Addie @pinkpluckpink - Tumblr Blog

dead ends | alex wright x fem!reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: you've been a fan of grave encounters 2 since you first saw it, and when the opportunity to meet the visionary (and now well-known) director of that movie falls in your lap, you find out that alex might be your dream nightmare man. wc: 17.4k (i need to calm down. i'm fine.) title stolen from little dark age by mgmt. 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: alex wright (grave encounters 2, 2012) x fem!reader 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: celebrity!au (kinda), general creepy vibes scattered throughout, alex is down to clown from the get-go, too many meta jokes about tumblr and fanfiction glass houses n all that yknow, alex is a wee bit of an asshole at times but its ok we love him, glasses!alex yummyyy, the last like 1k words takes a hard left turn so be ready for that SMUT (MINORS DNI): p in v sex, condom use, mentions of masturbation/sex toy use, face sitting/riding, tit sucking, as always if i missed a tag pls let me know so i can add it!! 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: this is so fun lol i didn't anticipate finishing this up in time for richard's birthday in 2 hours lmao, but happy birthday richie teehee, 34 never looked so hot, also the gif is NOT made by me, courtesy of @roleplayer-helps-blog <3 hope you enjoy, follow @babybluebex-writes to join my taglist and be notified whenever i post a new fic!!

Typically, getting emails directly from your professor would make you shit your pants. And, as you waywardly glanced at your phone, the screen lit up with the notification, seeing your professor’s name did make your heart skip a beat. You frowned, grabbing your phone, and your flatmate scoffed. “Jesus, addicted to Tiktok or somethin’?” Ella laughed, tossing popcorn in her mouth. “Y’know, you requested we watch this movie.”

“I know,” you mumbled. “Donaldson just emailed me.”

“Donaldson?” Ella repeated. She wasn’t in your classes, and you weren’t surprised that she didn’t know your FTV401: Senior Directing professor. Really, nobody on your university’s campus gave a fuck about the film school except for the people in it, but, in your experience, that’s how mostly everyone at university felt, that nobody cared about themselves except for themselves.

“One of my professors,” you explained, making quick eye-contact with your phone camera to unlock it and open the email. “He’s advising my capstone film.”

“Oh, shit,” Ella said, suddenly serious. “Why’s he emailing you?”

The subject line at the top of the email just read CAPSTONE FILM MASTERCLASS: PLEASE READ CAREFULLY!, and you sighed. You tried to skim the email, but too many big, scary words within its depths— feedback, masterclass, criticism— forced you to slow down and read the email in its entirety. “‘Students, if you have received this email, that means that you have already submitted your capstone films,” you began to read out loud. “‘I want to applaud you for your hard work on that project, but also your hard work throughout the entirety of your degree. All of you are walking the stage at Commencement next month, so—’ I’m sorry, can you mute that or something?”

Ella scrambled to grab the TV remote and mash the pause button. Your choice for movie night, some C-Grade horror, the finest Tubi could offer, was currently inhibiting your reading ability, what with the lead actress’s shrill screams of terror. You were thankful that the people you cast for your capstone film were more talented than that, although you suspected it was easier to act out quiet fear than boisterous terror (you weren’t onscreen talent, you had no idea what that skill set entailed). You were proud of your film, just as any filmmaker is, a slow-burn psychological horror slow burn, as slow as a 10 minute short film could be. You were anxious for any sort of feedback on it, and you could only wait nervously for that day to come.

“‘All of you are walking the stage at Commencement next month’,” you started out loud again, lightly nibbling on the string of your hoodie. “‘So, as a reward for your hard work, we the faculty have arranged a surprise for you. Next week, we will have a special guest join us on campus for a masterclass on filmmaking, where you will be able to receive feedback from an award-winning director, not only on your specific capstone films, but also the art of filmmaking as a whole.’”

“That’s awesome!” Ella grinned. “We don’t get cool shit like that in the Social Work department.”

“Yeah,” you mumbled. “‘The guidance that our masterclass instructor will provide will be invaluable, so we implore you to take whatever criticism is given in a constructive sense’. Well, fuckin’ duh.”

“Who is it?” Ella asked. “Does it say?”

“Umm…” you mumbled, skipping down the email. And your heart stopped when your eyes stuck on a specific name. Your throat felt tight, and you swallowed what felt like rocks as you felt your head go buzzy. All you could manage was “Holy fuck…”

“What?” Ella asked. “What, is it, like, Scorsese or something?”

“Am I…” you started. “Am I fuckin’… Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Hey, woah,” Ella chuckled lightly, apprehensive but still smiling. “Dude, who is it?”

Your mouth was dry as you began to read again. “‘Alex Wright, class of 2012, is a world-renowned film director. His directorial debut Grave Encounters 2 was his own capstone film when he attended our university, and, since his graduation, he has become a prominent name in the horror movie space, as well as film at large, directing films such as Crocadóir, a film joining Irish folklore and existential horror, and The Crucible, a fresh adaption of the Miller novel for 20th Century Fox. Back in January, Alex received his first Academy Award for Best Director for his work on his film Wilted— a feat which critics called ‘unprecedented’, as The Academy usually does not recognize horror films. Alex says that he is thrilled to return to campus and see what you have been working on, and that he cannot wait to meet you all.’ What the fuck?”

“Okay, but that’s cool, right?” Ella asked. “Unless he’s, like, super-duper problematic, in which case, I’ll attack him for you.”

“No,” you mumbled, worrying your lip between your teeth as your palms broke out in a sweat. “He’s just… Fucking awesome.”

“Oh,” Ella said softly, scrolling on her phone for a second before going, “Oh! Him! Okay, I know him. And he went to our university?”

“Yep, got the same degree I’m getting,” you whispered. “Yeah… His capstone film was… It’s fucking great.”

Of course, you were outwardly selling the film, and Alex himself, short. You loved Grave Encounters 2, even if people on Reddit and Tumblr dragged it to hell and back for being predictable and stupid, but you would defend it until the end of time. You had seen Grave Encounters 2 too many times to count, probably more than even the editors of the fucking movie had seen it, to the point where you could quote it and reenact entire scenes, and most of that was due to the main character, a fictionalized, played-up version of Alex himself (as he explained during a thousand panels in the 13 years since the movie came out). While you were sure the real Alex Wright had his issues, the Alex in the movie was flawed, he wanted attention and affection, and would literally kill for those things; and, as many people online said was the scapegoat for his character, he was hot. He was cute, therefore people forgave him. You knew the phenomenon was present, but you just couldn’t say for certain that that’s why you liked him and the movie as a whole.

“Wait, hold on,” Ella started, stopping her scrolling— Google, with the movie poster front and center, Alex’s younger self tinted green. “Grave Encounters? That’s that weird movie about the ghosts and hospital and shit, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you nodded breathlessly. “It is.”

“Oh, okay,” Ella laughed. “I see what this tweak-fest is about. You’re not nervous. You’re about to cream your pants ‘cause you get to meet this guy.”

“I’m not about to cream my pants,” you scoffed, and Ella gave you a flat look, eyes dead and mouth clenched.

“Really?” she asked, and she quickly snatched your phone from your hand, navigating to your Tumblr app, stretching away from you as you tried to reach over her and whinge about giving it back. “Ha! I knew it!”

Unluckily for you, you had left your app open to a spicy little fanfiction about the director, some bullshit tagged #alex wright x reader, #alex wright rpf #alex wright smut, that used words like throbbing and wet and mewling to describe the sex. “Oh my God, fuck off,” you groaned, swiping for your phone, and, to your horror, Ella began to read aloud.

“Alex gave you a look, his bright blue eyes unwavering as he looked you deep in your eyes’,” she began with a ridiculously accented voice, appropriate for her dramatic reading. “‘You could tell he wanted to devour you, but was holding back, waiting for you to need him just as badly.’ Babe, is that what gets you off?”

“Fuck off!” you squealed, successfully snatching your phone back and closing the app.

“That Tumblr is incriminating,” Ella laughed. “He’s gonna know you read fanfiction, he’ll smell it on you.”

“Hey, hey,” you smiled, despite your current heart attack. “Let’s not throw stones in glass houses here. I seem to remember a certain someone putting Pedro Pascal on our Hear Me Out cake we did for your TikTok a few weeks ago—”

“Where you put a picture of Alex! I remember this now!” Ella shouted in defense. “You also did the voice of the robot announcer for the bus system on campus, though, so I don’t think I trust your judgment.”

“Okay, she gets a little sensual with it when she announces the Humanities building and you know it,” you spat back.

“You gonna dress nice?” Ella asked. “Show off the gals?”

“Jesus,” you chuckled lightly. “No, I’m not gonna be tits-out at the masterclass. It’s still a, like, school thing, even if my celebrity crush is gonna be there. A-And the email says it’s gonna be recorded and posted on social media, and the last thing I want are some idiots online calling me a slut for anything.”

“Oh, yeah, true,” Ella mumbled thoughtfully. “Well, you can dig through my closet if you want something. Do you want me to do your makeup? When is it?”

You pulled the email back up on your phone, scanning the rest of it for a date, and your nerves returned. “Next Friday,” you said. “In a week.”

“Are, like, outsiders allowed?” Ella asked. “Is it an audience thing, or just the students and him?”

“Pretty sure just the students and him,” you said. “Some professors, too, probably. Mm, I mean, you could probably show up and I could sneak you in. You might need to smuggle in some booze to keep me calm.”

Ella smiled, and she wrapped an arm around you tightly. “Anything for you.”

The next week passed at a snail’s pace. Finals week was approaching, along with it the end of your college career. It had been a long, hard road, but you were proud of what you had managed to accomplish. You had made a movie, and that was just a pipe dream back when you were a lowly little first year. You were two weeks out from receiving your degree, and you had made a movie. It wasn’t exactly unknown on campus that an Oscar-winning director was going to grace the halls of the theater and performing arts building, but it certainly wasn’t as big of news as you had thought it would be, but you liked that. Only the special few would know and, despite getting word that it was an open event and that anyone could show up and watch, you liked the exclusivity.

Even though the week moved slowly, all too soon, it was Friday. You had a class that morning, some bullshit Geography class to satisfy your science lab requirement, but your professor had given you permission to skip that day, and you spent the morning shitting bricks. You took Ella up on her offer to do you up, and she smiled and bit her tongue at you as she finished. “God, babe,” she said, offering you a mirror. “Mister Director isn’t gonna know what hit him. If he’s not asking you out by the end of the day, he’s an idiot.”

