Reader making nerd!art skip class and she blows him in the janitors closet and heâs really flustered because itâs never happened to him
you passed a test because of him.
you were overjoyed, really.
and who helped you? art fucking donaldson.
and obviously you had to pay him back.
"can you meet me in the hallway? please artiee. đ" you texted him, already biting your lip in anticipation. he's in the middle of writing notes in his class when he gets it. but he's so fucking weak for you.
he asks to go to the restroom, his hands sweating the moment he sees you leaning against the wall. "art!" you squeal, running up to him to hug him tightly. "i got a 96 on my test!" he smiles, a genuine smile as he sees you basically jumping up and down while your arms wrap around his waist.
"im so proud of you," his voice trembles slightly as he pats the back of your head. "here i need to show you something," you pull him into the hallway, looking around before slipping inside the janitor's closet.
"what are we- woah!" he gasps as you get on your knees infront of him. his face heating up as he feels your hands tugging at his pants. "im just paying you back.." you coo, biting your lip at the sight of his throbbing cock twitching inside his boxers.
"w-we shouldn't be doing this. we'll get caught and-" you shush him, gently tugging at his boxers. "we'll take it slow, yeah? i just want to make you feel good." he knows you're so manipulating him, but how can he say now to your pretty little eyes and pretty little face? he really cant.
you pull down his boxers, only to be greeted by a longer than usual cock. in your head you thought he was smaller than average, he doesn't exactly give you big dick energy. but boy was he packing. "woah," you whisper under your breath as his cock springs out in the air, already so hard.
"i-i never done this before." he whispers, his voice trembling. you look up at him, smiling slightly. something about taking his first time stirrs something in his you. "just tell me when you're going to come, okay?"
he gasps as your hand wraps around his throbbing dick, his tip was already a bit stained with precum, but the feeling of your tongue licking at it? his hands clench, already whimpering. you take that as a sign to continue, hand gently stroking him while slowly but surely fitting him into your mouth.
"ngh- you're so warm.." he whimpers, his eyes glossy as he breathes heavily, looking down at you with a desperate expression. "im already-" he moans. you never been with such a vocal guy, most of them usually dont make any sound. but something about art getting whimpery and desperate just hits you in the right spot.
"pleasee.." "come in my hand.." you mumble as you bop your head, your hands softly gripping his thighs as you continue coating his cock with saliva. after a good 10 seconds he grips your hair. he doesn't pull you in, he just uses you as an anchor. "fuck-" you pull away, putting your hand on his tip so you can catch his cum.
he cums. alot.
"was this your first time having an orgasm?" you mumble, standing up with a small grin. "y-yeah." he mumbles, looking away from you. "i can tell, you came so muchâ"
you cut yourself off when you notice he's sniffling. you frown, wiping your hand off with a roll of toilet paper near by before you get infront of him. "are you okay?" he shakes his head, using the heel of his hand to rub his tears away. "i-i just.." he looks at you. and your heart melts.
he looks so vulnerable.
"did you not like it?" you ask softly.
"no no i liked it. i loved it, actually. but-" he grabs you, like your hips. but he doesn't kiss you or anything, he just brings into an embrace, his head burrowed into your neck and hair like a scared puppy. "i want do so much more now." he whispers against your shoulder as his big arms wrap around your waist.
and that's when you realize; this turned into more than just a game.
you wont be able to get rid of him so easily now, not after everything.
not after you corrupted his heart, mind and soul the way you just did.
