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anya-anya002 · 2 months

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ℭ𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔦𝔬𝔫

ꜰᴜɴᴇʀᴀʟ ᴅɪʀᴇᴄᴛᴏʀ! ᴀʟᴇx ᴛᴜʀɴᴇʀ x ꜰᴇᴍ ᴀᴘᴘʀᴇɴᴛɪᴄᴇ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ˢᵘᵐᵐᵃʳʸ: the block party that set everything off-

𝑰𝒏𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒅𝒆𝒔: age gap relationship, your best friend’s dad, discussions of being a mortician, discussions of death…

𝙹𝚞𝚕𝚢 𝟷𝟻

𝟸𝟶:𝟺𝟻

𝙼𝚊𝚛𝚊’𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎 *𝟸 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚢*

The scent of ‘Pink’ perfume filled your nose as you entered Mara’s bedroom. Her constant spraying of the citrusy scent was headache-inducing, yet she clearly didn’t mind. Mara sat on the bench in her window with a brush and cranberry white claw in one hand. Her dirt-colored eyes were much like her father’s, they glittered in warm, soft, pink light much like how gold tells you it’s in soil.

Your eyes cast down to your beat up converse where your toes wiggled awkwardly. Mara hummed along to the bubbly, feel-good pop song that played.

“Y/N,” Mara said. A small crescent-shaped grin formed on her lips as she took a sip of her seltzer. You narrowed your eyes before taking a seat right next to her.

“What?” You asked but she just cheesed even wider, a ghoulish grin. Unfortunately, her skin gained a few more wrinkles which made you cringe. Mara then rested a hand on your lap before speaking,

“I heard Anderson would come,” she smiled as your eyebrow then raised. You scoff,

“Yea? And you’re happy about it for…” you said. You had no clue as to where this was going, but nonetheless, you entertained it.

“I’m happy because Emerson told me that Anderson likes you,” you felt all the blood in your body drain like slicing open a bottle and watching its contents crash onto the floor. You looked at Mara like she was from fucking Mars:

Anderson, meaning Anderson Durr, the guy who ate a fucking maggot senior year of high school.

“Oh really?” You asked. Your eyes nearly rolled out your skull; why the fuck did you entertain this shit? You sighed and crossed your arms and legs.

“I’m serious Y/N/N! He likes you.” Mara said, sitting her brush down in her lap and can only the sill.

“He ate a maggot Mar, and not in a cool way,” you said, apparently it was now her turn to give you a look.

“Oh, so there’s a cool way to eat maggots?”

“Duh, you lie and say you ate maggots in like a semi-acceptable place like a cemetery or something, not the trashcan of your buddy John’s house.”

She blinked, then looked at you; this time it was you who was the “martian.”

“Ew Y/N,” Mara grimaced before turning back to the glowing vanity mirror that sat across her on an ottoman. Picking up the flat iron instead and running through her long, chestnut hair that couldn’t be any straighter if she tried. The soft lavender sheets brush against your hands as you wait.

“That’s how I feel about Anderson,” you quipped, digging in your purse and pulling out your vape. Mara’s eyes rolled and before she could respond, the door opened. You hastily shove your nicotine back in your pocket upon getting a glimpse of Mr. Turner. He wasn’t too dressed up, ironically, you didn’t think he even owned a pair of shorts let alone shorts and a baggy tee.

“You girls ready to go?” He asked.

Your eyes were glued to his bicep, following this one vein that ran from the middle of his brachia to his wrist. You were speechless, your gaze full of amazement while Mara groaned loudly, throwing her head back dramatically as Alex shook his head.

“Daaaad, why couldn’t we have gotten dressed at Y/N’s house?” Mara whined, now powdering her face with foundation as her father rolled his eyes, shifting his gaze towards you.

“Because Mrs. Y/L/N said they wanted no one there until 10, anymore questions princess?” He asked, leaning against the doorframe and trying to stop himself from rolling his eyes. You turn to the window to see the sun beginning to make its slow descent while the two joked behind you.

“It still would’ve been more convenient,” she pointed out, to which you turned to shrug at her. Your eyes trying to return to Alex as you join in.