“Alex is not going to ask me out…” you began, but paused as Ella held up a mirror across from you. You never thought lowly of yourself, though you knew you weren’t exactly a model-type, but Ella’s skillful work with a makeup brush almost made you doubt that insecurity. “Oh, fuck. He might, actually.”

“Hot,” Ella assured you. “You’re hot. Hot people like other hot people.”

“Stop saying hot,” you chuckled, getting up from the couch. “It doesn’t sound like a word anymore.” You were determined not to act like a fucking freak in front of Alex and, as you got dressed, you set one ground rule for yourself; no references to his past works, no in-jokes he had mentioned in panels or interviews. As far as Alex Wright was concerned, you had no idea who he was.

The auditorium of the theater building was freezing as you filed in with Ella, but the energy warmed up your skin. It was about half-full, occupied by your classmates, seniors and otherwise, and their unofficial plus-ones, along with a few other faculty members and some straggling students who either wanted to see the presentation or wandered in with no clue what was going on. The red velvet curtains of the stage were drawn, a big white projector screen set up to screen the films, with three chairs set up in front of it. In just a few short minutes, you would be in one seat, your professor in another, and Alex fucking Wright in the third. You felt like you could throw up.

You received a few hugs and handshakes as you passed by former professors, congratulating you with whispered words, wishing you good luck, and you and Ella slotted yourselves into the third row seats, next to one of your friends from class. Lewis was a nice dude, friendly, quiet, and you had known him since freshman year, having had all your film classes together since then. You knew that he liked you, but Lewis was just a friend to you, and you were really coasting on the fact that you were two weeks out from being done to keep him from trying for any dates or dinners. “Hey,” he said softly. “Is this crazy or what?”

“Fuck, yeah,” you chuckled. “I couldn’t sleep last night.”

“Me neither,” Lewis smiled. “I haven’t seen your film yet, I’m excited for it.”

“Thanks,” you said. “I haven’t seen yours either.”

Lewis winced. “It’s not good,” he admitted. “Like, I’m not in love with it, but who ever is, y’know?”

Ella interrupted you, passing you her pink metal water bottle from her canvas tote bag, and you cringed at it. “El, now?” you asked, and she nodded quickly. “What is it? It’s not that cursed Fireball-Rumchatta bullshit you made back at Christmas, is it?”

“No, silly,” Ella told you. “It’s Malibu-pineapple.”

“Fuck,” you hissed with a smile as you began to unscrew the lid. “You trying to get me wasted?”

“No,” Ella chuckled. “If I was trying to get you wasted, I’d take you to the Tavern downtown and order you green tea shots.”

“Oh, yum,” you whispered. “Can we do that tonight?” You tipped the bottle back and let some of the smuggled cocktail into your mouth, and you swallowed with a strangled cough. “Fuck! Where’s the pineapple?!”

“I swear I put some in there,” Ella assured you, taking the bottle and sipping from it, also garnering a cough from the sudden overwhelming burn of sunscreen-flavored alcohol. “Fuck, I put, like, half a thing of pineapple juice in there, what the hell?” She passed the bottle over you to Lewis, and he glanced at it in confusion for a moment before Ella softly explained to him, “She said she would need to get wasted. It’s Malibu.”

“No mixer?” Lewis chuckled, taking a drink. “You party crazy.”

“I need to be hammered right now,” you sighed, messing with a loose thread on your sweater sleeve as the lights started to dim down and Lewis hastily passed the bottle over you back to your best friend. “Oh, fuck. Ella, I might vomit, oh my God.”

“If you do, you can vom into my bag. Just make sure my phone isn’t in there,” Ella told you, lightly pinching your side as she giggled, and you watched Dr. Donaldson, your advisor and department head, take the stage. He was an older gentleman, one of the sweater-vest type of professors, but he was sharp as a tack and had a wicked sense of humor that you loved.

“Welcome, everyone,” Donaldson said, his voice booming out of the speakers from his microphone. “We’re so glad you all could join us for this very special occasion. It’s a testament to all of your hard work over the past few years, and we’re just pleased as punch to be graduating a class of such competent, hard-working filmmakers.” A light applause rippled, and Donaldson smiled behind his white mustache. “As a matter of fact, can we have our filmmakers stand? If your film is being screened today, just, stand up for a moment, so we can recognize you.”

Your legs felt like jelly as you slowly rose from your seat, Lewis copying your movements next to you, and the applause in the room got a little bit louder as your face went hot. It was only a handful of you, and you all knew each other, exchanging nervous glances and strained smiles, and you were the first to move to sit back down, hurrying in the same from everyone else. It seemed like everyone was nervous, and that made you feel slightly better, though not much; you took another quick sip from Ella’s water bottle before shoving the cap on and screwing it tight.

“So, the way we’ll do this,” Donaldson began. “We’ll go in a random order. You’ll come up to the stage and sit down, give a little background on you and your work in our program, what other films you’ve made, certain assignments, et cetera, and we’ll show your film on the projector— most of your films land right in the 10 minute range, so that’ll be good for time. After the screening, you’ll have the opportunity to get feedback from Alex on your film. The feedback session won’t be too long— I told Alex to be short with it, because God knows he always went over the length requirements for his written assignments—” There was a small smattering of laughter from the professors, ones who had taught Alex thirteen years ago and clearly remembered what Donaldson was joking about— “So hopefully, the whole thing shouldn’t be too torturous for you kids.

“And now, the man of the hour,” Donaldson said, and that same buzzy, hot feeling hit your skull. You could faint. You might. “I had an entire introduction for Alex, but, y’know, I might wanna say it to his face. Alex, front and center, please.”

And just like that, there he was. Alex fucking Wright, in the flesh. It didn’t feel real. He was a living, breathing person, emerging from the wings of the stage and opening his arms to embrace your professor as applause bubbled up from everyone around you. They did that man sorta-hug, slapping the backs and all, and the stage lights hit his face as he smiled at Donaldson. He looked just like the pictures, almond-shaped baby blues behind horn-rimmed glasses, short but messy hair, a nice big smile. He was clean-shaven, and the dimples in his cheeks as he grinned made you want to melt. Dressed casually, dark jeans and plain black t-shirt with a leather jacket and dirty Converse. He was a dream of a man, and you blinked hard a few times to make sure you weren’t hallucinating.

“Let me tell you all a story about Mr. Wright,” Donaldson started, putting his arm around Alex’s shoulders. “The night his capstone film was due in, I got an email from him. Back then, we used a different computer system to submit assignments, and he told me that the system wasn’t accepting his project because the file was too large, and asked if he could email it to me instead. I said ‘sure, that’s fine’— that old system was buggy, it’s no surprise we switched, so I figured it was just messing up— but, imagine my surprise when the next email I get from Alex has a file attachment to the tune of 4 gigs.” A cloud of laughter floated around you, and Alex slotted his bottom lip between his teeth as he looked at his shoes, embarrassed. “It was a full-length film, his first one ever. Maybe you guys have seen it.”

“Oh, God, no,” Alex said into his microphone, and your heart skipped a beat at his smile. “No, no, Doc, don’t direct them towards that.”

“Why not?” Donaldson laughed.

“Because it’s not good,” Alex chuckled. “I-It’s real shoddy filmmaking, don’t bother with Grave, it’s not worth it.”

Donaldson smiled, and he continued with his story. “It was good enough filmmaking to give you the highest score in your class,” he said. “And it’s been a joy and an honor to watch you grow your artistry since leaving this university. When I reached out to Alex’s agent, inquiring about bringing him to campus, I wasn’t expecting to hear anything back— surely, the Oscar winner doesn’t want anything to do with his alma mater, right?” Alex chuckled, embarrassed again, and Donaldson said, “As fate would have it, I got an email back the next day, directly from Alex, saying he’d be thrilled to review your films and give some notes.”

“Yeah,” Alex smiled. “Yeah, it’s hard to believe I’m back, everything looks exactly the same. Does anyone live in Howard Hall? Is it still the same over there?”

Beside you, Ella called out “Looks just like it did in the movie!”, and you were quick to shove her arm. You and Ella had only met because you were roommates your freshman year, living six feet apart in that Howard Hall dorm room, and you just kept living together, upgrading to an off-campus apartment back in the fall. But Howard Hall sure as hell did look exactly the same as what you saw of Alex and Trevor’s dorm room in Grave Encounters 2.

“Does it still smell like feet in the showers?” Alex asked, wrinkling his nose, and Lewis nodded next to you. Oh yeah; he also used to live in Howard. “Not surprised, honestly. At least we’re consistent here. But, um, yeah, I’m excited for this. I know nothing about any of you or the films we’re about to watch, so I’m just thrilled to meet all of you and see what you’ve made.”

The random order began with Lewis. You watched as he climbed the stairs up to the stage, and gave Alex a firm handshake and exchanged a few quiet words with him away from the mics, and the trio sat and began their pre-film talk. Lewis explained his influences, classic movies, Coppola and Scorsese, answered Alex’s technical questions about how long it took to write the screenplay, what shooting looked like, all stuff that you were sure you yourself would have to answer soon, and then it was showtime. The lights lowered all the way down, and Lewis’s film began on the projector. Your friend was obviously nervous, jiggling his knee the whole time as he looked between the film and out into the audience, and you reached for Ella’s bottle. Lewis’s movie was good, a murder-mystery whodunit with a twist ending, but you hardly even really watched it. You watched Alex watch it. His face was hidden in the shadows, but you could see the glint of light off his glasses, his knuckles pressed against his lips as he watched intently.

The lights came back up, and Alex leaned over and shook Lewis’s hand with a smile. He liked it. His critiques were shallow, light, just small things here and there— “It’s nitpicky, I know, but small differences in how you organize a scene like the one with the reveal of the twist, tiny things like that can elevate your film from a good one to a great one.”

Three people went after Lewis, and you almost forgot what you were even nervous about, until you heard Donaldson call your name, and that hot buzz returned. Your legs felt like they were moving on their own as you made your way up to the stage, and your ears felt full of cotton as you walked yourself up to the Alex Wright, shaking his hand as a smile came over your face. You couldn’t help yourself, and before you could stop your mouth, you were whispering “Nice to meet you.”

Alex’s hand was warm against yours, his grip strong but gentle, and his eyes twinkled at you as he smiled back. “Likewise,” he said softly, and you quickly found your way to your seat, breathing out a heavy sigh. You could have shit a brick.

