you met one night in Dublin and you never stopped meeting since.
some smutty one-shot-ish chapters with a bit of a storyline / character development (still Alex x reader).
warnings: soft!dom!alex, angst, fluff, smut, oral (m receiving), fingering (f receiving), 69ing, he's turning into a softie
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London, 2022
Alex woke up alone. The sheets beside him were cold, and the imprint of your body was already faded. His mind swirled, struggling to piece together the night before. Except he didn't have to. The marks on his back, the lingering sting in his skin, and the dull ache in his chest were proof enough. It wasn't a dream. You had been there. But now, you weren't.
He sat up, rubbing his face, the harsh light from the morning sun flooding the room, burning his tired eyes. A heavy sigh escaped him as he stared at the empty space beside him. You had no obligation to stay, of course. There were no promises, no words exchanged to bind you to his side. But still, he always expected you to stay. He thought there was an unspoken understanding, a silent agreement between the two of you, that when night turned to day, you would still be there. Perhaps, though, it was a one-sided expectation. Something he silently agreed to while you remained unaware. Or maybe he was the unaware one.
The room felt emptier than it should, and the silence was deafening. A part of him wanted to reach out, call you, ask why you'd left without a word. But he knew better. This wasn't the first time, and yet, every time you left, it hurt him a little more.
He leaned back against the headboard, the memories of the night before playing on repeat in his mind. Your voice, the way you touched him like you knew every inch of him, the way you made him feel alive. And now, the sharp contrast of waking up alone gnawed at him. He wasn't sure when he'd started feeling this way, when he'd started craving more than just the nights with you. But here he was, sitting in his empty bed, wishing you'd stayed.
He closed his eyes, trying to shake the thoughts away, but the ache in his chest persisted. Maybe it was time to stop expecting anything more than what was. But that was easier said than done.
He slumped back onto the bed, sinking back into the mattress. The soft pillow cradled his head as he turned over with a heavy sigh, his limbs stretching out in a lazy, reluctant motion. But as his body lengthened, his skin brushed against something unpleasant. Scratchy patches on the sheets, remnants of last night. The dried cum clung to the fabric. The sensation made him wince, a low groan escaping his lips. He should move, get up, strip the bed, and wash away the mess of what had transpired.
But he didn't move. He couldn't.
Because in the midst of the discomfort, something else caught his attention. Your scent, faint but unmistakable, lingering on the other pillow. It was as if you were still there, your presence woven into the very threads of the fabric. You had stayed, at least for a little while. Long enough for your scent to be absorbed into the pillow, a whisper of you left behind, something for him to cling to in your absence.