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cw; drinking, smut!!, art and reader are really kinda pathetic <3
if i wanted to know who you were hanging with
while i was gone i would have asked you
it's the kind of cold, fogs up windshield glass
but i felt it when i passed youÂ
thereâs an ache in you put there by the ache in meÂ
but if itâs all the same to you, itâs the same to me
five years ago
âhey, stranger,â you can practically hear artâs smile through the phone, âhow was your day?â you roll onto your back, phone clutched in your hand like a vice, âit was alright. just cramming for finals,â you sigh softly, âhows stanford?â âgod, itâs incredible,â he laughs, âi wish you were here. youâd love it, baby. itâs like a movie,â you hum in response, ignoring the ache in your chest that had made its home there the day he flew out, âhowâs training going? do you have any matches soon?â âoh, itâs great!â thereâs that smile again, âiâve got a match tomorrow, actually, so i should probably go soon. itâs at 7 am,âÂ
âthatâs good,â you smile to yourself, âdo you feel good about it?â âyeah, i think so. coach says iâm gearing up to do really well this season,â he says proudly, and your chest aches again at the thought of missing it. âiâm sure you will,â you try to keep your voice even, âwell iâll let you get some sleep, i love you,â âlove you more,â he murmurs, âgoodnight, baby,âÂ
art texts you the next morning to inform you he âkilledâ his match, attaching a poorly taken photo of him grinning ear to ear, gold metal ribbon around his neck. itâs little crumbs like this that keep you sane, keep you feeling close to him, ever since he left. âknew youâd win! youâre so cute. call later?â you reply, your cheeks pink as if youâre texting a crush rather than your boyfriend of two years. âcourse i willâ he replies, and youâre already counting down the minutes until the nighttime routine youâd grown accustomed to.Â
at nine oclock, you lay across your dorm bed, eyes practically glued to your phone screen as you wait on artâs nightly call. by nine thirty, youâre mildly annoyed, and by ten, youâre worried. you pick up the phone, pressing call on his contact, biting the inside of your cheek as you listen to the phone ring. he picks up after a moment, the music in the background nearly drowning out his voice, âhello?âÂ
âhey,â you try your hardest not to let your irritation bleed into your tone, âdid you forget to call?â âfuck, baby. iâm so sorry,â you hear shuffling, and the music gets slightly quieter, âpatrick invited me to this party since we won this morning, it totally slipped my mind,â âitâs fine,â you tell him slightly too quickly, âjust have fun, kay? iâll talk to you tomorrow,â âwait- are you sure?â he sounds confused, and you wonder if its the alcohol or the change in your tone thatâs thrown him off.Â
âyeah, of course,â you hope your voice sounds as light as you intend it to, âwe can talk tomorrow night, itâs okay. have fun,â âokay, i guess,â he sounds so hesitant you start to think he might just leave the party, âwell goodnight then. i love you,â ânight. love you too,â you hang up before you can talk yourself into begging him to stay on the phone. the next night, he calls at six oclock sharp, and you can tell the entire phone call that heâs eager not to upset you.Â
heâd always been that way. heâd do something, just one tiny mistake, and spend days apologizing or being extra sweet to fix it. youâd lost count over the years of just how many grand gestures heâd made, of how many times heâd professed his love for you for no reason other than to get back in your good graces; not that heâd ever left.Â
you and art were cheesily in love, so high school in the way that you couldnât keep your hands off of eachother, couldnât go a day without speaking. you were practically sewn at the hip from sophomore to senior year, even applying to colleges together. when he got his offer from the stanford athletics department, you didnât think much of it. he seemed flattered, of course, but you never thought heâd actually go.Â
he loved boston, he loved his family, he loved you, so it made no sense when he came over one afternoon, admission letter in hand, and a wide smile on his lips. âi accepted their offer!â heâd told you, ever so proud, âthey gave me basically a full ride, as long as i stay on the team and keep my grades up. can you believe that?âÂ
you could believe it, of course. everyone knew how wildly talented art was, from such a young age. heâd started playing tennis at his parents country club when he was just a kid, and eventually worked his way up to attending a tennis academy not far from your high school. he had promise, drive, ambition, and a naivety just subtle enough to make him an excellent candidate to be pushed too far by coaches.Â
youâd known, then, that things would change between you. everyone told you nothing would happen, you two were meant to be, but you could feel it. heâd be across the country, practicing incessantly, playing matches, attending parties thrown by teammates youâd never meet. and youâd be home, working for a degree that might help you make a name for yourself.Â
over the course of a few months after that party, the calls grew less and less frequent. by summer, you were lucky to hear from art more than once a week. you knew he was busy, of course, and tried to ignore the way bitterness coated your tongue with every word you said to him on your brief calls. you tried to ignore the way he talked about all the friends heâd made, friends that you didnât know at all, and tried to ignore the way he barely sent you photos anymore.
