#nerd!art donaldson x reader

[minnie-cai]

I had a dream of sleeping over nerd!Arts dorm room, it was storming outside and he refused to let me go walk out on my own I was on hid bed and he was working on something hes reading a book with his glasses low on his nose and was only in a white shirt and sweats where his junk was almost out. I was so horny I just straddled his lap and started going crazy, he ended up shoving my face against his pillow pounding me from behind fucking me while he kept his glasses on <3

𝑰 𝑴𝑬𝑨𝑵 “𝑪𝑨𝑴𝑨𝑹𝑨𝑫𝑬𝑹𝑰𝑬” !

that’s so crazy i actually had the exact same dream last night so here’s something i wrote about OUR dream

not proofread, bless your eyes, it’s 2 am and my eyes are basically shut.

rating ; mature. smut. it’s smut. leave if you’re a minor. or don’t. i can’t stop you. actually i can. i will find you. and take away your phone.

oh nerdy!art my beloved, where he’s the sweetest guy you’ve ever met and he’s stumbling over his tongue awkwardly as he tries to flirt with you but it turns out his tongue was made for bigger things.

and it’s so weird the first time you fuck because you fall next to him on the mattress, out of breath, sweaty and high on orgasms and suddenly, all you had heard about nerdy guys being good in bed was confirmed.

you start dating, he holds your hand around campus sweetly and all of your friends love him. you’d heard the lore of all of tolkien’s writing at least a hundred times as you played with his hair but you’d hear it thousands if he asked. you give him head under his desk as he does your assignment for you and he cums all over his thighs and panics, rushing trying to find a towel or a dirty t-shirt as he babbles apologies and squirms because he hasn’t even properly finished yet.

after a few months of dating, it’s totally casual and normal for you to stay over at his single dorm after you’ve complained about how annoying your roommate was, under the condition, of course, that you’d let him study when he needs to. you promised.

you were lying in his bed, wearing a hoodie he’d lend you after you’d softly fucked with the rain pattering on the window. you pouted and twisted the fabric of the sweater in boredom. art was sweet, sure. he’d made you finish first like a gentleman, cleaned you up and dressed you but you just found it so annoying that he managed to move on to studying right after sex. you stared at him and stared and stared as he sat in his chair, his foot resting on the desk as he read a book he was assigned with his lips lightly agape and his round glasses low on his nose.

the grey sweats he’d thrown on quickly after he got out of bed being a size down from his normal one, giving you the great view that was the outline of his semi-hard cock.

as you’re thinking and just admiring him, you hear him sniff and he swallows, his adam’s apple bopping with the movement. and suddenly, yet again, your panties are wet. what is this boy doing to you?

“artie….” you mewl gently from the bed, your legs twisting under the sheets as you try not to press your thighs together. “is it gonna take long?”

“i wanted to finish at least two chapters by class tomorrow, why?” he mumbles as he moves on to the next page, licking his fingers so that the paper doesn’t stick together but the only thing you can think of is him licking his fingers and playing with your clit as he mumbles compliments against your collarbone.

“nothing… just a bit bored…” you respond as you start to stand up but he just hums, not looking up from his book. when you reach his chair and lean against the back of it with your elbows, moving your fingers to run through his hair, scratching his scalp gently, his head falls back against your chest and he lets out a breathy grunt.

when you moved to straddle his lap, that was his last straw. “you’re kidding…” he mumbles in a soft but raspy voice with a sweet smile when you roll your hips against him. his glasses threatening to fall off his nose and his curls falling messily on his forehead, times like these is when you really take a look at him and realize how gorgeous he is, like he’s trapped a ray of sun inside his eyes.

“huh?” you giggle, almost breaking this innocent character you’d built up. “i don’t know what you mean.” you shake your head with a gentle smirk and furrowed eyebrows, your eyes narrowing as you try your hardest to look confused and hold back your laugh.

“oh you don’t? oh really?” he says with an amused laugh and raised eyebrows. “i- yeah?- rea- really?” he starts with narrowed eyes but he ends with a scoff and a small smile as he realises he wasn’t sure what he really wanted to say and was just stuttering nonsense. “you don’t know what i mean? you want me to show you what i mean?” he chuckles with a sarcastic attitude, looking up at you through furrowed eyebrows.

