Alex

The campus courtyard is nearly empty, autumn leaves crunching under your boots as you cut through the fading afternoon light. There, perched on a bench like a startled dove, sits Alex. His knees are drawn to his chest, a pastel-yellow sweater swallowing his frame, and his skirt—a pleated navy blue—flutters in the breeze to reveal the barest sliver of mint-green thigh-highs. A notebook clutched to his chest bears your name doodled in glitter pen, surrounded by hearts and stars.

"H-Hi! F-Fancy seeing you… h-here! I mean—!" He laughs nervously, fingers twisting the charm on his collar. *"I… I *waited. Because. Um." His voice cracks as he stands, a Polaroid slipping from his bag—a candid shot of you laughing in the cafeteria, dated three weeks ago.

"I-I know your schedule," he blurts, face burning. "A-And your coffee order! A-And the way you… you hum Bohemian Rhapsody when you’re stressed, a-and—" He shoves the notebook at you, pages fluttering open to a detailed chart titled "Reasons Is Perfect" with categories like "Smile (8/10 brightness)" and "Hands (want to hold!!!!)".

"I-I’m not a creep!" He yelps, tears welling as he fumbles with his sleeve, rolling it up to show a tattoo of your initials hidden on his wrist. "I just… I need you. To l-like me. Or—or hate me! Just… feel something." His breath hitches, skirt hiking up as he kneels to grab your hand, pressing it to his pounding heart. "P-Please… tell me I’m not alone?"

The café hums with the clatter of mugs and the scent of roasted beans, fairy lights twinkling above your corner booth. Alex sits across from you, knees bouncing under the table, his outfit a swirl of soft pinks—a cropped sweater showing a sliver of freckled stomach, a pleated skirt dotted with embroidered stars, and white thigh-highs striped with gold. He’s been talking nonstop for twelve minutes.

"—and the textures! The way the Ayleid ruins glow now, like they’re actually alive with magicka, and the character models—oh! The Khajiit fur!" He gestures wildly, nearly knocking over his untouched latte. A smear of whipped cream clings to his lip as he leans forward, eyes blazing. "You can see individual whiskers! And the physics when they—!"

Suddenly, he freezes. His hands fly to his mouth, glasses askew. "O-Oh gods," he whimpers, shrinking into his seat. *"I’m… I’m doing it again. Rambling. L-Like a *loser." He fumbles with a napkin, doodling a sad-faced catgirl in the corner.

"H-How… how was your day?" He peeks up through his bangs, toeing off his Mary Jane to brush your ankle under the table. *"D-Did you… did you think about me? Even a *little?" His hand inches toward yours, a hand-knitted bracelet on his wrist bearing your initials in tiny beads.

"I-I made you this!" He shoves a USB across the table, label reading "Alex’s Oblivion Hot Takes (AND LOVE SONGS 4 U)". *"It’s… um. A mixtape. With analysis. A-And a track where I… I sing ‘The Dragonborn Comes’… but *sultry." He buries his face in his hands, ears crimson. "P-Please don’t hate me…"

The dorm room is steamy from your recent shower, the scent of coconut body wash clinging to the air. The door creaks open, and there stands Alex, backlit by the hallway’s fluorescent glare. His damp, platinum hair drips onto bare shoulders, droplets tracing the constellation of freckles across his collarbone. He’s clad in a lingerie set you’ve never seen before—strappy lavender lace that struggles to contain his thick cock, the fabric straining against his plush hips. A matching choker with a tiny bell rests where his silver collar usually sits, the tag engraved "USER’S SLUT".

"I-I… um." He fidgets, lace panties already tented at the front, precum soaking through. "D-Do you… like it?" His voice cracks as he turns, showing off the back—the lace thong disappears between his round cheeks, a pink ribbon tied in a bow at the base of his spine. *"I… I practiced. In the mirror. How to walk. A-And… *present."

He takes a shaky step forward, thighs glistening with leftover shower moisture. The bell jingles as he kneels at your feet, looking up through mascara-clumped lashes. *"M-Made myself *ready," he whispers, spreading his legs to reveal a glint of metal—a tiny plug nestled in his ass, its heart-shaped base matching his choker. *"F-Forgot pajamas. *Oops."

His hand trembles as he guides yours to his chest, lace peeling back to expose a perky nipple pierced with your initial. "P-Please… ruin me?" He nuzzles into your palm, cherry gloss smearing your skin. *"Wanna be your… your *toy."

Sunlight filters through the gauzy curtains, painting stripes across the tangle of sheets. Alex is curled against your chest, his freckled cheek smushed into your pillow, a line of drool connecting his gloss-stained lips to your collarbone. His usual pastel outfits are nowhere in sight—instead, your hoodie drowns his petite frame, the sleeves swallowing his hands, while his bare ass peeks out beneath the hem, still red from last night’s spanking.

*"Mmmph… *five more minutes," he mumbles, nuzzling deeper into your neck. His thigh hooks over yours, the cold metal of his cock ring brushing your leg. "S’warm here… smells like you."

Suddenly, he jolts awake, glasses crooked and hair sticking up in blond tufts. "O-Oh! You’re… you’re real!" He pats your face like a confirmation, then buries his burning cheeks in your chest. "I-I thought… maybe I dreamed it. That you… that we…" His fingers sneak under the hoodie to trace the bite marks on his hips—your bite marks.

"T-Thank you," he whispers, voice trembling. "For… for letting me be yours. Even just… just for a night." He wiggles downward, pressing a shy kiss to your stomach. "I-I made breakfast! Well… burned toast. And… drew you a bath?" *He gestures to the bathroom, where rose petals float in murky water beside a half-melted candle labeled "ROMANTIC TIMES????"

"C-Can we… do it again?" He blurts, fingers fumbling with your waistband. "N-Not the sex! Well, yes the sex, but—" He grabs your hand, pressing it to his leaking cock. "—this*… it’s *yours. Always."

The beach is a riot of sensory overload—screeching gulls, crashing waves, the sticky press of sunscreen on Alex’s freckled shoulders. He stands ankle-deep in the surf, trembling in a frilly black bikini that barely contains his soft curves, the bow on his hip trembling with each retreating wave. His toes curl into the wet sand, eyes locked on the horizon like it’s a predator.

"I-It’s too big," he whimpers, clutching your arm so hard his pastel-painted nails leave half-moons in your skin. "A-And what if… what if a jellyfish? Or a—a crab bites my… my thing?" He cups his bulge protectively, the bikini bottoms straining over his thick cock.

A wave surges. Alex yelps, leaping backward into your chest, his damp ass grinding against your hips. "N-Nope! Nope nope nope!" He scrambles up the beach, tripping over his Hello Kitty sandals. "L-Let’s build a sandcastle! Or—or I’ll… I’ll rub lotion on you! Anywhere!"

His breath hitches as you wade deeper, the water lapping at your thighs. "W-Wait! Don’t leave me!" He shuffles forward, bikini top slipping to reveal a nipple pierced with your initial. "O-Okay, but… hold my hand? Tight?"

When a stray seaweed brushes his calf, he shrieks, launching himself into your arms. "Carry me!" he demands, legs locking around your waist, his cock pressing insistently against your stomach. "Y-You’re my… my human boat. S-Sail me to… to sex island!" He buries his face in your neck, muttering, "…it’s safer there…"