#user.heartshapedpolaroid

[heartshapedpolaroid]

it’s bitterness at best

you’re all he can think about

warnings: smut, angst, emotional cheating i guess

word count: 2.1k

18+ MINORS DNI

It’s been over a year since he last saw you. He still remembers the day you’d left, he always will. The day you’d left to go to New York. For college, as if England didn’t have enough schools… and good ones, too. But he’d understood it, it was Juilliard after all. There’s no better place in the world for performing arts. He wasn’t going to stop you from chasing your dream. He already had his, it would only be fair to let you have yours too. He’d wanted to come with you, but you both knew it wouldn’t work. The guys are here, the studio, and they had an album to record. He’d suggested long distance, but you both knew that would be fruitless. The distance would hurt much more knowing the there was someone alone and waiting on a different continent, longing for their other half. You’d promised to text him the next time you were in the area. Now it’s been fifteen months. Sometimes he thinks you’ve forgotten about him by now. But that doesn’t mean that he stopped looking for you. Every woman that even remotely looks like you still catches his eye, and for a split second he’ll let himself believe that it’s you again.

So he did with the woman that’s currently under him. She has the same hair colour as you and that was enough for him. Has been enough for the last few months now. It has to be. His fingers on her clit move mechanically, love-less, like an automated action. He doesn’t actually care if she finishes, but he needs that extra tightness to push himself over the edge. It used to be different with you. God, it was so different with you. Better. There were times he’d barely lasted a minute once he finally got to be inside you. He had to do his best to hold back and last for you. Now he’s doing his best to make it end as soon as possible.

She’s different from you. Too different. He thought that maybe if he’d close his eyes and picture you it would be okay. But no matter how much he tried, it didn’t work. She feels too different. He didn’t think that was even possible. A cunt is a cunt, isn’t it? And he’s never really cared before you. It always felt good. Hot, wet, and tight. But she doesn’t grip him the same way you did, doesn’t pulse and melt around him in the same way.

He can’t stand to look at her face anymore, so he buries his in her neck instead. Mistake. Her scent fills his nostrils at an overwhelming rate. She smells too different. Sweet, like vanilla and candy, way too sweet for his liking. You smelled better. More floral. Fruity. Like a flower field in spring. He liked that, even when it was cold and rainy outside, you made him feel all warm and full of life. He grunts and pulls back.

“Turn around,” he mumbles. Maybe this way it’ll be better. He won’t have to see her face or be so close to her. She complies eagerly, and he hates how desperate she seems. It vaguely reminds him of you, but with the big difference that when you did it, he found it incredibly hot. It made him want nothing more than to give you everything that you’d wanted at the drop of a hat. Now he’s just annoyed. He’s glad she can’t see the way he rolls his eyes when she arches her back, wiggling her hips back at him as she rests her head on her arms. He just pushes back in, gripping her hips for stability. She moans as he starts moving again, and he hates the sound.

It’s too high-pitched. Whiny. Desperate. Exaggerated. It’s like she’s putting on a show for him, like she knows he’s not enjoying himself. It makes him feel even worse. Your moans and whines were music to his ears. No matter how loud or eager you got, he’d always tried to get more out of you. To make you scream. He’d revelled in the way he could make you lose control, always eager to hear every last sound that escaped your lips, constantly needing more. The more the better. Yours were never fake. He knew exactly where to touch you to make you cry out in pleasure. How to move his hips. What to say.

His eyes travel over her back, from her shoulders over her spine down to her hips. Her ass that jiggles slightly with each thrust. But something is missing. There is always something missing. You had moles sprinkled over your back, not many, just a handful, and one of them on your left buttcheek, which you never were aware of until he’d pointed it out. You’d blushed, and he loved it. He made sure to kiss it every time you were positioned in front of him like this, telling you how cute it was. “You know what they say about moles? That they’re where your partner in your past life kissed you the most?” You’d raised your eyebrows at him. “You’re saying my past lover kissed my left ass cheek?” “Can you blame them?”, he’d grinned, leaning down to press a kiss to your right cheek. “Now you’ll have one on your other cheek to match.” Your laugh had echoed through the room, his heart skipping a bit at the gleeful sound. God, how he loved you.