“So, Alex,” Donaldson began from across from you. Alex was sat in the chair directly next to you, and the distant heat of his body made your face feel like you were on fire. So close! He was right there! You hoped Ella was taking pictures, even though you forgot to remind her. “I have a feeling you’ll like her film.”

“Oh, yeah?” Alex asked, turning in his seat to look at you. “And why is that?”

The cold handle of your microphone felt slippery in your sweaty grip, and you cleared your throat before you spoke. “I, uh, I’m also in the business of scaring people,” you told him, and his face relaxed for just a single moment before the smile came back, obviously recognizing your callback to his Oscars speech— he was drunk, he had admitted to that, and said that he liked making movies that scared people and was happy The Academy was thoroughly scared by him. You internally cursed; no more callbacks! “I-I like making horror movies, and that’s what you’re gonna see in a second.”

“Ah,” Alex mused. “A fellow creepy kid. What’s your favorite— Oh, God, no, I can’t do the voice, Roger would kill me— What’s your favorite scary movie?”

You laughed, as did Alex. “Umm,” you started lightly, sorting through your thoughts. “I’m into the psychological stuff. I like slashers, I think they’re cool or whatever, but it’s the ones that make you really, like, think about it and focus on the emotional stakes that I like. So, stuff like The Shining, Twilight Zone, Get Out—”

Alex scoffed. “Don’t say that last movie too many times, Jordan may materialize somewhere in the room,” he told you with a smile. “He’s good at being summoned. So, that’s what your film is? A psychological horror?”

You nodded. The casual mention of people that you revered, as if they were his close friends, Roger Jackson, Ghostface himself, Jordan fuckin’ Peele— they probably were Alex’s genuine friends. It made your head spin. You suddenly regretted all the Malibu you had snuck, and you talked to get rid of the sick feeling. “Yeah. Um, yeah, it’s about a girl— woman, I guess, young woman— in a rehab facility, detoxing, and she’s being told that all the weird shit happening to her, the shadows in the mirror and the visions at night, it’s all because of her detoxing and that it’s not real, but… Y’know… I had a great time working on it.”

Alex nodded smoothly. His eyes stayed focused on you as you talked, and you took note of the way his gaze seemed to look through you, like he was reading your mind and seeing your soul. Did Lewis feel like this when he was up here? “Well, awesome,” he said. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen a good little psychological short film. Did you use any sort of, I don’t know, techniques? Jumpscares or anything like that? I fuckin’ hate jumpscares, they scare the shit out of me every single time.”

He hadn’t been cursing with anybody else. It was a small thing, sure, but it worked to make you feel more at ease, and maybe he sensed that you could use that. It felt a little more like a conversation between friends, and not a world-famous director and a lowly film student. “No, no, they scare me too,” you nodded. “I hate them, but if they’re done really well, like the willow tree scene in Wilted—”

“You liked that?” Alex asked with a smile, and you clamped your jaw shut. You could have rammed your head through the wall for that slip-up. “It was divisive. Lots of people hated that one, said it was cheap or whatever. My DP even tried to get me to take it off the shot list, nobody wanted to film it.”

“Really?” you squeaked. “I-It’s my favorite scene in the whole thing. I mean, like, you have the looming sense of dread throughout the whole movie, you know Caleb and Savannah are being watched by the townspeople, and, like, you sorta assume, because oh, they-they’re, um… Y’know—”

“For those of you who haven’t seen Wilted,” Alex interjected quickly, sensing your hesitancy. “It’s about a girl named Savannah, who lives in Brooklyn, much like yours truly. Her family used to live out in the country somewhere, and she finds out that the house they used to live in technically still belongs to her grandfather, who just died and left her the house, so now it belongs to her, so she has to go to this country town and try to sell the house, and while she’s there, she meets a guy named Caleb, who’s lived there his whole life. As the movie progresses, Sav can tell that the town is a little uptight and weird, especially around her, and she assumes it’s because she’s an outsider, but by the end of the film— spoilers, duh— she finds out the town is one big cult based off sexual dominance and subjugation, that her family managed to escape from, and Caleb has claimed her as his wife. It’s a whole thing, Sav tries to escape the town but can’t, and I sorta leave it ambiguous about if she’s killed for her transgressions or not. But the scene we’re talking about right now, with the jumpscare that everybody fucking hates apparently, is when Sav and Caleb make love for the first time, they’re sitting under a willow tree and sorta start going at it, and Caleb looks out past the willow branches and sees his mother standing there, watching them, but Sav doesn’t see it. It’s a big shock, it’s a good moment.”

“Yeah,” you nodded along. “But you assume that, like, it’s an intimate moment, they’re safe, and then Caleb’s mom is right there. And there’s no musical sting, no audio cue, it’s just Caleb’s face, his eyes focusing on something, and a hard cut to the silhouette of his mother through the branches. Oh my God, I think I jumped out of my seat in the theater.”

“I’m glad you liked it,” Alex told you with a warm smile. “What’s your film called?”

You bit your lip. “Induced,” you told him. “Like, um… drug-induced.”

“Induced,” Alex repeated, and you watched his pink mouth form around the name of your film. Holy shit. It was the sweetest sound in the world. “That’s good. Good for the concept. A good name is half of what’s gonna get people in seats.”

You felt like you could have talked to Alex forever, but, as the lights dimmed down again, you had to just be thankful that you got what time you had so far and what little time you had left. As your film was projected onto the screen, you chewed on your lip and looked down at your hands, still tugging on the loose thread of your sweater sleeve. You didn’t want to see the movie, but you also couldn’t bear to look at Alex’s face as he watched it— if there was any disappointment, you wanted to be oblivious to it. You heard the movie, all the small bits of dialogue and moody music you used, burned into the grooves of your skull, and you raised your gaze to the darkened theater, trying to catch sight of anyone’s face before the next moment happened.

On the screen, your lead actress was examining herself in the foggy, post-shower bathroom mirror, and a figure moved in the background, reflected in the mirror and unnoticed by the lead. It was a small movement, but a sharp yelp cut through the air from the audience when it happened, and you tempered down a smile. Not a jumpscare, as Alex defined it, but certainly a fright, and you heard him let out a soft chuckle under his breath before whispering, “Fuck me…” Had you scared him? Did that moment scare Alex Wright? Your body went warm at the idea. You could die happy.

Then, carefully, Alex leaned over the arms of the chairs to whisper to you. He only said one word, and you frowned in confusion: “Tequila.”

“Huh?” you whispered back.

“I think you’re like me,” Alex explained under his breath. With his closeness, you could smell his cologne, some sort of warm, spicy scent that just screamed luxury to you. He smelled fucking great. “I fuckin’ despise watching my own movies. Every screening I go to, I have a little flask of tequila in my pocket.”

“I, um…” you started, and bit the inside of your cheek to keep your giggles at bay. “My friend smuggled in some rum, been kinda going at it all afternoon.”

“Good girl,” Alex nodded, and a pang of adrenaline smacked your heart into your ribcage. That was hot. Fuck this guy. “Hey, is that bar O’Bryans still open downtown? My friends and I used to go there all the time.”

“Not anymore,” you replied. “Got shut down last year. They got busted for not ID’ing people.”

“Fuck,” Alex grunted. “That’s exactly why we used to go. Well, where’s a good place to get a drink nowadays?”

Your eyes flicked to the screen as your lead shrieked, and you saw Alex’s do the same, but his gaze was fixed back on you in a second. It seemed like he didn’t really even care about the film anymore, and you felt weird, insecure, about that. Why would he care about you over the film? “I like this place called the Tavern,” you told him. “On Fridays, they have a shots special.”

“I do like shots,” Alex mumbled, and you tried to wipe at your nose to hide your smile. “Thanks.”

The rest of the movie passed quickly, wrapping up the last few minutes, and Alex was the first to begin clapping when your credit scroll began. You tried to control your face, knowing that people certainly had cameras on you, taking the pictures for social media that had been promised, but a smile peeked through the cracks. “Wow,” Alex said into the mic, his voice booming around the theater. “I… I was gonna try to make a joke or something, but I just… I’ve got nothing.”

Your heart soared into your throat, and surely your face finally betrayed you, because Alex smiled. “I don’t think there’s a lot I can say to you,” Alex continued. “That was… Every detail was intentional. There was a purpose to everything we saw, everything we heard, it was intentional and meaningful, and there were some standout moments— The mirror thing. I don’t know if you heard me, but that legitimately startled me; I, uh, said a few curse words over here. I might steal that from you, that was ridiculous.” You laughed and nodded, and his eyes twinkled at you again. “But it’s hard to find creatives like you nowadays. You have your clear influences, but you’re not cribbing from them. You’re learning and adapting from your influences, and that’s a hard thing to do. I’m sure, as you were submitting your screenplay and all that, people surely were telling you, no don’t do this, no take this out— I can tell you didn’t sacrifice a single moment of your vision for anyone else, and not only does it take guts as a director to stay true to your vision, but as a person too. And you’re so young, it sorta… kinda really pisses me off.” Alex grit his teeth in fake anger as everyone laughed at his joke, and he added, “Like, I was proud of winning an Oscar for a horror movie. I’m proud of that shit, and I think I’m gonna have to share that honor alongside you pretty soon. I wanted it to be all about me; fuck you, man.”

Finally, you allowed yourself to laugh, and Alex rose from his seat. Somehow, you knew to do the same, and you gave a surprised little squeak as he put his arms around you and gave you a quick hug. It was firm, maybe a single second long, and he patted your back a few times as you parted. “Seriously,” he told you with an even tone, not joking in the slightest. “That was the best thing I’ve seen all year.”

“Oh, shut up,” you hissed bashfully with a roll of your eyes. “Thank you.”

Your skin felt all buzzy where Alex had embraced you, and you walked on shaky legs off the stage and back to Ella and Lewis. Ella was grinning a mile wide, and, as Donaldson called up the next student, she shook your shoulder gleefully. “Babe!” she whispered. “What the fuck? How’re you feeling?”

As an answer, you grabbed the bottle from the floor by her feet, unscrewed the cap, and took a long gulp from it. Ella snickered out a laugh, shoving her hand over her mouth to muffle herself, and you cleared your throat once the rum was down your throat.

“Dude, holy shit,” Lewis whispered. “What the fuck, I didn’t get a hug.”

“‘Cause you’re not smoking hot,” Ella told him.