“So you wanna be setting up the party?” You asked again, rhetorically. You got an abrupt snigger out of Mr. Turner before Mara leaned back and groaned, sticking her bottom lip out as you giggle along.

𝙹𝚞𝚕𝚢 𝟷𝟻𝚝𝚑

𝟸𝟸:𝟷𝟶

𝚈/𝙽’𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎

Unsurprisingly, your parents did a damn good job for a pair of overworked lawyers, they out did themselves once again with games that had prizes like a mini Keurig or a really popular face cream that the neighborhood moms have been raving about for days. All while the chocolate fountain your mom must’ve dug up from the garage oozed with cheese fondue. You could smell the white wine she put in the sauce. At least they both seemed happy.

You leaned against the back of the house, completely enthralled with with a “tense game of cornhole” between your father and Mr.Turner as Mr. Durr, Mr. Camden, Ms. Erickson watched the two men become sore losers for 20 minutes.

Mara was busy playing wing lady…when you didn’t necessarily want or need one.

And by the looks of it, Mara was becoming more interested in him. She tugged on the straps of her bikini bottoms, leaning on the snowcone table while the blonde scratched the back of his head awkwardly. The maggot-eater’s eyes constantly tried to meet yours, yet you avoided him, turning your sights back to the riveting cornhole.

“You’re cheating’ Turner! There’s no overhand throws!”

“Christ Y/L/N, this isn’t beerpong,”

A laugh couldn’t help but come out of you as the two men turn to you, Mr. Turner’s gaze was more quizzical. You froze, clearing your throat, and then weakly waving. A tooth smile crept on your face as everyone chuckled and achingly reverted back to the game.

A grin began to grave Mr. Turner’s face as he tossed a bean bag into the ‘50’ point hole all while holding a bottle of ‘Blue Moon’ and hooting out hollering when it went all the way in. His smile big as he pumped a fist high into the air.

Never in your life had you seen someone, let alone Mr.Turner, this pumped for a literal block party game of cornhole.

To your father’s dismay, the two of them were tied. And for some reason, they both decided that to break said tie is to see who can throw the farthest. Your mother stood at the grill, scoffing and tutting at the two men bickering over who, what when, and where they’d even throw the bean bag.

Mrs. Parks-Turner shook her head as well while watching everything go down with Mr. Hannigan and Mrs. Jones. The three were throughly amused by the fools before them. The two men’s argument became a match of who should’ve won in the first place.

𝙹𝚞𝚕𝚢 𝟷𝟼

𝚈/𝙽’𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚎

𝟶𝟸:𝟹𝟻

The party had long since died down as you kicked your feet in the pool as you hum tired and slightly tipsy as your heels sloshed against the surface of the water. In the backyard, everyone and almost everything from the party was gone— save for your father, Mr. Turner, and the cornhole set up your mother had told him to put away three hours ago. But the two still tossed their bags. The soft thuds of the bean bags fill your ears, followed by a whispered curse from one of the men, usually your father.

You couldn’t help but crack a smile as the thunks continued for 20 more minutes. The two of softly quarreling as you kick at the water more.

“You didn't make that,” your father pointed out, only for Mr. Turner to grumble in response. The ‘thwuaps’ against the wood followed as you watched a floating leaf glide atop your submerged feet.

“And you still have 50 points,” Alex teased before another, much louder ‘thonk’ filled the backyard.

After a few more minutes of them two tossing, sipping beers, and shit-talking, your father decided to call it a night.

“Fuck, you won this game, Turner,” your dad said, sucking his teeth at the score and sighing loudly.

“Y/N,” you turned your head to the two standing before the cornhole board. Your eyes crept to Mr.Turner, the beer had made his cheeks and nose all red. The swim trunks he wore were slightly damp, making the print in his shorts more noticeable.

"Sweetheart, make sure to show Mr. Turner out please," your dad finishes before strolling into the house through the house through the sliding glass door.

Your head then whipped to Mr. Turner who's now strolling towards you, still cradling his beer as he plopped down right next to you. The lukewarm pool water that hugged your ankles was quite pleasant as Alex looked at you with a soft grin.

