under normal-to-heavy use. Every outfit does have to highlight a chain. My guy is probably sitting on a small mountain of money, too, but the clothes he picks for himself are unlabeled.

Ale: He's a smooth operator 🎶 No, but to me he's like Soap - Alejandro knows he's good-looking. He has the range and the confidence to pull off most anything. I think similar to Rudy, I imagine him leaning more towards moto aesthetics, with more cowboy/western vibes. Not afraid of color. Lest we forget, he owns a ranch, so throw in workwear, too. Tucked in shirts, belt buckles. Another minor point of inspo is Donald Glover from Mr. and Mrs. Smith.

Gaz: It's coincidence two photos contains glasses BUT I think in my dream world, Gaz dresses the way Elliot Knight's stylist dresses him. Which is to say wonderfully. Gaz tends toward neutrals, pieces that are easy to layer, and can fit into more than one look. He's probably somewhat up on fashion and style, not obsessed, but aware of what he looks good in. Not afraid to chat up a sales associate for help.

Soap: He knows he's nice to look at. He knows his arms are drool-worthy. The moment the weather's pleasant enough, he's sleeveless. I also know he probably dgaf about fashion but let's feed my delusions. Streetwear, athleisure - He's got to be able to move freely, feel comfortable, and show off his build.

Farah: Ignore the bags lol. If anything, she's carrying something crossbody and functional. Anyway, Farah's a leader and has been from too young of an age. I think this translates to how she carries herself and what she wears, yeah? I think she aligns with Soap+Gaz+Ale in the Can Wear Anything group. My soft as fuck HC is that Price gave her a few band shirts at some point in time.

Alex: Generally aware of what he looks good in. He relies on his more fashion inclined friends and loved ones to send him ideas or buy him clothes outright because he does not go out of his way to shop. He constantly wears that a single jacket he got One compliment on it six years ago. Like Ghost, he's Just a Guy™. A very handsome one.

Valeria: She's a business woman, right? 👀 Valeria's aesthetic is a mixture of all black everything/glam/utilitarian but make it fashion. In my deepest of dreams, her fashion style is more fluid, and she eats up everything she wears. Again, kind of falling into the idea that confidence makes any style possible on her.

character ask game questions here!

#i made these between meetings on mobile so let's be nice about formatting #sy asks #cod aesthetics #moodboards #john price #rodolfo rudy parra #rudy parra #simon ghost riley #kate laswell #kate laswell cod #cod nikolai #nikolai cod #alejandro vargas #kyle gaz garrick #john soap mactavish #farah karim #alex keller #valeria garza #femalefemur

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romancingdaffodils · 1 year

Text

Love Kills.

part 1

bassist!rockstar!remus lupin x roadie!reader

In which one of your closest friends happens to be Sirius Black, who is also the drummer in the infamous punk band: The Marauders. You’ve met Remus Lupin twice before the tour begins and you found yourself quite enthralled with him. The more time you spend, the greater the need is.

warnings : mention of drinking, and that’s about it. gender neutral reader with a small understanding of drums and stuff :333

title stolen from Love Kills - Joe Strummer

hiii i know you missed me

i’d like to give a special thanks to @alegsy for all his help on this one. and if you like Alex turner go check out @joepublicspeakings :33. Seriously Al thank you much for helping me out with all the roadie tech stuff and ideas and punk music too it really means a lot and i love you sooooo much. thank u smsm

ps pls ignore that matt plays electric and not bass it’s not my fault i love him so much

Sirius Black was by far the most interesting man you've ever met. He was also the reason you were stood with your hands clasped tightly around the handles of two stuffed bags.

"C'mooon, you know me, it'll be fun! You like the music, know the tech, got the skills nailed. You're the perfect roadie, join us." Sirius begged, following you around the bar. You frowned at him. Unfortunately for the raven haired man, you liked your job, which meant it took a lot more convincing to get you onside.

"Sleeping in a glorified caravan for god knows how many days doesn't exactly seem like my idea of fun! Plus, Sirius, I only really know James. Met the other lanky one, what, twice? Don't know the last guys name! It's not fair." you argued, crossing your arms and glaring at him. You had included a small white lie in the fact Remus Lupin was not known as the lanky one in your mind - you were familiar with the version of him that haunted your daydreams. He pouted at you. Yes, the fully grown man pouted at you.

"It pays well-ish! It'll get you in with the industry and it's months with your favourite person, ever. Me! On top of that, it's not a glorified caravan, we invested this year so shut your trap." he whined, giving his best puppy dog eyes.