the one thing getting you through was the promise of summer break with art. two short months together, to pretend everything was back to normal, that you werenât living completely separate lives. you woke up at six am sharp the day of his flight home, eagerness keeping you from sleep, and picked up your phone to call and see when heâd be landing. he answered after four rings, his voice raspy from sleep, âhello?âÂ
âgood morning!â you replied cheerily, âwhenâs your flight?â âoh, hey baby,â you heard some shuffling before he returned to the phone, âuhm, i actually was just gonna call you about that,â âis everything okay?â your cheery tone slipped, dread festering in your stomach before you could even place why. âyeah, of course. i just meant to tell you, coach wants me to do some training over the summer. he thought it would be best if i stayed here, just for this first year, for some extra drills and stuff,âÂ
you sat silently, tears pricking your eyes, as you listened to his excuse. âso what, then? youâll be home for a month shorter, or?â âi wonât be able to make it home at all this year, honey. iâm so sorry, but you can come stay with me, yeah? iâll buy your ticket, itâll be just like we planned,â your heart broke even further at how optimistic he sounded, as if he hadnât just shattered your expectations of the summer, of your reunion. âi have work, art,â you said quietly, âyou know that. i have to make up for being off through the school year,âÂ
âyou donât need that job, baby. come on, come see me,â âno, art!â you argued, your brows pinched in frustration, âi do need this job, actually. some of us donât have trust funds, believe it or not. jesus,â your words came out sharper than you intended, all the hurt and anger from the last several months finally revealing itself. âiâm sorry,â he said after a moment, âthis is really important to me. this is my shot, yknow? i canât mess this up,â
âyeah,â your voice was bitter, but you truly did understand, âi get it. stay there, itâs for the best,â âiâll come home next summer, okay? it wonât be like this every year,â he sounded like he was pleading with you, and it took all your control not to snap at the irony of it. âart, i think itâs best we donât keep trying to make this work. you need to focus on your tennis and school and i need to focus on mine, and letâs just call it even, okay? we had a really good run,âÂ
âa good run?â he repeated incredulously, âare you trying to break up with me?â âi am, yeah,â you hoped you sounded confident in your answer, âi just donât think itâs a good idea for us to draw this out any longer than we need to,â âwhat the fuck? where is this coming from? is this about the summer?â he sounded so genuinely confused, so lost, and it only angered you further. âitâs just not working, art. everyone warned us long distance wasnât a good idea,âÂ
âbaby, please,â he was practically begging, a slight whine in his voice that you knew all too well. âno, iâm sorry, okay? but itâs done,â âyou canât just-â âbye, art,â you hung up before you could talk yourself out of it, letting yourself cry as hard as youâd wanted to for months now. you curled up in bed, sobs wracking your body, and mourned the relationship with a boy youâd once thought youâd marry.Â
you thought heâd text or call, tried to prepare yourself to reject him again, but the contact never came. he listened, for once. art donaldson had completely slipped out of your life, without a trace.
three years later, you graduated top of your class, landed your dream job in journalism, and moved to an apartment in the city. you tried your best not to keep up with artâs achievements, but it was difficult when he won nearly ever tournament he stepped foot into. he made all the sports headlines, and you turned your head at each of them, hoping to convince yourself you never even knew him.Â
i parked my car right between the methodistÂ
and the school that used to be ours
the holidays linger like a bad perfumeÂ
you can run, but only so far
i escaped it too, remember how you watched me leave
but if thatâs okay with you, itâs okay with me
current
you returned home for the holidays, driving down from the inner city to your parents home on the outskirts of boston. about three miles out, youâre lost in thought, music playing through your speakers and snow dusting your windshield. youâre jolted when you hit a deep pothole, cursing under your breath when your tire pressure light kicks on.Â
you pull over into the closest parking lot, grabbing your coat and stepping out of the car to survey the damage. âfuck me,â you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose in frustration when you see the tireâs gone flat. youâre in the middle of trying to pry your spare out of the trunk when headlights illuminate the area around you, and you hear a car crunching over the snow.Â