He angles his hips in the way that would have made you come undone in seconds, needing that tiny bit of familiarity, just to keep his fantasy of you alive. Her whine pulls him out of it instantly. She doesn’t like it like that. He groans, though she probably can’t tell it’s out of annoyance and not pleasure. She pushes back against him, moving her hips against his. He complies. Maybe if he just gives her what she wants, it’ll be over quicker. And he needs it to be over. But he needs her to finish before he does, or else he knows she’ll make him use his fingers or mouth to get her off too. And he really doesn’t want to spend more time on her than necessary. Touch her more than necessary.

It's not like he doesn’t like to make his partners feel good. It’s just that he had stopped caring about anyone who came after you. And he can’t bear the thought of going down on her. He’s done it before, but he didn’t like it. Not because she’d tasted bad – she didn’t. She tasted fine. Like a pussy tastes. But she didn’t taste like you.

His favourite place used to be between your thighs. He could spend hours on end making you melt on his tongue, licking up every last drop you gave him, drinking it down eagerly. Like he’d been stuck in a desert and you’re the first drop of water he’s had in days. He just couldn’t get enough of it, even when you were oversensitive and had to push him away, he’d always want more. He’d pout, begging you to let him have it just one more time. Just one more orgasm from you and he’d be done. Just one more lick, one more taste. Just one more.

With a grunt he snakes his hand around her waist, pressing his fingers back to her clit. He’s tired, he needs her to finish, and it looks like she’s not going to do anything to help with that anytime soon. She moans, tightening around him. His name falls off her lips not long after and he cringes at the sound. He fucks her through it, his thrusts getting harder as he tries to find his own release. It’s a few seconds later that she winces, her hips wiggling away from him. She always gets sensitive after she comes. So did you, but you’d still let him keep fucking you after. You needed him to. She doesn’t.

He pulls out, and she turns around instantly, scrambling to get on her knees for him. He sighs and lets her take his cock in her mouth. She’s sloppy, uncoordinated, messy. She’s trying too damn hard. It’s frustrating. He allows her to keep going a bit longer, trying to picture you, the way you’d take him down your throat so effortlessly. How you’d tease him, licking the vein along his cock, kissing the tip. How you’d look up at him through your lashes as you’d let him sink past your lips. He likes it slow, the way you’d build him up slowly, taking him a little deeper with every bob of your head. How you’d gag a little when he hits the back of your throat, but you still kept him there because you knew how much he loved to feel your throat closing around him when you’d swallow, even if there were tears pooling in your eyes. How eager to please you were, wanting to make him feel good, taste him. The spit dripping down your chin as you refused to pull off, one hand stroking what you couldn’t fit in your mouth, the other playing with his balls. Completely devoted to him, focused only on his pleasure, doing everything you could.

With a hand in her hair he pulls her off, holding her head in place as he wraps his other hand around his cock. He can’t stand the way she sucks him off, his own hand would do a much better job. She doesn’t complain, instead pushes her boobs up and together with her hands, looking up at him with her mouth open. Strained grunts fall from his lips as he jerks himself, quick, knowing she won’t let up until he came. He’d much rather be alone right now, that way he could really indulge himself, maybe even wrap your one pair of panties that are still laying in the otherwise empty drawer that once was yours around his cock, using them to stroke himself.

He closes his eyes as he gets close, imagining it’s you on your knees for him. He presses his lips together in a fine line, knowing the only thing leaving his throat would be your name if he allowed himself to make noise. His hips jerk into his fist as he comes, his release landing somewhere between her chin and her tits. He doesn’t really care where it goes. In his mind he’s painting your face with his cum. You’d always looked so pretty whenever you’d allowed him to do that, the way your tongue would dart out to taste what had landed on your lips.

He falls back into the mattress as he catches his breath, not even bothering to open his eyes. He’s always been one to fall asleep fast after an orgasm, but he’d willed himself to stay awake for you. To help you clean up, get you some water, hold you close, whisper sweet nothings in your ear. He would do his best try to stay awake until you were asleep, and he’d rarely succeeded. Well, he thought he did, because you’d pretended to be asleep so he could let himself relax. He was too tired to tell the difference anyways.

