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mywritingonlyfans · 7 months

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Teacher's pet. // Prof!Alex Turner X Stud!Reader (Smut) Part 1 of 3.

prompt: (Age Gap/Smut) Alex, an undergraduate professor, wasn't known for his friendliness until he found himself gradually warming up to you. Your remarkable writing skills, particularly directed at his class, heightened his interest even further. He's determined to show you firsthand just how talented you are, even if the journey is challenging. Eventually, both of you realize that resisting this connection is futile, and you must let go of your inhibitions to explore what lies ahead.

words: 9.3K

a/n: Be aware that it's a smut but it has a whole context, so it's long. There are changes of the next parts being more smuts, this part was assembled around how they feel in front of each other and what they make the other feel. It is important to point out that I'm not native of the language, it is likely that there are some errors, but hopefully few because I try to be careful. In addition, I hope you enjoy!

You were nervous; it was difficult to digest what he was explaining when all you seemed to notice in class was the timbre of his voice. As hours passed, his accent seemed to grow stronger and huskier, not to mention how he had taken off his blazer within the first few minutes and rolled up his sleeves to his elbows. You couldn't quite tell whether you were enjoying the subject matter due to its inherent interest or whether it was him who had become your focus of interest.

You found the buttons on his white shirt alluring, the warmth adhering to his skin, and the occasionally tousled hair being lazily brushed away from his eyes exuded a charm. Watching him was intriguing; at some point, you had tried to avoid such distractions, but realizing your failure, you allowed yourself to be swept away completely.

"Did you hear me?" He asked a bit louder, trying to get your attention. He hadn't shouted; he never did. You were immersed in him, yet couldn't grasp the meaning of the disjointed words he had gestured. However, the movements of his restless hands and the prominent veins when he placed them on his waist had etched themselves into your memory. If someone requested, you could depict his fingers in oil on canvas.

"I'm sorry," you shook your head, waiting for him to repeat, as he often did with everyone else. He studied you more closely, even from a distance, his hands tucked in his pockets and your breath catching slightly. He didn't often make direct eye contact with students, maybe with no one. He was somewhat reserved, and it was evident that lecturing for hours wasn't quite his natural disposition. You found the stumbling over words and how he would look out the window or shift his gaze when someone met his eyes rather appealing. You feared that you had been thinking about him for so long that you had built up an image of him beyond what he could actually be.

However, he held his dark eyes on you, offering a gentle smile, a touch relaxed as if he had expected that from you, and playfully continued, "Well, I didn't expect that from you. I must have been mistaken in thinking you're a great one." He carried on with the lecture as your cheeks began to burn. Perhaps his not-liking for you was part of his nature too.

…

You couldn't bear for him not to like you. Not until the end of the semester; you considered his subject crucial for your repertoire. He just couldn't dislike you. Some nights were spent awake, but you were certain your paper was well-written, and your readings for his class were up to date; any question he might ask, you'd know the answer to. Your seat in the classroom was always the same, out of habit. Honestly, if you had known the distraction and nervousness that Mr. Turner would cause you, you would have opted for seats further back for your own good. But now it was too late, and besides, you needed a good grade in his class.

He was wearing a light blue blazer, a shirt with a few buttons open, and high-waisted slacks, the usual attire, but it never failed to soften your senses. He looked well-rested, his expression serene, no signs of dark circles, and his hair was even silkier than usual as his fingers brushed it back. You found yourself fidgeting, imagining what it would be like to run your fingers through his hair, touch his skin, and feel the texture of the beard that was just beginning to grow.

Realizing your mental drift, you closed your eyes tightly and buried your head in a notebook, trying to avoid looking at him. The rest of the class proceeded as usual, his voice pleasant and utterly hypnotic, and occasionally, he cracked a light joke to lighten the mood. Almost no one laughed, but you found it funny. There were only a few students, so he had no choice but to notice you.

You weren't foolish enough not to notice his eyes briefly passing over you, but you chalked it up to his duty to see if anyone needed help. So you avoided letting your brain jump to impossible conclusions.

And then there was the age difference; he was older, you couldn't say for sure how much, but the more pronounced lines on his face and his authoritative demeanor made that evident. Still, he was charming and, dare you say, a bit sexy. He had a well-sculpted physique, leaving enough room for you to describe him for hours.

"Could you continue for us?" he said, his voice distinct, making you look at him reluctantly. You didn't know it, but avoiding his gaze throughout the class had bothered him, but who was he to say anything about it unless you couldn't answer him?

You nodded, your hands sweaty; you knew what to say, just not where to find the courage. Your cheeks were already burning with anxiety. "I'm sorry," your voice was soft, and you stumbled over the first syllable. He seemed to understand. "It's okay," Mr. Turner leaned down to your level at your desk, his hands on his knees, and a somewhat encouraging smile. "I know you wrote an excellent paper on this; I know you know what to say," he said softly, turning toward you, his calm eyes and a nod of the head giving you confidence. His words made you look away for a moment, and your shy smile spread awkwardly.

Once you finished, he thanked you and added that you had done very well. He seemed genuinely pleased to see you speak, but perhaps it was just a product of your imagination. You even received a light applause from him, which didn't seem ironic. This made you feel more at ease and attentive during his classes; he was a great teacher.

At the end of class, he passed by the desks, handing out the respective papers we had discussed. Your face fell into a worried expression as you touched yours. Alex knew you deserved more, but he wouldn't make it easy for you. It wasn't his style as an educator to give out high grades easily.

Your smile disappeared in confusion; he felt a pang in his chest when he saw your reaction. He didn't say anything, just returned to his desk and said he was open to discussions. He hoped you would come to him and fight for the grade you deserved, but it was clear how upset you were about it.

Others left, content with their grades, and you still had the paper in your hands, looking between the notes. He avoided looking at you directly, yet couldn't help but glance at you from time to time.

"Mr. Turner," you sounded angelic as you approached him, your steps light as you handed him the paper. Your shirt was short, and when you handed him the paper, he couldn't help but notice the exposed skin of your stomach, which was briefly visible. "I thought I had done well; that's what you just said," your voice trembled, and as you got closer, he noticed your sweet scent. On the other hand, you couldn't focus on anything; minutes ago, you were sure you had done well, and things with him had been sorted out; he didn't hate you.

"It's not a bad grade," he said firmly, then immediately regretted it. It was brief, but for a moment, your eyes filled, and he could see how much it had frustrated you. He didn't blame you; in fact, he knew you were talented, and by the way you had written, he knew you had put in the effort. The problem wasn't you; any other teacher would have given you the highest grade. However, your grade wasn't bad; it just wasn't what you deserved and wanted.

"Do you think I can redo it? I can do better," he looked at your trembling hands and continued, "This grade is final; I can't allow you to do that." His words didn't match his tone, but you didn't notice; you wanted to rip up the paper in front of him and say you didn't need it.

You stood in front of him, disoriented, while he couldn't help but let his attention wander over you. He felt wrong, both because you were his student and because he was aware that you were over a decade younger. Still, without being able to explain it well, he found himself lost in thoughts of you from time to time, especially after having read what you wrote.

"Please," you pleaded softly as a last attempt, your eyebrow arched and your nose wrinkled in emphasis of your plea, and you looked so beautiful. "I can allow you to submit another," he confirmed, his face serious, the little furrow between his brows. Up close, you felt your breath catch as you noticed the exposed hairs on his chest. The scent of cigarettes and his cologne became more pronounced, and you liked it. Creating a new one would take so much time, but if it was your only option, there was nothing to be done.

Alex had only asked that in the hope of being able to explore more of your writing; by the end of the semester, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from letting you know that you were his number one fan if you allowed it. You had a beautiful way with writing; feelings seemed worth experiencing in your words. You nodded in agreement. "Okay, I need you to submit it by the end of the week." You didn't object; you seemed grateful, and Alex took mental note of how caring so much about that grade was something youthful; in the future, it wouldn't matter, but you didn't know that yet. Your smile, now smaller but still present, returned to your kind face, and he felt more comfortable, even dressed in his serious university professor attire. With that, he guided you to the door, his palm resting lightly on your back, not inappropriately, but gently, which caused him to blush a bit. You felt shivers run down your spine, but he didn't seem to notice, and both of you made your way to the exit. You thanked him once more, telling him that you wouldn't make him regret his decision, to which he assured you it wouldn't happen.

Your path to the next class was accompanied by a light and relaxed smile after his final words were simply, "I know you won't disappoint me; you didn't the first time," in his pleasant accent, followed by a pat on your shoulders. You felt like a fool, but you couldn't even think of trying to avoid it anymore.

…

"He's good, knows what he's doing. He follows my lead during, when I'm tired and breathless; he tilts his face and lets his nose graze my clit," your friend said casually, as if it were an everyday part of her life. Well, you couldn't relate. She was lounging on your bed, while you were on the floor with your laptop open to one of Professor Turner's published stories. As well as a valuable audiobook that was read by him between the navigation tabs, waiting for her to leave so you can have your moment of peace. You wanted to learn more about him, and your friend kept failing to get you to go out and meet new people. You were unfamiliar with the sensation of being touched, and she wanted to change that.

"I don't want to have to force someone to like me," you said, reconsidering what you had just breathed out, not wanting to sound offensive. You two were just different. She didn't mind; she just laughed. "I'll keep trying for you," and you appreciated that about her. You wanted someone in your life like that, but you didn't want it to be as insignificant as she described. She had already set you up with someone to talk to before, and the kiss was good, at least until you refused to have sex right away, which resulted in his friends laughing at you and whispering as you passed them in the hallway. You learned that sometimes it's better to wait and avoid certain situations.

"I'm okay like this, it's alright," you said, even though you weren't, but you wouldn't go through that again. She respected your decision. Your smile brightened as you saw a notification that you had received an email from Alex on the screen. You bit your lip, trying to contain your eagerness to click on it, making it something important that needed to be read slowly and appreciated. His notes on what he thought of your paper would be there, and he always made a point to highlight the positives and areas for improvement. It warmed your heart.

For a brief moment, his smile for you flashed in your mind, the wrinkles forming at the corners of his eyes, and his pointed nose following in harmony. You had to grip the fabric of your skirt between your fingers, soon having your friend's words echoing in your head. Professor Turner seemed like a good man in every sense of the word. You did believe he would treat his partners well in every way. Your friend pointed out that the boy she went out with listened to her, and you felt that he would too; both in listening and in other ways. You were sure, with what little you had learned about him, that he was observant. There would be no need to tell him what to do, Mr Turner would understand your body and then he would not disappoint. He could tell when a woman was tired or overwhelmed. An important one was that you also thought he was provocative, too impatient at times not to be. You wanted to be able to know what it was like with him, even if it was through other people's experiences with him, just to get a little of that taste. You didn't exactly feel good about the inconsistency of such thoughts. Still, you let yourself be carried away by them.

He made you wet with just his voice. If he were to touch you in that way, you were certain you would give yourself over completely. You sat up straighter, envisioning how good it would be to have his tongue on you, gentle and with relaxed moans because he wouldn't think going down on you was a bad thing or something to second-guess. You remembered how easily you could make your small vibrator slide when you were really excited, and you felt it would be the same with his fingers. They were longer and thicker than yours, but wet with his saliva and your body melting from his voice, they would be skillful.

The tip of his nose would surely brush deliciously against your clit as he savored your taste, following your cues. The beard that was beginning to grow would graze your sensitive skin, causing a slight burn that would remind you of his presence. Professor Turner would also shake his face into you, wanting to make sure he enjoyed pleasuring you as much as he did receiving. Oh, and you would love to be able to provide that to him. Unconsciously, you found yourself breathing heavily. Your friend laughed, "Are you this worked up over a notification?" She had gotten up to leave but returned when she noticed you were flustered. "Spill it, who's the lucky one?" You recoiled, shaking your head in denial, not wanting to admit that there was someone (or not exactly), but your smile was hard to hide.

"It's not really anyone," you still felt uncomfortable in your own skin, fearing you had done something wrong. She waited for you to continue. "Just an email about a paper I submitted, I got feedback on it now." She rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath, "What a nerd." Then you felt like exploring the situation further, considering that she also had a class with him but in a different subject. "Was it positive feedback at least? What subject is this for?" You mentally thanked her for asking, giving you an opening to continue.

"It's for Professor Turner's class. He let me redo one of the papers to try for a higher grade," you answered, and she raised an eyebrow. "He gave you a low grade?" The girl seemed surprised but not entirely. "This guy is impossible, what a..." She used a strong word. You didn't quite understand. While you still thought there was a chance he might dislike you, he didn't seem so harsh. He wasn't the friendliest at first, but as you thought back, you realized you had never seen him smile at any student in your class except you.

"Do people think he's bad?" You asked, furrowing your brow. Deep down, you wanted her to reassure you by saying positive things about him and making you feel normal about having this confusing crush on him. She then talked about his strict grading style, how he acted like a difficult person to talk to, and always had a stern expression. She wasn't wrong; you couldn't deny that. But he wasn't like that with you; it was different, and you couldn't explain it.

"I talked to him about my grade, and even though he was reluctant, he allowed me to redo it and submit it by email. He talks to me during class as well, asking me to explain something or asking for my opinion on what he's explaining. I think he's talented, but I can understand your point," you defended, without taking a breath, as if it were already a formulated and concrete idea in your head. You did spend a lot of time thinking about him since the first day of his class. She quickly caught on to where this was headed. "You like him, he's your type. Charming, grumpy, and writes well." Your cheeks burned. "He likes you; in my class, he doesn't chitchat with anyone, just does what's necessary. He enjoys teaching, I can see that in him, he's just not so sociable and too strict for a subject that should be straightforward. I've never even seen the guy smile." You pondered for a moment, deciding to pay closer attention to see if he treated you differently from the others or if it was just your head playing tricks on you.

You shrugged and concluded before she left, "I like him, and he frustrates me sometimes for being so strict, but I don't think he does it out of malice. He seems like a good man." She got up, laughing at how you talked about him. "Then go for it, suck his dick, choose him as your thesis advisor; I'm sure he'd love to have you under his wing." Her tone indicated it was a joke, but it sparked your imagination. He would be a good advisor, and you liked the idea of him praising your work with that pleased, bright look on his face. Alone, you opened the email. Your joy went from extreme to controlled; he could be quite harsh when pointing out the negatives, and sometimes you wondered if he did it just to be difficult. But this time, he found more positives in your writing. He had marked the parts he liked the most and written next to them why he liked them. Your heart warmed, and your stomach filled with happy butterflies. The last comment read, "You give me pleasure in reading something," and you heard it in his voice, deep and drawn-out. You felt yourself grow warm and realized how messed up you were for feeling like this. Your mouth was dry, and in the end, you saw that your grade was the highest, even with the not-so-great notes he had made.

Maybe he didn't dislike you after all. You lingered on the blurry, not much clear photo in his email signature for a while, with a stupid smile of accomplishment on your face. Then you decided to write him a thank-you, and you weren't as brief as you would have liked. The sensation of comfort taking over your body, along with your pleasant but not entirely appropriate thoughts about him causing things in your breathing, made you contemplate what could be done.