“That’s not—” you hissed. “That’s not why he hugged me.”

“Oh, isn’t it?” Ella asked. “I saw you two whispering to each other up there, what were you saying?”

“He was…” you started, your eyes falling on Alex back up on the stage. He was listening to your classmate talk, chin in his palm, but in your hesitation to speak, you watched him turn his head towards you. You had just been on that stage— with the lights, it was impossible to see who was sitting where— but somehow he seemed to find you in the darkness. Alex gave you a tiny smile before turning back, and a shiver ran down your back.

“Lewis,” you started. “When you were up there, did Alex seem… I don’t know. Weird? Like, he’s not looking at you, but looking straight through you?”

“What?” Lewis mumbled. “No, he looked at me like a normal person.”

“I think you read too much fanfiction,” Ella added, and you rolled your eyes.

“No, I don’t,” you grumbled.

“I got some good pictures of you guys,” Ella told you. “And I got a video of the hug, so you can jill off to it later.”

“Jesus Christ.”

There wasn’t much else after your turn, the whole shebang ending with the filmmakers getting a group picture with Alex, and you made sure to stick by Lewis’s side, two down from Alex’s spot in the middle. Despite having shared space with him, you were still nervous to even be in the same room as Alex Wright, and you intended to depart immediately, maybe stop by the restroom to sob and sniffle about the entire experience, but, as you and Ella were whispering about nightly plans, your professor’s voice sounded from behind you. “The woman of the hour!” Donaldson smiled, and your eyes widened at Ella before you turned on your heel to see him. But not just him.

Alex had his crooked smile affixed to his face, his hands in the pockets of his jacket. There was something different about him now, in the house lights of the theater and not under the harsh spotlight of the stage, that made him look more human— less like a standard 8x10 glossy but more of a Snapchat picture, if that made any sense (the Malibu was definitely starting to get to you, you could tell). “There she is,” Alex said, softly, gently, not using his projecting, public-speaking voice anymore, but a much warmer, more personal cadence. “I was a little worried you’d leave before I got to talk to you again.”

You sighed and slapped your hands on your thighs with a shrug. “Nearly missed me,” you said. “Oh, um, this is my friend, Ella, we, uh—”

“I’m her Trevor Thompson,” Ella said with a smile, and you shot her a warning look, hoping she heard your telepathic message of SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!

“Okay, you’re a better friend to me than Trevor is to Alex,” you started, and suddenly felt all small and hot. “To you,” you offered to Alex with a wince. “Sorry, I, this is embarrassing—”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Alex said quickly. “One of the pitfalls of playing yourself in a movie, it’s hard as fuck to talk about it. I’ve been having to do it for 13 years, and I still don’t think I’ve found an elegant way to do it.” He laughed lightly, as did you, and you ended up swallowing thickly.

“Hey, El,” you started. “Where did Lewis go, did you see him?”

“Um, he dipped pretty quick,” Ella started. “Why?”

“Well, I was gonna invite him out with us,” you told her, feeling Alex’s searing gaze on you. “But, um, he— I don’t have his number, and I’m pretty sure the Snap I have for him is inactive, so—”

“I’ll go find him,” Ella told you, sensing the end of your sentence and, indeed, the real reason you even brought up his absence at all. “Text me when you get outta here, I wanna catch the bus back home with you.”

“Sure,” you nodded, and she leaned in and gave you a quick hug, and sent a quick “Nice to meet you” to Alex before departing.

“So,” Alex began. “You’ve seen Grave, then.”

“Huh?” you asked, turning back to him, and your brain instantly caught up. Oh, he was talking to you. Alex was talking to you. “Yeah! Oh, yeah, mhm. It’s a good one.”

Alex scoffed. “You don’t have to lie,” he smiled. “It’s shit. S’what all the reviews say; it’s fine, it doesn’t hurt my feelings. I mean, someone’s first feature, it’s not the best work they’re ever gonna do.”

“No!” you said quickly. “No, I legitimately like it! It’s creepy, a good atmosphere, the tension that builds the whole time— I saw it when I was a kid and just, like, watched it through my fingers, but loved every second of it.”

“A kid?” Alex repeated, and you realized what you said as he groaned. “Ugh. Ouch. I feel my bones turning to dust. That one hurts. Is that how you feel when you’re reminded that people are younger than you?” He turned to his old professor, and Donaldson gave a chuckle.

“Every year, they keep getting younger,” he nodded with an air of ‘Ah, those were the times’. “Well, look, Alex, I have another class in a few minutes upstairs. It was wonderful to see you again; don’t be such a stranger from now on, eh?”

“Of course,” Alex nodded, and he enveloped your professor in a hug once more.

“If you ever get bored of the film world, you can always come back to us,” Donaldson offered, and Alex smiled; they obviously had been over this before. “We’d love to have someone like you on faculty.”

“Right, right,” Alex smiled. “Teaching everyone how to do things the wrong way. ‘If Professor Wright tells you to do this, do the opposite’, huh?”

“Atta boy,” Donaldson said. “Take care of yourself. And you, young lady—” You stood up straighter, accepting your professor’s handshake, and he said, “Don’t forget: written final, Monday morning, 10am.”

“Yes, sir,” you nodded.

Both you and Alex were quiet as your professor left the building, and Alex sighed. “You know I’m not bullshitting you when I say your movie is great, right?” he asked earnestly. “Like, that was… I can’t believe it.”

“Yeah, um, you don’t have to do that,” you told him softly as a hot flush prickled your cheeks. “It’s a student film. It’s shitty, that’s what student films are—”

“You didn’t hear me say it was good ‘for a student film’, did you?” Alex asked. “I said it’s great, no caveat. I know we talked about how you hate getting compliments on your work, and I’m the same way, I hate that shit, but I’m having, like, one of those Final Destination premonitions, right? I can see your future, and you’re gonna have to get really used to people giving you compliments and praise for your work, alright? You’ll never get away from that, as long as you’re working in film.”

You bit your bottom lip and laughed at him. “Final Destination?” you repeated.

“You know those movies, right?” Alex asked. “I mean, I know that franchise has been dead for years, it’s old-people shit like Grave is—”

“Hey, easy with the animosity,” you smiled. “‘Do I know Final Destination?’ What kinda question is that? Of course I do.”

“Which is your favorite?” Alex asked instantly, the required question whenever any film franchise ever was mentioned.

“Oh, the first one,” you said swiftly. “Duh. Isn’t that everyone’s favorite?”

Alex hissed in an inhale. “Maybe not,” he said. “I’m partial to that fourth one myself.”

It felt silly, the way your stomach dropped when he said that. It was such a nothing response, but, to you, it was shocking and disturbing. To anyone in the know, it was shocking and disturbing. “Like, the Nascar one?” you clarified, and Alex’s nod made your jaw drop. “Oh no! Alex, no!”

“What?” Alex laughed.

“Absolutely not,” you said firmly. “The Final Destination is the worst one, by far! It’s so stupid, it looks like shit, nobody is good, the plot is bad and the characters are dumb and the deaths don’t even make sense— Like, c’mon! The hairspray bottle walking on its own two legs into the hair straightener? The dude getting his asshole sucked out?! The scene with the redhead chick watching TV in her underwear is so cliche that Cabin In The fuckin’ Woods parodies it! Are you kidding me?”

“Of course I am,” Alex told you in a stilted, silly voice, and you gave a sigh of relief. “Who says the fourth one is their favorite? What do you think I am, some kinda crazy person?”

“Which is your favorite?” you asked.

“Fifth one, that’s easy,” Alex replied. “The bridge disaster is so terrifying, and then the end, when you realize the entire fuckin’ movie, Sam and Molly desperately trying to survive, was for nothing, ‘cause they’re on Flight 180? Insane.”

“Ooh, that is good,” you nodded. “I, um… Not to bring up your own fucking movie to you again, but I noticed, like, in the dorm room scenes, you had a Tourist Trap poster in the background? You wanna talk about insane movies…”

“Yeah!” Alex grinned. “Well, that’s the thing about Grave, it was— All of it was real! I mean, obviously not all of it, right? But all the scenes with us in the dorms or whatever, we didn’t change any of it, so, yeah, that was a legitimate poster I had up on the wall. No wonder I didn’t get laid back then.”

You couldn’t help your laughter. “Yeah, well, lots of that going around, it seems,” you quipped. You tugged your phone from your pocket as it buzzed, and you missed the look that Alex gave you. If you had been able to see the crease between his eyebrows, almost like what you told him confused him, you would have had a litany of new questions. Ella had texted you, telling you that she had found Lewis and that he was totally down for the Tavern later, if that was what you wanted to do, and you smiled at your phone.

“Hey, also, um,” Alex started quickly, and you redirected your gaze up to him. His face was flushed, his eyes bright and glittery, and it made your chest warm. “I’ve got somewhere I need to be, but I’d love to pick your brain about Induced, if you’d let me. What’re you doing for dinner tonight?”

“Um,” you started. “Ella and I are gonna go to that bar I told you about, with the shots special and everything. Just unwind after a super stressful week, y’know?”

“I get that,” Alex nodded. “Anyone else? Your boyfriend?"

"My boyfriend," you scoffed. "I'd need one of those first to invite him out clubbing."

"What about that Lewis kid?" Alex asked, and you shivered. Kid. Lewis was a kid, not a man like Alex was. You liked his phrase, even if it was slightly rude to your friend. "Not your boyfriend?"

"Lewis?" you repeated. "No, no, Lewis is, he's more interested in Ella than he is with me."

Alex seemed relieved by your answer, although you couldn't place why. "My flight back to Brooklyn leaves early in the morning, so we can't meet tomorrow… How about this? Let me get your number, and we can figure it out from there.”

You squeezed your nails into your palm. No fucking way. There was no fucking way this was real life. “Yeah, sure,” you nodded coolly, going to your texts and opening a new conversation, then pushing your phone into his hands. “Um, I-I gotta go too, Ella’s waiting for me, but I’ll text you. Oh! A-And it was just so nice to meet you. Like, really, seriously. The honor of a lifetime.”

“Of course,” Alex said, handing your phone back to you with his charming, Oscar-winning smile. “Take care, alright? I’ll see you soon.”