She gets up to clean herself, not saying anything. It’s always been like this. He doesn’t like to talk after. She figured that’s just the way he is. When she comes back and gets into bed beside him, he’s already fast asleep. He doesn’t like it when she stays, but he lets her anyways. The white sheet is draped lazily over his lower half, messy strands of his hair falling into his forehead that tend to tickle his eyelids. You would always brush them out his face so tenderly, careful not to wake him, but he’s a light sleeper on stressful days so he still felt your comforting touch occasionally. Soft snores escape him, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. He doesn’t stir when his phone dings, the screen lighting up.

Her heart stops. It’s late. No one would text him at this hour. If it was an emergency, they’d call.

She doesn’t need to look to confirm it, but she does anyways. Lifting herself up on her elbow, she glances over his sleeping form, at the phone on his nightstand.

“I just landed in London.”

a/n: hello... welcome back if u remember me. its ohladymoon. if not, hi :) guess im back now with a new username and everything lol

[heartshapedpolaroid]

sleepless in seattle

he can’t sleep, so you help him relax

warnings: smut, handjob, kinda subby am!al?, its all very soft and gentle though, tiny bit of praising

word count: 1.8k

18+ MINORS DNI

You stir when you both feel and hear Alex roll around, his frustrated huff obnoxiously loud in the otherwise quiet hotel room. He rubs his hand over his face as he settles on his back, throwing the sheet off before pulling it back up. It’s too hot and cold at the same time. He can’t stay still, and he’s tried – really tried. He doesn’t want to wake you, knows you’re completely exhausted, but the longer he stays in one position, the louder his thoughts get. When he moves, it’s like it breaks his train of thought, even if it’s just momentarily, a short second of peace before they return.

You blink into the darkness a couple of times to try and adjust before turning around, your voice groggy and still heavy with sleep. “Al?”

“Hm?”, he turns his head towards you, throwing his arm across his stomach atop the blanket. “Did I wake you? ‘m sorry, love…”

“’s alright,” you mumble, scooting closer to him, taking his hand in yours gently, intertwining your fingers and resting them both on his tummy. You lay your head down on his chest, his other arm squeezing between your waist and the mattress, wrapping around you to keep you close. “What’s wrong? Can’t sleep?”

He shakes his head, sighing. “Not really. But it’s okay, go back to sleep, princess.”

“Not tired?” You ask, ignoring his gentle order. You know that he knows you won’t just ignore him when he’s like this.

“No, I am,” he sighs. “Fucking knackered.”

“Then what’s wrong?” Your voice is quiet and gentle, untangling your fingers from his to trail over his arm soothingly. “What are you thinking about, handsome?”

He shrugs. “I don’t even know. Guess it’s just so much going on, the tour, the interviews…”

You nod understandingly. He’d begged you to join them on the American leg of the tour since it fell perfectly into your summer break from uni. It’s not like you were eager to spend all summer alone in your shared home anyways, so you’d quickly agreed, and it turned out he was more than grateful for that. He’d been having trouble sleeping, and usually he sleeps better with you by his side. It’s why he hates going on tours without you. He knows it’s not possible for you to follow him everywhere, but he wishes you could.

“Wanna talk about it?” You offer, running your fingers up his arm, towards his chest, rubbing soothing circles over his sleep shirt.

“Not really,” he whispers. “Wouldn’t know what to say anyways. ‘m just worried, I ‘spose.”

“Alright.��� You stay quiet for a moment, waiting to see if he speaks up anyways. Sometimes he does that. Sometimes he just needs a moment of silence to gather his thoughts, knowing you’re there, willing to listen. But he doesn’t say anything, so you trail your hand down his chest and towards his stomach, almost back to where your fingers started their journey. Except this time, you slip them under the thin sheet, your fingers drawing soft shapes on the skin of his tummy where his shirt had ridden up. “Want me to help your mind go quiet?”

He hums softly, already relaxing under the gentle touch of your fingertips. He lifts his hips slightly, encouraging your touch to trail lower. “Please.”

You smile, feeling the soft fuzz of his happy trail on the skin of your fingers as they slip lower, trying to push down his boxers enough to free his cock. He helps you, using one of his hands to pull them down his hips, letting them rest on his thighs. “Just relax,” you whisper, pulling your hand out to spit on it before wrapping it around his still soft cock, starting to stroke him slowly. He sighs, burying his face in your hair, breathing you in, his fingers wrapping around your wrist gently, not to try and control your movements but just to feel you close.