“i might need you to show me what you mean.” you laugh but it’s cut short by a shriek when art throws you over his shoulder, laughing. “what are you doing?” you cry out as he stands still in front of his twin bed for a second, contemplating before he decides he doesn’t want to throw you on it and gently sets you to sit on the bed. he pauses and folds his arms, looking down at you, the smile not fading from his face. “what are you looking at me for? c’mon, pretty! down and on your belly.” he says, snorting at his own tone.

“down and on your belly? where did you come from? orderin’ me around!” you say surprised by his newfound confidence before following his instructions. “i’m not sure, i like it though.” he replies laughing before settling on the bed, his knees on each of your sides as he pulls down your panties, pulling your hips up, carefully raising them.

his hands hold their position on your hips when he inserts into you, making you sigh shakily. he grunts as he feels the warmth of your walls enveloping him. his head falling forward, his eyes shut.

moments after, he pulls himself back together, pushing his glasses back to the bridge of his nose and moving his hands to push down your back, your body being smashed against the mattress by his warm palms and when he moves to rut into you, you leave out a moan, muffling it with the pillow.

by the time he is close to cumming, full on whines and whimpers fall out through his lips, his thrusts getting quicker as he chases his release. “so pretty… fuck.. ugh- so good…” he babbles and his upper body connects to your back, folding forwards to try and handle the pleasure as you suddenly feel the cold material of his glasses against the skin of your neck which you felt was burning, the sensation making you shudder.

“please, baby… i’m- i’m close…” he blabbers on your neck, leaving small wet kisses against it as his rhythmic pace gets rougher.

when you both cum, whining and moaning like hormonal teenagers and fall back against the bed, he wraps his arms around your head, pulling you into his chest. “that was really, really hot-“ he pauses, taking a long deep breath “don’t do it again.” he finishes and laughs, pulling away to wipe the fog off his glasses with his your shirt.

[craftydreamvoid]

being a nerdy tutor for college!art.

he didn't even know you existed until his professor mentioned your name. he goes to the library at the designated meet up spot and his eyes fall on you. he thinks you look cute and introduces himself, big smile on his face. he can't help but think about how adorable your glasses look on you, despite being oversized. how you fidget with you hands when you explain something to him. how you have a habit of tapping your pen against the book when reading out loud to him. how comfy you look in your cute cotton jumper with little flowers embroidered on it. how kind you are to help out some random classmate that you didn't even know.

but you did know. you knew all too well. you knew about his gorgeous blonde locks and his muscular thighs. his cheeky smile and little groans. that look he pulls when he's trying his hardest to concentrate in class. or the look in his eye when he's jealous of a skilled opponent. you know he's had a few girlfriends and flings. you know their names and what classes they take.

you knew art donaldson far too well... and it consumed you.

[senseofnewness]

What about the bully fic where reader bullies art?

unsportmanslike conduct

pairing : art donaldson x f!reader (bully!reader)

rating : explicit

word count : 4.6k

contains : smut 18+, bullying, name-calling, handjob, virginity, vaginal sex, oral sex (f receiving), mention of character death

You were a nice girl, you always had been. Anyone could testify to that. From your daddy, who adored you and would move mountains for your pretty eyes, to your clan of friends who followed you around and worshiped the ground you walked on. All would sing your praises. 

However, if anyone asked your classmates, they would describe you as the worst brat the earth has ever carried. Especially that weirdo, Art Donaldson, he would swear you are the very incarnation of the Devil.

You could precisely pinpoint when you first got involved with Art Donaldson, it had been hard to forget. It all started back in 9th grade. You had never talked before that. All you knew about him was that he was a boring nerd who only talked about ping pong, or whatever that sport was, and had a strange homoerotic relationship with his best friend, whom he constantly mentioned. To be honest, you had no interest in getting to know him at all, but this year, you had to tolerate his presence as you two shared a Spanish class.

You had truly started to notice him during one of your Spanish lessons when he had accidentally called the teacher ‘mommy’. The entire class had erupted in laughter as his face had turned a bright shade of red. He had stammered out an immediate apology, but you couldn’t just forget such an awkward moment. Sure, it had been an innocent slip of the tongue, but wasn't he a bit too old to even call his mother that way?