âyou alright, miss?â a man calls, his voice sharp in your ears against the quiet of the evening. âjust got a flat, iâm taking care of it,â you reply, not bothering to look back over your shoulder as you yank your spare free finally. âit isnât safe to drive on a spare in this weather,â he tells you, and the slight crack of his tone raises the hair on your arms, the familiarity seeping through you deeper than the cold breeze.Â
you turn, finally facing the stranger, your breath in your throat. there he stands, his blonde hair peeking out underneath the hood of his puffer coat, his cheeks tinged pink from the wind. âart?â you exhale, your heart suddenly racing in your chest, âwhat are you doing here?â
âoh,â he looks as startled as you feel, his blue eyes widening ever so slightly, âi was just passing by on my way to my parentâs, i saw a car and thought youâd need help,â âiâve got it,â you say too quickly, âiâll call my dad to pick me up, donât worry about it. thanks, though,âÂ
âi can take you,â he offers, gesturing to his car parked just feet away, still running, âitâs on the way, anyway. i donât mind,â âi think iâll just call my dad,â you argue, âyou can go, okay? i got this-â âplease just let me take you home,â his tone sounds like youâd be doing him a favor, not the other way around, âcome on, iâll help you get your stuff, iâll fix your tire tomorrow,â
you never could say no to his puppy dog eyes, even after all these years. so there you sit, shivering in artâs too nice car, trying not to look at him as he drives you home like he had so many times before. âitâs good to see you,â he says finally, breaking the silence, and you hum in response, unable to muster up any real conversation.Â
âi moved back,â he says after a few more minutes as he turns the corner to a main road, âi donât live here, but itâs not far. i live in the city near the university,â âcongratulations,â you mumble, trying to keep your tone dismissive, anything to lessen the nostalgia youâre surely both feeling.Â
âhey,â he sounds as if heâs pleading, and you allow yourself one glance to his side of the car, taking in the way heâs biting the inside of his cheek, the sadness in his eyes. âyes?â âi just wanted to say itâs good to see you,â he says softly, âi mean, whatâre the odds, yknow? weâre both back home and i just happened to see you. itâs like fate,âÂ
âyeah,â you agree quietly, âfate, sure,â
so we could call it even
you could call me babe for the weekend
'tis the damn season, write this down
i'm stayin' at my parents' house
and the road not taken looks real good now
and it always leads to you in my hometown
he pulls into your parentâs drive, keeping the car running but leaning back in his seat to look over at you. âyou look good,â he says after a moment, ânot that you looked bad before, obviously, itâs just, youâre beautiful-â âshut up, art,â you cut off his rambling, âit was sweet of you to drive me, but thats all this was, okay? this isnât fate. itâs just a coincidence,âÂ
âeven if it is just a coincidence, iâm still happy to see you,â he says quietly, âis that not okay? i missed you,â âshut up,â you repeat, âyou didnât miss me, thatâs- this whole thing is ridiculous, okay? enjoy your holiday, art,â âwait! canât we just talk? i mean, even if its not tonight, we could catch up,â he pleads, eyes wide and borderline frantic. you shake your head, opening your door and pausing to glance back at him, âmerry christmas, art. please donât call,â you go inside trying your best to pretend nothing happened, dodging questions about the car in the driveway and greeting your family. the look on artâs face as you closed the car door keeps you from any real christmas spirit.Â
you wake the next morning to a text from an unsaved number, your brows furrowed as you open the notification. âi know you said you donât wanna hear from me, but i just wanted to say iâm sorry and it was really nice to see you. wanted to give you a fair warning, your parents invited my family to their christmas party tonight.â
you groan, tossing your phone on the bed and getting in the shower, ignoring the butterflies nerves, in your stomach at the idea of seeing art that night. by six that evening, youâre slightly tipsy off of spiked eggnog, trying your best to ignore him from across the room. heâs there, blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes and a stupid christmas sweater that reminds you far too much of the first holiday you spent together.Â
you hate the way he mingles with your family so easily, like nothing ever happened. the way he laughs at your dads jokes, the way heâs sipping wine with class he mustâve learned at stanford. the way he keeps looking your way, smiling tenderly, the way he eventually approaches you with all the hesitation of a high school crush.Â