You rested your head comfortably, your laptop placed beside you. In a new tab, after opening the audiobook website, you found yourself browsing through the selection that appeared when you searched his name. If his voice was enticing in an inappropriate context, it would be even better alone, wouldn't it? Your chest tightened, knowing that it was wrong, but you weren't going to stop.

You put on your headphones, clicked on the longest one you could find, and relaxed your tense shoulders as the first whispered words filled your head. It was even better; here, you had him all to yourself, complete silence, and his voice echoing, well-recorded and clear as it guided you. He sounded precise, with deep and marked pauses, his typical breathing between phrases, and, with your eyes closed, you could imagine him gesturing and occasionally touching his nose or mouth as he spoke. Just like the gentle adjustment of the necklace and shirt that made his chest more visible and room for more of your thoughts to be explored. In fact, that necklace coming off his soft skin on top of you in sweat would be something so pleasant.

You felt weak but in a relaxed way; it was good, pushing the voice that haunted your thoughts about him into the background. Delicately, as if any abrupt movement might break the spell, you reached for your box under the bed. The small, pink object came to life in your hand, your throat already dry and his narration causing your head to tilt slightly to the side, as if he were caressing your face. You let yourself be completely carried away as you pressed it against yourself.

You swallowed hard, leaving it there for a while, immersed in how Mr. Turner seemed to be speaking to you. Everything was slow, every syllable that came from his rosy lips was cherished. You wanted so much for it to be him there, touching you and whispering while guiding you. You were sure he would say things like, "That's it, you're taking me so well, doll," or "Look at how good you are, you're such a good girl for me." And as cliché as it might sound, you had no doubt that he would make it sound like something the gods themselves would envy.

You pulled the thin fabric aside, pushing the vibrator inside you. Your legs trembled a bit, but as expected, the small object slid in just right. Your lips parted in a satisfied sigh, whispering his last name as you closed your legs slowly and felt the tingling sensation intensify. His name never felt so delicious and engaging as your tongue rolled out to the sound and went through your lips so vividly. Your head throbbed, and you could already see him sitting at his desk in front of yours, guiding you, telling you what to do and say, teaching you tricks to make it even better (you knew you weren't very skilled).

You got louder, whimpering because you wanted your thoughts to become real so badly, and then you saw nothing but white spots in your vision. Your chest heaved, your breathing completely out of sync, and the area beneath you grew wet as you felt too sensitive to continue with the vibrator.

This time, you didn't feel bad; you felt really good, actually. Your body relaxed, his voice still being absorbed by you in a therapeutic way. Then, you imagined lying on his chest, pulling your pillow to your arms, and how he would kiss you solemnly and have his hands in your hair, giving you comforting words until you fell asleep after he had made you feel so wonderful.

Although you were feeling good now, the following morning would be a bitter testament to how you were digging yourself into a hole with no bottom, and the light wouldn't be there to save you.

…

Alex received your email, and a pleasant blush crept onto his face along with a warm smile. He could picture you reading what he had written, your hands between your thighs, a happy expression on your face, and all giddy, unable to contain yourself in your chair. He appreciated how much you valued his feedback, but he knew how hardworking and intelligent you were. He wanted to help you realize that you were good on your own, not just because he believed it.

He ran his hand through his hair, feeling hot from the heat. Your notification had arrived on his phone, and being a seasoned university professor, he preferred to wait to access his laptop to read and respond to you properly if needed. He tried to get into the thing that he was used to teaching, but that wasn't entirely the case. While he found it tiresome to teach subjects he liked and found interesting when no one seemed interested, he enjoyed it when you were there for him, you were the exception (the teacher’s pet). The thought made him chuckle and bite his lip. It was tiring, but he liked it, except for all the social interaction that weighed on him.

He had just returned from the market after giving two lectures, and he had exceeded his limit for social interaction. Yet, seeing your email notification on the screen gave him the extra energy he needed for the rest of the day. Just the thought of your quick exchange earlier when he passed by you on the first floor during lunch, even if brief, brought a warmth to his chest. You smiled at him, waved, and whispered a "good day" or "have a good rest of your day, Professor." He always smiled back with a hand in the air, trying to keep his face relaxed, and he actually showed his teeth. He wasn't used to all this sweetness from his students and had never found himself making an effort for it, but with you, it was worth it.

Indeed, no one but you spoke directly to him out of pure, spontaneous will. If others did, he would remain serious, with a furrowed brow, and nod in agreement. He honestly preferred it that way, with no one besides you trying to have a small talk with him. He didn't dislike his students, but he didn't like flattery and dumb questions that could be avoided if they paid attention in class.

His head began to ache, and he noticed the sweat on his body, prickling and making him feel irritated. Stress was about to come back, but he remembered that he needed to read your email. He removed his belt, sliding it off his waist slowly and soon feeling relieved. He felt even better after unbuttoning all the buttons on his shirt and peeling it off. He quickly decided between taking a shower or reading your sweet words first, considering which order would leave him relaxed for longer so he could sleep. He knew that whatever he did, thoughts related to you would still linger in his mind until he fell asleep.

He sat on the bed, pulling the laptop toward him, and although he wasn't in a hurry, he found himself restless until the screen lit up, and he could access his account. Once he did, your simple message didn't fail to soften him. The excessive exclamation points reminded him of how young you were. It was like a letter, with your polite and correct punctuation. He could almost hear your voice as he read your words.

The way you called him "Mr. Turner" never failed to affect him. Others had addressed him this way, but it was different with you. Your eyes sparkled, your smile widened, your pupils got alive, and your pleasant face eagerly awaited for him to look at you and speak to you. He thought he was too old for this, and he certainly was, but he couldn't avoid how you had invaded his soul.

You had no knowledge of what was going on in his head, but he felt like he was corrupting you. He felt dirty for getting so energized by giving you compliments he knew you liked to hear and then patting your back while seeing you happy about it. What the hell was he doing? And he couldn't deny that he found comfort in how beautiful you looked when you were frustrated, your eyes seemed more tired, and your breathing uneven when you were upset about one of his negative comments (sometimes he did it on purpose).

Feeling his own chest grow heavier and his mind getting increasingly lost, he opted for a shower, even though he was aware that idealizing you wouldn't end there. Now without clothes, under the shower, with you like a curse surrounding him, he realized just how messed up he was. He couldn't avoid it anymore, even though he didn't want to. He knew there was no turning back.

The words from your email clung to him as water flowed over his hair and down his shoulders. You had shown how much you appreciated him and knew his work, the care in choosing your words to praise him, and saying that you wanted to get to him in person soon to reinforce how much you had liked his feedback, the way would like to work through them and see you unravel in front of him because he noticed that your courage in emails wasn't the same as in person. He found that so adorable.

His overactive imagination was leading him to cute places related to you, but it was sparking other curiosities in him too, even though it was about how delicate and somewhat innocent he found you (although he would never admit it that way). Soon, he felt heavy, needing relief as the water splashed over him, and he sighed in exasperation at himself. He was being as pathetic as a teenager. Why couldn't he stop?

His breathing grew rigid, catching in his dry throat, and he allowed himself to be carried away by the flow of his fantasies. His hand ran over his abdomen, eyes tightly closed, hoping that this would make him feel less guilty about it. His thumb glided over the sensitive skin, and a soft sigh escaped his lips; he felt sore and swollen despite doing so little. He continued slowly but with precision. He believed that giving you pleasure wasn't such a difficult task; you would appreciate the touch no matter what. Not that it made him want to go easy on you. He felt like he could have his hands around your waist, squeezing your soft flesh with delight while admiring your breasts, giving them gentle bites and generous suckling that would make you gasp for air for extended periods. Your hands would be cradling the nape of his neck, fingers entwined in his tousled hair. He found comfort in this, feeling that he could make you feel the same way.

He also thought that your body would respond well to his. He was convinced that you were addicted to being a good girl, and that was not up for discussion. The way you melted under his compliments, listened to his harsh criticisms, and sought to improve upon them, you would deny any chance of being labeled a bad girl. As more moans escaped his lips, with the strength of his fingers unaltered, he thought about going a little harder on you, not to hurt, but to make you think about begging him to stop. The tears that would stream down the corners of your eyes as you tried to be good for him and take him in you just right. "You're doing so well, babygirl. You’re so good to me." You would open your bright eyes to him, feeling encouraged to continue being what he needed. He would clearly notice and slow down, accommodating his fingers on your clit and making you adjust to him with soft whimpers that made you endure and enjoy it until the end.

He also liked how you would react when he stimulated you to the extreme, your sensitivity and his desire to taste your essence on his tongue. He could say that you were as sweet as his last name sounded when you talked to him in class. He would tease you with his tongue, kissing you as if it were the only time and chance he had to touch you. And you would fight not to close your thighs around him, but as you were a good girl, you would succeed in keeping yourself spread open while he exhausted you a few more times. The thought of you reaching your peak, your eyes closed, and the tears he knew would be there because you did that when you got frustrated with his opinions on your writing, and your mouth slightly open with his name escaping, made him reach his climax. A deep, raspy groan echoed through the bathroom, his head heavy, and his shoulders feeling lighter and more satisfied. He worked his hand until the last drops came out and marked his stomach just before the water could wash it away down the drain.

He felt good, guilty, but his body wasn't saying that. "Fuck," he sighed, not knowing if it was relief or the headache that would come later due to this; it was getting worse to a dimension he hadn't imagined. He would surely ruin you if he continued; it wasn't as enjoyable as he wished.

Still, he got out of the shower and found himself picturing how you would snuggle up to him, your tired body and calm eyes enveloped by his, and how he would love to tell you stories until he saw you fall asleep safe in his arms or listen to you talk about your day. He liked your voice; it made him feel good. At this point, he desired you in all these ways, from the most profane to the most adorable, for your physical and emotional well-being.

You still haunted his dreams, so vividly that he reached out for you in bed. In his imagination, he had lifted you by the waist and placed you sitting on his desk. The remaining students had left, and he could revel in how your hands were trembling and your face was so delicate as you gazed at him. You used to wear knee-high socks with longer boots, and he found it sexy yet cute. He felt like you made things your own, that you gave life to them. And then he found himself pulling at that piece of clothing, your legs spreading apart, and he had to instruct you to stay quiet before someone noticed as his fingers touched between your thighs. He caressed over the damp fabric, nodding his head and waiting for you to do the same, indicating that you understood to stay calm and quiet. The door would be closed, but the glass window could still give you away. You were facing away from it, and if you behaved, everything would go smoothly.

Alex could feel you soaking through his fingers, making them slippery. You sucked on his finger skillfully, being such a great girl, and stayed still without him having to coax you into relaxing as he went deeper. Your sighs were adorable, and he felt himself getting hard. He woke up before he could make you reach your peak and realized that the dream had an effect on him. There, he knew that if given the opportunity, maybe he wouldn't be able to fight against what he wanted to do, purely out of morality.

…

The following week, there was no class with Turner due to some unforeseen circumstances of his. However, he was still around for the week. Being as observant as you were, you passed by the same spot at 12:45 on Friday, gave him a slight wave, and although you had planned to approach him and ask how he was, you didn't. That is, until he called out to you, causing your body to freeze and your heart to race, forcing you to get closer.

He adjusted the bag on his shoulder, his cheeks flushed and intense. You noticed his restlessness as you got to him; it was cute, not awkward. He held a coffee and had a cigarette between his fingers. He exhaled the smoke in the opposite direction to yours and got rid of it as soon as you arrived by his side.

"Are you good, Professor?" It didn't fail to make him nervous, but he still looked at you without understanding. "I'm sorry, I guess it's not my business; I just thought to ask out of politeness since I haven't seen you this week."

He laughed at how you stumbled over your words, and he didn't blame you; he felt the same way. The fact that he made you feel like your question was inappropriate even made his chest tighten a bit.

"It's okay, I had a routine check-up, but I'm fine," he replied briefly but nodded with a comfortable smile. He could see you swallowing nervously and how your fingers wouldn't stop moving while he had his eyes on you.

"I thought of a book for you, if you don't mind." Your eyes met his, and you seemed excited. "I really like it, and I thought you might like it too."

The idea that he had thought of you made your body tingle, and the rush of blood to your face drowned out the noise around you. You took the coffee from his hands, noticing how he fumbled with opening his bag, and the light touch of your skins made you wish for more—it was warm and soft.

He took out the book, handing it to you, and you nodded with a faint smile. You hugged the cover to yourself, avoiding his gaze for a moment. It felt insane being around him after all the things you did with him in mind. You weren't exactly proud of that. The collar of his striped T-shirt was carelessly folded, and the buttons you loved so much were unbuttoned, revealing his chest briefly. You wished you could fix it for him.

This time, he wore a dark blazer and flare jeans, and he was pleasant to look at. He ran his hand through his hair and sighed, "I left notes in some parts so that I can know what you think later, if you'll allow me." Then you realized that he was doing this because he knew you needed to do well in his course to get into the master's program; still, you found it cute.

"Oh, yes, I can write to you when I finish, right?" He agreed, knowing that he would be waiting for your email in the coming weeks.

"I'm glad to know you're okay, Mr. Turner," you said awkwardly, your face fervently hot, and thanked him for the book. As you turned around, you felt his hand on your wrist; it wasn't as soft as before, but it was comforting, with the fingertips firmer as he squeezed your skin. Then, your eyes met his with a raised eyebrow.

"I need you to give me back my coffee, pet," he said playfully, and your knees weakened a bit. He felt pleased to be able to contemplate you in his mind.

…

The heat had taken its toll on Alex. He had left his blazer in the car and decided to visit one of the open bars near the campus. His hands rested inside his pockets as he patiently waited for his juice and water, yearning for the moment when he could finally get home and enjoy a cold beer. It was his final class of the afternoon, which meant it was getting quite late, and the students were scattered around. While the bar wasn't overly crowded, he could still recognize a few faces.

As soon as the chilled cup was placed in his hands, he caught sight of you with your back turned. You were wearing your signature knee-high socks and boots, but this time, you had opted for a skirt and a tank top, giving you a more relaxed and comfortable appearance. You looked stunning. With you engaged in conversation with a friend he had glimpsed from a distance, you were all smiles and animated hand gestures, bringing life to the scene.

Realizing he was staring, Alex chided himself and tried to divert his attention back to his juice. Yet, within a few minutes, his gaze involuntarily returned to you. Now, you were alone, engrossed in his book that sat next to you, its pages marked to indicate that you had already begun reading. A smile of satisfaction graced his lips; he had strategically placed notes between the pages for you to discover, hoping you would notice.

You sipped from an orange beverage, and Alex decided not to speculate whether it contained alcohol. However, he knew you weren't intoxicated when you suddenly turned towards him and greeted him with a friendly wave. He felt momentarily caught off guard but managed to offer a warm wave in return, nodding to acknowledge you. Your smile was radiant, and he couldn't help but notice how different you appeared outside the confines of the classroom. He longed for the opportunity to engage with you in a context that wasn't purely academic, but he was well aware that pursuing such a connection might be detrimental to both of you.

You turned back to your previous position, sipping your drink through a straw, while still sneakily stealing glances at him. Alex deliberated whether to linger a bit longer for your sake. The table you occupied was well-lit, offering a refreshing ambiance that was perfect for a summer day. The atmosphere was delightful, and he could easily imagine you enjoying such a setting regularly.