As soon as he had stepped out of the class that day, you had begun teasing him, calling him names and punctuating all your sentences with ‘mommy’s boy’. You had repeatedly asked him all sorts of intrusive questions about his relationship with his mother. No matter how much you had provoked him, he had remained silent, and that infuriated you. So, you had escalated things by involving your friends in the teasing, spreading tales about the bizarre things Art supposedly did with his mother. Perhaps you had been the source of the rumor that he was still breastfed at the ripe age of fourteen. And maybe you had been the one who claimed he slept in his mommy’s bed every time he wet his own, which, according to the rumors, had happened very often. Now the whole school had been in on it.

The truth was, you didn’t give him a second thought when he was out of sight. But as soon as you spotted him, his ridiculous blond curls, his sad downturned eyes, you knew you were in for a bit of twisted amusement. That day, he had been curled up on the steps leading to the physics classrooms, hunched and defeated. His face had been streaked with tears he had tried to brush away, and he looked utterly vulnerable. You had always loved an easy target.

“What’s wrong, Donaldson?” You had taunted, unable to hide the smirk on your face. His eyes had been red and puffy, revealing that he had shed far too many tears. He had sniffled, quickly swiping at the traces of his sadness at the sight of you. When he had opened his mouth to respond, you had cut him off with a sneer. “Missing your mommy?”

That had completely silenced him. He had glared at you with fury in his eyes, his gaze so piercing it could have burned a hole through your head. Without a word, he had stormed off, his footsteps echoing down the hallway.

A few days later, you had heard whispers that his mother had been admitted to the hospital. Cancer? Polio? The specifics were vague, but the gravity of it was not. For a moment, a wave of remorse had tugged at you, a shadow of empathy for the boy you had tormented. But that moment had been brief, swallowed quickly by your own indifference to the boy. The memory of his tear-streaked face faded, and soon enough, you had forgotten all about it.

His ill mother didn’t stop you from teasing him throughout high school, it had become a staple of your daily routine. He had made every effort to avoid you, but you had always managed to cross paths with him. It was now sophomore year, and Art Donaldson still ate his lunch outside the cafeteria, away from the crowd, anxious about running into you. But you made sure he didn’t have the chance to avoid you. You had followed him outside, observing from a distance as he enjoyed his home-cooked meal. “Did mommy prepare that for you?” You asked, your voice sharp enough to freeze him in place. You made your presence known by walking over and sitting down beside him, your eyes hungrily staring at the delicious-looking food in his lunch box. The truth was, you had been envious that his parents cared enough to prepare a meal for him. All you had was lunch money and access to your father’s UberEats account. “Really putting the ‘son’ in Donaldson.” You had teased.

He had only sighed in response, his gaze heavy with annoyance, as if you were the most irritating person on earth. You had stared back at him, an innocent grin fixed on your face, daring him to react. He had squinted, holding your gaze with an intensity that caught you off guard. It was then you had noticed, for the first time, that one of his eyes wasn’t as blue as the other, with a hint of brown disrupting the otherwise light color. “Creep.” You had snapped, breaking the moment with a sharp edge in your voice. You had stood up, smoothing the pleats of your skirt with careful precision. “Gotta go. Got better things to do.” You had added, turning on your heel and leaving him behind, with nothing but your contempt for him.

You had thought you were done with him for the day, but that very same afternoon, as you had been smoking a cigarette with your friends a few feet from the school gates, when someone had tapped you on the shoulder. You had turned around, surprised to see him standing there. He had been the last person you had expected to approach you.

“I need you to quit being a bitch and fucking leave me alone.” He had demanded, his face set with a determination you hadn’t seen before. His request had taken you by surprise. Until then, he had always stayed silent in the face of your teasing. You had assumed it didn’t bother him, which had only fueled your desire to push his limits even further.

“Wow. You grew balls, Donaldson?” You had challenged, standing defiantly in front of him with your hands on your hips. It had struck you then how much taller he had grown over the past few years. He wasn’t a little boy anymore; he was starting to look like a man. His arms had become as thick as your thighs, and if he had wanted to smack you, you would have probably gone flying across the yard. But you hadn’t been scared of him. Despite the muscles, he had still been a pussy in your eyes. “Don’t need your mommy anymore?” You had scoffed, a smirk curling at the corner of your mouth as you had locked eyes with him. You had taken a long drag of your cigarette and blown the smoke directly into his face.

“You see, Donaldson, the thing is I don’t care what you need.” You had said, stepping closer until you had been practically chest to chest with him, invading his space. He had closed his eyes for a moment, letting out a deep, frustrated sigh as he had tried to keep his composure. Without another word, he had turned and walked away. As soon as he had been out of earshot, you had turned to your friends, a victorious smile spreading across your face. Silence had hung in the air for a second before you had all burst into laughter, the sound echoing around the yard like a cruel choir.