"Right, fine, maybe. I'll, consider it. And, never ever say 'shut your trap' again. You're a daft twat, you know that?" you caved. He grinned.

"So that's a yes! And I'll do you the favour of assuming you're just trying to keep me humble." he grinned once again. Mentally, you smashed your head through a glass pane. What had you gotten yourself into?

“Nice shirt.” a voice spoke from beside you, giving you a small smile. You smiled back. The lanky one - Remus Lupin, you reminded yourself. Not that you needed much reminding; the honey eyed man stuck firmly in your brain.

“Thanks, didn’t know you liked Bowie. Thought all the punk stuff would be more for you.” you joked, peering up at him. He scoffed, as though your statement was the most insane thing he’d heard.

“Can still like the ‘punk stuff’ and Bowie. Plus, he’s a genius. Done every style and more, like.” he replied, some sort of northern accent coming in thick and fast. He was different to Sirius in many ways and you took comfort in it. Even though, at times, Remus was a tad bit mean. But, not really to you. The three times (including now) you’d met him he’d been quite lovely. Sirius had chewed your ear off about that.

“It took me years to get a grin out of him! And you do it straight away? It’s so not fair!” he whined, leaning against the counter of the pub’s bar.

“You’ll recover, posho, promise.” you said, giggling to yourself at his heartbreak.

“Yeah, suppose you’re right. Nice to see you again, by the way. It’s been a while. ‘m excited for the tour and stuff.” you said, deciding that changing the subject might suit you better.

“Me too, can’t believe Sirius actually got you on as a roadie. Did he physically fight you for it? Last time we asked you were dead set against it.” he gestured for you to walk beside him as he spoke. He was holding his bags in one hand and his bass case in the other. He made short work of putting everything bar his bag of necessities into the storage bin. Then, quickly took your own off of you, shoving them into the storage of the bus. He didn’t seem to mind doing the heavy lifting for you.

“He harassed me, a lot. At work. A lot. It’s fine though, I think I’ll enjoy it if I’m honest. If all else fails at least I’ll get contacts and friends out of it, yeah?” Remus snickered. He smiled down at you as he closed up the storage compartment.

“I’ve been telling myself that for the past, what? Decade? Trust me, he entices you in, you’re trapped now. Failed plenty of times and don’t think I’ve gained much - apart from wanting to bash all three of their heads in. On multiple occasions.” you giggle; he smiles.

“Ah well, just promise me you won’t let me kill anyone then. I’ll do the same for you.” you said, holding out your pinky for him to close the promise. It was childlike and somewhat immature, sure, but it locked the deal closed. Wrapping his pinky around yours, Remus silently agreed to your proposition.

“It’s nice to meet you— Jesus Christ! You’re lanky. Sorry. That was mean. Remus, right?! I’m the one Sirius told you about.” you shouted over the blaring music. Submission by the Sex Pistols was causing the entire room to shake and was rocking you to your core.

“Yeah. I know you. Been trying to keep up with Pads, by chance?” Remus chuckled down at you, assuming you weren’t always this dishevelled.

“Always. Thought I could out drink him, you know, for a posh boy, the lad can drink.” he smiled.

“Perks of going to a boarding school. Mix with all sorts of people, it was good for him.” you smiled.

The night seemed to fly by and you couldn’t keep yourself away from Remus. Flocking to him like a moth to a flame, your cheeks were beginning to hurt from smiling so much. Thankfully, the incomprehensible amount of vodka you had consumed helped dull the pain.

“Can’t believe we haven’t met before.” you purred, peering up at him.

“Neither. Pads is cruel, keeps all his best friends to himself. Didn’t know there was anyone else on the planet who actively enjoyed The Clash and Dostoyevsky.” he responded, bringing a green tinted glass bottle to his lips.

“Let me try it.” you demanded, holding out your hand.

“You don’t like beer.” he said, giving you a small grin.

“Wanna try, it might be different.”

“Oh, yeah? All the beers you’ve had in your life and this one just might be different.” despite his teasing, he offered you the bottle. It did in fact not taste any different. It still tasted like piss.

“Nah, still rank.”

“Shame, that, really.”

You grinned. He smirked.

The tour bus was now filled. The four key members of the band: James, Sirius, Remus and Pete, who you’d finally remembered the name of and the rest of the members of your new team. Oh! And the support band, who you kept forgetting about, The Valkyries. Lovely girls, all of them. It tickled you somewhat that James and Lily were in rival bands. And, that some how they’d persuaded the rivals to support them. The roadies with you had mostly known the Marauders since school, which inevitably led to you feeling like an outcast. It really struck home as they were all discussing stories from their youth. The road was a relentless treadmill of travel and you were provided no solace. Until a small voice called your name.