Ella pestered you the entire bus ride back to your apartment, asking what Alex wanted to talk to you about privately and, even though you were bursting to tell her what the evening held, you needed to wait until you were alone and could properly scream about it. You fell down onto the couch with jelly legs, instantly shoving a throw pillow over your face, and you let out one long, squealing scream, hearing Ella laugh with you. “What the fuck did he say?” she asked, kneeling down beside you, and you threw the pillow behind your head, hearing it dully thud against the wall.

“I don’t know!” you grinned, grabbing your phone out and shoving the text in front of her. Alex had added himself to your contacts, naming himself “alex w”, and sent his own New York City-based number a simple text with your own name attached— so that, when he saw it on his phone, it would be a text from you with your name. He had texted you as you rode the bus home, and Ella’s mouth gaped open in shock as you showed it to her: What time do I get to see you tonight? Direct, but not offensively forward. You liked it. “What did he say to me?”

“Oh my God!” Ella cried. “What the fuck? You got his number?”

“I didn’t ask for it,” you defended yourself quickly, shoving your sweater up and off your body as a sweat broke out on the small of your back. “He asked for mine! And he says he just wants to pick my brain about my movie, so I’m not getting my hopes up or anything—”

“Oh, you’re fucking kidding me, right?” Ella scoffed, and she whipped out her own phone, navigating to the photos and pulling up a video. It was the moment you and Alex had whispered about bars while your movie played behind you. You could hardly see yourselves in the darkness of the theater, but you certainly could see Alex, and his body language was telling. He was turned fully to you, his gaze fixed solely on you, and you watched as he slotted his bottom lip between his teeth before whispering something to you. Based on what little of yourself and your reaction that you could see, he likely had just told his joke about liking shots. “That dude wants you. I think, if he could’ve, he would’ve fucked you on that stage. Like, you’re joking.”

You smiled as you typed back a response to Alex, showing your screen to Ella before you hit send: i’ll be at the tavern around 10 or so. you can meet me there. “El, I really don’t think this is what you think it is,” you told her. “It’s just gonna be a friendly chat!”

“Mhm,” Ella hummed with pursed lips. “Friendly chat, sure. A friendly chat where you put your mouth on his dick.”

“I don’t—” you started with a huff, and paused to read Alex’s next text that came through. Is there any way I could offer you dinner instead? My old ass hates clubs, haha. A sweating emoji accompanied his words, and you smiled.

i could be persuaded, you replied to him, then out loud to Ella: “I’m not gonna fuck him, I swear to God.”

How does Duke’s on Fifth sound? Unless it got super weird since I was last here.

“Dude!” Ella exclaimed, and you jerked your arm away to keep her from looking. “He wants to take you to Duke’s? He is wining-and-dining you, babe! You know what comes after that!”

“El,” you sighed with a tired smile. “I know you’re trying to be supportive and all that, but I truly cannot think that’s why Alex is asking me to dinner. I mean, yeah, Duke’s is super fucking nice, but it’s also quiet, so we can talk. And that’s what he wants to do, is talk.”

i’ve never been, but it def sounds nice.

“What is he saying now?” Ella asked, trying to crane to see your phone, and you shoved a throw pillow at her with a smile.

“None of your fuckin’ business,” you chuckled, and your phone buzzed. He was quick to answer, and you liked that. You were tired of the nonchalant shit; you liked that he seemed eager. Sounds like a plan. Any particular dress code?

i’ve got no idea if duke’s has a dress code tbh

“I honestly do not think he wants to fuck me,” you started again, lifting yourself up off the couch and going in pursuit of your closet to find something to wear. “Like, that’s ridiculous, but also, would shatter my heart big-time if he’s just some pump-and-dump type guy. Back in town for one night, wants to get his dick wet— I don’t wanna think he’s scummy like that.”

“Well, I mean…” Ella started, coming to lean against the doorway of your room. “That would be still be cool as fuck, right? How many girls get to say they hooked up with a dude who’s got a fuckin’ Oscar?”

“But I don’t wanna hook up with him,” you whined. “If I do it just once, then I’ll never be able to read another fanfiction about him because I’ll know it’s not accurate. But also, 13 years, and he’s never had a girlfriend or anything. At least, never been public with one. The last girl he seemed halfway into was that Jen chick from Grave Encounters 2, but that could’ve been the characters or whatever, y’know?”

“What’s your point?” Ella asked.

You sighed, chewing your lip so hard that you tasted metallic blood. “I just mean that…” you started. “I don’t need a relationship, just… It would break my heart if I was a one night stand. But there’s no good middle ground between one night stand and relationship.”

“Situationship?” Ella offered, and you fake-gagged.

“That’s worse,” you groaned. “If I hear the word ‘situationship’ come out of a 33 year old’s mouth, I might end my life.”

“That’s reasonable,” Ella mumbled in agreement. “Okay, what if you just… Don’t sleep with him tonight? Like, tell him he’s gotta wait for it or whatever? Prove that he’s good enough to get some. He’ll either agree and you’ll know he’s one of the good ones, or he’ll think it’s too much trouble and fuck off. Either way, your question is answered.”

“Ella!” you whinged. “I wanna fuck him really bad, though!”

“Well, damn!” Ella laughed. “I don’t know what you want from me, then! Fuck him; don’t fuck him. Whatever! I’d say go for it and worry about what happens later, after the deed is done, but, hey, what do I know?”

You smiled in amusement as your phone buzzed again, and you looked at your screen to see Alex’s newest text: That’s not really what I meant. Anything you would like to see me wear?

You clutched your phone in a tight grip and squeezed your eyes shut with excitement. Why did he make you feel so damn stupid and giddy? you should wear that leather jacket you had on earlier. you looked hot. It was a bit bolder than you had been thus far, and you grinned to yourself as he seemed to enjoy it and replied Yes ma’am. Wear something red.

The only red item in your closet that you figured was nice enough for the upscale restaurant Alex had suggested definitely set the tone for what you anticipated (and secretly hoped), a piece from your requisite freshman “ho” phase that, by some grace of God, still fit— a dress, short, “showed off the gals”, as Ella put it while she touched up your makeup. The last time you had worn it, you remembered some frat party where you had pulled an Alex Wright, drank too much and woke up with the room spinning and head pounding, and you hoped that there wasn’t a repeat of that tomorrow.

Speak of the devil, that fucker sent you a car. It was just an Uber to your apartment, but it was miles more fancy than any way you had previously been woo-ed, and you sorta loved the way it felt like superstar treatment. Already off to a good start, Mr. Wright. You had thrown on the same black sweater you had worn earlier in the day, knowing how fancy restaurants could be cold, and you picked at the same thread with latent anxiety as you exited the car in front of the restaurant.

Duke’s on Fifth was one of those restaurants that should have been in some travel magazine, and probably had been. Low lights, soft jazz music, emerald cushions on the booths and gold hardware everywhere; almost art deco, but more modern. You had heard all about the place, but, of course, never actually been— too rich for a college student's blood. You stepped inside, feeling foolish in your tennis shoes and nice dress and sweater (you figured heels would be a no-go for the night, and, unless you wanted to wear snow boots or loafers to dinner, you had to make do with your sneakers that were still stained from a bucket of ill-placed paint in the workshop of the theater department), but all of your anxiety melted away when you spied a familiar silhouette at the bar, and you took a moment to admire him.

His hair was a little messier than earlier in the day, a little darker when not under the intense spotlight of the stage. You could just see his face and the smile that upturned his cheeks, and you watched him take a sip of something out of a rocks glass in his hand as he chatted to the man standing beside him. He did indeed wear the leather jacket that you had requested, along with what looked to be dark jeans, and you sighed in relief as he also seemed to catch the dirty sneakers memo. All of the interviews he had done with GQ and Esquire throughout the years definitely painted him as a laid back and casual kind of guy, and his scuffed Converse were proof of that.

As you approached him from behind, he did that incredibly weird thing again, the same thing he had done in the dark theater— he seemed to know exactly where you were. You almost wanted to be put off by it, but his soft blue-eyed gaze melted your core like caramel. Alex’s eyes crinkled at the corners with his smile, and he set down his drink to fully envelop you in a warm hug. “My God, you look gorgeous,” he whispered in your ear, one hand flattening to the small of your back, and a shiver blasted up your spine. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt so physically connected to someone, let alone as quickly as you did with Alex, and you smiled into his neck as you took a breath of his expensive, spicy cologne.

“You clean up pretty nice there yourself,” you told him, and he scoffed.

“Nothing compared to you,” Alex said. “Not that you weren’t beautiful earlier, but this is—”

“You can see the skin of my legs now, so it’s different,” you supplied, and Alex chuckled. “Just wait ‘til this sweater comes off, you’ll be excited.”

“Oh?” Alex asked, raising his eyebrows at you. You had figured out that he seemed pretty straightforward, not one to beat around the bush too hard, and, while that was a new strategy for you, you didn’t hate the way it felt. “Will I?”

“Oh, yeah,” you nodded. “It’s, like, strapless, my tits are out— you’ll like it.”

“What makes you think I’ll like that?” Alex asked softly, and his fingers curled in the bottom hem of your sweater, playfully tugging at it. “Maybe I’m an ass sorta guy. Or thighs. Maybe I like a pretty neck. Or, perhaps, I'm not one of those sorts of guys at all, and I'm attracted to your talent and intellect more than your body. Why would you assume I gave a fuck about tits?”

“Be serious, Alex,” you smiled. “I think you like all of the above, but the way you’re looking at me right now, something tells me you’re dying to see what I’m hiding.”

“I like the way you say my name,” Alex told you softly. "I can tell you that much."

That left you without a witty retort, and you could only manage a smile as you giggled at him. As the hand on your back led you away from the bar and towards the back of the restaurant, you couldn't help but berate yourself in your head for your behavior. Why were you acting like this? No other guy had ever turned you into a blushy, giggly, flirty mess, but the man seated across from you had some sort of hypnotizing effect on you. Maybe it was the copious amounts of fanfiction you had read about him coming back to rear its ugly head. Maybe it was the fact that he seemed just as infatuated with you, which would be a new thing for you. A guy wanting anything to do with you? What a shock.

No matter the reason, you harnessed it throughout the night. Every time you made Alex smile, laugh, blush at you, it felt like a victory. He was genuinely a cool guy, and you loved talking to him about everything— underneath the glamour of his name and title, he was entirely normal. It felt like your conversation drifted to all corners possible, touching the required movies (while he did enjoy stuffy arthouse Lynchian films, he confessed that he enjoyed a nice blunt and Pauly Shore movie as much as the next person), branching into your favorite authors, artwork, pop culture at large— "Taylor Swift is the best songwriter in our generation, have you actually listened to the Speak Now album?!"— never a lull, never a break. It all felt natural, and, as the night went on, you couldn't hold it back anymore.