He held his bottle of water, pondering the ethical implications of sitting with you while you were alone. His initial plan was to finish his drink and then leave. But he couldn't bring himself to do that—not for his sake, but for yours. It wouldn't be fair to you. He feared the potential consequences would fall squarely on your shoulders rather than his own.

He shook his head and eventually decided to leave. As you lowered your head into his hands, he waited for a few more minutes, half-expecting you to look his way. But it didn't happen.

Then everything seemed to happen very quickly. He returned to his car, leaving behind the water and even starting the engine before realizing he had left his wallet inside. He hesitated but ultimately turned back, despite his frustration over forgetting his documents.

His wallet was still where he had left it. He retrieved it and then shifted his attention to you, curious and attentive. Your hands were fidgeting with your socks, as if attempting to wipe away sweat. A boy was seated in front of you, but your attention was elsewhere. The guy sported a smile that made Alex uncomfortable on your behalf.

Your discomfort was palpable, yet you seemed powerless to do anything about it. You turned to the side, your head moving away from the boy, and as you gasped for air, the guy's grin widened. Your elbows dropped onto your knees, and your hands moved to pull your hair away from your face. You appeared more sweaty than usual, and you felt increasingly weak.

As you realized your strength was waning, the boy signaled for someone else to assist you. You resisted, but they gently pushed you back into your chair to prevent you from collapsing. They weren't being nice about it.

For Alex, that was the tipping point. He strode over to them and forcefully removed the boy's hand from your arm. "Get away from her," his stern voice reverberated, and you didn't understand what was happening, but you knew you didn't feel well.

The guys attempted to speak over Alex, trying to explain themselves, even though there was no justification for their actions. Their chatter only served to irritate him further. He held onto you, his hand caressing your face, and your eyes were half-closed; you were clearly not in a good state.

After another remark from the boys, Alex glared at the boy with an even more intense hatred. His brow furrowed, and his tone grew sharper. "Just stay away from her; I won't let her be alone with you," he warned, making it clear that they should not attempt such behavior with anyone else either.

The boys exchanged nervous glances and silently agreed to leave, though Alex couldn't have cared less about them at that moment.

"What’re you feeling, pet?" He placed his hands on his knees, lowering himself to your level. You were dazed, your skin tingling, and you weren't sure what to say, or if you could say anything at all. Alex considered asking where you lived and offering to take you home, but he suspected you lived in the vicinity of the campus, and it wouldn't be appropriate for him to be seen with you in this state. Taking you to his own home didn't seem like a good idea either, but he did live nearby, and it appeared to be the most reasonable option.

He cupped your face in his hands, close enough to smell your scent once again. You smiled faintly, your eyes still distant but focusing on him. You were conscious, just not in the best condition. "I don't want to stay here; my head is spinning," you mumbled, not entirely sure what was wrong. It could have been due to poor nutrition or dehydration, you thought.

"Look, I'll stay with you ‘til you feel better, alright?" he spoke gently, as if soothing a baby. You nodded, his touch on your cheek making you lean into his warmth. As he thought about reaching out to your forehead with his lips, he realized where he was and quickly pulled back, rising to his feet with you leaning on him for support.

…

Alex gently sat you in the passenger seat, and you huddled in front of him, noticeably self-conscious about your attire. He chuckled warmly, pulling his blazer from the back seat. You felt cradled by his presence as he slipped the fabric over your arms and fastened the buttons around your midsection. It resembled a short dress, making you feel more comfortable, and it carried a pleasant scent. Your stomach still tingled, and you were aware that it was because of him and not whatever had happened earlier.

He rested your head against the headrest, his serene eyes guiding you, and he didn't seem regretful about helping you, despite the crease between his brows. Then he fastened your seatbelt and handed you his water bottle. Your vision was blurry, and sudden movements hurt, but he wasn't a saint, and he had a rough view of how you must be feeling. He'd been your age before, although thankfully, in his case, it had been a result of a spontaneous choice.

"I'll wait a bit before starting the car, alright?" he suggested, and you nodded. He gently led the bottle to your lips, encouraging you to drink a substantial portion of it. He wiped your chin and face with the hem of his T-shirt, and you followed his every move, your attention fixated on him. Without the blazer, he looked even better, and you lightly held his wrist. He seemed concerned, but you did it because you wanted to and felt that you could, even though you'd never been this close before. "Thank you, Mr. Turner," you said casually, as if it didn't affect him profoundly.

As he sat down on the driver's side of the car, he closed the tinted windows, feeling safer with that precaution. He still worried about putting you in danger. He waited, knowing that feeling dizzy along with drinking water wouldn't be a good combination, even though he had insisted on it to help your body recover more quickly. He could hear your calm breathing, which put him at ease. You had closed your eyes, your mouth slightly ajar, and he looked at you, allowing himself to be captivated by every detail. He carefully adjusted your hair to prevent it from catching on the seat and strands from being pulled, whispering, "You can sleep; everything’ll be alright, I promise, little one." You found yourself charmed by the pet name, involuntarily smiling, and he made a mental note that you like it. Your arms lightly touched, and with the comforting scent of him surrounding you, you drifted into a light sleep. It was strange to be in such a bad situation with an outcome that neither of you regretted. He kept the radio off until reaching your destination. He’d never drive without music.

…

Your eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light as you realized you were leaning on him for support. Your forehead was resting on his shoulder, his soft T-shirt against your skin. He was more comforting to touch than your mind had led you to trust. He was kneeling in front of you while you sat on the bed. You no longer felt dizzy, but you were weak, with not all your senses fully present. Alex's hands delicately removed your earrings and necklaces, and it was nice to have him so close, a bit surreal. You almost believed you could be a doll with how he was treating you. He moved back, laying you down on his bed, and he smiled at you as a way to reassure you that everything was okay. You grabbed his arm, afraid he would leave. Alex quickly shook his head. "Hey, little one, I'm not going anywhere. I just need to get some water for you and something to dry your face." He sounded caring, making you want to cry because you knew this was wrong. But why did it feel so right?

"Promise?" You asked, not into the idea of falling into a deep sleep and when you wake up he wouldn't be there to call you little one anymore. He nodded, extending his pinky finger to seal the promise. The silence without him wasn't comforting; you felt like there were monsters under the bed. Still out of mind about time and space, you realized you were in his room, which made you feel even more fragile. The room had a light blue color, seemed well-lit during the day, had books scattered in an organized manner, and two guitars hanging on the wall. That made you put your hand over your mouth as you imagined how his fingers would behave playing those strings. You wanted to hug him, to let the scent and the soft chest lull you to sleep again. Your head was noisy, and you didn't like it.

When he returned, he moved in slow motion to you. He wiped your face and neck with a damp cloth, and you wondered why he was alone. He was a good man; you had thought about that before. Alex wouldn't sleep next to you, but he would stay with you as long as you needed him. He sat with his back against the headboard, looking at you for a moment. It was too late; this was no longer just a casual situation. You'd have to talk about it; you had formed a bond. Although you were scared, Alex liked it.

You asked him to lie down, and he complied. You were side by side, facing each other. Your eyelids struggled to close, but first they followed your fingers as they roamed his face. You traced the gentle lines at the corner of his eye, then the bridge of his nose. He was handsome. Sometimes you wanted to forget that he was older than you, even though you liked him that way. Your hand then touched his rough stubble, and he smiled when he saw you smiling at him. It was like a dream, like you had imagined and even better.

In an abrupt and unquestionably unplanned proceed, your hand hooked onto the collar of his T-shirt, pulling yourself closer. It was a light pull, and in the blink of an eye, your lips were on his, tender and airless. They lingered there, just touching, feeling each other's warmth and the mixing of breaths. Your hand pressed against his chest and held him to yourself, like he could heal you. You moved your lips with his slowly, warmly, and precisely, enjoying in a comfortable sigh every second of it, until he broke into a sigh of reality. He couldn't be doing this, not with you like this. Not wanting to startle you, he sealed your cheeks and nose a few countless times before planting small forehead kisses when he needed to refuse your touch. He felt guilty, but he wouldn't deny that it had been good, way better than he had fantasized. There were no words, and none were needed; both of you were aware of it. Although he thought you might not be as much, he feared you might not even remember this when you woke up.

Alex held your palm against his chest until you fell asleep. Then he got up, covered your body with a warm sheet, and left you there. Unable to restrain himself from touching your face before and stroking your hair. The next day, you would wake up, wondering if it had been a vivid dream or not. But his room would leave no doubts, with the guitars, the well-lit atmosphere, and his blazer still carrying his scent on you. You didn't know how you were going to talk to him after that, you thought about how he must think of you as a kid who doesn't know how to be in the real world. This time, however, you noticed a photo on the bedside table. He was hugging a woman while kissing her forehead. She had a neatly cut fringe and an angelic face; she was very pretty, and it made you feel insecure. She was around his age. You were wrong to be there, and then you got that the bed you were on was a double bed. You wanted to run away even though your head was pounding. Professor Turner might act like a good man, but he was still a man. Above all, you tried to think well of him; perhaps it was a divorce, right? You would have noticed the ring on his finger if he were married. He wouldn't take off the ring, would he? But why was that photo still there? You quickly got up, failing to remain composed when you saw that he had left a note and some money in case you needed to call an Uber. You couldn't just read it right away. You wanted to believe he was good, but it hurt. You felt used even though you hadn't done anything. Yet, you still felt like you wanted him around more often because you felt good with him. In the middle of class, Alex struggled with impatience, hoping you wouldn't leave without taking the note and the snack he had left for you, so you would have his number and be safe. But it didn't happen, at least not when he expected it to.

...

taglist: @ohladymoon @indierockgirrl @bloo-wisteria @bellaturner @cosmoschaotic @nikisfwn @andrews-lovr @nela-cutie @artimonkii @alexturnersbbg3 @blackberryblossom @lilmisssweetdreams

(lmk if you want to be in or out of the taglist!)

#alex turner #alex turner x reader #alex turner smut #alex turner x y/n #arctic monkeys #alex turner fanfic #alex turner x you #alex turner imagine #fanfic

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alexturnersluts · 4 months

Text

guilt

alex turner x photographer reader

summary: you fall ill at the worst time and can’t help but feel guilty

content: age gap relationship (not mentioned), established relationship, fluff <3

a/n: i have more of this pairing in my drafts <3

you felt guilty. it made you feel sick, although you couldn't tell if it was one of many flu symptoms you'd experienced in the past few days. your head felt heavy, sniffling, aching, extremely high temperature, sore throat, the absolute full flu experience at the worst possible time.

alex sat beside you in the car, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh, rubbing soft circles with his thumb. instead of driving to the airport, he was driving you home from the hospital. tapping the screen of your phone, the time flashed 2 am, a painful reminder of your lack of sleep.

the guilt in your stomach intensified as you looked up at your boyfriend. he'd been so excited to take you away, it was all he talked about for weeks leading up to it. a break for both of you. you'd both been so busy this year, with him being on tour and you with your photography taking you all over the world. this was supposed to be your final week of relaxation before the new year. but instead of packing a suitcase, you spent 18 hours in a hospital bed on a drip due to dehydration.

feeling your eyes on him, alex turned to you, his eyebrows knitted together in concern. "everything okay, darlin'?"

"i'm sorry," you say quietly for what feels like the millionth time that day.

"stop apologising," he tells you, taking your hand into his free one and squeezing it reassuringly. "it's okay"

"you were so excited. you were supposed to be sitting 10 hours on a plane, not an uncomfy hospital chair"

"sweetheart, i said it's okay, we can go in the new year" there wasn't an ounce of annoyance in his tone, he wasn't annoyed, he wasn't upset but you couldn't help but feel this way.

"but-"

"no" he cut you off, his voice soft. "we'll go in the new year, for now, we're spending the week in bed until you get better."

"i don't want to make you poorly," you say, a soft smile gracing your features when he pulls into the driveway and turns to look at you fully. his hand moving up to rest on your cheek.

"i don't care if i get ill, more of an excuse to stay in bed with you" a smirk plays at the corner of his lips as he presses them to your forehead.

#alex turner fanfiction #alex turner #alex turner x you #alex turner fluff #alex turner fic #alex turner x reader #alex turner fanfic #arctic monkeys

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goblinontour · 4 months

Text

Cover Me In You

things take an unexpected turn in class when your professor catches you misbehaving ;)

warnings: dom!alex, age gap (not mentioned but reader is his student), power imbalance, smut, pwp, pet names, degrading, oral (m receiving)

word count: 2k

Professor Turner’s class always makes you nervous. You find yourself attracted to him.

Badly.

And you can’t help but stare at him every single time.

You think you are being smooth, but he always notices, and you kind of know he does. You caught him looking at you too a couple of times. You vividly remember one time he was sat in his chair, legs crossed, playing with his beard as he was looking directly into your eyes and he licked his lips. It drove you crazy and you couldn’t stop thinking about it all week.

Today though he looks especially good. Way too good. He is wearing some beige dress pants that show off everything just right, and his usual white shirt, perfectly tucked in. You want to keep a memory of him like that forever, so you can look back at it after class, that being the only time you ever see him. It’s as if he disappears after he walks out those doors, you’ve never seen him walking the halls or anything. So you take you phone out of your bag and take a picture of him while he was looking out the window. No way he could’ve noticed…right…?

At the end of class when he dismisses everyone, he asks you to stay behind for a bit, so you just remain in your seat, confused as to what he could possibly want from you. You never cause any trouble, you do quite well in his class actually.

When everyone is gone he gets up and slowly walks to the door to shut it and you gasp internally when you hear him lock it. He doesn’t say anything for what felt like an eternity. He out of nowhere just says “Want me to fuck you, don’t you?”

You don’t know what to say, you just sit, looking at him completely dumbfucked from what he just blurted out, mouth agape in pure shock. He gets closer to your desk, grabs your chin and closes your mouth for you. “You’ll need to open that later, for now it stays shut.” you simply nod, his touch still burning your skin even though his hand left your face. “Think I didn’t notice you sneakily taking that photo of me?” you can’t think of anything else to say other than “Sorry, Mr Turner…”, looking down at the floor. You can’t look at him, your face is red from embarrassment already. “I asked you a question though…do you want me to fuck you?” he said, enunciating every word in that last bit. “I already know the answer to that actually…so don’t bother anymore. Come here.”

You follow him to his desk, where he crosses his arms across his chest and looks down at you, your height difference just making it clearer who’s in charge in this moment.

“Give me your phone.” and you do as he says. “Go on now.” he says, as he points with his eyes to his crotch, and that’s when you notice he is hard, his pants making it very easy for you to see the shape of his cock. He leans back on his arms and waits, expecting you to know what you’re supposed to do. You nervously fiddle with the ruffles on your shirt and he chuckles at your demeanour. “Pretty girl’s all shy now, isn’t she? You weren’t shy when you were staring at me and you even had the nerve to take pictures of me, so go on. On your knees now, doll.”

You do as he says, not like you weren’t practically drooling for him, you just didn’t think this would actually ever happen. Your hands go to his waistband but you stop, unsure if he’s just making fun of you or something, or if he really means for you to do what you think he means. You look up at him and he nods for you to go on. You undo his belt, unzip his pants and push them down. He was big. You could even see the outline of his head now through just his black boxers that even have a wet patch from the precum leaking. You push those down as well and your eyes go wide when you see how huge he actually is as his cock is freed from its confines. He is so hard, his tip flushed. It’s begging for attention.