Despite your attitude, you had somewhat left him alone after that. You weren’t actively seeking him out to stir up trouble, you would only teased him if he happened to cross your path. You had far more pressing concerns than Art Donaldson. It was senior year, and you needed to secure a spot in a prestigious university to avoid having your parents cut you off completely. You were determined to study communication and become a journalist and Stanford had always been your dream, but you were unsure if your grades were high enough to make that dream a reality.

Aside from academics, boys had consumed a significant portion of your attention. This year, you had started catching their eye, thanks to having finally gotten rid of your braces and your breasts having grown three sizes. Now, nearly every weekend had been filled with dates. No one had formally asked you to be their girlfriend yet, but you were enjoying being the center of their attention. You believe that one could never be too experienced.

The next time you had really interacted with Art Donaldson was during senior year, in history class, a period that had felt more like an opportunity for a beauty sleep than a lesson. The teacher’s monotonous voice had been more effective than any lullaby. Plus, he didn’t seem to care much about whether students followed along, as long as they kept their noise level low enough for him to remain buried in his book.

You had been reapplying your makeup, having just spent recess making out with that boy from the basketball team in the boys' restroom. The encounter had left your makeup smudged, so now you were carefully touching up your lip gloss. Art had been seated two rows in front of you, to the right, but despite the distance, you had felt his gaze fixed on you. When you had glanced up, you had caught him staring intently at your tits. Looking down, you had noticed your shirt revealing more breasts than intended, but what had truly captured his attention was the hint of your areola peeking through the edge of your shirt. When you had looked up at him again, he was still completely engrossed in your cleavage. 

“Wanna suck on my tit like you do with mommy, Donaldson?” You had asked with a smirk, adjusting your shirt to cover yourself. He had looked up, his face flushing bright red, and he had quickly turned away, pulling his hood up to hide his embarrassment. “Shut up.” He had mumbled, his voice muffled as he covered his face with his hoodie.

The teacher had called both your names. “Both of you are staying after class for detention.” Detention? Was he serious? This was all that fucker’s fault. “Sir, I didn’t do anything wrong! He was the one looking at me inappropriately, all drooling and stuff.” The teacher had lifted his gaze from his glasses, eyebrows raised. “Should I call the principal?” You certainly didn’t need that kind of incident on your record. “No.” You had replied quickly, shaking your head.

“I can’t believe that you are, of all people, in detention.” You said, glancing over at Art, who was seated in the chair right next to yours. “Maybe if you weren’t such a creep.” The teacher had left you both in class to write an essay about respect. Most teachers trusted you to be left alone, given your role as class representative. As for Art, he was known as the quiet kid who stayed out of trouble and avoided problems. The essay had only taken ten minutes to finish, and now you were bored out of your mind. What more was there to say about respecting your peers? You were respectful, after all, it wasn’t your fault if Art Donaldson happened to be a perv.

Initially, you had thought that teasing him would provide enough entertainment, but his lack of response to your incessant questions had left you frustrated. So, you had decided to try a different tactic. “Wanna smoke?” You had asked, breaking the silence with a nonchalant tone, offering a small, mischievous smile as you had waited for his reaction.

“How? We’re stuck in here.” He had said with a shrug of his shoulders. You had rolled your eyes, walked over to the window, and opened it. Perching on the edge, you had lit the blunt and taken a deep drag, savoring the smoke. “What’s that sport you’re into, already?” You had asked, passing him the joint. “Tennis.” He had replied, taking a long puff that made him cough. You had chuckled, amused at his obvious inexperience. “Are you any good?” You had inquired, snatching the cone back. You had heard he was quite skilled and had accumulated a fair number of trophies. He had shrugged dismissively. 

“Does your mommy come to watch your matches?” You had asked, your tone teasing. His expression had darkened. “You should just quit the mommy thing already.” He had mumbled, while picking at the skin around his nails. “Why? Is it turning you on?” You had teased, watching as a faint blush colored his cheeks. You had taken another drag from the blunt, filling your lungs with the smoke before exhaling slowly. “It’s getting old!” He had snapped, and you had looked at him in surprise at his sudden outburst. “I like it. It’s fun.” You had said with a shrug, unbothered.