You can feel him harden in your hand gradually, coaxing him into full hardness with your movements, lifting your head from his chest to bury your face into his neck instead, pressing sweet kisses there. It’s late and he’s physically exhausted so it takes him a bit longer for his dick to respond the way you’d both like, but you don’t mind. He breathes shakily as he feels your hot breath on his sensitive neck, your soft lips warm and gentle against his skin. You feel him relaxing into the mattress, melting, his cock hardening fully in your hand. You hum softly against him, trailing your kisses along his jaw, feeling the slight stubble scratch against your mouth. He tilts his head to the side, trying to catch your lips in a kiss, his arm around your waist tightening while the other leaves your wrist to cup your cheek. You obey his silent plea, pressing your mouth to his in a soft kiss, pushing yourself up a little on your elbow, feeling his groan vibrate against your lips as your thumb brushes over his sensitive tip.

“Shh,” you whisper as you feel his body tensing, keeping your face close to his, your breath mingling with his between your lips. His brows are furrowed, tiny whimpers escaping him as you work your hand. “Just focus on me, baby. Let the thoughts go.”

His hips buck into your touch involuntarily, his hand tangling in your hair, cupping the back of your head. You pull back a little to look at his face better, the moonlight illuminating his gorgeous features. You kiss the wrinkles between his eyebrows, hoping to ease the tension, wanting to relax him fully, for him to melt into your touch and make his mind go quiet for once. You lean over him a bit more, pressing your body against his side, your hand moving from where it’s resting on the pillow next to his head to his hair instead, brushing it back from his forehead. The position is a bit awkward on your arm, you’re still pushing yourself up with your elbow, but you can’t keep your hands off of him. He looks so soft like this, no gel in his hair to keep the quiff in place, just loose, messy curls falling into his face. You brush them back, tangling your hand in his hair, soothing him again when he whines your name. “I know, baby, I know... You’re so sensitive, does it feel good?”

He nods, his breath coming out in short puffs, his groans needy and desperate. You love how he gets so needy for you when he’s tired, so sensitive, melting into a puddle at your touches. “So good for me,” you coo, knowing he craves to hear your voice, your praise, and you’re rewarded with a breathy moan falling from his lips. “My baby…”

A soft smile tugs at his lips, a quiet plea escaping him. “Faster…”

You obey, wanting to give him what he needs, speeding up your hand a little. You don’t want to make it too fast, wanting to keep it gentle and soft, intimate, but you also don’t want to drag it out longer than necessary. You know he needs the release to fully relax him, and you know just how to get him there. “You want to cum for me, baby?”

“Please…” The softness of his voice tugs at your heart, the vulnerability he’s showing you, the whiny tone, his tight grip on your waist.

“Let go, baby.” you coax softly, focusing your attention on his tip, knowing how sensitive he is there, especially late at night. You alternate between pulling his foreskin back and forth gently and massaging his tip, wet with his precum, slippery and sticky under your fingers. “Let go for me, pretty boy, c’mon…”

He twitches in your hand, his moans getting breathier and needier, burying his face somewhere between your neck and chest, like he’s trying to hide away. You let him, knowing it comforts him, kissing the top of his head as you hold him close as much as you can while stroking him. He whimpers into your shirt as he cums, spilling over your fingers, making a mess of the sheets still draped over his waist and probably his shirt too, but it doesn’t matter. You guide him through it with gentle praises, repeatedly kissing his head through his soft hair. “Good boy, that’s it. So good for me, cumming all over my hand…”

You keep moving your hand until he’s completely spent, wanting to milk every last drop from him, only stopping when he whines. “’s too much…”

“Shh, it’s alright,” you croon, “did so well for me, baby, did it feel good?” You palm his softening cock in your hand, your fingers sticky from his release, knowing he likes the closeness afterwards, the warmth of your hand on him. He nods against your chest, his voice a little shaky as he speaks, but he’s fully relaxed now, no more nervous thoughts distracting him, his mind clouded only with you, your scent, your touch, your warmth, your voice.

