♡

He calls you pet names like “angel,” “doll”

You leave little love notes in his jacket pockets: things like "Stop being so cute. It’s distracting." or "Survive today. Kiss me tonight."

When you're doing your ballet stretches, he pretends not to stare, but his ears turn red and he always finds some reason to come "check on you."

You always fix his collar or gently touch his face, like you're constantly in awe he's real. That melts him every time.

He’d steal your headbands just to see you pout and chase him, then he'd tug you into his arms mid-run and kiss you breathless. “Told you it looks better on me.”

He loves kissing you slow and deep, gripping your waist like he’s scared you’ll disappear. He’ll mutter stuff like "You're gonna be the death of me before Death ever gets the chance."

You tease him when he’s serious — brushing your glossy lips over his and pulling away just before he kisses you. But that playful side of you? Drives him wild. He always gets his revenge.

He keeps asking if you’re okay, if you want to stop, if he’s doing it right — you have to gently shush him with a kiss and tug his shirt off.

When he finally gets bold enough to trail his fingers up your thighs under your little lacey skirt? He groans — like, physically groans — when he realizes you’re not wearing anything underneath.

He nearly dies right there. Just folds. "You’re trying to kill me..." he mumbles, wide-eyed and wrecked.

He’s obsessed with your reactions — every moan, every gasp, every time your nails dig into his back or you whisper "right there, baby" makes him melt and move faster.

The moment you straddle him, in your soft pink lingerie or just wearing his shirt? His hands fly to your thighs like muscle memory.

His favorite thing? Kissing you during sex. He needs to stay close. Needs to taste your lip gloss. Needs to feel your sighs against his mouth.

On rainy nights, things get steamy real fast. You both get moody and clingy, curled under a blanket, limbs tangled, breathy whispers shared between long kisses and wandering hands.

He loves when your dramatic lashes flutter against his neck while you kiss down his jaw. It's his weakness — well, you are.

When you look up at him with those big eyes….

He’s addicted to marking you. Hickeys low enough to be hidden under your pretty collars, fingers leaving soft bruises on your waist.

He loves cupping your breasts gently, like he’s savoring the feel of your body in his hands. He’ll thumb over your nipples slowly, fascinated by how they stiffen under his touch. Tongue flicking, lips wrapping around, one hand gripping your hip to keep you still while he sucks gently — and then a little harder when you whimper.

He can get a little possessive — especially when Carter tries to act smug around you. Alex isn’t normally the jealous type…until someone flirts with you. His hand finds your waist a little tighter

After each death, you cry in private and then show up at his house, eyes a little puffy, lip gloss faded, wearing his sweatshirt. You don’t even need to say anything. He just lets you in, you crawl into his bed, and you fall asleep in his arms with your head against his chest.

One time you almost got caught in an accident, and he lost it. He screamed your name and held your face like he was afraid you’d vanish. He kissed you breathlessly right after and kept whispering, “I can’t lose you. Not you.”

He’s shy about affection in public, but sneaky kisses on your temple, quick squeezes of your hand, or brushing your hair behind your ear are his way of saying I love you.

When you laugh, it’s contagious, and Alex tries (and fails) to hold back his own chuckles — then you both end up giggling until your cheeks hurt.