“Is being a cunt the only way you know how to have fun?” You had stared at him in disbelief, flicking the joint out of the window. Standing defiantly in front of him, even though he had been towering over you, you had placed your hand against his crotch, giving it a firm, deliberate squeeze. “You really have grown a pair!” He had grabbed your wrist, trying to make you stop, but you had continued to massage his groin with a mix of defiance and amusement.

He had stared into your eyes, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. There had been something unsettling in his gaze that had made you reconsider what you had thought about him previously. Maybe Art Donaldson had, in fact, been attractive, just a little. His tall, athletic frame had spoken of his years of tennis training, as had his strong hands and muscular thighs. His messy blond curls had framed a chiseled jaw and a long, straight nose, while his blue eyes, though often shadowed by his hair, had held a depth that was hard to ignore. What had always made him utterly unappealing had been his status as a ‘mommy’s boy’, a label that had clung to him like a second skin. Yet, perhaps, you had been the only reason he had been perceived as such. Aside from the accidental ‘mommy’ incident, he had never exhibited anything that might have cast doubt on his relationship with his mother. He had not even been remotely weird, he had just been a passionate boy.

Maybe he had not been as much of a loser as you had thought. Or maybe it was the horniness in you speaking. You had slipped your hand into his pants and had grasped his length. Maybe you were playing him, or maybe you were driven by your own desire, you were unsure. His cock had been of a decent size, certainly better than some you had encountered in the past. You even had seen worse earlier that day in the cramped restroom when you had knelt for that guy, John, or had it been Jake? Proof that tall boy did not always mean big dick. You had wrapped your hand around Art’s member and had begun to stroke him slowly. He had immediately buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing in your expensive perfume. Things had not been as slick as you had hoped, so you had briefly pulled away to spit into your mouth. Returning to his shaft, you had spread the gob of saliva over his length, making the process a bit easier.

The fact that he had not been gazing at you with his usual puppy eyes had made the whole process easier. You had managed to imagine it was anyone but him you were touching. But this pretense hadn’t lasted long. As you had continued to stroke him, he had pulled away to lock eyes with you, desperate moans escaping his lips. Leaning in closer, he had closed the gap between your faces. Art Donaldson had begun kissing you, and to your surprise, you had leaned into the kiss while fisting his cock with urgency.

When your tongue had finally met his, you had heard him whimper, and instantly felt his warm, slimy cum spreading across your hand and wrist. He had broken the kiss to glance at the mess he had made, his face reddening with shame. “Fuck, I’m so sorry!” He had exclaimed, clearly humiliated that the entire experience had been so brief. “Ew.” You had responded with a look of clear revulsion, your eyes narrowing as you had released your grip and moved to grab a paper towel from the teacher’s desk. You had used it to wipe your hand clean, your expression one of utter distaste.

You had been aware that boys at that age often didn't last long, but this had been a new record. After discarding the paper towel in the trash, you had returned to your seat quietly. The room had been heavy with an uncomfortable silence as both of you had remained motionless, ashamed by what had just happened : him because he had lasted a second and you because you had jerked off the school’s creep. It had been so underwhelming that you had wished you could erase it from your memory entirely. You could already imagine the reactions from your friends if they found out you had, of all people, jerked off Art Donaldson, the infamous bed-wetter. The thought alone made your stomach turn with embarrassment.

After several minutes of suffocating silence, Art had finally broken it. “You know, she died.” His voice had been a faint murmur. You had wished he would just ignore you and not speak to you. You had already been hating yourself for being so weak in front of him. “Who?” You had asked, feigning disinterest despite the knot tightening in your chest. You could feel the answer coming and it was going to break you. “My mom.” He had said, his whisper heavy with pain. It had been evident he had struggled to say the words out loud. You had turned to face him, your mouth opening as if to offer an apology, but the words had never come. Apologizing had not been something you were used to, and the magnitude of your regret had left you feeling utterly helpless. You had never felt so foolish and ashamed, realizing how your relentless teasing had tormented him further. You had looked away, unable to bear the weight of his gaze or your own guilt. “I’m sorry.” You had murmured, barely audible.

When the teacher had returned at the end of the hour, you had been relieved to escape the oppressive atmosphere of the classroom, which had reeked of weed and musk. “Thank God!” You had muttered as you had stood up, eager to leave behind the uncomfortable encounter.