"I heard you're talking up the same field as mine," he said. He was beaming with excitement as you nod in agreement.

"Yea, I wanna be like a coroner or like, the person that mainly works 'behind the scenes', y'know, you said, your fingers idly plucking at the blades of grass. Mortuary Science, it wasn't your first choice for a degree but it was Alex who made you run to it. You weren't too used to death, hell you've never even been to a funeral until last year.

He laughed his chest bobbing up and down as yours became icy. Your eyes shut tight before he breathed.

"That's truly a dream, Y/N," he said, the guards of his beer bottle fill your ears while you sigh.

"What we do is, we bring solace to those in mourning. Yea, we look at dead bodies and yea, it's pretty cool. But, we bring people back to life in a way-"

"You're Dr. West?"

He laughed loudly, the glass bottle still clutched tightly to his chest as a crooked smile appeared on your face. That laugh alone defrosted any cold you felt inside.

“No. Say, for example we get someone who was in a car accident, and their face has a large gash. Our job, is to give them their humanity— their personhood back. To reconstruct them back to what their family remembers them by,” he said, his gaze at the glimmering pool lights deepened as you gawked at him in utter adoration.

“Our job isn’t always ‘weirdos’ or ‘death obsessed freaks,’ it’s for the families of the deceased,” he finished. Your eyes big and glossy as your heart sped up.

“Yea? Is it a hard job?” You asked, your curiosity peaked as Alex took a swing of his beer.

“No job is truly easy, as much as I could and would love to write about the intricacies of human anatomy, there are days in which I can’t say is mature or natural,” he paused, his stare now blank as his eyes grew glossy as he gazes at the starry night sky. His legs slowly kick within the water as you breathe.

“It’s not a big city or anything so, yea, you see people you know every now and then and you try and put your feelings aside and do anything for them, but then you have to stop or you’ll become a perfectionist,” he said, his eyes reddened as he took one more swig of his drink.

“So, what— how do you— what do you do during that time?” You asked him, utterly dumbfounded by his words as he takes a breath.

“I can’t not embalm them, their family needs to view them before they fully go,” Alex said, looking at the big, golden moon as you could continued idly kick at the still water.

“Is it, is it possible to be a mortician if you’ve never experienced grief?” You asked shyly. You felt your heart crackle as he set the bottle of beer down.

“Of course you can, it’s not about death itself, it’s about empathy,” Alex said, his voice soft as you nod slowly.

“Y/N?”

“Yea?”

“Do want to know who I had to embalm on my 27th birthday?”

You looked at him, both your giggles had stopped and Alex’s glossy eyes were becoming pink.

“Who?” You asked, the silence was thick, tense, and palpable as he shook his head mournfully. A small, silly smile cracked on his face as if he heard a joke. However, there’s no joke to be told.

“My favorite uncle, he died of sepsis,” he whispered. Your eyes widened as he covered his eyes with his palm. His breathing now heavy as you gawked at him in disbelief.

“He was an old man, lived a good life, but…seeing him, all bloated and stinkin’, it did something to me. He was partially decomposed from the summer and being in his apartment for two weeks.” Your eyes were bigger than the pool lights as he continued. His voice laden with sorrow as you press your lips together tightly.

“But, his face—I can’t ever forget how…pained his face was. And to imagine that—that was his last moments on this earth; pain.” He said, looking at the crisp, blue water as a tear trickled down his cheek.

“And, I embalmed him, did his hair real nice and put on his favourite mustard crushed velvet suit, but I just…couldn’t, I couldn’t bring myself to touch him up or even set his features,” he said. Somehow, his voice stayed still while he lamented.

“Vivienne had to finish the rest— I couldn’t take it anymore I had to hide in the bathroom,” Alex whimpered towards the end, his tears damn near tricked down his chin. His breathing ragged, you’d never seen anyone cry like this. Your heart wrenched as he attempted to shield himself from your sight.

Trembling, you scoot closer, your eyes locke on the reddened tip of his nose that had a fat tear hanging of it. Your fingers twitched as Alex tried to calm himself, your mind screamed to do something. But, how does one comfort anyone on something they’ve never experienced?