“You busy?” Remus asked, poking his head into your bunk.

“Trying to be.” you joked, smiling over at him. He looked ridiculously oversized compared to the glorified caravan.

“Don’t think you aren’t welcome. They’re lovely. Sit up a bit, will you? My knees are killing I need to sit down.” you sat up, as he instructed. He sat on the bunk opposite yours, you faced him directly. It was a little scary- his ability to practically read your mind.

“I’m sure they are, just having second thoughts, as always. Dunno, you lot all went to school together. So, just a bit of an outcast, yanno?” you whispered, emphasising this was for Remus’s ears only. He nodded his head, and then began to shake it.

“Y’not an outcast. Promise. They’ll all love you once they get to know you. Like Pads does, poor fucker can’t leave you alone.” you laughed; he smiled. It wasn’t a sympathetic smile; it was genuine.

“I love Sirius too. Best friend you could ask for, really. It’s just such a shame he’s such a slag.” you joked. Remus laughed.

“Really is. How’ve you been since the incident?”

Remus’s hand was acting as a makeshift bobble as you threw up into the bar toilet. His other hand was rubbing small circles into your back.

“I hate him! I hate how much he can drink and- I hate this stupid bar.” you whined, in between sobs. Throwing up always made you cry.

“Shhh, yeah, I know. Come on, let it all out. Y’don’t need to cry, sweetheart, you’re fine. Just have to let it all out.” he cooed, still rubbing your back. God knows how you’d ended up exclusively talking to Remus the whole night and somehow still trying to out drink Sirius. You’d been fucked when the taller of the two showed up and now you were completely gone.

“This is so embarrassing. Sorry, I feel awful.” you threw up again after that.

“Got nothing to feel sorry about. Listen, been there done that with Sirius. Learnt my lesson the hard way too, plus I’m taller than you. Takes a lot more to get me drunk, yeah? He’s just insane. Don’t worry about it.” he comforted, not at all bothered by your sickness. Giving him a dopey smile, you were eternally grateful - even in your drunken state - that it was Remus you had befriended that night.

“Thank you, tell you what, I’ll do you a deal.” Remus nodded “Pinky promise if you ever get plastered I’ll do the same for you”. Holding out his pinky, Remus tilted his head at you. You locked pinkies with him for the first time (and most definitely not the last time).

“Good deal. Do you think we should get you home? Are you close? I’ll walk you if you are.” he offered, wrapping an arm around you to pull you up.

“Yeh, like ten minutes. Thank you, Remus, really. Bet you’re glad it’s me and not you, huh?” you joked, trying to add light to the situation. Leaning into him, you were relying solely on him to stay upright.

“Nah, know you’d do the same for me. Pinky promised it, didn’t you? And, it’s no problem. Think we’re going to be good friends.”

“Don’t bring that up around me. I’m still so embarrassed.” you complained, burying your head into your hands. Chuckling, Remus shook his head.

“Could’ve been worse, you could’ve declared your undying, unrelenting and pure love for Lily, whilst stood on top of the bar and using an empty vodka bottle as a microphone for the announcement. Poor Lils never recovered.” You lifted your head to give him the loudest laugh ever.

“They’re sooo cute. It’s upsetting.” you said, lying back down in your bunk. Remus watched your every move, subconsciously. “Oh, you said your knees were hurting. You get pains? Arthritis? My mum gets that in her knees, she just keeps moving, but I think it’s making it worse.” you rambled, turning your head to face him.

“Oh, yeah, just chronic pains, really. Just try and rest as often as possible.” he explained, stretching out his legs across the two bunks. His legs fell atop your own, now creating a bridge between the gap in the bunks. You smiled over at him.

“Must suck, huh? Well, let me know if I can help. Tour isn’t really resting.” you offered, giving him a big smile.

“Yeah, thank you, speaking of tour we aren’t far off Glasgow now.” he stated, peering out the window and then down at his watch.

“I’m ecstatic.” you stated sarcastically as your stomach twisted with nerves. Telling you not to worry, the sandy haired man gave you a smile that only made your stomach twist further.