"Alright, seriously," you started, petering out your laughter as Alex finished a story about something that had happened at his home in Brooklyn with his favorite bodega cat (named Milo, tried to steal a bag of chips, chaos ensued). "What the fuck is going on?"

Confusion passed Alex's face. "What do you mean?" he asked, taking a sip of his drink. After the Old Fashioned he had been drinking when you met him at the bar, and after showing you the tattoo on the soft skin of his inner arm that showed the exact drink, he had switched to red wine. You warned him that you weren't much of a wine drinker, especially not bitter red wine, and he assured you that you would like the bottle he chose, and you liked that he was right. Usually, you would be put off by guys seeming to know what you would like and not like, and, if it were anyone else, Alex's assumption that you would enjoy his expensive wine would have icked you out. But it didn't, which was more evidence to your question.

"I mean…" you started, and you sighed, almost in disbelief, certainly in mild What-the-fuck frustration. "What are you doing to me, Alex?"

"I'm not following, sweetheart," Alex told you, and your skin exploded in tiny fires in all of your pores. Sweetheart. That was adorable.

"I feel crazy," you chuckled lightly. "Like… What the hell am I doing here? What am I doing here with you? Like, I should be on the couch of my shitty student apartment, stressing the fuck out about my final on Monday and graduating in a week. But I'm not, I'm here with an Oscar-winning director, and I'm acting like a complete ditz, I don't…" You trailed off, shaking your head. "Alex, I promise I don't usually act like an airhead like this, I just— I don't know what's wrong with me."

Alex smiled at you, amused at your confusion, giving you that look of the smirk and soft eyes. "You have no idea?" he asked, setting his wine glass down. "Really? No clue whatsoever?"

"Well, when you say it like that, you make it sound like I should," you mumbled, wrapping your arms around yourself. You had yet to remove your sweater, and while you liked the tease of it, it acted more like a security blanket than anything else.

"I'm not calling you stupid, sweetheart," Alex told you quickly. "I'm just… I don't know. Shocked."

"At what?" you asked, and Alex frowned for just a moment before he moved out of his side of the booth and carefully came to sit next to you. His arm settled around your shoulders, holding you close to him, and he reached over for his wine again.

"You've never been attracted to someone before?" Alex asked, circling his wine around in his glass, and you just couldn't find it in yourself to be shocked at his bluntness.

"I…" you started. "Yes? I thought so, at least…"

"No, no, no," Alex started, shaking his head. "You would know. Like, beyond a shadow of a doubt, you would know. What about the other guys you've been with? They didn't make you feel like this?"

You scoffed. "Oh, yes," you started with a bitter laugh, resuming your nervous thread-picking once more. "The pantheon of gentlemen of whose affection I've garnered; yes, take a number and join the back of the line."

"Hey," Alex said softly, setting down his wine glass. "I'm not making fun of you. I promise. I just… I can't believe it."

"What makes it so hard to believe?" you asked. "I mean, I've been fucking college dudes, it's not exactly like they're the most desirable people on the planet. It's sorta just… 'They're there', y'know? You can only use a vibrator for so long before you start needing someone else's touch."

"But you feel things so intensely," Alex protested, confusion written all over his face. "I can tell by your filmmaking. You know your emotions and understand them, and you know exactly how to portray them and get others to feel them in a realistic way. That's… That's a real talent, and that's where a lot of directors fail— they don't know what they're feeling, so they can't make others feel it. But you do know. And I just can't believe that you've never felt anything like this before."

You watched his face as he talked, his eyes cast down at your lap. The arm around your shoulders was warm, comforting, and his other hand floated to your legs to trace shapes on your thigh. You loved the way Alex wasn't afraid to hold you or touch you, and every moment of his warmth and scent only made your heart hurt that much more. "Alex," you sighed. You felt sick in the back of your throat— this was where he either broke you into pieces with rejection or healed you with his acceptance. "I don't… I'm sorry, but I don't—"

Alex was moving away from you in an instant. "Hey, that's fine," he said quickly. "I didn't mean to come on too strong, I'm sorry—"

"No, no," you started quickly, grabbing his wrist to keep him close to you. The smooth skin of his inner arm was warm in your grasp, and you rubbed your thumb across the light freckles as you tried to mumble out your thoughts. "No, that's not it at all. I definitely… I-I like that I feel this way, I like that you make me feel this way, and I really wanna do something about that, but…" You bit your lip and hazarded a glance up to his face. He looked worried, eyebrows knitted, head tilted, waiting to listen. "I just… Fuck. I don't know how to say this without it sounding… I don't know, fuckin' batshit."

"So say it batshit," Alex told you with a light, comforting smile. "I've heard some crazy things in my time. Nothing you can say to me will shake me, I promise."

You sighed heavily, trying to steady your voice. "I want to sleep with you," you admitted. "I really do. I just… Worry what that'll do to my heart. Like… It would break me apart if you just… I don't want to sleep with you if there's not more for me. You're fucking… Awesome. You're one of my favorite people in the world, and that sounds so ridiculous because we met today, but you really are the reason I make movies, that I'm about to get the degree that I am, all of that— it's you. You mean the world to me. And I-I can't be some one night stand. I can't let myself be that person." Alex listened to you the whole way through, quiet and letting you ramble, get all of your thoughts out, and he moved his arm slightly to link your hands together, lacing his fingers between yours. "A-And I know I sound insane, I know it, but—"

Alex cut you off, swooping in and kissing you. His mouth was soft, and he tasted like the wine you drank, and his hand cupped your jaw as you kissed him back without question. Every part of it— his grip, his warmth, his taste, every inch and fiber of him was intoxicating to you, and you melted into him for a moment before your rational brain caught up to you. You were kissing Alex. You were kissing Alex fucking Wright, and he was kissing you back! No, no, you weren't kissing him, you didn't initiate it, he was kissing you. The shock of the realization, along with the sudden flame that sparked in your cunt, made you pull back and break the kiss with a small gasp. Alex held you as your chest heaved, terrified of the next few moments, and his eyes canvased every inch of your face. "Sweetheart, look who you're talking to," Alex whispered with a chuckle. "Don't you know I love insane?"

The car to his hotel was almost torture. The wine buzzed in your system, and all the soft kisses Alex was setting on your cheek and neck only served to make your skin burn. His firm hand slid between your thighs and gripped your flesh tightly as he kissed at your neck, lightly pulling your skin between his teeth to make you giggle, and you had to stifle your moan to save your own sanity. You felt possessed as your own hands explored him, skating over his hips to push up his shirt ever so slightly, letting your fingers feel his warm, soft skin, and adrenaline shot through your heart every time you remembered exactly whose soft skin you were touching. It felt like a dream, especially when Alex took you by the wrist and guided your hand downwards, and he pressed your palm to his groin with the softest, strangled groan. He was hard. You had done that. Fanfiction, eat your heart out.

You were hooked on him in an instant, and, as the elevator doors closed you, trapping you both inside for the ride up, you finally felt bold enough. "Alex," you whimpered, his lips attaching to your neck. "Fuck."

"God, you're perfect," Alex whispered into your skin, and you keened up into him, wanting, needing more.

"I feel it," you told him, rushed and breathless. "Fuck, Alex, I know it."

"Yeah?" he chuckled, deep and throaty, making your skin ripple. "Nobody's ever made you feel like this before, huh? Needy and desperate? You're so fucking cute, you're breaking my heart here. Tell me what you feel."

"Hot," you told him, and you shivered as his teeth grazed your throat.

"Where?" Alex asked. "Where are you hot?"

"Under my dress," you told him, and his hand found home in an instant, snaking up your leg and cupping your pussy. You gasped; you could have cum just from the contact.

"Right here?" Alex asked, and you whined as you nodded fervently. "Fuck. You're all wet right here too, I can feel it through your panties. I bet I could just push my fingers inside your pussy right now and you'd beg me for more."

Your legs felt weak, and you dug your fingers into his firm upper arms as you chased him into a heady kiss, letting him claim your mouth with his tongue. You loved the way his nose bumped against yours as he kissed you, knocking his glasses askew, and he chuckled lightly. "Sorry," he whispered. "These fuckin' things… So annoying."

"It's okay," you told him, biting your lip as you adjusted his glasses back to sit right, catching the wild, blown-pupil look he held behind the slightly blue-tinted glass. "I think they're sexy."

"Oh?" Alex asked, pulling his hand from your dress as the elevator slowed. "Well, I'm gonna have to take them off in a minute, so admire while you can."

You gasped and pouted, tugging at the collar of his jacket. "No!" you whined, and Alex smiled. "Don't take 'em off!"

"Baby, I need to," Alex replied, matching your energy with a sad little pout. "Do you know how annoying it is to push your glasses up when you're making love to a woman?"

You bit your bottom lip as the doors opened, and Alex squeezed your hand in his as he led you down the hall. You had never been inside this hotel, just like with Duke's, and you felt just as out of place there as the restaurant. You didn't have any time to be insecure, though, because Alex was pushing you into a room and kissing you again. He let the door to the room slam closed behind you as he pressed you against the wall, pinning you by your hips, and you finally released the noises you had been hiding from him, pathetic little whimpers right into his mouth that made him smile. "God," he whispered, letting his teeth tug on your bottom lip. "You kept biting your lip all night, I couldn't wait to do the same."

"Do whatever you want," you told him softly, Your hand skated up from his side to the back of his neck, his skin warm in your palm, and you pulled him back in for another kiss. Your back arched up into him, and his strong hands moved from your hips to the small of your back, pressing you flush against him. His body was so firm against yours, and the hot pulsing between your legs only got worse as he reacted to your words, pressing his nails ever so slightly into your back. "Whatever you've been thinking about all night, you can do it."

"Sweetheart," Alex sighed onto your lips. "If you knew everything I've been thinking…" He trailed off, stealing one more kiss. "We don't have nearly enough time for all of that."

"Oh?" you said with a chuckle. "Sounds like we'll need a few meetings to get through the list, huh?" You didn't realize what you said until it came tumbling from your mouth, and you felt lucky that Alex wasn't looking directly at you, more concerned with shedding his jacket off. Jesus Christ. He hadn't given you a direct answer back at Duke's when you first brought it up, the idea of not being a one night stand, and you had assumed good things based on the fact that you were now in his hotel room, but this could make or break the entire interaction.