“So good…” He mumbles sleepily, and you smile. He always gets so tired so fast after he finishes. “Thank you.”

“Don’t need to thank me, baby,” you giggle softly, pulling your hand out from under the sheets, moving to grab a tissue from your nightstand to clean off. The majority of his release landed on your fingers, sparing the sheets and his shirt for the most part. He whines when he feels you move away from him, tightening his embrace around you. “Baby, let me clean off my hand… ‘m not going anywhere, I promise,” you coax, and he reluctantly lets go of you. You make quick work of wiping your hand clean, discarding the tissue to the floor.

You pull him back into your arms, readjusting his boxers to make him comfortable, the elastic digging into his thighs by now. He hums a soft thank you, pulling you as close to him as physically possible. “Feeling better?” You ask softly, cradling him against your chest. Your fingers tangle in his hair, playing with the soft curls to soothe him further. “No more nasty thoughts keeping you up?”

“No more,” he whispers, tightening his arms around you, making you smile.

“’m glad,” you mumble, kissing his head. “I love you, baby. Try and get some sleep, yea?”

He hums tiredly against your chest, his voice soft and content as he mumbles a soft ‘I love you’ back to you before he drifts off, his breathing evening out and his arms loosening slightly around you. You stay awake until you’re sure he’s really asleep, not wanting to leave him alone with his thoughts should they return. But his soft snores prove you otherwise, his chest rising and falling rhythmically, and you let yourself get pulled back into sleep, wrapped up in each other.

a/n: not really happy with this... i wrote this when i was very sleepy lol but i dont want to rewrite the whole thing. tried fixing it but eh. its not my best work but i thought the idea was cute so :)

[heartshapedpolaroid]

library pictures

based on this ask... sorta kinda

warnings: none, just fluff. maybe slight suggestiveness at the end. uni au? and fetus al

word count: 2.1k

“There you are,” Alex mumbles softly as he slides into the chair next to yours at the library desk. “Been looking for you.”

“Sorry,” you apologise softly, not even bothering to look up from your laptop. The deadlines are coming closer and closer, and you still have two term papers due next week. You’ve basically been living in the library lately, drinking cheap coffee from the vending machine, along with the occasional bag of crisps or chocolate bar to keep you from passing out entirely. You didn’t have the time to cook, or the money to buy three whole meals every day.

“You should take a break,” he says quietly, setting his backpack down on the floor next to him. “Come on, I got you some food.”

“I’m fine,” you disregard him. You hear him sigh your name, gently taking your wrist to get your attention but you shake him off. “Alex, I don’t have time.”

“You do,” he insists. “And you need to eat. I don’t remember the last time I saw you eat a proper meal.” He vaguely gestures to the mess of plastic bags and wrappers on your desk, two empty paper cups stacked on top of each other, a third one half full of coffee next to your laptop.

“I’m fine,” you repeat, aggressively tapping the keyboard when your laptop freezes. You groan. “No, no, no… Come on…”

“Sweetheart,” Alex tries again, his hands going back to your wrists, a little firmer this time. “This is the universe telling you to take a break. Will you at least listen to it if not to me?”

You roll your eyes, but don’t pull away this time. There’s nothing you can do except wait for your laptop to unfreeze and hope for the best. Luckily, you’ve saved your document a couple of minutes ago – you do it regularly just in case something happens. You don’t think you could survive it if you lost multiple days and nights’ work all at once.

Alex leans down to his backpack, pulling out a box of Tupperware filled with pasta and your favourite sauce. “It’s still warm. I made and packed it just now before I went looking for you.”

You can’t help the soft smile from forming on your lips. He’d always been so sweet and gentle with you. Though you suppose that’s just in his nature, even when he insists that you’ve made him soft. But you remember how clumsy and nervous he’d been when he’d first asked you out, how shy and stiff he’d seemed even in his own friend group. You know he likes to act tough sometimes, but you both know he has a tender heart.

“Thank you,” you whisper, grabbing the box, but you don’t even get to open it before the old librarian interrupts you. You’ve made the mistake of sitting at a desk that was right in her field of view.

“No food inside the library,” she scolds you. “And keep it down.”