You decided to wrap your arms around him.Pullling him in by the shoulders and breathing just as raggedly as him, like the embrace stole your breath.

“You made him look the best before his send-off,” you whispered, caressing his shoulder blades as he continued to weep. His face buried deep in your chest as muffled sniffles filled your ear.

“Yeah, I did,” he croaked. You smiled at him as your fingers idly brushed against his back more.

“And knowing you, you probably picked the best floral arrangement for him,” you whispered, your eyes big in confusion while you continued your shot at comforting Mr. Turner. His sobs finally died down.

“Yea, his girlfriend told me everything I needed to know for the memorial,” he said, his eyes red andand stinging from all the crying as you pluck a napkin from your paper plate and dabbed away at the remain tears.

“I'd say that's all that matters,” you coo. Mr. Turner pulled away to look at you. His eyes were still glossy and bright red as he gazed into yours. The look you gave him was one of pity, face soft as the soft splashes of the pool and shrill chirps of crickets fill the quiet yard.

“I mean,” you stammer. Ripping your eyes from his while your stomach twists in knots.

“If I were to die…it’d be nice to know that my remains is truly in good hands,” you praised, then cringing internally at the statement while awkwardly rubbing the backs of his shoulders as he cracked a grin.

“Dare I say it, it seems quite intimate,” you said. To which Alex’s head shot up, his big brown eyes looked into yours as the knots in your stomach twisted tighter.

“Intimate you say?” you nodded, your face scorched at the way your hands were firmly wrapped around his shoulders as you stared deep into his eyes again.

The crickets, splashes, and gusts of a rare breeze fill the yard once more before you spoke,

“To know that I'm putting my image or memory in the hands of someone who knows me, it means a lot,” you said. Alex blinked, his arms still snaked around your lower waist as you shuddered.

“It is isn't it?” he said, his eyes softened as both of you grew lost in each other.

“Yea,” you breathed, watching him look down at your lips for a moment before returning back to your eyes.

“So,” he coughed, trying to ease your apparent tension. You turn back to the sliding glass door only to see the lights were then off.

“So, being a mortician is…not always just organs and cool tools?” you said. Not necessarily asking him, yet Alex nodded in agreement.

“Yea, its not very glamorous honestly,” he joked, his arms still around your waist like their only job was to hold you.

“But, I think you'd make a wonderful addition to the Parks’ home? If that's what you want,” he finished, his voice hushed.

“What do you mean?” you asked, raising an eyebrow and perplexing at him.

“I mean…maybe you become, my student— of sorts,”

As soon as he finished his words, you felt like doing backflips or exploding into batches of sugar. You gasped in surprise as Mr. Turner leaned in close. Your heart boomed in your chest while he came closer. Cool breath brushed against your face and lips as he pulled your hips in close.

“You'd really do all that for me?” your voice airy as your grip on his shoulders tighten in anticipation. Your face burned as the yellow moonlight glittered against the bright, blue pool water,

“Of course, I would,” he finished. A grin formed on your face as your lips inch ever so close. His plush pink lips ghosted over your lip gloss-covered ones as you sighed. And then, during the quiet excitement that buzzed between you, he kissed you.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you lapped up the taste of beer on his tongue. Your hands crept up his spine as you melted within his arms, shuddering beneath him while he reached a hand towards your cheek.

Both your lips moved in sync as your bodies pressed together tightly. The air was dense as you tangled your legs with his.

You both were completely entangled in the little world you created for each other. His hair brushed against the side of your cheeks while his thumbs stroked your cheek.

Everything was…fine, even great dare you say.

(🧎🏿 work is ass)

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒈𝒆𝒅: @yourstartreatment @himesuedi @disfordangerous4 @harrysbestiee

* 4 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔 🫧~

#anya—anya #my fics #alex turner #arctic monkeys #alex turner x you #alex turner x y/n #alex turner x reader #practicum #mentor x mentee #best friends dad #funeral director! alex #mortuary au #tw.death #weird death talks #angst to fluff #fluff to angst to fluff?#the last shadow puppets

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