Your attention.

You grab his cock in your hand and you can’t even wrap your fingers all around. It is thick and the head is so fat, poking out from under the bit of foreskin there. You aren’t sure if you can even fit it in your mouth.

“Are you sure about this, sir?” you ask him. You wanted it bad but can’t help feeling insecure about it, how could he possibly like you like that?

“Shut the fuck up and get to work.” he says as he grabs your head and pushes it to his cock. You start by kissing his tip, softly, and he hisses as you take him in your mouth and play around with your tongue on his head. You start to suck him off and stroke him with both your hands at the same time, but that isn’t gonna work for him. He is already frustrated from all of this, which he considers you teasing him, and he’s not about to let you do that, so he grabs you by your hair and pulls you off him.

“Do better than that.” And you try. You try taking him as far into your mouth as you can, but it still isn’t enough. He grabs you hard by the cheeks, his cock still in your mouth, and he takes your phone from his desk and starts recording the sight beneath him. Your bulging cheeks and swollen lips around his cock .

“You wanted photos of me? There you have it. Now be good for god’s sake and take it all” he says as he thrust himself deep down your throat, still filming everything. He moves his other hand to the back of your head, tangled up in your hair. You gag and spit starts running down your chin as he tries to go all the way in, but he stops again, pulling you away, pointing the camera to your face now messed up with both your fluids mixing together.

“I think the little slut can do even better, can’t she?” looking directly into your eyes at that last part. You nod the best you can with him still holding your head tight in place.

“Now open up nice and wide and take it all, can you do that for me?”. You nod desperately, you just want to make him feel good, need his dick back in your mouth. He pushes himself down your throat again, and you take him all this time, your eyes stinging from the tears that start forming as you’re struggling not to gag. He stills and keeps you there, your nose brushing against his lower belly, the bit of hair down there scratchy against your skin. He wasn’t very vocal until now, but he can’t hold back the loud groan from escaping his mouth as you keep him down your perfect warm throat, made just for him.

When he feels you pushing back on his hand he pulls off, not all the way, just so that you could breathe a bit before he starts fucking your mouth. He starts slow, though pace quickly gets faster and more aggressive. He is rough, but you like it, love it. You like being the one to bring him pleasure. You take him well, by now your throat’s been stretched out to fit him just right, so it isn’t that painful anymore.

He is watching your neck as he continues to thrust into you, and with each movement of his he could see the outline of his cock deep inside you. That turns him on to an unbelievable degree, seeing how big he is inside you. He removes his hand from your hair and wraps it around your throat, his fingers delicate, the gesture completely the opposite of how he is using you right now. He doesn’t squeeze at all, he just wants to feel how you stretch to accommodate him, and he caresses your skin softly.

He was getting close by now, his breathing got more and more inconsistent and you could see his shirt starting to stick to his chest in places from the sweat. Through his quiet pants and gasps he mumbles something along the lines of “So good doll, taking me so well…Fuck”.

He slams the phone down on his desk, both his hands grabbing the edge of the dark wood tightly, his knuckles turning white. He lets you take control and finish him off. So you are determined to be good, no, the best. You hollow your cheeks and keep on sucking his dick.

You can feel him twitch inside your mouth so you take him all the way in again and stop there, looking right up at him. His head is thrown back, mouth open, his chest rising rapidly as his breathing became erratic at this point. He pulls you off him again.

“Wanna cum all over your pretty face, princess. Okay?”.

You start stroking him with your hands, he is so, so close, he doesn’t need much more stimulation. He grabs his cock from your hands into his own right one as he cums all over your face. His eyes squeezed shut tightly, his whole face contorting in pleasure. His nose scrunching up is your favourite part of it. You have your tongue out, hoping you could catch a few drops to taste him. He keeps squeezing himself until every last spurt is out, covering you.

You clean him up with your tongue, he was sensitive so you try to be careful.

As you are about to wipe his cum off your face he stops you to grab the phone again. He starts filming once more. “Fucking gorgeous” he mutters, almost as if he’s admiring a masterpiece through the phone screen. His masterpiece.

God, you just can’t wait to look back on that and hear his heavy breathing as he was coming down. You decide to put on a bit of a show for him, so you gather his cum with your finger and wipe it down on your tongue, swallowing all of it once you are done.

He tucks himself back into his boxers and pulls his pants up. You insist on fixing his belt for him though, rubbing your hands down his thighs after that. When you get up he fixes your hair and rubs the side of face in a sweet way, thanking you without actually saying it. He is about to pull you into a kiss when he hears someone outside that snaps him back to reality and your surroundings.

That’s when he goes back to his chair and dismisses you.

“See you next week, miss…?”. That hurts you, you thought he’d at least know your name and you pout, startingto overthink once you realise what you two just did.

“Just kidding love, I know you.” looking at you with a blissed out expression, and you can’t help but start to blush.

“I’ve been watching you for a while, you don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to do this to you”. You give him a small smile, pleased to hear he’s been thinking of you in this way too.

Going back to his first question, you really do want him to fuck you, properly. So hopefully next week means more than just a regular class, cause you for sure won’t forget about what happened today. He won’t either, though he doesn’t say that out loud.

As you are heading towards the door, his hand on your shoulder stops you. “Almost forgot this darling” he hands you back your phone. “Wouldn’t want that now, right?” he says in a playful tone, a slight smirk on his face.

“Oh and…uhm…make sure you send those to me, you have my email.” You simply nod and leave, smiling to yourself.

a/n: wrote this a few weeks ago straight after class, could say i got inspired (ugh…i wish) if there are any mistakes let me know

#alex turner smut #alex turner #alex turner fic #alex turner fanfic #alex turner x you #alex turner x reader #smut #goblinontour

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dietmountaindewbae · 27 days

Note

DILF ALEX PLEASE 🙏🙏

xxvi. teach me, teacher

alex turner x reader

word count: 3091

summary: Watching Mister (Early The Car!) Turner walk around class made you feel in a daze, hoping that one day he'll give you a valuable lesson.

warnings: sp*nking, age gap, slapp*ng, a bit of v*olence, male dom.

playlist

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The bell rings, and the class is dismissed but you stay until you finish, focused on the details of each trace of your pencil. These past few weeks have been stressful, finals were soon, and the teachers were exploiting you with millions of projects and exams. But the only class you felt like you had things under control was during drawing class, in today's lesson with Mister Turner, you took your time to trace your pencil lines with black marker and some color. You were lost in oblivion when you suddenly heard the heavy door shut close.

"Still here?" Says Mister Turner coming inside with his second cup of black coffee.

"Sorry... I'll be done in a bit Mister Turner" Your soft voice made his ears ring, and his eyes couldn't escape you. Your hair under your ears, your big doe eyes, and long eyelashes, your pink lips, and cupid's bow, the little beauty spot on your chin like a little kiss, and his eyes rubbed down your soft bare legs, that little skirt in your uniform left plenty for his imagination.

Then, out of nowhere, your eyes cross, in the blink of an eye he goes back to grading more papers while you keep drawing. Your heart skipped a beat, and he shuffled in his seat, feeling a drop of sweat running down his forehead, that little scare made his heart jump.

Mister Turner was a nice teacher to everyone, but recently you were falling behind, you had to take your time with each drawing, and he often was right behind you telling you that you should be working faster for the semester you're in. All you wanted from him were his little notes in your papers congratulating you, and now all you got from him was his notices. When he walks into a room, his big voice makes everyone's heads turn, you always follow him with your eyes wherever spot in the class he is standing in when he moves his hands to try to physically explain something that only in his brain was drawn out perfectly, the way he crosses his arms as he speaks or when he puts his hands on his hips as he's explaining any subject at all, he had a way with words no one else had, you knew that he was blessed with some magic or ability no other man had, you often thought about him.

You were needy for his attention but you were too scared to talk to him, whenever he came to check up on you, all you could do was nod and pray for him to accept your work, that's all you ever wanted, that's all you ever needed. And when he leans in closer to you, you cling to his smell of black coffee and strong cologne, you often lose yourself as you look at the chain that hangs on his neck, looking at it bling.

You hear the pen on the paper grading, and you raise your eyes to look at him, and you catch his eyes stripping down your skirt and rubbing his eyes down your legs. His pupils dilate at the look of your eyes and he drags his eyes back to his papers, pinching the bridge of his nose, he felt as if as though he had exposed one of his weaknesses, one of his guilty pleasures, a secret. He could feel a string of tension begin to rise, many questions in his head, but only one way to solve them.

He stands up from his desk, the heel of his boot clashing against the wooden floor, standing next to you, "Hope you're doing the work that you own me" He says very quietly, almost as if he wished his voice was part of the wind that blew against the windows.

"I don't think I owe you anything," You said, looking at him directly, and confidently.

"Last time I checked, you did" He drawls and slowly walks back to his desk, and you put your pen down

"Well, if you let this one slide then I won't tell anyone that you were looking at my legs," He turns and looks at you with big eyes, a subtle smile crawling to your corners, and you put your things back inside your bag, "I'll see you on Monday" Your fingers brushed your hair back, and he jumped out of his chair as he sees you approaching the door.

He chases you feeling the rush of blood in his ears, "Wait" His arm stretches closing the wooden door before you even try to leave, "You're not gonna say anything, are you?" You stayed quiet, looking at him through your lashes, he sighed, regretting ever revealing the truth, he had no care about what the principals or counselors had to say, what he was deeply concerned about was what you had to say about his twisted and cheeky little perverted secret, "I promise I won't do that again" He says it like a promise, but it didn't feel like one.

"I never said I wanted you to stop," You whispered to him, his big brown eyes blinked slowly as the look in your eyes engraved on his, "Now if you don't mind... I-" You tried to open the door, but there was no need to say anything else when it was clear what he wanted from you.

"You should finish your homework, then you're free to go" You turned on the heel of your shoe, and walked back to the tall table pulling your things out of your bag to keep working.

Mister Turner had watched you bloom into an ungodly magnetic girl, always sitting in the back, quiet, and beautiful. Something stirs inside him whenever he sees you putting on your lipstick and brushing your hair, whenever you sit cross-legged and he's able to see a little bit of your thighs. When you came back to school with your hair cut to your chin, he couldn't stop looking at you as you worked, admiring how your hair fitted and framed your face so perfectly, your big eyes took all of the attention.

Now, you both were alone, based on the words you said he decided to test how far he could go, compared to his hand on your shoulder whenever he congratulated you when you turned in good work, or when your fingertips brushed as he thought you how to solve your questions.

With his hands on his hips, he's determined to stand behind you as your hair reveals a little bit of your nape, "Maybe you should trace that line again,"

"Which one?" You asked with innocence.

He takes a step forward, pointing his finger to the line while his other hand lands on your back, his index and middle right on the clasp of your bra, you're eyes light on fire as his gaze turns darker.

"I liked what you did with your hair... looks pretty on you" You smiled as you tried to hide the redness in your cheeks as he dragged his fingers up your back to caress your hair.

"Thank you" You don't utter another word as he keeps playing with your hair, pretending to be way more invested in your homework than his hands on your hair. He catches onto that, taking a step behind you, he tears his hand from your hair, and you try not to act on it, still pretending to be distracted but he could feel how your body yearns for more.

His hand lands on top of yours, taking it away from the table, and putting it in your belly, sliding it down until it's in between your legs, pressing down on your weak spot, you unconsciously rubbed your legs together but he pressed his crotch against your ass, the bulge on his pants heavy and hard, you rubbed yourself against it.

"You can't pretend you don't want some of it" His hand that was on top of yours now slides down inside your panties, his fingers spreading your wetness all over your cunt, "You're crying for more" Your pencil dropped to the floor as he slowly begins to grind his hard-on against your ass, bending your back so your little holes can drool for more. Your voice didn't make a sound but your face and your body were arching for more, "Tell me that you want it" He says, waiting for your consent. He pressed your cheek against the table, pushing his hips closer to where you needed him, "Stop acting like a dumb fucking cock warming whore" You giggled at the things he has called you.

"You really want me to say that, Mister Turner?" You said with a smile on your face, he took his hands away from you, feeling as though he had made a massive mistake, you turned to look at him right in the eyes, rubbing your thighs together, "But what happens if I don't?"

He catches on to your games, and that little playful smile on your face tells him everything he needs to know, "You want to learn that lesson?"

"You're my teacher... teach me" You smirked, his lips hungrily kissing your mouth, his tongue eager to slip inside your lips, crashing against yours but he took over you so easily that you instantly melted into his arms and hands that gripped your short hair so tightly, into his roughness, you were delighted to do so.

He tossed you back onto your table, raising your skirt and spreading your legs open, his hand in between your legs, dragging your panties down to your ankles, "Arch it" His hand pushed your hips down so you were completely exposed to him.

"Is that the way you like it?" You tease, turning your face to look at him, watching his hand stroking his cock very softly. You played around with him, wiggling your hips just to tease him.

You didn't expect him to hit your bum with his rough hands, sliding his fingers inside you testing how wet your walls were, "I see you like learning the hard way, I gotta repeat meself over and over until you understand"

"Until I understand what?" You joked.

"You're in my class, you follow my rules" A laugh bursts out of your lips, causing him to flip out on you, hitting you harder than the first time, you hissed and he kept hitting you and slamming his hand against your flesh harder, pulling your hair back, each time he hits you, a tear rolls down your cheek but more wetness drips down your thighs, something you couldn't understand. All your fantasies were coming true, "You understand who's in charge right?"

Your legs and arms shaking, he turns you over to face him, whipping a tear from your cheek, squishing your cheeks together, nodding your head to tell him you understand, "I'll do anything for it" His little evil smirk spreads across his lips as he sees your almond colored eyes sparkle beneath his touch.

He grips your hips tightly, smothering his lips against your mouth, pinching your cheeks together, and ripping apart the kiss, "There are no other better words" He bends you over against the table, kicking your feet to spread open your legs, grabbing a fist of your hair, the tip of his slippery head right in between your thighs, teasing you slowly until you couldn't help yourself anymore, you stupidly tried to grab him and let loose, he pulls harder on your hair, sticking a slap right across your face, "I told you to not play around like that, you think this is funny?" He spat into your ear, slowly easing himself inside you.

Your teeth bite your lower lip and hum as he gently drags back his dick and slides it back inside your little hole, his fingers in between your legs going in circles, but as he pulls his hips back you can feel your walls tightening around him, begging him to stay inside you, "Oh my fuckin'- please... just please... I need you" You cry out miserably trying to convince him.

"Toughen up, I don't wanna hear a single noise coming' out of that mouth, you understand?" You nod your head as a tear rolls down your face, waiting impatiently for him to fuck you senseless, the anticipation getting the best of you, "You're drooling for more..." He teased your entrance, coating the head of his cock with your juices, "Didn't know you were like that..." Your name rolls out of his tongue like glory, and it sounds deathly and precious.