The venue was a shit hole. A complete and utter shit hole. The ceiling had a badly patched up leak, which had almost destroyed Pete’s copy of the setlist. The reason Sirius had been so desperate to get you on his staff was because you specialised in drums - his instrument, of course. You’d managed to get everything set up relatively quickly. Carefully, you began to tighten the cymbals, listening for the correct pitch and length of the ring. Humming as you worked, you stopped every so often to admire the work of the rest of the team. Frank, who specialised in strings, was particularly impressive. He had finished up rather quickly and moved on to help his girlfriend, Alice, with getting everything ready for vocals. It seemed everyone here, but you had the perfect relationship. James and Lily were a lifetimes worth supply food for the green eyed monster. Frank and Alice were just as cute, but less well known as they weren’t in the limelight.

“All good?” he shouted over at you. You gave him a thumbs up and smiled over at Alice, who was fighting with some duct tape and a wire. Everything was all good for you, at the moment.

Finally, you finished up the final checks and placed a backup pair of sticks beside Sirius’s chair. It was then onto sound checks, all went well. You actually really quite liked the Marauders music. With inspiration from bands like The Clash and The Jam it’s hard to make a bad sound. He was weird in that he’d always carry around his sticks before the show, believing it would bring him good luck. In fact, in the first show you found out all the boys weird pre-show rituals. Pete laid down on the couch and threw chocolate raisins into his mouth. James clung onto Lily ever so slightly more than usual and insisted on drinking a shot of olive oil. As the lead singer he swore upon it for lubricating the vocal cords. You nearly gagged when you watched him do it. Whereas, Remus sat outside, cigarette in one hand and a cadburys chocolate bar in the other.

Trying to escape the rest of the boys, you ended up going outside and bumping into Remus during this. Quenching your thirst for normality, you couldn’t help your next actions. “Oh, sorry, hope I’m not interrupting.” you stated, giving him a small smile as you gravitated towards him.

“Nah, take it you saw James’s shot?” he said, before taking a long drag from the cigarette. Wincing, you looked at him with pure disgust in your eyes. “No I get it, can’t be around him when he does it either. Makes my jitters worse.”

“Christ, you don’t look nervous at all. Good poker face. Your sound check was really incredible though. James performs like Joe Strummer, it’s funny. You’re good, really fit the part of Paul, huh?” there was an unspoken message behind fitting the part of Paul. The bassist of the Clash and the so called good looking one of the group (as stated by their drummer, Topper). You thought the same about Remus.

“You calling us Clash tributes? Also, he humps less than Joe.” You laughed. Full force laughter left your lungs as you keeled over in genuine disbelief. Snickering, Remus looked down at you, a little scared you’d collapse on the floor and knock yourself out. You went to speak, but the words were drowned out in laughter. “That tickled you, dinnit?” he mumbled, dropping his cigarette and crushing it below his foot. The shout of ‘Five minutes till you’re on!’ snapped you out of your laughter. Grinning up at Remus, you tilted your head.

“Break a leg!”

“It’s not the theatre.”

“Oh, good luck.”

“Thank you.” he replied, smirking down at you. He pushed the final piece of his chocolate bar into your hand before walking inside for the ‘team talk’. Time seemed to move at the speed of light whenever the lanky man was around. You found yourself completely lost in everything about him. Seriously, you couldn’t believe how long Sirius had deprived you of this perfect man.

Frank had told you whilst you were setting up that the band always had a talk before going on stage. The talk often consisted of: “James don’t cry and don’t fuck up” from Sirius and Remus; “Dodge bottles, whatever you do don’t get hit please you’ll look stupid.” as the general message to the whole band and “Jump around”, which was mostly directed to Peter and Remus. Frank had also warned you about the dangers that came from within the crowd. Police. Famously, punk music was viewed as being quite aggressive; it ended up being the roadies job to make sure fighting and dancing could be differentiated. Sirius hadn’t told you about that part whilst advertising the job. However, now wasn’t the time to take offence.

Erupting like a volcano, the crowd filled the rotting venue with noise. You watched the boys sprint on stage. All leather and tight fitting trousers.

James really did look like Joe Strummer when he performed and Remus was right about his comparison too. Sirius looked truly ecstatic whenever he performed and the energy brought about by the show pulled Peter from his shell. And Remus, oh, Remus. He was entirely perfect.

Catching yourself, you blinked and shook your head. You’d met this man three times, including the current interactions and here you were, fawning over him. Sure, it’d get you in a little bit of trouble, but what harm is a crush. Right? Not much harm compared to glass bottles and punk rockers. Oh, and a leak in the ceiling with wires messily taped to the floor.

Bang.

#remus lupin x reader #band au #marauders era #remus lupin x you #remus lupin #sirius black #james potter #peter pettigrew #marauders band au #remus lupin x y/n #please help #james & peter & remus & sirius

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