âyou look beautiful,â is the first thing he says to you, sounding almost pained by it. âthank you,â you hope you sound cordial, hope he doesnât pick up on the way your hands shake around your glass, the way your cheeks are already pink. you tell yourself itâs the alcohol and not the scent of the cologne heâd been wearing all those years ago, the last time youâd seen him.Â
he looks around, gesturing to the decorations, âgood party,â âwe donât have to do this small talk shit,â you say after a moment, âitâs in the past, alright? letâs just get through the party and weâll all go back to normal,â âdonât you see i donât just want to get through the party? iâm trying to talk to you here, okay? i missed you, i just wanna catch up,â the pleading is back in his tone, accompanied by his trademark puppy dog eyes, and you find yourself following him onto your parentâs balcony with no hint of the hesitation youâd been full of earlier in the night.Â
âi saw you on tv,â he tells you after a few minutes of small talk, sipping his drink and glancing at you, the wind rustling his too perfect hair. âyeah?â you smile ever so slightly, âwhat for?â âit was a news station, i saw it at the airport. you were reporting on the protests in new york,â he smiles back, and your chest aches at the sight. âiâm not usually on tv, i just write the stories, but it was cool. glad to know itâs getting good airport coverage,â you joke, âiâve seen you on tv a few times myself. wimbledon and all,âÂ
âyeah?â his smile widens, âand whatâd you think?â you pause, and youâre not sure if its the eggnog, the nostalgia, or his vulnerable expression, but you find yourself being honest. âi thought you were incredible,â you say softly, âthe way you play is just amazing, art. always has been,â âthank you,â you choose to ignore the crack in his voice, âyou have no idea how much that means, to hear you say that. that you still even think that,âÂ
âcongratulations,â you smile around the rim of your glass, âyouâve won every competition iâve even heard of. thatâs a big deal,â ânone of that matters,â he waves a dismissive hand, âi donât wanna talk about tennis. i wanna hear about you,â âmy life is pretty boring,â you shrug, âi write columns and go home and think about work. thatâs really all,â âyouâre not- are you seeing someone? i figured youâd be married or something,âÂ
âno,â you laugh like its ridiculous, because truthfully, it is. youâd loved him so much that it made the idea of trying to love someone else seem pointless. in the back of your mind, youâd always thought you needed to let it go, to move on, but you never found the time or the willpower. forgetting him and learning someone else was a move you were never prepared to make. âme neither,â his voice snaps you from your thoughts, ânot since-â
âiâm sorry i broke up with you,â you blurt out, âit was shitty of me to do it over the phone like that, and iâm sorry,â âoh,â he blinks, looking slightly caught off guard, âno, i mean, it was my fault. i get it, looking back. iâm sorry i didnât fight harder,â âyou were a really good boyfriend,â you say quietly, blinking away hot tears, âlike, the perfect boyfriend. it was just too much, being away from you, and i felt like it was just a matter of time before it ended anyway,â
âi never planned on leaving you,â he says softly, âi hope you know that. i loved you more than anything in the world, and i know we were just kids, but i really, really fucking loved you. more than tennis, more than stanford, more than any of that shit. i didnât care about my future if you werenât in it, but then you removed yourself from it and i figured i could at least just keep going,âÂ
âi know,â you nod, because you genuinely do know. you know he loved you, how much he cared about your relationship. a moment passes, and you can feel his eyes on you, your heart picking up and a fresh flush prickling your skin. âyou are so fucking beautiful,â he murmurs, and before you can think better of your decision, youâve set your drink down and turned to him, all your logic gone out the window.Â
âthis is a bad idea,â you tell him, but youâve already taken a step closer, âand iâm only in town for a bit,â another step, âbut i missed you so fucking much, art,â âcome show me how much you missed me,â he smiles, his eyes almost as dark as the sky around you, âletâs make up for lost time, yeah?â
you kiss him in an instant, and everything else seems to fall away as you feel his lips on yours for the first time in years. he tastes like sparkling wine and chapstick and everything you love about the holidays, about home. he kisses you with the same desperation heâd always had back then, his hands digging into your hips and pulling you flush against him.Â
the reality of the evening starts to sink back in as hands progress lower, and you pull away, panting softly against his lips, âcant fuck you in my parents house,â âaw, come on, itâll be just like old times,â he murmurs teasingly, trailing his lips down your neck. âart,â you whine, âwe canât,â âtheyâre all busy with the party,â he murmurs as he nips below your ear gently, âdo you want me to stop?â âno,â you answer easily, âletâs just- can we go to my room? someoneâs gonna see us out here,â