He eases his way inside you, your breathing gets stuck in your nose, and you try to keep up with the way his hips collide against your bum slowly at first, but with each moment you drag your hips back at the same time as him, he went deeper and deeper, and your legs started to feel it, you felt something burning inside you, something that tingled away in between your legs, and you were oozing for more, for something that put an end to it.

Your body tensed up as he suddenly grabbed a fast and hard pace, you could feel his skin burning against yours, digging his nails into your thighs, tearing and bruising your skin, there was no better pain, no other man that you ever desired. His fingers slipped inside your mouth until your throat closed, a burst of saliva coming out of your mouth as you pushed his body away from you.

He burst into laughter as you try to catch your breath, "What the fuck is your problem?" You gasped for air, "That was-"

"Too much?" He says with a smudged smile, "Thought you wanted me to teach you, you're not up for it anymore?" The cheeky tone in his voice mocked yours perfectly, you knew what this was all about.

"No, it's not that-"

"Oh come on, I knew you weren't serious, always laughing at me like I'm some sort of joke, and now you come here with all of this crying and whining, God! You can't handle anything" Your eyebrows frown together, "Don't look at me with those eyes" All you wanted was to scream and spit into his face all those vile words on your mind, but your tears ran down your face, the anger causing your insides to fire up and evaporate through tears. He set all of that fire at first glance.

He drags you closer to him by the elbow, "You can't say you don't feel what I'm feeling right now" Your nose reddened, his intentions just as clear as his writing on the chalkboard, he wanted you to fight for him "If you want me to be yours, I'll be part of you in any way you want... but just do it now, because I want you" Your arms around his neck, he kisses your cheek tasting your salty tears. But he was on top of you since the beginning, and like the man he is, nothing is really good enough for him, "I said I would do anything for you and I will, just keep me" You blinked your eyes slowly, his arms dragging your body closer to his.

His hands flew across your face, a spank of wind drying up your tears. He bends you over against the desk, hearing the weakness in your voice and the need for him had his mind so fixated on you, this fight had stopped and now he felt like the winner, he liked the triumph and the fulfillment of feeling your body twist and bend just the way he wanted, and you felt happy he could feed of your body like a vulture.

Your body relaxed as his arms hugged you close, lips on your neck, nose in your hair, not a single noise coming out of your lips, your mind was off wondering how long it took him to end you. His body smashing yours repeatedly, you looking at him through the crack of your neck, watching his eyes turn black, "You're enjoying this, you can't hide nothing from me" Your eyes closed tightly as you can feel him forcing himself deeper in that tight space, "You love when I get all mad on you, don't you?" Your cheeky smile burst onto the surface, he had caught you since the beginning, but he didn't want to fight anymore, there was no need for that. He can feel his heart palpitating so fast at the look of your pillowy pink cracked lips, his hands running down your soft hair, your body rocking against his so nicely that it makes his whole body vibrate, he's at a loss for words, so he wraps his arm around your waist, grabbing your hand and closing shut your mouth as your eyebrows push together and your walls began to contract and he pushed himself deeper inside feeling you burst like bubblegum, and your walls began to slowly ease up as your body gets covered with little flickers of electricity.

His eyes feel heavy as he smothers his cock in all your wetness, his gasps for air humming your name, playing around with your clit, and you were so sensitive and he couldn't get enough, but you were willing to handle more just for your man. His body was slowly losing balance and he grunted and you could feel him sliding outside of you so easily, feeling something warm splash into your inner thigh. That last warm breath of lust breezing your cheek.

"Here" He whipped down your thigh, and you adjusted your panties and your hair, and as you turned around, he pulled you close to him, giving you a gentle and caring kiss on your head. Your hearts warm up to each other instantly, "You did great, me darlin'"

"Thank you" That's all you needed to hear from him. He didn't call you by any other thing but his.

A/N

This was a special one, dedicated to my girl, my real, my best friend, and ofc thank you anon for your request but this was like two birds in one bullet sort of thing. She's my number one fan, and I gotta thank her for reading all of this, and for making me feel good about telling her about this, I thought I would take many things to grave but turns out, she's taking some of mine and I'll be taking some of her's, because that's what love is.

I lob u 😈💋

#alex turner #arctic monkeys #alex turner smut #arctic monkeys one shots #alex turner fan fic #alex turner one shots #lana del rey #alex turner x reader #jamie cook #matt helders #nick omalley #alex turner fanfic #arctic monkeys smut #arctic monkeys fic recs #arctic monkeys fan fic

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purfectstormzz · 6 months

Text

I wanna be yours | Elijah Hewson x reader

Summary: In which Elijah Hewson finds himself falling in love with the sister of a famous singer.

Pairing: Elijah Hewson x fem!Turner!reader

Warnings: Badly written story. (sorry guys)

A/n: the reader is about 24 so she’s way younger than Alex (hard truth; she wasn’t planned)

Masterlist

It wasn’t a secret that the Turner siblings had a big age gap. At 13 years old, Alex was blessed with the birth of his baby sister. At first he wasn’t thrilled but when his sister finally arrived he was more than happy. He couldn’t deny the fact that he loved her more than anything, he promised his mother that he would protect and take care of her for the rest of his life. And he did, Alex made sure that every guy that came into her life treated her right and if they didn’t they were in a lot of trouble. At 16 years old Alex started a band with his friends and 3 year old Y/n was his biggest fan. She was at all the band meetings, the repetitions and even at their first gig.

Throughout the years Y/n grew up and became more interested in boys. Whenever Y/n came home with a boyfriend or just a boy in general, Alex made sure that he was a good guy and if they weren’t he made sure that they were too scared to even come back.

Y/n became older and Alex’s band became famous. Y/n loved being at their concerts and made sure to tell everyone how awesome her brother was. When she was 17 she discovered her passion for playing guitar. With a little help of her brother, she became talented in playing the guitar.

Now a 24 year old Y/n and a 37 year old Alex were closer than ever before. The Arctic Monkeys were extremely successful and Y/n couldn’t be more proud of her older brother. Y/n started her own music school for kids and teens who want to learn and play guitar just like her. But her full time job was supporting her brother at his concerts. Y/n tried her best to be at all of the concerts and she made sure to show everyone how proud she was.

“So have you guys found a new opener for your shows yet?” Y/n asked her brother while pouring herself a drink in his dressing room. “Matt found this new band who want to open up for us.” Alex answered getting of the sofa to get ready for the show. “Oh and have you met them yet?” the younger Turner asked. “I haven’t but Matt has and he said that they’re good so guess I have to believe him.” Alex answered walking towards his closet and pulling his suit out. “Alright sis I need to get dressed so I’ll see you after the show.” He said giving his sister a kiss on her forehead. “Alright, good luck.” She said before walking out of his dressing room.

Y/n made her way trough the corridors to get to her spot for the concert, she looked around the big hallways and couldn’t deny that she was lost. She didn’t know where she was supposed to go. She turned around a corner and walked further along the hallway. After walking for what felt like half an hour, Y/n finally saw someone who might know the way to the concert hall. “Hey sir can I ask you something.” She called out to the man in front of her. The guy turned around and y/n was met with the prettiest guy she had ever seen. “Sure.” He answered looking at the girl. His brown eyes looked directly into hers. “Do you maybe know where the private upper levels are?” She asked nervously. The boy gave her a smile before saying. “Sure, I’ll lead you the way.” The pair walked trough the hallways. “So, what’s your name.” The boy asked trying to make the walk less akward. “I’m y/n.” She told him. The pair turned a corner and walked further along. “What’s your name?” Y/n asked the brunette in front of her. “I’m Elijah but you can call me Eli.” He answered. “What brings you here Eli?” The girl asked. “I’m part of the band that’s opening for the band.” Eli said. “Oh that’s awesome. What instrument do you play?” Y/n asked. “I’m the lead singer but I also play the guitar.” The boy answered. The pair chatted a bit longer before they finally arrived at the upper levels.

“So here it is.” Eli said giving y/n a smile. “I have to get back to the dressing room because we have to be on stage in 10 minutes.” He said giving her one last smile before turning to walk out of the door. “It was nice meeting you Eli.” Y/n smiled after him. “I hope I’ll see you again Y/n” the brunette said before walking away into the hallway.

Y/n took a seat in one of the chairs sitting next to Amanda, Matt’s wife. The both of them talked for a few minutes until the lights went out. Four boys walked onto the stage and y/n saw Elijah walking up to his microphone. The band started the show by playing ‘These are the days’. Y/n sat in her chair admiring the boy that she just met. The crowd loved the band and the younger Turner couldn’t help but smile looking at the boy.

The band ended their set by playing ‘My honest face’ and then disappeared behind the curtains. Y/n sat in her chair waiting for her brother’s band to come on stage. She couldn’t stop thinking about Eli and how good he was on the stage. The girl was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t hear the door to the upper levels open. “Hey, is this seat taken?” She heard a familiar voice say. Y/n looked up and saw Elijah standing there giving the girl a sweet smile. “No, no you can sit there.” She told him smiling at the boy. “So we meet again.” Eli laughed. The pair talked about the band’s performance and about how Inhaler got to open for the Arctic Monkeys.

Alex and the rest of the band appeared on the stage and the crowd went wild. Elijah still didn’t know that he was sitting next to the sister of The Alex Turner. The band started playing their songs and Y/n and Eli sang along together. The both of them enjoyed the show a lot.

After the show ended Y/n and Eli walked out of the upper levels. They turned a hallway before Eli asked her. “Could I maybe get your number?” Y/n turned around looking at the boy. “I know that we just met but I think you’re really nice and I really want to know you better.” Eli said looking the girl into her eyes. “Oh yeah sure.” She said before giving the boy her phone to type his number. Y/n and Elijah exchanged numbers. “I’ll call you when I get to my hotel room.” The boy smiled. Y/n couldn’t help but admire how cute his smile was, she got butterflies in her stomach every time the boy smiled.

Y/n and Eli parted ways. He walked towards his dressing room getting ready to go to his hotel room while she walked towards her brother’s dressing room.

Alex stood in his dressing room waiting for his sister. He was ready to go to their hotel but just had to wait for his sister. Y/n walked through the door giving her brother a smile. “You guys were amazing.” She smiled. “Thanks sis, let’s go to the hotel now.” Alex said giving his sister a tired smile.

The siblings arrived at their hotel and y/n went into her hotel room while Alex walked towards his. “Goodnight Alexander.” Y/n said knowing how much he hates it when people say his full name. “Goodnight kiddo.” He said back before walking into his room and shutting the door behind him.

Y/n sat on her hotel bed looking at her phone. She was waiting on the call from Eli. After waiting for a while, Eli finally called her. She picked up the phone and heard his tired voice through the phone. “Hey.” Eli said, you could hear the smile in his voice. “Hey, did you get to you hotel oké?” Y/n asked him. “Yeah we got here pretty easy. A few crazy fans but nothing we haven’t handled before.” He laughed. The pair talked for another hour before Eli asked. “Do you want to go do something?” Y/n was speechless. She couldn’t think anymore, was he really asking her out?? “Of course I want to go do something with you.” She finally answered after staying quit for a bit.

Eli and Y/n made plans to go to a café tomorrow afternoon before both of them went to bed. Both of them fell asleep with the biggest smile on their face. They couldn’t wait for it to be the next day…

#elijah hewson x reader #elijah hewson #inhaler #bobby skeetz #robert keating #josh jenkinson #ryan mcmahon #arctic monkeys #alex turner

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annasfantasies · 4 days

Text

Sugar 2

/alex turner x fem!reader

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

Credits to the owners of the photos

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

PART ONE

Pairing: the car!alex turner x fem!reader

Summery: the cute evening with Al turned into something more

Warnings: age gap (Alex 37 and reader 25), soft!dom Alex, clit play, spanking, praising kink, fingering (f receiving), p in w, fem nicknames (sugar, darling, pretty girl, baby, good girl) choking, ruined orgasm, blow job, unprotected sex, cream pie, aftercare

Word count: 2.2k

ENGLISH ISN’T MY FIRST LANGUAGE

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

"Couldn't stop thinking about you all day, darling."

I yelped as he smacked my ass, the burning sensation swiftly smoothed by the hand. "Alex!"

He chuckled not even bothered by my weight on his shoulder and continued caressing my ass. I huffed at his cockiness but that was quickly replaced by another yelp as his hand landed on me again.

I rolled my eyes and realised we were almost in our bedroom. In that moment I got an idea. I giggled and outstretched my hand. "What-" I interrupted him by my hand landing on his ass. He gasped but suddenly I was thrown on our bed. I looked up at Alex with a smirk on my lips. "What?" I asked innocently and fluttered my lashes on him. He raised his eyebrows and put his hands on his hips. I didn't even realise I was biting my bottom lip until he broke the tension in the room.

"Playing innocent?" He titled his head slightly and shifted his weight to one leg.

"I have no idea what you're talking about." I smiled at him. I'm playing with fire, he will teach me how to behave later and I can't wait for the lesson.

I raised my leg and rested it right above the tent of his trousers. He looked down and then back at me, few brown locks of his hair fell into his face. Slowly I moved the leg lower and started rubbing against him while holding eye contact with him the whole time.

The fire in his eyes grew and I continued my teasing game. I could feel him harden below my foot but before I could say something about it, he slapped the leg away, bend down and turned my body on the bed. All I could do is gasp. He had already lifted my, well his white button up to reveal my ass covered in baby pink lace panties.

"So naughty, hm?" I could hear the smirk in his husky voice, he stroked my cheeks, kneading them with his big hands. I sucked in a sharp breath, my right asscheek was starting to hurt from the earliest slaps. "I asked you a question, love." He said with another smack against the skin. I made a noise which sounded like something between whine, moan and yelp and nodded. He chuckled and caressed me again. "Words, sugar."

I received another one. "Yes!" I moaned out the so wanted answer.

"Good girl." He praised me causing my walls to clench around nothing, I could feel my panties getting soaked. He leaned down and kissed the red and burning spots. I buried my face into the mattress and sucked a sharp breath in my lungs. "Sensitive, hm?"

"Yes." I whispered and bit my bottom lip. Suddenly he touched the wet spot between my legs with his thumb. I gasped but pushed against his finger. “Please."

He chuckled. "You think you deserve it?" He started slowly rubbing the wetness, moving lower to my clit. That made me whine loudly.

"Please, Alex." I whined again when he added more pressure and started rubbing quick cycles on it.

"Answer." He said firmly. I arched my back and pushed into his hand more.

"I do. I've been waiting for you all day and I made you cookies." I said, every now and then whimpering. I gathered the white sheets beneath me with my hands. "Please."

He chuckled and smacked my left cheek with his free hand. "Well, when you're asking so nicely."

Before I could beg more he pulled my ass in the air and slid my panties down my thighs just above my knees.

I could feel his stare on my bare pussy, the juices leaking down my lags. "Such a pretty view." He whispered lowly. His voice full of lust making me shiver and clench around nothing.

"Alex please." I rub my thighs against each other trying to get some relief.

He chuckled behind me and placed his palms on my asscheeks, squeezing them. I bucked back into his hands and whined.

His fingers slowly slid lower and lower until he was where I wanted and needed him. He spread my fold and I gasped when he blew air onto me. "Alex!"

He laughed again before sliding two finger between my fold, gathering the wetness and pulling away.