With a sigh, you push the box back towards Alex, smiling apologetically. But before you can return to your laptop, he’s already closed it for you, pulling you out of your chair. “We’re gonna sit outside,” he tells you firmly. “You need to eat, and you need a break. Plus, it’s actually sunny for once.”

“But-”

“No buts,” he says decisively. “You could do with some fresh air too. It’ll be good for you and your poor overworked brain. C’mon, let’s go.”

He’s already packing your laptop back into your bag for you, closing the books you’d picked out for research purposes and stacking them neatly on top of each other. He collects the scattered food wrappers from your desk and pushes them into the empty cups, grabbing them to throw it away. “Leave your jacket, it’s warm out.”

You leave your jacket hanging on the back of your chair, indirectly marking this desk as yours so no one takes it while you’re gone. You grab your purse, not wanting to leave your laptop unattended, and follow Alex once he’s thrown his backpack back on, the Tupperware in one hand, his other hand moving to take yours, dragging you outside with him.

“You lied,” you pout once you leave the library. “It’s not warm.”

He can’t help but roll his eyes, chuckling softly. “It is. Just go sit in the sun a bit. I’ll give you my jumper if you don’t warm up in the next minute or so.”

Alex leads you to a bench, sitting down beside you and handing you the food. He rummages through his backpack again, pulling out a plastic fork. “Here,” he says softly, giving it to you. “Now eat.”

You couldn’t turn him down if you tried. The food is warm and smells delicious as you open the lid, and you can’t ignore your stomach any longer. Though it’s gone from hungry to simply hurting due to the lack of food you’ve consumed lately, but you figure a couple of bites would do you more good than harm.

“Good?” Alex asks with a soft smile, watching you dig in. You hum in response, nodding with your mouth full. “You need to take better care of yourself, sunshine.”

“I’m fine,” you mumble, shoving another fork of food into your mouth before you’d even properly swallowed the first. You can’t tell if you’re just hurrying to get back inside to keep working, or if you’re actually this hungry. Either way, Alex is happy to see you eat.

“You’re not,” he argues gently, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear so you won’t get it dirty with your food. “You look miserable.”

“Gee, thanks,” you mutter sarcastically.

“You know what I mean.” He keeps his voice soft, not wanting to corner you. “You barely sleep, you don’t eat properly, you’ve got circles under your eyes… You’re still beautiful, but you’re exhausted.”

“Don’t you have something to do?” You grumble around another mouthful of pasta.

“No, had my last exam yesterday,” he tells you. “Which means that I am officially free and have time to take care of you now.”

“I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.”

He sighs, putting his hand on your lower back. “Just let me help you out, sweetheart.”

You don’t say anything in response, just finishing your meal silently. You won’t lie and say you don’t like it when he takes care of you, but you’re too proud to admit it out loud. He grabs the plastic box from you when you’re done, putting the lid back on and placing it back inside his backpack before standing up, holding out his hand for you. You frown as you look up at him.

“Let’s go for a walk,” he urges, making a grabby motion with his hand to indicate that he wants you to take it. “And don’t argue with me right now. It’ll help you clear your head. You’ll work more efficiently after.”

You throw your bag over your shoulder before taking his hand with a sigh, knowing an argument would be pointless. He has his way of always getting what he wants. You can’t deny him anything when he looks at you with his big brown eyes, the small pout on his lips, his short hair sticking up in all directions messily. He just looks too cute to deny. You’d give him the world if he asked for it, and the moon on top of it as a present.

“Give me that,” he demands, reaching for your bag.

“It’s fine,” you insist, but he’s already taken it and placed it on his own shoulder with a soft huff. He looks a little ridiculous with his backpack on his back and your rather girly bag hanging off his arm, but you find it endearing.

“Jesus, you got rocks in there or summat?” He adjusts the straps on his shoulder, making you giggle softly. He smiles at the sound. “I missed your laugh. I barely got to see your pretty face the last couple weeks.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” you apologise, squeezing his hand gently in yours as you start walking around the campus. It’s not so busy, most people are either inside in the library or have already gone home for their summer breaks. “I just have so much to do. Probably shouldn’t have taken those extracurricular classes.”

“I’ll help you,” he offers. “Gonna sit in the library with you. Make sure you eat and drink, help you find the sources you need, all that.”

“You don’t have to. You just finished your own exams and papers. You need a break too,” you decline, but he’s having none of it.