you end up in your old bedroom, sprawled out on the comforter kissing art with a feverish desperation. âmissed you so fucking much,â he groans as you unbutton his pants, slipping your hand into his boxers, âgod, thought about you all the time,â âyeah?â you smile against his lips, âthought about me all the way in california?â âfuck- yeah, i did,â he bucks his hips into your hand, his cheeks pink, âeveryday, every night,â
you hum, satisfied, trailing your kisses down his chest and sliding down the bed, âwhere you going?â he asks, his brows furrowed. âyou donât want my mouth?â you ask, gazing up at him as you push his boxers down, âno,â he smiles hazily, âno, baby. missed you too much for that, just câmere. let me fuck you,â
you nearly cry at that, the warmth flooding your chest at his words despite the overall nature of what the two of you are doing. you kiss him again, leaned over him, and he pulls you up into his lap, scooting up to prop himself up against the headboard.Â
âcome here,â he mumbles between kisses, positioning your legs to straddle him, âdo you wanna do this?â ââcourse i wanna do this,â you nod, and he pushes the skirt over your dress up around your hips, running his thumb over the skin, âyouâre so beautiful,â
âstop lookin at me like that,â you mumble, feeling entirely too entranced by the expression on his face, âkiss me,â heâs nothing if not obedient, his lips on yours immediately, kissing you with fervor. you reach between the two of you, sitting up briefly to toss your underwear somewhere, wrapping your hand around him once more to line him up. âgod,â he groans softly, tipping his head back as you slide down on his cock, your eyes closed in bliss, âfuck, youâre so wet, god,â
you bury your face in his neck, trying your best to be quiet as you adjust to his size, rocking your hips slowly, âart,â you moan breathlessly, and before you know it heâs cradling your head, pulling you in closer and fucking up into you. you bite down on his shoulder gently, hoping to suppress the noises leaving you, âgod, not gonna last,â he all but whimpers, âyou feel so fucking good,â
you just moan in response as he hits all the right spots, your thighs shaking slightly as he fucks you, âfuck, baby- oh my fucking god,â he groans, pulling you off of him gently, âdidnât wanna finish inside you,â he pants, eyes closed as he steadies his breathing, âlet me,â you say softly, taking him in your mouth, moaning around him at the taste of yourself on his skin.Â
âoh, fuck me,â he moans, hands tightening in your hair and bucking his hips slightly. heâs filling your mouth soon after, your name falling from his lips like a curse as he cums down your throat, panting and whining hoarsely. you wipe your mouth, sitting up to kiss him again, surprised when he pulls you up closer. âsit on my face,â he mumbles against your lips, âlet me make you cum, please,âÂ
âiâm okay,â you start to argue, but heâs shaking his head, looking at you with the sweetest expression, âjust let me make you feel good,â you let him lead you, as he lays back on the bed and pulls you up onto him, your thighs on either side of his head.Â
he laps at you desperately, and you have to clutch the headboard to keep from collapsing against him as you rock your hips, borderline grinding against his mouth. âart,â you moan, one hand on the headboard and one in his hair, âfuck, youâre so good,â
this only encourages him, and he slides a hand under you, pushing gently on your hips to make you rock against his face once more. you whimper at that, digging your teeth into your bottom lip as you feel yourself getting closer. âart,â you gasp, âgonna-âÂ
your vision is spotty as you come undone, his needy mouth never slowing as he works you through it, sucking at your clit until your legs nearly give out. âtoo much,â you whine, pulling at his hair to deter him. he hums against you, licking one last, slow stripe against you before helping you down, looking up at you with dilated pupils and a spit-slick mouth.Â
you wipe his face gently with your duvet, smiling slightly down at him, âthat was-â âyou were so good,â he praises, âcanât believe how much i missed that,â he pulls the blanket over your legs, and your chest aches at the tenderness of the action. âyou shouldnât stay,â you say softly, hoping it doesnât come across as hurtful, âi donât want my parents to see, yknow,âÂ
âyeah,â he nods, but he looks slightly hurt, like heâs taken aback, âyeah, good point. iâll call you?â âyes, please,â you nod, watching as he pulls his clothes back on, âiâll talk to you tomorrow, yeah?â âyeah,â he nods, fastening his belt, âuh, goodnight, then,â ânight, art,â you smile sleepily, and he lets himself out without returning a smile of his own.