I sighted in frustration but was interrupted by a licking sound and Alex humming. "What-" I looked over my shoulder and saw Alex's fingers in his mouth. The walls of my insides clenched around nothing and the wetness ran down my lags yet again.

He looked angelic. His hair messy, eyes closed, lashes touching his rosy cheeks, lips wrapped around the fingers. Pure pleasure written all over his face.

I moaned which made him open his eyes. The eye contact was so intense and full of lust I bit into my bottom lip, Alex's dark eyes drifted to it and before I could say anything he grabbed me by my jaw and kissed me.

It wasn't sweet and cute like when he came home. No. It was want and neediness. I deepened it and opened my mouth, touching his lips by my tongue as a request for him to open his. He did and slid his tongue into my mouth, we fought for dominance, even though we both knew he is going to win.

He pulled away too soon, touching my forehead with his and panting. I closed my eyes and tried to catch my breath as well but was surprised by the now wet fingers quickly sliding into me.

I gasped and he pulled away, his hand sliding to the back of my head and burring me into the sheets. Alex slowly pulled almost all the way out before shoving into me again and deeper. I moaned his name loudly but was muffled by the sheets as he punched me more into it.

He continued to slide in and out, drawing loud moans and needy whines out of me. He occasionally slowed down to almost stoping making me beg. The room was full of wet sounds, my whines and Alex's praising. The pleasure I was feeling in my whole body started to be too much, the knot in my stomach tightening. "Aly! I'm gonna cum!" I screamed.

He moved his hand and wrapped it around my neck, squeezing me just right. I was almost there but just as I was about to finish he stoped everything and pulled away. My body shook as I groaned, sniffled and screamed, babbling things that weren't making sense. "No, no, no! Alex, please- I-"

He chuckled and smacked my red cheek again.

"You- you said that-"

"That was for the slap you gave me." I heard him stand up rustling with something. "Sit up." He ordered. I pulled my self up onto my knees before turning around and sitting on the edge of our bed. I looked up at him with my best puppy eyes I could do, my cheeks probably red as apples and glossed with tears.

He put a lock of my hair behind my ear and stroked my cheek, wiping the tears away. "So pretty." He smiled at me. He pulled down his already unzipped trousers, I helped him pull them down past his knees before sliding my palms back up to his black boxers. I bit my lip when I saw the outline of his cock. I took him out and almost moaned. He was big and thick with a vein going all the way up from the bottom to the pinky head. Even though I saw and took him multiple times it will always make me nervous.

I looked him in the eyes asking for permission. "Go on, pretty girl."

That was all I needed before taking him in my hand. He twitched and the pre cum dripped down his length. I started to stroke him and spreading the wetness, brushing my thumb agains his tip and squeezing him every time nearing it.

Alex was releasing breath groans and small moans. He put his hands at the back of my head and pulled me to him. "Need your mouth." Was all he said.

I smiled at him while holding eye contact and opened my mouth, slowly lowering my head until he was touching me. I took the tip in and sucked onto him. He groaned and pushed ma head until he hit the back of my throat causing me to gag. "So warm, baby." He threw his head back moaning out loud my name. "So good."

I started moving my mead, slowly speeding up. I stroke the rest of him that didn’t fit into my mouth, squeezing him and playing with his balls. He pulled onto my hair which made me moan. He started bucking his hips back into me, hitting the back of my throat. He let out more whimpers and praises. There was starting to form a wet patch underneath me and saliva running down my chin.

"Fuck! You're so good, such a good girl." He rasped out, the end of the sentence turned into another high pitched moan. I clenched my thighs trying to get some kind of release.

I felt him twitch agains my tongue meaning he is close. I bumped my head faster and took him even deeper. I don't care I can barely breath, I want him to cum, I want to taste him.

Without another warning the hot drops of his cum shoot into me. The taste and sounds of his the only thing I can focus on. I continued my movements until he stoped me. I released him from my warmth with a pop and saliva connecting us.

He sighed and took my jaw. "Open up." I obeyed and sticked out my tongue covered in the liquid. He smirked and stroked my red cheek. "Swallow." Were his next commands. I did as he said, looking into his eyes the whole time. I opened again to show him, hoping he will reward me. “Good girl.” He nodded and squeezed my cheeks.

“I think you deserve it now.”

I nodded, desperately wanting him inside me already, needing him. “Please.” My voice was hoarse from earlier activities.

He bend down to be face to face with me and took my neck into his hand again. His lips crushed into mine, both of us moaning, our tongues fighting yet again. He pushed me onto my back and got on top of me. My hand flew into his brown locks, pulling onto them.

We moved back until I was resting on the fluffy pillows. Alex squeezed the sides of my neck, drawing a whine out of me. Unfortunately he pulled away and moved to my neck, sucking and nibbling on the skin, trying to leave new mark. The last ones were already fading.

I gasped when his teeth sank into me. The sensation becoming overpowering but in a pleasing way.

Another gasp left me when I felt the head of his cock sliding between me folds, gathering wetness before going to the entrance. He looked at me silently asking me, I nodded and he finally slid in.

His thickness stretching me out even after I took him countless times. I will never get used to him and I’m loving it. When he was finally in I was feeling full and completed. He waited a minute before pulling almost all the way out and then pushing back in and even deeper.

As he was moving and letting his beautiful sounds out into the crook of my neck, I was releasing my on. The room was full of cries of pleasure and wet noises.

“Taking me so well, sugar. So good for me, as always.” He rasped out and kissed me hard, pouring his love into it and I tried my best to return it. He pulled away and rested his forehead against mine, holding me close.

I started feeling the familiar feeling and pressed him by my legs just above his ass, trying to make him go faster and deeper. He understood and did as I desired, moved his hand between our bodies and touching my center. He started massaging me and before I knew it was tripping over the edge. “I’m cummin-“

“Me too, baby. Me too.” Was all he said before filling me up with loud groan.

He laid on top of me as we panted, trying to catch our breathes and holding each other in our arms.

“You did so good, my love.” He broke the silence and kissed my cheeks and forehead. “I love you.”

I smiled at him and stroked his cheek. “I love you too, handsome.”

He placed a soft kiss on his on my lips before pulling out and getting up. His cum dripping out of me and on the sheets. He disappeared into a bathroom that is connected to the bedroom. I undressed myself completely and when he came back he was holding a wet towel. He got between my legs and cleaned me and then tucked me in the bed, placing another kiss on my face.

He left to clean himself too and came back in new pair of underwear before sliding into the bed with me. He wrapped his arms around me, bringing me as close as possible and burring his face in my hair.

I hid myself in his chest, letting his warmth and scent swallow me.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

A/N: first time writing smut in English so I hope it’s readable😐 please let me know if you find any mistakes or anything!

Feedback is always welcome💗 don’t forget to leave a comment or I you are shy you can send an anonymous text‼️

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andulina567 · 8 months

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I was thinking about writing one shots about Alex and also other people but I don’t know how it would turn out Because of my English.🧍‍♀️

#alex turner #arctic monkeys #jamie cook #matt helders #am #tbhc #the last shadow puppets #the car #tranquility base hotel and casino #fwn #fluff #alex turner fanfic #fanfiction #alex turner x y/n #alex turner x reader #alex turner fluff #alex turner social media au #alex turner hands #alex turner age gap

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leafjoon · 4 months

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Between the Lines - pt. I

tbhc!alex x reader this chapter is bascially a slow burn, fluffy vibe charged w some sexual tension between the reader who is in college n our beloved alix who becomes her editor. warnings: age gap, alex is 33, reader is in her 20's, cursing, alcohol.

In the heart of the university campus, a quaint café served as a haven for students. Seated at a cozy corner table Y/N and her best friend, Sophie, found comfort in the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the hum of hushed conversations.

The soft glow of pendant lights cast a warm ambiance over mismatched wooden furniture, creating a warm atmosphere. Amidst the rustling of students immersed in textbooks and the distant murmur of espresso machines, Y/N and Sophie navigated the labyrinth of academia.

"Ugh, I suck," you groaned, holding your English lit paper in your hands.

"You don't," said Sophia.

"I got a C, Soph."

"Didn’t you do this on three hours of sleep?" she looked at you.

"Yeah," you grumbled.

"You'll do better next time."

"Ugh. I know. It's just such a blow to my confidence," you said, sipping on your ginger tea.

"I know. But this grade doesn't determine your skills. You're great at writing," she said, swirling her spoon in her iced coffee.

"Well. That's debatable," you replied.

She glared at you.

"Fine, fine. I'll stop talking shit about myself," you rolled your eyes.

"Good." She said pleased with your answer.

You scanned the coffee shop and saw students going about their normal routines. Some of them were hurrying to get to their lectures on time. Others were lazing around in their seats, talking to their friends. Chatter filled the room as you let out a stressed out sigh. You sulked, not knowing how you were gonna recover from this grade.

"Anyway, as I was telling you. I asked my dad about Mr. Turner. He said you can give him a call and ask him to check out your novel."

"Oh god,” you groaned. “I mean-thank you so much. I don't wanna seem ungrateful, I just-I don't know. It feels awkward showing someone my short novel. If you can even call it that,” you rambled.

"I get it. I get embarrassed when I show my tutor my paintings. And he always has something to say," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Soph, your paintings are incredible. And your guy is good."

"That's true," she said, a light blush coloring her cheeks.

You smiled at her. You loved your best friend. You met in high school and became close friends senior year. You used to spend hours at each other's places, watching shows and mulling over the characters. She was one of the few people who was there for you through thick and thin and you weren't afraid to show your vulnerable side to her, insecurities and all.

"I'll send you his phone number and you can contact him whenever."

"Okay. Will do." You said, scrunching your face.

"If you don't do it, I will.”

"Ugh, I'll do it, I promise."

"I'll hold you to it."

"I can't wait to go out on Friday. I need to get drunk and forget," you groaned.

"Same. We've been too stressed out lately. We need to let loose," Sophie added.

You and Sophie had a tradition. No matter the circumstances you always went out on the weekend. You often drank alcohol at your favorite bar or club and danced until your feet were numb and your hearts were pounding. Then you stumbled to one of your dorms and ate junk food or watched a shitty movie.

Sophie looked down at her phone, her clock reading 1:47 PM.

"Well, I have to run. I have Literary Criticism soon,” she remarked.

"With Mr. spits when he talks?" you replied.

"That's the one," she said, letting out an exaggerated sigh.

You chuckled. "Good luck."

"I’ll see you later," she leaned down, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek.

You, on the other hand, finished your lectures for the day. Your Mondays weren't as rough, consisting of only two lectures in the morning and god, were you thankful for that.

Your eyes darted to your phone screen, after you received a notification from Sophie.

Alexander Turner

+378 09 998 890

Anxiety gnawed at you. You took a deep breath and told yourself It’s fine. He gets paid for this kind of job. He’s probably seen worse writing.

You decided to be brave and text him as there's no way you were calling him.

Hello Mr. Turner. Peter Herring recommended you as an editor. I am currently working on a short novel and I am interested in hiring you. Would you be interested in that? Thank you in advance.

You typed it out, reading it again. You erased the words ‘short novel’ leaving it blank.

"Ugh." You said out loud. You decided to retype it and send it without thinking too much, letting out a sigh of relief.

As you were scrolling on your phone, it suddenly started vibrating and a number appeared. It read Mr. Turner.

Oh god. Why the hell is he calling me? Doesn’t this guy know how to text?

You answered your phone hesitantly, bringing it to your ear.

"Hello?" you said.

"Hi." a low voice spoke.

"Um. Is this Mr. Turner?"

"Yeah. What's your name, love? You didn't introduce yourself," he said in a thick British accent.

"Oh-um, I'm (Y/N)."

"Alright, (Y/N). You're interested in hiring an editor, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Great. How's Wednesday evening work for you? 7pm, my office? We can discuss the details then."

"Um, Wednesday evening? Yeah I'm good with that," you said.

"Alright. I'll send you my address then. Don't forget your novel," he added.

"Yes. Thank you," you sputtered.

And with that he hung up the phone. You stood there bewildered at this phone call. You just agreed to go to this random man's office on a Wednesday. You had no idea he was british. Why didn't Soph tell you he was british?

Well I guess you have an editor now.

In the sanctuary of your dormitory, you and Sophie nestled on your sofa as you found comfort beneath your favorite blanket.

"I had no idea he was british! His accent was so thick Soph. Like, I had never heard it before."

Sophie was laughing at you. "I thought I mentioned it."

"Well you didn't. Nothing could have prepared me for that. He was so swift and straight to the point. Skipped all the usual bullshit."

"Yep, that's Turner for you," she replied.

"How did your dad meet him again?" you inquired.

"Oh, he was his student in college. Mr. Turner lived in London for a few years and then moved here after my dad recommended him for this sort of writing position," she shrugged.

"Huh. That's interesting," you said. "Hey, what does this guy look like?" you asked, your curiosity peaking.

"Hmm. Let me show you his Facebook," she said.

"His Facebook?" you asked, furrowing your brows in confusion.

"What? He doesn't have Instagram. He's in his 30s." she added.

"Right," you nodded. You got up and sat next to her, both of you staring at her phone. She found his Facebook page and clicked on his photos.

"He's kinda cute," you said, breaking the silence. Sophie chuckled at your reaction. "He’s good looking," she shrugged.

He had big brown eyes and medium length hair that went past his ears, down to the nape of his neck. His beard seemed neat and trimmed.

"Don't get any ideas now," she looked at you, teasing. "I'm not. I want to see how he looks like so I'm not completely blind sided when I get there."

"Anyway," you continued. "Do you wanna sleep over tonight? My roomie's not here."

"Oh my gosh, yes. I'll go grab my stuff," she exclaimed. "Okay," you said in a singsong and slumped down on your sofa, stretching out your legs.

You couldn't help but feel jittery for Wednesday. You let your thoughts wander for a little, wondering what he was like.

The week was passing quickly, and it was finally Wednesday. You were preparing to leave and go to Mr. Turner's place. To say you were a little nervous would be an understatement. Your palms were sweaty, and you weren't sure what you were wearing was appropriate.

You questioned if you looked like you were trying too hard as you opted for baggy brown suit pants and a red shirt with long sleeves.

Ugh. I'm sure he doesn't give a rat's ass about what I'm wearing.

As you put on your big leather jacket and wrapped a black scarf around your neck, the words he spoke echoed in your mind. "Don't forget your novel." As you went back to your room, you made sure to grab your novel and quickly stuffed it into your tote bag as well as your dorm keys. You couldn't help but wonder if any of his clients had ever forgotten theirs.

You decided to take the bus to his office and followed the instructions he texted you.

102 Ave Street. Nr. 32. If you have difficulties finding it, call me.

As you strolled around the neighborhood, you spotted a house with the number 32. You walked past his charming little garden and couldn't help but admire how nicely maintained it was.

Now, standing in front of his door, a mix of excitement and nerves crept over you. Unsure of whether to give a knock or press the doorbell, anticipation filled the air. You decided to knock.

As you took a moment to take in your surroundings, the sound of the door being opened reached your ears. Stepping into the view was a figure of a pale man.

"Uh, hello," you said, extending your hand for him to shake. "Good evening," he said, a slight awkward smile on his face. He glanced down at your hand for a few seconds before finally reaching out to shake it.