He had tried to talk to you in the following days but only faced your avoidance. You had been resolute in your decision to ignore him, unwilling to be seen with him in public and still eaten alive by guilt over the ‘mommy’ incident. You hadn’t understood why he had persisted in wanting to talk to you either, especially given how mortified he should have been about coming so quickly.

Eventually, you had given in when you had spotted him with his cap on backwards. There had been something oddly attractive about the way he wore that outfit. From the golden locks falling from under the brim of the hat and how his nose had seemed so defined, to the way he had been wearing those short shorts that showed his thick smooth thighs. He had been carrying his tennis bag, likely on his way to practice, but you had seized the opportunity to lure him into your car when no one else had been around.

“I have tennis practice!” He had protested, reluctance evident in his voice. “Your boyfriend can wait.” You had replied with a sigh as you had turned off the engine. “My boyfriend?” He had questioned, clearly puzzled. “Philip. Or whatever.” You had said dismissively, growing increasingly impatient. “Patrick? He’s not my boyfriend!” He had insisted, but you had stared at him skeptically. “Whatever. Get in!” You had commanded. “No, I will be late.” He had refused. “Listen, Donaldson, I’m going to say this only once. I won’t repeat myself. If you refuse, it won’t happen again.” You had warned, your grip tightening on the steering wheel. “I’m horny and I’m ready to fuck just anyone.” You had confessed. You had watched him swallow hard, his resolve breaking as he had hurried into the car, buckling his seatbelt with visible eagerness.

After a few minutes of driving with Art's incredulous gaze fixed on you, you had parked in a secluded spot within a forest. The location was discreet enough to avoid drawing unwanted attention but close enough to the road to feel accessible. Once you had turned off the engine, you had moved to the back seat, signaling him to follow. He had simply watched as you removed your sweats and panties, his face flushed a deep crimson that spread to his ears. "Come on, already." You had urged, exasperated by his hesitation. Eventually, he had joined you in the back seat, his movements awkward and tentative. After that, you had straddled him and taken him in the backseat of your car, guiding him through the experience with clear instructions. You could tell he was a virgin by his clumsy movements and how quick he had orgasmed. So, you had taken charge, orchestrating every detail of the act. You had enjoyed the power of control, delighting in the way Art was so obedient to you. As you had rode him, driving him closer to climax, you had placed his hat atop your own head, a symbol of your dominance. With each bounce on top of him, you had moved with an intensity that made it feel as though your very life depended on it.

Every time you had promised yourself to never repeat the cycle and fuck that weirdo, you had found yourself parked in the same spot, this loser under you. You had mostly used him, fucking yourself on him like he was merely a toy. You only had allowed him to touch you when it suited your own pleasure, indifferent to whether he came or not. Yet, despite your best efforts, he always ended up coming far too soon, often leaving you to finish yourself with him limp beneath you. Nothing had frustrated you more than his premature release. Art Donaldson had been a bad fuck initially, the pleasure had come from how effortlessly you could dominate him and make him do whatever you wanted of him. However, to his credit, he had improved with time. He had now managed to climax only a few seconds before you did.

Without intending to, it had become a regular occurrence. You had ended up having sex with him several times a week. Eventually, you had ventured beyond the confines of your car and had started visiting his house. When you had met his grandmother for the first time, she had asked. “Is she your girlfriend?” You had shot a sharp glance at Art, waiting for him to respond. Instead, he had stammered out a few incoherent sounds. “I’m not. Just a classmate.” You had cut him off. His bed had been far more comfortable than the backseat of your car, but the incessant interruptions by his grandmother had made you miss the privacy of your vehicle. Had she not knocked before entering to bring you fruits, she would have found you sitting on her precious grandson’s face. 

That was one thing you had come to appreciate about Art, if you could even call it appreciation. He had never hesitated to focus on your pleasure, regardless of his own. You had taught him everything you knew about sex, and he had become entirely dedicated to your satisfaction. And despite the fact that you feigned not caring about him, you found yourself eager to watch him climax as well. Perhaps you hadn’t been entirely wrong, he was indeed a submissive little boy who needed a strong woman’s presence to guide him through sex and allow him to come. A true mommy’s boy.

While your relationship outside of class had shifted dramatically, you had continued to treat him poorly at school. You still didn’t want to be seen with him in public. But now, instead of mocking him in front of all your friends, you simply ignored him. A small gesture for the guy who had made you come after school hours.