"Just a few?" Alex said with jokingly narrowed eyes. "Sweetheart, I could have you every night for the rest of my life and it wouldn't be enough time to do everything I want to."

"That's a long time," you whispered. "You must be thinking of some pretty fucked-up stuff."

Alex smiled. "Not really," he shrugged. "Just your garden variety fantasies… I'm just a man, after all, I can only go so long without thinking of the obvious stuff."

You felt confident. You could feel that you had Alex in the palm of your hand, and his desire for more than one night emboldened you. You pushed his chest, taking him backwards towards the bed— he obviously had slept there the night before, the sheets rumpled and a little messy— and Alex let himself fall back, his hands dragging you on top of him. Your dress necessitated you hiking it up past your hips to split your thighs around his waist, and the man underneath you looked almost like his mouth could start watery at the view he had. "Like what?" you asked. "Tell me, baby, at least tell me one thing you wanna do."

Before he could speak, you did what you knew he had been dying for all night, and you whipped your sweater up and over your head, finally exposing the swell of your breasts to him, and he seemed attracted like a magnet, his hands floating up to cup your tits. Even though he was quick to tug down your bodice and expose you to him, you didn't feel exposed. Something felt natural about it, like it was more right to be naked with Alex than it was to be clothed. He shifted a little under you, scooting so he could sit upright, and his mouth attached to your nipple, drawing a high whine from your throat as your fingers curled in his soft hair.

"God, please, let me eat your pussy," Alex whispered around your nipple, lightly sucking to make you gasp, and his hands itched and scrambled along your back, searching for your dress's zipper. "S'all I could think about, th'moment I saw you, knew I wanted my tongue buried inside you, more than my dick." He cast his eyes up to yours, peering through his pretty thick eyelashes, and his pink tongue came from his mouth to flick at your pebbling nipple.

You nodded quickly as Alex dragged your zipper down, and your dress went up and over your head to the floor. You loved how greedy his hands were, taking a handful of your ass and squeezing tight, and you began to move from on top of him, but his nails dug into your skin, stopping you. "Where're you going?" he asked you breathlessly.

"L-Laying down," you stuttered, and Alex shook his head quickly, and his hands abandoned your body to thwip his t-shirt over his head and roughly toss it off the side of the bed. He was equally as careless with his glasses, tossing them haphazardly towards the empty side of the bed, and your chest heaved. You knew what Alex looked like without his glasses, of course, and the smattering of light freckles across his nose made your pussy throb because oh my God, you were close enough to see his freckles, but you wised up to what the absence of his glasses meant. "Fuck, baby, I've never done that before."

"Well, now's the time to try," Alex told you with a weak laugh. You could tell he wanted it badly but was playing on the ledge of 'You don't have to if you don't want to'. You had seen girls sit on their man's faces in porn and everything, but the desire felt foreign to you; that was, until you had Alex under you, begging you with his big, blue eyes to do it. That, along with his quivering lips, like he was dying for a taste, made your decision easy.

You pulled your panties down, flushing hot at the way your wet pussy landed on his bare chest for a moment as you moved into position, and you carded your fingers through his hair, pushing it off of his forehead before closing your fist in his tresses and pulling his head back just a bit, just enough for what you thought was a good position. He was holding your hips so hard that you knew your skin would be sore and tender by tomorrow morning, and you took a deep breath, closing your eyes as you carefully lowered yourself down.

The first touch of his warm tongue to you from below made you gasp in shock. You had been eaten out before, sure, and you knew that you enjoyed it, but this felt different, better— Alex was desperate for it, and that made it all the more intense. His arms wound up behind you to grab your hips, and you finally looked down at him to see his eyes closed in bliss, nose buried in your soft hair as his tongue lathed up your wet folds. Fire erupted everywhere his tongue touched, and you tried to keep still, despite the quivering of your thighs.

"Alex," you moaned softly as his soft lips attached to your clit and he sucked at you hard. "Fuck, Alex." He looked like the most content man in the world under you like that, and he opened his eyes and looked up at you through his eyelashes once more as he let his mouth open and his tongue fall to lick at your throbbing hole again. "Oh my God!"

He hummed up into you, sending shivers down your legs, and all of the lewd wet noises, licking and sucking, that came from underneath you made your hips twitch, and you whined loudly as your clit found friction on his nose while his tongue prodded into your cunt. "Fuck, sorry," you said quickly, panting out your breaths, and Alex shook his head, detaching his mouth from your pussy for just long enough to speak.

"Don't be," Alex told you firmly. "Use me however you need. You can come lower, if you want, you can put your weight down."

"I…" you started, and Alex huffed out a laugh.

"You won't kill me, I promise," he chuckled. "And if you do, well… There's worse ways to die than being suffocated by the wettest pussy I've ever seen. That would be an honor to be taken out that way."

"You're ridiculous," you said softly, but you widened your legs a little, putting heavier pressure on your knees to lower yourself further down, and the meeting of Alex's tongue back on you drew a long moan from your chest. He was fucking good at this, licking at you and sucking, his mouth never leaving your flesh, his hands smoothing up and down your thighs. He was quick to learn what you liked too, taking time to focus on sucking your throbbing clit into the wet warmth of his mouth, suckling on it hard enough to make your hips buck again and a sad, wrecked moan tumble from your mouth. You were already close, and as much as you drooled at the idea of cumming in Alex's mouth, you knew you would rather let go with his dick inside you.

Lucky for you, Alex was good at recognizing body language. The little bucking of your hips getting more frequent, scratching your nails across his scalp as you tugged his hair, the sheen of sweat that had broken out across your tits— it wasn't exactly difficult to figure out that you were at the precipice of an orgasm, and he pulled off from your clit with an obscenely wet little pop. "You close?" he panted, his arm snaking around to reach your front, and you squealed as his thumb replaced the job his mouth had been doing, playing with your sore clit quickly and making the fire in your veins burn hotter. "C'mon, pretty girl, you gonna give me one?"

"Wanna…" you panted, your hips jerking up against his mouth again. "Alex! Oh my fucking God, I wanna cum on your cock, please, please."

"Yeah?" Alex huffed. "You're so cute, God, you're killing me. Get on your back."

You had had your time on top, and you eagerly moved alongside him, switching the position you had been in. You expected him to assume the position you had been in, pushing his cock into your mouth and having you suck him off, but he stood to his full height at the edge of the bed, palming himself through his yawning-wide jeans as he watched you squirm. His cheeks were flushed all peachy, his sweaty hair shoved away from his eyes, his pale chest all red and hot, and you smiled at him. "I have condoms in my purse," you admitted softly, and Alex's smile grew.

"Jesus Christ," he chuckled. Using his other hand, he pushed your legs open to expose your sopping wet pussy to him, and he dragged his fingers up your slit as he mused on your confession. "You knew you'd be able to bed me, or at least you hoped you could. You dirty girl, you're so funny. Did you have to sit in that aisle at the store and think about how big my cock is, worry if you got the right size? I bet you got wet just thinking about that, huh?" He gripped himself through his exposed briefs as he talked, and a strangled moan caught in his throat. "Fuck. Eating your pussy made me so hard."

Your unusual boldness caught hold of you again, and you moved closer to him to reach out for him, pushing his hand to the side and carefully pulling his jeans and the band of his briefs down just enough to untuck his cock and balls. The hot pang in your heart came once more at the sight of him in your hand, his skin hot but so soft, the head of his cock all flushed pink and weepy with pre-cum. His cock almost made you mad; of course Alex had a nice dick. He was an award-winning director, he was gorgeous, funny, kind, he was a gentleman, he was so fucking filthy— it almost wasn't fair that his cock was perfectly long and deliciously thick and his balls were all heavy and fat. You moved your hand down his length, your eyes greedily taking in the pearly bead of more pre-cum that he gave you as you stroked him, and you bit your lip in the same place he had as you started to move forward, intent on swallowing him down.

"Hey," Alex said sharply, and his hand gripped your wrist tightly. "No ma'am. Bad girl. Tonight's about you. Don't worry about me, let's just worry about getting you off."

"But I wanna get you off," you protested, your skin humming with his sudden mood shift. You liked the firmness, the dominant attitude.

"You will," Alex assured you. "But I gotta be really good to you tonight, convince you to give me all the other nights I want. We can focus on me some other time. You understand?"

You nodded. "Fuck, you turn me on," you told him breathlessly, and Alex gave you his winning smile before he turned in pursuit of your purse.

"I'm glad to hear that," he told you, shedding the rest of his clothes as he riffled through your bag, finding exactly what he needed in the inside zipper pocket. "I was a little worried you only agreed to have dinner with me just to talk to me. I didn't wanna come on too strong right off the bat, but I really was hoping that you understood what I was asking for."

You felt dizzy at his words. This was better than Christmas. Alex Wright wanted you. He'd wanted to fuck you from the moment he laid eyes on you, but his insistence on there being more nights like this was exciting. "I did enjoy dinner," you assured him, reaching out to grab his hips as he came back to the bed. Your thumbs pressed into his hip bones, and you added, "I'd love to do it again."

"Me too," Alex told you, softer and gentler. "I wish I could've made you dinner, but, y'know, we do what we can with what we have. What're you doing after graduation? Maybe I can get you up to Brooklyn for a few days."

You knew he was serious about that offer, and it made your eyes sting with tears. That was the final confirmation: Alex didn't just want to fuck you. He wasn't a one-night-stand sorta guy. He wanted you. "Not doing a single thing," you told him, and Alex swiped a kiss on your lips as he got himself into position between your legs. You watched as he ripped open the condom wrapper and expertly rolled it onto his cock, groaning softly at the back of his throat, and he shifted his eyes from himself to your face, and a smile passed by his lips for just a moment.

In a flash, though, his sweetness was replaced by that dominance once more, taking your hips in his strong hands as he pushed his way inside you. You gasped at the burn of the stretch, but Alex was good, leaning down to kiss you and soothe you. His mouth tasted like your pussy, but you didn't care, only dug your nails into his soft, freckled shoulders and rocked your hips into him, taking him in deeper. He kissed you messily, moaning into your mouth as your cunt throbbed and squeezed his cock, and your moans caught in your throat as he whispered against your lips, "Fuck me, you're tight… F'course you've got the perfect pussy, of course you do."