"It's nice to meet you, Mr. Turner," you said, maintaining the handshake. "Likewise. Please, come inside and feel at home," he invited you.

"Thank you," you quietly replied as you stepped into his house, though a slight feeling of uncertainty lingered. It almost felt like intruding. "This way to my office," he directed, gesturing towards the left.

"Would you like a drink? Coffee or tea?" he asked. "Uh, tea would be fine. Thanks."

As you walked into his office, you settled into one of the inviting chairs positioned near his desk. Your gaze wandered to the oak wood bookcase that adorned the room, its shelves overflowing with a collection of books. Your eyes were drawn to the carefully placed plants that created a warm and inviting atmosphere. You wondered if anyone else lived in this house, although it seemed empty by the looks of it.

"Here you go," he interrupted your thoughts, setting down a mug with hot tea. "I brought you ginger. I don't know if you like it or not," he said with a serious tone. "Oh, that's my favorite actually," you said, smiling awkwardly.

"Great. Careful, it's hot," he looked at you and gave you a half smile. You blushed a little and brought the mug to your mouth, taking a sip. "So, did you bring your novel?" he said, staring at you.

You tried to speak and swallow at the same time and ended up choking on your drink. You coughed for a few minutes as Alex stared at you, his face laced with concern.

"Erm.." he shifted so he could tap your back. "Try to look up. It should help," he said.

You followed his instructions and looked up at the ceiling, coughing. Your throat seemed to calm down.

"S-sorry," you barely managed to say. "No worries. You alright?"

"Yes," you exhaled and took out the novel, handing it to him, trying to move past the awkward situation. "Thank you," he muttered.

He took your novel and opened it, setting it down on the desk. Your legs were only a few centimeters away from each other. You shifted slightly, not wanting to invade his personal space.

You realized he hadn't asked you to send him your novel and wondered if you had made a mistake. Perhaps you should have asked him about it.

"Um... should I have sent a digital copy of it to you?" you questioned. "No, it's quite alright. I prefer reading it in front of my clients," he said, his gaze not leaving the book.

You felt awkward, to say the least. It wasn’t pleasant having someone read your work right in front of you. Especially when you thought editors usually familiarize themselves with your work beforehand.

You fumbled with your fingers, unsure what to do with yourself. Bringing the hot mug to your lips, you took a few sips. Your eyes wandered around the room and settled on Alex. He looked like he was studying your work, wearing a serious expression on his face, his eyebrows furrowed.

He looked handsome. When a few strands of hair fell on his face, he tucked them behind his ear. You felt your cheeks heat up and looked away before he could catch you staring.

As you anxiously awaited his response, doubts clouded your mind about whether any of the sentences you wrote were coherent. You nervously retrieved your phone from your bag, feeling the clamminess on your palms. However, before you could reach out to a friend, he abruptly spoke up.

“S’good,” he looked up at you nodding. “Really? But you didn’t read that much.." you weren't sure what to say.

“I don’t need to. I can see that it’s straightforward and has a clear direction. It’s a bit wordy though and needs some work.” He added.

“Oh, okay,” you nodded. He noticed you slumped a little and found it endearing. He had to remind himself of your age and sensitivity.

“But don’t fret. It’s nothing we can’t fix,” he said, a slight smile tugging at his lips. “Right,” you smiled politely. You looked at him for a split-second and then glanced down at your hands.

“Well. I need to read the rest of your novel now. I only wanted to give you a clear picture of what we were gonna do in the upcoming weeks and how this works,” you nodded.

“For now we can meet once every two weeks and then see how your work progresses. Does Wednesday work for you, around this time?” “Uh-yes. I can do that.”

“Perfect. I want to recommend two books for you to read that could help you with your writing. Could you grab “On Writing”, by Stephen King from the bookshelf there?” he pointed to a book with a brown hardcover.

You stood up and spotted the book he was talking about. “This one?” you asked. “Yes. And also the “Bird by Bird” on your left.” You looked around but didn’t see the book he was talking about.

He stood up, approaching you, his chest pressing lightly against your back. His hand reached out just above your head, and a tantalizing scent reached your nose. The subtle blend of cigarette smoke and lavender emerged from his clothing.

“That’s your right,” he said behind you, amused. “Oh, right,” you chuckled awkwardly.

He got back to his desk and handed you the book, your fingers grazing his.

“You don’t need to read these in over a week. This isn’t school,” he chuckled. “But they should help you improve and explore different methods of writing.”

“Thank you, Mr. Turner,” you mumbled. “Oh, feel free to call me Alex,” he said. “Okay. Alex,” you replied.

You felt strange saying his name in such a casual manner. It felt like you were talking to a friend your age, not a 30 something year old accomplished editor and god knows what else.

“Oh uh, how do I pay for this?” “My secretary will contact you for that. The first session was meant for us to get acquainted and make sure that we are a good fit."

“Great,” you said. “Alright.” He looked at you. “Right. Then I’ll be going. Thank you, again. It was nice meeting you,” you mumbled.

“It was nice meeting you too,” he smiled and guided you to the door. You waved goodbye, and exited his house, the cold autumn air surrounding you. Well, now you really have an editor.

Alex didn't expect, well, you. He knew you were younger but god, were you a pretty little thing. His usual clients were a lot older and well, half of them were men.

He tried not to get carried away as his mind swirled with different thoughts about you. He didn't want to be creepy and he never wanted to give you that impression. So he tried his best to be professional.

But you were making it so hard. With your pouty lips and your fumbling hands every time you waited for a response from him. You wore these perfectly fitting tops that hugged your body. Occasionally when you moved around, the fabric would subtly reveal a glimpse of your midriff, making it impossible not to gawk at you. He thought you were simply adorable.

"So, how are your classes going? Anyone giving you trouble?" He asked, genuinely interested. "They're going well," you trailed off, sighing.

"It's one of my professors. I don't think he likes me," you murmured. "Who?" he asked.

"Professor Miller," you slumped a little. "Oh. Well I don't think he likes anyone if that makes you feel any better," you laughed. "No but seriously, what’s the problem?" he asked.

"I have the lowest grade in his class," you said, rolling your eyes, a little embarrassed to admit. "Grades aren't everything (Y/N). I've had my fair share of shitty grades too."

"What if I just suck though?" you asked, finding it unbelievable how comfortable you felt talking to him after knowing him only for a few weeks. "Nah. I would have dropped you by now," he teased you.

You gasped. “I’m only joking. You have a lot of potential,” he said, softly gazing into your eyes.

You smiled, feeling at ease.

"If you want I can help you with your assignments. Give you tips and such. Free of charge," he joked.

Both of you couldn't help but notice that your knees were touching but you felt comfortable staying close.

"Are you sure?" you asked. "Yeah. What else am I gonna do with my time?" he said. "Thanks," you said, feeling like this is beginning to border on inappropriate. But you didn't care.

"How about tomorrow, after your classes, you come by and we can see what we can do."

You nodded. "Okay. Sounds great."

You had entranced him. He knew it was inappropriate. He was your editor, after all. And much older than you. But he couldn't help it. He couldn't stand the idea of any of these college guys having you. You were too good. Too sweet.

He wanted to be the one who owned you. He often imagined what it would be like to graze your delicate skin with his fingers. Make you shiver under his touch. Or how you mouth would feel around his coc-

"I hate writing!" you exclaimed, getting up from his couch and pacing around. You guys had moved from his office to his living room. He wanted you to feel comfortable.

He listened to you intently as you explained what you meant to convey in your latest pages. He could have easily done this over an email, but no, he had to see you. Your low voice, sweet like honey, reached his ears.

You sighed. "I don't know. I feel like I'm losing sight of my story. I have no idea what to do next." You said, biting your lip.

"Maybe you should leave it be," Alex replied.

"Huh?" you questioned.

"Well you've been working really hard at it lately. When was the last time you did something else you were passionate about?"

"I-," you paused, "I don't know," you mumbled, sitting down next to him again.

"See? You need to forget about it for a while. Create some distance."

You mulled over his words. "Is that what you do?"

"Course. Every artist does."

You looked at him like the world hung on his lips.

"Yeah. I can try that," you said, a worried expression on your face.

"No," he laughed. "Don't take this as another assignment. I mean really forget about it. Do something that doesn't make you think about writing."

You thought about it for a while and asked "Like what?"

He hesitated. "Well." Fuck it, he thought. "I have two tickets to the theater tonight," he raised his eyebrows slightly. "One of my friends canceled on me and you can join me if you want.”

His gaze met yours as you registered what he asked you. He looked at you, biting his lip, worrying if he had been too forward.

"What's the play about?" you asked, caving in. He tried to contain his smile and continued "It's ballet. The last swan lake."

"Oh, I've always wanted to see that," you said. "Great. We can meet in front of the theater at 7:30. That alright?" he asked.

"Yeah. Sounds good," you replied, trying to contain your enthusiasm. "I'll see you later then."

As you were getting ready in your small bathroom, you couldn't help but feel nervous about tonight, butterflies swirling in your stomach. We can meet for a drink beforehand, if you want. My treat. He told you a few hours ago, wearing a shy smile.

You had reluctantly agreed. You wanted to spend time with him so badly but you felt like you were doing something wrong. You hadn’t even told Sophie yet.

You got dressed, slipping on your silky tights past your legs. You decided to wear a delicate black dress with long sleeves that exposed your plush thighs. Pairing it with your leather jacket and your red scarf, you slung your small handbag over your shoulder, getting ready to leave.

You decided to take your earphones with you and listen to music to calm your nerves.

When you arrived at the charming bar he had picked, you flung the door open and entered. lThe cozy ambience enveloped you as you stepped inside, a welcoming contrast to the crisp evening air outside.

Alex, already seated at a secluded corner table, looked up from his menu, a genuine smile spreading across his face as he caught sight of you entering.

As you made your way towards him, the gentle flicker of candlelight played on the edges of his features. "You made it," he said, rising from his seat and pulling your chair out for you.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, your cheeks rosy from the cold. You sat down, not knowing what to do with your hands or where to look. This felt strangely intimate.

“What do you want to drink?” he asked you.

“Uh. What are you getting?” you replied.

“Probably a beer.” He said.

“I guess I’ll get a glass of white wine then,” you replied, feeling somewhat awkward. You didn’t expect in a million years to have drinks with your editor.

“You sure? You can get anything you want. Like I said, it’s my treat.” He smiled.

“Thank you. Yeah I’m good,” you replied bashfully.

After the waiter brought your drinks you started delving into conversation.

"So, um, tell me more about yourself," Alex prompted, his gaze lingering on you.

You giggled, sipping your drink. "Well, there's not much to tell. Just a struggling student trying to make it out alive."

He chuckled, taking a sip of his drink. "From what I've seen, there's more than meets the eye."

You met his gaze, and the air shifted, charged with an unspoken tension. "You know, I never expected my editor to be someone who could make me forget about writer's block."

He raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. "Maybe I'm just that good at my job."

The conversation flowed effortlessly, weaving between discussions of literature, shared interests, and personal anecdotes. As the night progressed, the topics ventured into more intimate territories, the subtle dance of words revealing layers beneath the surface.

"You have this way of making the mundane sound interesting," you remarked, now both on your second drink. You could feel your face heat up from the alcohol.

Alex leaned in, his gaze intense yet inviting. "Maybe it's the company that makes it interesting."

The words lingered in the air, a palpable tension settling between you. Unspoken desires sparked beneath the surface.

"Well, I find the company interesting too," you replied.

A hint of a smirk crossed Alex's face as he took a sip of his drink. "Careful now," he said. "Interesting company can be quite... distracting."

A subtle blush crept onto your cheeks. "Distracting can be a good thing." you replied.

"What are you distracting yourself from?" he asked, his gaze lingering on yours.

“I’m not sure. Everyone has problems, I guess,” you looked down at your hands.

“Anything you want to share?” he asked.

“Wouldn’t want to bore you,” you chuckled.

“You could never,” he replied, his tender eyes meeting yours. You stared at each other for a few seconds before you cleared your throat and looked at the time. “Oh, I think we should get going,” you said.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Alex said and he gestured to the waiter for the bill. You thanked him for the drinks and promised you would return the favor next time you saw him. He agreed but knew he wouldn’t let you pay for anything, especially since you were just a student.

You had an amazing time seeing "Black Swan" at the theater. The ballet was captivating, and the music was incredible. You also noticed Alex glancing at you a few times throughout the show.

After the show, Alex walked you to your cab. Under the streetlights, there was a quiet moment filled with something more than words. You exchanged a look that said it all, a shared understanding between you. As you got into the cab, Alex stood on the sidewalk with a thoughtful smile and waved goodbye.

When you arrived at your dorm, your phone vibrated.

Did you get home safely? - Mr Turner.

Your heart fluttered.

Yes.

Great. Good night.

Night.

After washing your face and brushing your teeth, you huddled into your bed and drifted off to sleep, embracing your pillow. The night ushered you into a world of dreams.

#next chapter will be angsty and smutty smut smut i got yall #arctic monkeys #alex turner #alex turner x reader #alex turner fanfic #alex turner fic #tbhc #tbhc alex turner #alex turner x y/n #idk if there r any mistakes but fuq it i guess ive been looking at it for so long

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new1821 · 2 months

Text

Got too zilly X3 🫳

#milex #alex turner #miles kane #arctic monkeys #humbug #one man band #:3 #milex fanart #ages gap

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mywritingonlyfans · 3 months

Text

Teacher's pet. // Prof! Alex Turner X Stud!Reader (Smut!Bonus) Part 2.2 of 3.

Words: 3,7K

a/n: I swear it's coming to an end! I honestly wasn't going to use this part of the writing (that's why it's a bonus), but I ended up thinking it would be interesting to post since it was a story with good interaction. Furthermore, I enjoyed giving dimension to their intimacy!

Part1

Part2

...

"You have to be polite and gentle with me, Mr. Turner," your voice was sweet, and although soft, it didn't hide your concern. Seeing you unsettled made Alex feel uncomfortable in his own skin, which also meant he'd do anything to ease that for you. He ran his thumb over the pinkish pages of your notebook, immersing himself in each sentence and coherence. The tension in his shoulder muscles relaxed, and his facial expression became more pleasant as he finished and looked at you.

"No adorable wrinkle between your eyebrows, is that good?" Your chilly fingers touched his face, causing him to briefly close his eyes as you delicately traced the tips along the bridge of his nose. His mornings were much better with you there; he was certain that the days were brighter and undoubtedly his mood was better, akin to the feeling when waking up for a school trip when you were a kid or maybe not as sweet as that thought, but always good, he concluded to himself as he placed his hand on your bare waist, feeling the warmth within you, under his blazer that you had been wearing since yesterday. The combination of his clothes on you and your typical knee socks were adorable to him. He was in his usual white button-down shirt, that was entirely wrinkled and open, avoiding suffocation as he slept in it, which explained why he was only dressed in that. The fact that time had passed, and you both felt comfortable in such a setting without glamour or excessive importance, made it sound poetic to him; he might wear the same attire frequently, but it was a thought to him how you saw him.