“Nonsense. I like spending time with you. Plus, I already took one of the classes you still need to write your term paper in,” he argues. “Let me help you.”

“Only if it’s not a bother…”

“Never a bother,” he smiles, leaning over to press a soft kiss to your cheek, making you blush. “What are you doing during summer break?”

You shrug. “Go home to stay with my parents, probably. Why?”

“Just asking,” he says shyly. You know there’s something on the tip of his tongue he’s dying to ask you. His hands are fidgety and there’s a soft redness on his cheeks and neck that didn’t come from the sun shining on his pale skin.

“Just asking because…?” You push a little, turning your head to look at him.

“Because,” he clears his throat, his voice cracking a little. It always happens when he gets nervous. Especially when he has to hold a presentation in front of the entire class. Bless him. You always have to comfort him after because he gets so embarrassed, but you find it endearing. “Because I was wondering if… you’d like to maybe spend some time with me then. Like, maybe come visit me back home in Sheffield. Meet my parents if you wanna…”

You blush even deeper than he did, biting your bottom lip nervously. “You want to introduce me to your parents?”

“I mean, we’ve been dating for a bit now… And I don’t want to be away from you for the whole three months,” he admits bashfully.

“I thought we’re just shagging,” you say half-seriously. You know there’s more to it, you’d been spending more time together with your clothes on rather than off the past month or two, but you’d never really defined it. He’d never asked you to be his girlfriend officially. Sometimes you were wondering if he’d also been sleeping around while he seeing with you, but when you’d brought it up, he’d reassured you that he’s ‘not that kinda lad’.

“Oh.” He averts his gaze again, and you instantly feel bad.

“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean… I was just teasing,” you explain yourself, stopping in your tracks, forcing him to come to a halt too with your hands still clasped together. “So, you want me to meet your parents? Like, as a proper girlfriend, or…”

“Yeah, as my girlfriend,” he mumbles, shifting on his feet nervously. “You think I bring all the girls I’m ‘just shagging’ food and help ‘em study?”

“Well, I hope not.” You smile softly, tilting your head a little. “I’d like to spend my break with you.”

He grins at that, lopsided and boyish, making your heart flutter. “Alright then,” he mumbles, leaning in to kiss you. It’s gentle and tender, even though every fibre of him is dying to ravage you, to claim you. “Wanna go back to my place?”

“I can’t,” you whisper against his lips, only pulling back enough to be able to speak without losing the closeness. He pouts in response, his hands moving to squeeze your waist. “The deadlines won’t wait for me…”

He whines softly in response, not liking being denied due to your schedule, leaning back in with the intention of kissing you again, deeper this time, as if trying to convince you. But as he shifts, your purse slips off his shoulder, landing in the crook of his elbow and making him huff and stumble a little from the heavy weight. You giggle, taking your bag off his arm and back onto your own. “You still up for helping me with this?”

“Do I get something in return?” He smirks, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, only making you laugh more.

“You mean sex?” You grin, shoving his shoulder playfully. “Pervert.”

“Oi…” He complains, but his smirk remains.

“Did you have ulterior motives when you offered me your help?”

“No,” he admits, taking your hand back in his. “I do want to help you. But a little motivation won’t hurt…”

You shake your head, pulling him with you as you walk back to the library. “C’mon. If you do a good job, I’ll reward you.”

a/n: first thing i’ve written in a while... writer’s block seems to be lifting cause i wrote this in one sitting lol (almost... just added the last 200 words now, but i wrote the rest yesterday). thanks anon for curing me

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masterlist

smut ✮, fluff ♡, angst ♧

18+! mdni ⭑.ᐟ

ׂ╰┈➤ alex turner

it’s bitterness at best ✮ ♧

sleepless in seattle ✮ ♡

library pictures ♡

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she/her, bi, 20s

masterlist

my old fics

18+! minors get blocked.

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does anyone have a non-smut request for alex? preferably fluff, hurt/comfort is also good, just no plain angst without a happy ending lol. i feel like i only every write smut. 90% of it is literally pwp. ive written maybe 3 fluff fics and another 3 where the smut was not necessary for the plot. my mind has been blank the past few weeks and i have nothing to write about