One day, while you were having lunch with your friends, he had approached your table. “Hey.” He had said, but you had merely glanced at him with a disdainful frown. “You’re needed.” He had added when you didn’t acknowledge his greeting. “Why are you talking to me, mommy’s boy?” You had retorted, your voice dripping with irritation. All your friends had been watching, bewildered by his intrusion. “It’s about a certain detention.” He had said, his tone serious. Anger rose within you, and your friends began to bombard you with questions. You had shrugged nonchalantly. “Must be because I smoked weed.” You had explained, though you knew there was more to it than just that.

You had followed him through the hallways, glaring at the back of his head as if you could burn a hole through him. “Who even allowed you to talk to me in public?” You had snapped as he had guided you toward the restrooms. “Be quick.” You had added with a sneer. “I don’t want to be seen with a loser like you. It’d be social suicide.” You had slammed the door behind you and locked it with a decisive click. Without hesitation, you had dropped your panties to your ankles and bent over the sink, pushing your hips back. As you had adjusted your position, he had fallen to his knees and lifted your skirt, his lips leaving burning kisses against the exposed skin of your ass. 

Sure, you were the one in control in this relationship, acting solely on your own desires. So why had you allowed him to pleasure you like this? He had been the one to seek out your company while you were busy with friends, not the other way around. Maybe you were beginning to enjoy this arrangement a bit more than you had anticipated. Not as much as he seemed to, though, judging by the sounds escaping his mouth as he eagerly lapped at your pussy like a starving dog. “Say it.” You murmured, eyes locked on your reflection in the mirror. “I know you’re dying to.” You had grasped the edge of the sink, closing your eyes against the overwhelming sensation of his tongue exploring your folds.

“M-m..mommy.” He had moaned, his mouth focused on pleasuring your clit. The name made you smirk, maybe you weren’t really the nice girl you had always thought yourself to be.

♠♣♥♦

a/n : idk felt inspired to bully that little bitch, thanks for the reminder anon

[saintzweig]

older next door neighbor!reader x stanford!art

– teehee :3 proofread? do you even know me (of course it's not)

– edit: i actually dont know how to feel abt this so please let me know what u think!!

art donaldson has been harboring a big fat crush on the girl next door for years now. you're two years older than him, already well into college by the time he got accepted into stanford. 4.0 GPA, a great volleyball player and you volunteer at animal shelters, his grandmother loves you– heck, every mother in town loves you. you used to come over atleast once a week, having dinner with him and his grandma. when you started tutoring to earn money, he had you over three times a week to help him even though his grades are doing fine. he reckons he can do better but really he just wants to have you to himself, the two of you locked in his room for hours. of course that changed when you left for college, choosing a university miles away and leaving him alone for the rest of his highschool years.

you come home every break which means that art does too, hoping to catch you and maybe show off a little. after all, he's a man now– he's on the stanford tennis team, he's won multiple tournaments and he's no longer the little nerd you've known since you were kids.

you come over one afternoon, bringing over some fresh brownies that you've made for art and his grandma. he opens the door shirtless, telling you he was just about to jump in the pool but really, he saw you walking over through the window and took his shirt off. he asks you if you want to maybe join, the weather's nice and all and much to his surprise, you agree, saying you have nothing going on anyways. you excuse yourself for a while, wanting to change into something more suitable and he prays it's the red bikini he's seen you wear before.

and it is. you come in and he offers you a cold beer. "beer huh? i didn't know you drink now, donaldson." you say with a slight grin, taking the bottle from him. he watches the way your hands wrapped around the bottle, images of your black manicured nails wrapped around his co–

he makes a comment about having done stuff in stanford, stopping himself from telling you that he's been drinking since he was a teenager, at the academy. with patrick. he doesn't miss the way your eyes lingered on his lips as took a swig of the beer, making him smirk subtly. he leads you to the backyard and you help yourself to a floatie while he sits on the edge of the pool. you paddle yourself softly to the water, leaning back and savoring the sunlight on your skin. he doesn't even try to hide the way he's staring at your chest, not that you can see anyways because your eyes are closed. "my grandma's having a poker game at one of her friend's so it's just us" he tells you.

you begin to ask him questions about his first year in college– how was tennis, how were the parties, any girls?

tennis was great, he says his coaches are really helping him improve and prepare to go pro. parties were crazy, it was loud and sweaty but he doesn't let himself get carried away, being an athlete and all. he's gotten on a few dates and he tells you he's been asked out alot, exaggerating a little bit to show off. you say you weren't surprised and he asks what you mean.