You couldn't help your laughter, and Alex pulled his face from yours to furrow his eyebrows in confusion at you. "No, no, I'm not laughing at you," you told him quickly, pressing your hand to his chest. His heart was pulsing hard inside his chest, you could feel it, and you melted at it. "It's just… I had the same thought about you, like, five minutes ago."

"Oh, shit," Alex smiled with relief. "Well, can you blame me? You tick all my boxes, I can't help it."

You shrugged. "You're doing alright so far, I guess" you told him, and Alex laughed along with you.

"What do I need to do to be the perfect man for you?" Alex asked. He sighed gently as he bottomed out inside you, his balls nestled against your ass, and your eyes fluttered closed as you enjoyed the feeling of being stuffed all full of him. You let out a heavy breath, and you gratefully kissed Alex as he pushed back in for another. Your hands slid from his shoulders to wrap around his neck, holding him close, and you landed kisses across his cheek and up to his ear as he started a shallow rhythm, rolling his hips carefully into you to fuck you.

"Make me cum," you whispered in his ear. "You almost had me when I was riding your face. Please, Alex, I'm already so close."

You liked how responsive to your words he was, moaning into your shoulder as his cock throbbed hard inside you. As he gained speed, properly fucking you, gliding inside of you with no issue, you secretly liked the way the bed underneath you creaked and groaned. You loved the idea of people in the next rooms over knowing what was happening without actually hearing any of the action, just the screeches of the bed, and you clutched Alex tight. You moaned his name right into his ear, over and over, as his grip on you got tighter as his fucking got faster, and the familiar warm knot in your belly and cunt began to tug loose. Oh God; already? You wanted to be embarrassed at how quickly your orgasm snuck up on you, but, if Alex's own moans right into your neck were any indication, it wouldn't be much longer for him either.

Alex stayed buried in your neck, kissing and biting and licking, as one of his hands lifted from your hip and wedged between your bodies to play with your clit. That earned him a surprised squeal, and he finally sat up just a bit to look at your face. If you were concerned with how you looked, Alex's appearance was that of a man possessed: his lips, all slick with spit and puffy with kisses, hung open, panting as his stomach flexed with every rock into you, showing the faint outline of toned muscles, the blue in his eyes was hardly visible for his blown wide, fucked-out pupils, his freckled cheeks flushed pink and peach. He looked fucking beautiful, and you couldn't help but whimper at him. God, he was absolutely perfect. Your hand came to cup his cheek and pull him into a kiss, and he kissed you back with hunger.

When you came, you weren't surprised by it. Alex recognized what your little jerky movements were, your hips bucking to meet him, and he started his fingers faster on your clit, goading you on with a whispered, "That's it, that's my girl. God, you're so good to me… You gonna give it to me? Pretty girl, God, I'm so lucky to see this. You're gonna make me cum too, shit…" Your body relaxed at his praise, your head falling back as you sighed, and Alex landed a sweet kiss to your bottom lip as he shushed your drawn-out moans.

The way Alex gripped your hips and fucked you through the knot coming undone could have made you cum all over again, and you scratched your nails down his back as your brain went all fuzzy inside your head. You felt like you weren't in control of your own body as you shook in his arms, and you opened your eyes just in time to watch Alex's face fall slack and a cracking moan leave his lips. His hips stilled suddenly, breathing heavily as his dick throbbed hard once more, and his own climax washed over his body, his eyes squeezing shut as he whispered, "Fuck, fuck, fuck…" It was just about the prettiest thing you had ever seen, and you dragged him back down into one last breathless, sweaty, messy kiss.

And then the room was silent. You laid together for a few moments, catching your breath, lightly skimming your fingertips down his spine as he settled his weight on top of you, and you pressed your lips into his temple, lightly kissing him. Feeling his warm chest against yours didn't help you come to terms with what just happened, although his heavy heartbeat thrumming against his chest and into yours was a little more helpful; you had Alex Wright in bed, his cock going soft inside you. You had definitely dreamed of that before, but the fact that it was intensely real made you smile into Alex's skin.

He laughed, his voice rough and rusty. "What're you smiling at, pretty girl?" he asked, his palms smoothing up the curve of your hips.

"I…" you started softly. "You cannot laugh at me for this."

Alex's warm hand found yours in an instant, linking his pinkie with yours. "I won't," he promised.

"I'm just…" you whispered. The hot flash of embarrassment warmed your chest, and you whispered, "I can't believe I got to fuck you."

"What do you mean?" Alex asked. He gave a soft groan as he sat himself up to see your face, bracing himself on his elbow, and the softness in his eyes only proved to make your impending confession so much more humiliating.

"I mean…" you mumbled. "You're Alex fucking Wright, baby. You're the best in the business, you have a fuckin' Wikipedia page, for God's sake! And I got to fuck you! Like, I'm sorta tweaking about it."

Instantly, Alex began to laugh, and you whined out a sad "You promised me you wouldn't laugh!" "I know, I promised," Alex acquiesced. "But that's… Sweetheart, that's adorable, but I truly wish you'd stop doing that."

"Doing what?" you asked in confusion. What had you been doing?

"Putting me on a pedestal," Alex explained. He reached over for his glasses and righted them on his nose, and he blinked a few times as his eyes adjusted back to full sight. "You've been doing it all night. Putting yourself down on the virtue that you don't have the accolades I do, insinuating you're not worthy of my attention because of that. Baby, who the fuck am I to be intimidated by? A group of stuffy movie critics decided my movie was more good than it was bad, and they gave me an eight-pound metal thing that I hide because it freaks me out to see it. You take that away, and I'm just… I'm just a man. I wish you'd see me as that and not as the statue I've got in my closet."

You sighed, pressing your hands to his chest, avoiding his gaze. You felt silly for it now. Of course, with hindsight being what it was, you wondered how you were ever intimidated by Alex. Over the course of the night, you had learned that you and him were more alike than different, and this sealed it. He was just a man. "Are those things really eight pounds?" you whispered, and Alex smiled. "Like, seriously, Jesus Christ, that's kinda heavy. And you keep yours in your closet?"

"At least I don't use it as a doorstop like some people I know," Alex laughed. "Yep, back of the closet, with the suitcase I use when I have to go abroad for a long time. I just… I don't like seeing it. I feel like, it's proof that I peaked. Nothing I do for the rest of my life will ever live up to that. All downhill from here."

"Oh, no, that's not possible," you said quickly. "It's the biggest thing you've done so far. You have the rest of your life to beat that."

Alex gave you a tired smile, and he kissed you once more. "You really are perfect, you know that?"

You smiled into his kiss, basking in the taste of his mouth and his heady affection. All it took was one night for you to be sure that Alex was the man of your dreams. "You're starting to convince me."

The clock next to the bed flicked 3:33am. The room was dark, lit only by the lights outside the window, all washy and blue, and he watched you sleep. You were so beautiful, face relaxed, plush lips open just so, still nude from your tryst with him. If he squinted, he felt like he could see exactly on your skin where his mouth had been, an energy thrumming from the points that the rest of you lacked. How long had it been since he had felt that way towards a woman, towards anyone? Was Jennifer— beautiful little Jennifer, so sweet, her skull folded like cardboard— the last one? Thirteen years was a hell of a long time to go without pleasure. He could feel it in every inch of his bones.

Thirteen years felt like one extended dream. There were moments where the veil lifted and he felt like himself again, but then certain dark nights brought the whispers back into his brain, receiving messages as easily as if he were back inside that hospital just outside of Vancouver. He had felt like himself with you, smiling and laughing with you over wine, his mouth buried in your cunt as you writhed on top of him, but now, the darkness was encroaching again. Alex had learned to keep the feeling at bay, find ways to silence the spirits that called for him, that begged him for more sacrifices, but he knew that he was slipping. How much longer could he fight them? Lately it had been worse, more intense and extreme, just like that cold December night where he had murdered his friends.

No, no, he had not killed them. The only one he killed was Jennifer (poor, sweet Jen, her mother cried so hard when they closed the missing persons case). Tessa and Jared were idiots, let themselves fall victim to the vengeful spirits, and Trevor was no match for Lance. Alex wondered sometimes, on nights he couldn't sleep, how much of Lance was actually Lance, and how much was the hospital. He wondered that about himself too; how much of what was inside of him was him, and how much was Collingwood, or its real name Riverside, or whatever the fuck it was? The thought was disgusting but comforting; he knew he was doomed and that the hospital only left him alive to bring it more people, but perhaps some solace was that his actions that night were not his own.

You shifted in your sleep, but Alex stood still, unflinching, watching, thinking. It wasn't a lie that he had been attracted to you from the first moment he laid eyes on you, a headshot that Donaldson had sent him to introduce him to the filmmakers, and at first, he assumed the attraction was the natural instinct, the need to fuck someone so beautiful. But then he got in your orbit, saw the real you with his own eyes, and the veil crashed onto him in that theater. He wasn't attracted to you; Collingwood was. He was confused, and couldn't keep his eyes off of you. The spirits inside him spit and hissed, deciding on you as their next victim, but why you? And then, he got his answer: you liked the movie. Fuck, how many people had he lead to their deaths because of the fucking movie? Every so often, he overheard news stories about the lone urban explorer being found dead at the hospital, or a group of drunk kids who met a grisly end on the property, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he was responsible for it. But you had loved the movie for years, and the connection was enough for the spirits. They knew their next meal, and they had tasked him with shepherding you there.

You would be a good sacrifice. The spirits were nasty, they liked the pretty ones. He knew that for sure. He dug his fingernails into his palms, stinging and throbbing with impeding bloodshed, and he whispered, "Not her. Please not her."

His voice seemed to have an effect on you, and he despised it. He wished that he were a stronger man, more resistant to his human desires, he wished he had just left you the hell alone and didn't rope you into the entire tragedy, but you truly were something that he had been searching for for years, even before the hospital. You liked him. How often could he boast that? He watched you rouse at the sound of his voice, your sleepy eyes blinking open to blearily glance across the dark room, and you slowly tilted your head to the window, to him. He watched a smile cross your mouth, and you extended a hand out to him. "C'm'back," you whispered, your voice wrecked. "M'so cold, Alex."

As Alex sank back into the bed and wrapped his arms around your soft body, and as he felt you burrow back into his warm body, he couldn't help but hear the demented whispers of Collingwood inside his head, reminding him of how Jennifer had said the exact same thing to him the night he killed her. Please, he thought, pressing his mouth into the back of your head. Not her too.

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