You sipped on your orange-colored fruit juice, something essential he made sure to get during his grocery shopping to make you feel comfortable there with him. He once again felt uneasy seeing how you were still breathing tensely. He sipped the tea, which had already turned cold, and chuckled to himself as he tasted the sweetness on his tongue. You had woken up earlier, presumably immersed in your thoughts about the writing you needed to submit for one of your applications, and amidst that, you had made breakfast for both, an unusually large quantity. Alex understood it calmed you down, although he felt guilty for having a heavy sleep and not waking up together to mitigate the catastrophe your overthinking was capable of generating for yourself.

"Are you going to submit this?" he placed the cup on the table, adjusting in his chair. He hated putting sugar in his tea, but over time, he associated the taste with the one you always made for him and how it was to have you around, he would never let you know about it. He’d continue drinking in the same way, regardless. "Should I have more? Should I have a plan B?" His smile disappeared, and he shook his head. "I didn't say that, I like this one, little one." You calmed down at his touch, his large and warm hands on your skin, his thumbs tracing the area up to the curve of your breast. "But you think I could have been better, don't you?"

The affection in his gaze, as well as the calm circles he traced on you, eased the tightness in your chest. He smiled lightly, realizing that even with the momentary poor choice of words, he was managing to help. "I would take about 20,000 more of these writings from you in a day, without any suffering, believe me." His arms wrapped around you, his soft face against your stomach, the texture of his beard making you laugh as your hands tangled in his tousled hair. Sometimes he made you believe that being a teacher was torturous. His sleep-swollen eyes gazed at you, so affectionate and clouded with admiration as always when it came to you, and he concluded, "But I know you well, I like your writing, I like it enough to understand that you're trying to explain every stroke when you could leave more to question or simply open-ended." The tone of his voice was serene, punctuated, and precise; you appreciated how candid he was with you. "I like you just the way you are, I'm sure you're enough.”

You were at a loss for words, a silly smile gracing your lips as you hugged him closer. His face nestled against your skin. He could still hear your racing heart, but your fingers were more carefree at the nape of his neck, keeping him close. Before you even hesitated to pick up the notebook again, he squeezed you tighter, this time pulling your arms so that you were comfortably wrapped in his chest. He had a morning aura, lazy yet strong, a bit mixed with yours. He kissed your cheek, pressing his lips against yours for a prolonged, tight peck that made you laugh. Without letting go, he murmured, "Think ‘bout it later, please? Let's rest our minds and come back refreshed to work on it, it'll be better, princess." Amidst tickles on your shoulder, running towards your neck due to his growing beard, you gave in, letting go of the notebook as he briefly lifted you in the air as if in victory and carried you. With solemn blinks, his eyelashes brushing against your cheek, you already saw the ceiling, Turner's characteristic warm yellow lighting, his melancholic yet cozy personality making you feel wrapped in calmness within the sheets. The weight of his body intertwined with yours in a hug, the lazy and repeated kisses making you realize that mornings could not only be mellow and sleepy but also possess this taste, not just affections, but the feeling of being cherished nearby.

The kisses traveled from your neck to your torso, becoming a puddle at the level of your lower belly. As soon as you started to withdraw, feeling vulnerable in that exposure, his nose became delicate on your goose bumps, causing you to empty your thoughts for him. He already understood your body well, occupying your mind day and night; you wished to stay, longing to be there far longer than fate allowed.

He sighed, numb and the air missing from his lungs, taking in the dimension of how you were lying in front of him. Your skin was marked by the thin elastic of the baby pink panties, so fragile, with ruffled edges and cute bows. His large hand moved your thigh to the side, his lips parting in a sigh, and the adorable wrinkle becoming persistent as he felt the texture of your knee socks on his fingers. Penetrating the fabric, he squeezed harder. You grunted, closing your eyes and feeling relieved when he had his tongue in the spot, easing the damage while intensifying it by biting you briefly.

"Want me to take it off, Turner?" Your eyes were nervous, just like your breathing. He couldn't tear his eyes away from you, from how your hands were restless to how adorable you looked in his blazer. He found you beautiful, quite sure of it, and that made him blush just by the thought.

Still, he laughed softly at how you hesitated to say "Mr." before his last name and continued in a low, whispered voice, almost inaudible, feeling inadequate about saying his first name alone. As if he heard, you would be caught in a lie.

You wouldn't take a piece; you were aware that it was an act meant for him. However, in the midst of the adrenaline, you became vocal, and he understood that. “Alex?” He felt the frustration in your voice as you called his name out loud.

Your icy hand touched his wrist, wrapping around him and before he could look at you disapprovingly, your thumb made slow circles on his skin. You just wanted his attention, not to have control. He pressed his fingertips to your center, rubbing slowly as you spread yourself wider for him, following his movements with your fingers intertwined at the hem of his folded T-shirt.

“Thank you, Mr. Turner.” You made yourself more comfortable, eyes closing as your head sank into the pillow. He was firm and patient. Every now and then he would pull the edges, making the thin fabric fall back into place, which made everything go even slower and it felt so good. Just like the morning, you still felt limp and tired, it was difficult to keep your eyes open, even if you wanted to look at him.

“You can relax, lil’ one. I'm right ‘ere, there's no reason to let mean thoughts take over.” You liked how he read you. You calmed your tense knees, that you hadn't even noticed, and looked at him lazily as the tip of his finger pressed against you, touching the bare flesh and then collecting your excess. It was a bit embarrassing that you had already been that wet, but he was no different from the norm.

You felt guilty for not knowing how to ease him, you understood that he was going slow, and you were grateful that he was like that with you. Still, you thought it was unfair to let go of him when he always did you so good, without exception. After a while, and your assessments of how he lay on the bed, heavy in his underwear, the fabric going shorter due to lack of space. You didn't take long to realize that when he took time in the bathroom, he also whispered your name.

You kept it a secret of yours, you liked the affirmation that you were desired by him, but you wanted to be good for him.

“What is this, princess?" he asked, smiling widely as he saw your radiant face. He pushed his finger in, swallowing hard at how easy it was to slide it inside you. You closed your eyes again, a sweet sigh, soon feeling used to soaking him.

Unable to resist, he lowered his face and kissed your lower belly, going down until he placed a brief kiss on the socket of his finger and he could taste you on his tongue. He pushed the hem of his dark blazer away, having more of your body to cover in new bites and smiled between your skin when he felt your fingers penetrate his hair. He loved it. He pondered what his reaction would be if someone told him months ago that this was happening to him, with all these details.

And suddenly, guilt made him pull back, not in a way that he would scare you, but with a recurring thought he had out of pure fear of being bad for you.

“I like how I feel with you,” You thought about describing more, but you didn't know how. Feeling was definitely stronger than words. His features were relaxed, in a way he wasn't in classes, or with anyone other than you, and that was what you wanted to explain. The intensity of everything was easier, more colorful and comfortable. God, you would miss him so much.

He pulled the cute bows to the side further, urgently and delicately, and little by little he pushed another finger into you. He kissed his other palm, pressing it to your belly, making you calm down a bit. “The feeling is mutual, little one. I don't wanna ‘urt you.” You moved to the side, getting a better look at him. His face well slept and his jaw firm from working on you. Your hand returned to his wrist, finding comfort in the warmth of him. He threw his hair back, letting lint fall over his forehead, the chain around his neck followed his movements in a mesmerizing way and his chest was in a pleasant breath. When he stopped to kiss you, his scent along with the chamomile in his mouth were dizzying, but so memorable and unique of him. You wanted so badly to be his and his alone.

You played with the crumpled and soft buttons on the bem, not knowing if you wanted him to stop or continue, it didn't hurt but in fact his fingers were thicker than yours. With your free hand, you grabbed his shoulder through his shirt, taking a deep breath and then focusing on trying not to worry. “You can hurt me as much as you want. Take your anguish out on me, huh.” His chest rubbed against yours, your nails digging into him even as he slowed down on you.

“No, Mr. Turner, no,” your saliva ran down your throat heavily. Your worried eyes look into his, embarrassed, but not knowing why he stopped.

He was warm over you, his hot breath on your face being covered in light, precise kisses as he took in your soul through his blazer. You were his, with the same urgency with which your body snuggled against his. “I need you.” Your frustration made him laugh, he knew you could feel how much he wanted this by the way you held him, feeling him on your hips and sly tugs on his shirt. He had better ideas for you.

“I like how you keep calling me that, making it sound respectful and obedient, prolonging the word in your tongue” It was even better when it was carefree. Involuntarily, without you having to worry about whether he cared about it. He enjoyed the warmth in his stomach as you worked on the "r" in his last name.

“Do you?” He didn't need an answer, but he still nodded. The bangs prickling your skin as he rubbed his baby beard in more kisses to you. You wanted to know what to do, and it became more intoxicating for you as he took off his underwear. "I don't want to disappoint you, please–” He waited for your voice to die down, taking more caresses out of your vulnerability.

“You could never disappoint me, lil’ one. I don't want to ‘ear you saying that again, okay?” The syllables sounded strong, punctuated and cultured in each word. Was it normal to feel that way just with someone's voice?

You were comfortable, you felt light with him and you weren't afraid of crossing that line. The issue was that he was older, which made you think about how any mistake of yours could make him dislike you, even if such a statement had no confirmation.

He went back between your legs, ran his finger through the elastic of your knee socks and pulled briefly, making you gasp. He laughed, "I need you to answer me when I ask something. It's not like you to be a bad kitten, princess." And the coherence between provocation and sweetness left you softened by him, damp in your pink fabric.

You took your time looking at him, bringing color to his cheeks. “Okay, I'm sorry, Mr. Turner.” He had lifted his T-shirt a little, exposing his sexy lines and belly button. His pale skin was soft in contrast to his trimmed hair and how swollen he was that it looked painful, even though he hid it well; or you were always too nervous to notice. It was good to know that you were responsible for causing that damage to him. He waited for you to finish looking with a slightly silly smile. “Good girl.” You felt satisfied, without even being touched.

“I like your body.” You whispered, him blushing even more. He chuckled, nodding and continuing, "I love yours." You smiled, forcing your face into his pillow.

He ran his fingers down your belly, then his hands inside the edges of your panties and allowed himself to feel how wet you were. As expected, you spread out comfortably for him. Soon, he pulled you closer to him. Little by little, he let you feel his length against the fabric, making you whimper slightly. “I'll rub you, nothing more. Provide relief for both of us, little one, as you suggested, is that good?” He was suggestive, comforting you. Him talking to you through that made you more relaxed and surrendered to him.

“I like that, yeah,” You nodded, your fingers between the sheets, occasionally hovering over the blazer.

He pushed your damp panties aside, sliding himself into you until he was settled in your crease. He squeezed your waist, molding you to him as your knees came up a bit giving him more access. He rested his hands on your panties, comforting the shape of him spilling over the fabric, and pressed himself into your juices tight.

“You feel so fuckin’ good, tiny one.” He was out of breath, trying to eliminate the thought of how he wanted to fuck you. He was sure he would slip inside you so easily and then you would masterfully swallow him until he was all inside you. However, he would still make you wait, even if he knew you were ready, he wanted to have every moment and memory of you possible.

“Am I being good, Mr. Turner?” You still sounded uncertain, fearing his reaction, even if you didn't know why. You believed it was just inexperience. He looked away from his own hands and wet noises, still working on crawling over you, soon having the wrinkle between his eyebrows softened due to your tears. You whimpered and squirmed a little, causing friction between your socks and his T-shirt. "It's too much, prince.” He smiled at how adorable you were, slowing down and leaning into you better.

“You can take it out on me, princess.” He said, watching as you tugged at the sheets in agony. Soon, your nails and fingers were digging into his wrists and arms. Noticing your good response, he followed with the same slow pace, failing to hold the moan in his throat as you melted beneath him. Your breathing eased, as did your hips and he traced his fingers in circles on the spot to comfort you. "Shhh, I've got you, little one. It's okay.”

You nodded, copying him, actually feeling numb. You were incapable of verbal, but you insisted on having your delicate hand wrapped around his as he finished what he had started. You were so sweet to him. Watching him was good. His mouth was half open, every now and then he couldn't hold it back and grunted in such a good way, and his hair was everywhere. He opened his eyes briefly, making you sigh along with him as you felt your panties fill with his hot liquid, everything about it made you want that more often. You felt sticky, but it felt so good. He played with the bows, gave your thighs a generous squeeze with a satisfied smile on his face, cheeks red, and then pulled you to him before laying down next to you. You wanted to endorse him, you wanted him to exhaust you.

Curious, yet sharing his tiredness, you pushed his fingertips to the edges of your panties. He sighed deeply, following with his eyes, as he collected some of the fluid between his fingers and watched you bring it to your lips. You licked it briefly, memorizing the taste until you decided to suck his fingers into your mouth. He allowed you to do so, feeling as breathless as before. Gently, he pulled it out, tracing the line of your lips as you kissed his skin in a light smile. He couldn't help but imagine you on your knees for him, promoting him in your purest state of mind.

You kissed his shoulders, fitting every inch of your body to his. He held you close to his chest, and as your forehead rested on his, he brushed his lips against your nose and mouth. Your legs entwined with his, allowing him to playfully stroke your socks, and he chuckled at the comfort. He could sense his scent on you, just as he knew yours lingered on him, and it was so relaxing and natural. "I like your hair like this," you whispered, and something didn't seem right in your voice. "I like seeing yours messy too." He maintained the same tone.

The brief silence was comfortable, but soon he felt his own eyes welling up. "I'll miss you." He simply couldn't help but verbalize that, not because he feared the worst, but because he knew he couldn't say he loved you even though he wanted you to know he cared. So that was his immediate solution.

That was enough for your tears to flow and a knot to form in your throat. "Don't cry, my love." He kissed away your tears, drying your face as best as he could. You didn't want to say anything; he didn't blame you and, in a way, he understood. "Do you really think I'll make it?" You looked at him cautiously, even with red eyes. He smiled sweetly and wearily, "I'm sure you will; you're wonderful." You held his cheeks, showering him with more brief, smacking kisses. "You won't regret me, will you?" He held you tighter against his body. "Never; I'm afraid the opposite will happen." You denied, making him smile more. It was a difficult situation to explain, something that the purest experience would not be able to clarify; neither of you knew the answer to that. Not wanting to dwell on it, he asked, "How do you imagine living in California?”

And in a few minutes, you nestled into his chest, his fingers in your hair, and the answer came in a sigh that made him realize how important the place, the title, and your future job were to you, more than the uncertainty of the future. "I'd like to have a bookshelf, like yours; I don't have one now. I want to have breakfast, drink orange-colored juices and have some tea, watch the sunrise and walk on the beach after a long day. I wanna read the books you told me I'd like. – I know the weather doesn't really match your mood, but I think I would be better there. I don't know; I just feel like it seems right." More tears wetted his T-shirt, and he wanted to cry, but settled for comforting you even more.

"It's okay, you'll have it all." That made you think about how much better it would be with him by your side, with long conversations before bed or a few calls just to be silent together and liven up your day, but not everything was achievable. You just closed your eyes tightly and dove into him. "Do you want to take a shower with me? I need you to be clean before bed, I don't think it's a good idea not to clean yourself." You laughed at how worried he sounded and sat down, smiling at his cute face. You liked the idea of taking a shower with him.

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