time flies, messy as the mud on your truck tires
now iâm missing your smile, hear me out
we could just ride aroundÂ
and the road not taken looks really good now
and it always leads to you in my hometown
the next day, you send him a quick text, slightly worried heâd thought youâd just dismissed him. âwanna get coffee today? i leave tomorrowâÂ
âsureâ he replies, and youâre sure then that heâs hurt, but you hope to rectify it, âgreat! starbucks on third at eleven?â âokay. see you thereâ he sends back, and you pull on a sweater and leggings, going to spend some time with your parents before heading out to the coffee shop.Â
heâs sitting in a window seat when you arrive, much more casual than he had been the night before. heâs in a stanford hoodie and joggers, and you think of him away at college, how at home heâd probably been there. you shake the thought away, walking over to his table, âhey,â you smile, sliding into the booth across him. âhey,â he smiles slightly, âso you leave tomorrow?â
âoh, yeah,â you nod, âgotta get back to work. how long are you in town for?â âtold you i moved back,â he says, looking slightly irritated, and you feel a pang of guilt, âyeah, sorry, it completely slipped my mind. so youâre just-â âwhat is this, exactly?â he cuts you off, brows furrowed, âi mean, im glad last night happened, but is that just it? youâre gonna shoo me away and go home like nothing happened?âÂ
âwhat?â you falter, caught off guard, âart, no, i just have to go back home, itâs not like iâm discarding you,â âyou sure are acting like it,â he grumbles, âwhat, then? are we gonna try and make this work?â âmake this work?â you repeat, âwhat, exactly? i figured it was just because weâre both back home, i donât-â âwhat? so what, then, just a one time thing? thatâs kinda fucked up to not tell someone,â he snaps, and you hate yourself in the moment, all the memories of the way youâd been so short when youâd broken up with him resurfacing.Â
âmaybe itâs better if itâs just for the weekend,â you say quietly, âi mean, weâre both busy, and this was just by chance,â âbullshit,â he shakes his head, âif you donât wanna be with me, thatâs fine. alright? genuinely, no hard feelings. but donât give me that âweâre both busy shit. whatâs the real reason you wonât try again?âÂ
âwe both are busy,â you say defensively, âi just donât- iâd hate for either of us to get hurt again, thatâs all,â âi get it, i do, but weâll never know if we donât try,â he says softly, âi never wanted to hurt you before, okay? iâve pictured so many routes for my life and you were always in them,â âweâre different people now, art,â you say carefully, trying to keep your tone even, âyou donât know if weâre still even compatible, and we never know what could happen,â âwill you stop doing that? you donât have to be so calculated about everything. itâs not gonna kill us to try, right? weâve changed, sure, and weâre at different places in life, but weâre the same people. weâre still the people we were when we were in love,âÂ
âthat was a long time ago,â you say quietly, tears pricking your eyes, âi just donât wanna make a mistake and get us both hurt,â âiâm fine with being hurt by you. donât you see that? i have loved you since we were sixteen years old. we can get to know each other again, we can take it slow, iâm not asking you to marry me here. just give it a chance, please?â the sincerity in his tone breaks you, and youâre nodding before you can talk yourself out of it. âyeah,â you sniffle, âyeah, iâd like that so much. iâm sorry, iâm just scared, and i didnât think weâd ever get another chance,â you ramble. âi know youâre scared,â he says softly, taking your hand in his over the table, âweâre gonna take it slow, alright? weâll be alright,â âyeah,â you nod, tracing his knuckles with your thumb, âweâll be alright,âÂ
pairings - art donaldson/reader | challengers au! |
â__â = Y/N
masterslist | next chapter
sypnosis - men would call you a siren, and women would call you a bitch. but all he knows is that youâre his.
warnings - future smut
word count - 1.5k
authors note - this fic will be having a part two. its completely out my comfort zone, and i wanted to experiment my skills as a writer to create a character super complex. any hate will be deleted and blocked. reminder that this is purely fiction!
His pink lips glistened with beads of sweat that resembled diamonds. Unknowingly licking your ownâyour thighs clenched as his girlfriend pecked his cheek. You didnât know why, but having the attention of every man in the vicinity made you feel as if you were worth something. The pain on girlsâ faces after seeing their manâs arms wrapped around your figure always made youâŠ.
âŠâŠ.bite back a smile.
Your current subject was taken. It was perfect. A challenge never bored youâbut only encouraged your habits.