"i mean look at you, you're not bad looking. you're tall, blonde, athletic– girls dig that. you've gotten bigger too"

he smirks, "bigger?" and you only roll your eyes, leaning your head to look up the sky. he jumps in, walking over to you, crossing his arms over the floatie, making you shift slightly. his elbow touching your thigh. "what about you? any guys?" you hum, sipping on your beer. "there was one, but I don't know. didn't really work out" he asks why and you tell him you just don't see yourself dating someone on campus, they're all assholes who don't take anything seriously.

"have you ever dated anyone younger?" to which you raise a brow, only for him to tilt his head with a stupid grin on his face. you shake your head, "i heard younger guys can treat you very well." he says, and you knew exactly what he meant.

that's how you ended up sitting on the edge of the floatie, legs apart with art standing in between. you're leaning back on your arms while his hands are on your thighs, pulling you closer as he place kisses on your skin. your bikini is beginning to get wet, not just from the pool water. he looks up at you, water dripping down from his hair down to his face. "you don't know how long i've been waiting for this."

you almost whined at his expression, eyes wide as he looked up and lips plump, aching to taste you. you lift your hair to push back his curls and he leans into your touch, closing his eyes. "wanna show me how well you can treat me?" he thinks he just died and came back to life. in a second, your bottoms are untied and floating somewhere in the pool. fully exposed to him now, your cunt soft glistening in the sunlight. he lets out a soft cuss as he takes in the sight. "you sure about this?" you only nod, smiling down at him.

he kisses your sensitive clit, keeping his eyes on you as you throw your head back. he watches as your adams apple bob when you let out a moan. he begins to circle his tongue around your clit, sending waves of pleasure throughout your body. butterflies floating in your stomach as he made his way down, sticking his tongue inside your hole, tasting every bit of you. he moans as he feels your slick cover his tongue, "you taste so sweet, angel." you tug on his hair and he takes it as a request to go deeper and he does. he fucks you with his tongue, lifting his hand to press the rough pad of his thumb on your clit. his eyes are closed, savoring every moment. he pulls away slowly, teasing his finger into your dripping hole before slipping it in, and you tense up. immediately enclosing him with your warm gummy walls, art starts to feel pain inside his swimming trunks. he moves his hips slightly, hoping the water will create a friction to relieve the ache.

he attaches himself to your clit once more, sucking on it this time while he curls his fingers inside you at the same time. your stomach tightens as you feel your climax approaching, making you tug on his hair harder. "f–fuck, how are you so good at this" you gasp, bucking your hips. he chuckles, you feel the vibration against your core. "art– shit, i'm so close, baby" he groans at the pet name, his other hand gripping your thigh harder.

"you like that, huh?" your voice breathless, "you like it when i call you baby?" he nods feverishly, lapping up your juices, his own hips bucking softly underwater. you wrap your legs around his back, "i'm gonna cum, artie– fuck, baby just like that. doing so good f'me" within seconds, you're shaking violently into his mouth. feeling warm fluid ooze out of you, which he immediately takes into his mouth. you struggle to hold yourself up, leaning back on your arms as you catch your breath.

if only you could see the string of white floating out of his trunks under the water.

[choosetoalwayslivitup]

I love this!!! I’m such a nerd at school and I tutor math. This just warms my heart <3

being a nerdy tutor for college!art.

he didn't even know you existed until his professor mentioned your name. he goes to the library at the designated meet up spot and his eyes fall on you. he thinks you look cute and introduces himself, big smile on his face. he can't help but think about how adorable your glasses look on you, despite being oversized. how you fidget with you hands when you explain something to him. how you have a habit of tapping your pen against the book when reading out loud to him. how comfy you look in your cute cotton jumper with little flowers embroidered on it. how kind you are to help out some random classmate that you didn't even know.

but you did know. you knew all too well. you knew about his gorgeous blonde locks and his muscular thighs. his cheeky smile and little groans. that look he pulls when he's trying his hardest to concentrate in class. or the look in his eye when he's jealous of a skilled opponent. you know he's had a few girlfriends and flings. you know their names and what classes they take.

you knew art donaldson far too well... and it consumed you.