Art Donaldson was on every girlâs agenda at the moment. Whenever you went to your local gym, he was playing on the tv screen at every treadmill with hunger in their eyes. These suburban women go crazy for a pretty boy with nice eyes and a fit bod. And the fact that youâve never seen him smile, is a plus. He wasnât a pushover.
He was a challenge.
The blonde haired girl got on her tiptoes, wrapping her tiny arms around Artâs shiny neck. You could see his defined muscles slightly bulge beneath his completely soaked t-shirt, making him look absolutely delicious. He offered her a smile, mumbled something, and she nodded before going to the snack bar.
Taking this as your chance, you dug into your purse and pulled out a cherry sucker from a few days ago. Plucking it into your mouth, you hummed at the sweet tart like tasteâcarrying your long legs that were hugged tightly by a pair of tiny workout shorts towards the tennis player. He had been tying his shoe when you paused before him.
You cocked out your hip, clearing your throat. His eyes slowly trailed up your figure, jaw clenching as they finally met yours. âCute girlfriend of yours. Looks pretty young, thoughâŠ.â you sigh afterwards, swirling your tongue over the top of the pop. Artâs eyes slightly widened at the sight, gulping. âIâm _ _! Whatâs your name, pretty boy?â
You already knew it. As soon as he had shown up on your tv screen.
His eyes were bluer in person, if possible. It was as if there were thousands of diamonds carved into his eyes as the sun set on them. Sun-kissed skin had a thin gloss of sweat from his tournament, his broad shoulders quickly going up and down as he breathed heavily. He was considerably taller than you. He had to look down at you.
âUhâŠDonaldson. ArtâŠDonaldson.â
Bending over a tad, making sure your large breasts slightly spill out your braâyou smile innocently. Your lips release the suction on the lollipop with a loud pop! âPleasure! I was wondering if you offer private lessons?â
Shamelessly, his eyes darted over your hardened nipples. His tongue poked out and slid across his puffy bottom lip, âI um, I charge 20 bucks an hour.â
âDeal. But Iâm sure we can come up with a way to give me a discount,â you winked, pulling out your phone from your bra. You heard his breathing turn ragged as you handed him it. âPut your number in. Iâll let you know when I can start.â
His teeth sunk into his lower lip, narrowing his eyes at you. âJust meet me here next Tuesday same time. Make sure to bring cash,â he muttered, looking away from you. Your brow rose at his sudden drynessâbut realized you probably intimated him with your forwardness. And to make matters worse, his air headed girlfriend had returned with a boba drink in her hand.
âArt, whoâs this? A friend?â
â_ _ Smith. And noâwe arenât friends. Iâm only a customer, a happy one at that.â Excusing yourself, you made sure to not even glance at her. You sent a brow towards Art, his eyes filled with a storm.
âSee you soon, Mr. Donaldson.â
When next Tuesday rolled aroundâto say you were ecstatic was an understatement. Your black tennis skirt stopped right at the bottom of your ass, a black skin tight jacket hugging your breasts tightly. The side of your heel hit the bottom of your racket as your hair swayed in its ponytail. A smirk grew onto your lips as you spotted Art, waiting for you at the court.
Pulling your glasses down, you noted how his intense eyes burned holes into your body. âHello, again. Your girlfriend here?â
âWhy does that matter?â His tone was coldâa challenge. Every second seemed to get better and better.
He looked scrumptious. There was a hickey poking out from beneath the collar of his white tennis shirt. His girlfriend probably left it there so you wouldnât try anythingâto mark her dominance per se. But the problem with that is, you donât respect anybodyâs property. Whatâs yoursâŠ.
âŠâŠ..is yours.
Your brow raises. âIâm getting the impression you donât like me to much.â
He scoffs, âI know what type of girl you are. Not interested.â
You didnât realize this was an assessment.
âIâm unaware of whatââ
âI have a girlfriend for fucksake, and youâre dressed likeâlikeââ
You innocently round your eyes at him, deciding to play it off as if youâre hurt by his words. But he didnât actually know the real youâhe was just trying to paint a picture for his own benefit. He was scared of what you were capable of. Which meant he was cracking.
âI didnât come here to be slut shamed,â you shrug, taking a step back. âIâve been watching your tournaments on tv for a few months now, and thought you were beyond talented. I tried my best not to act too starstruck and got carried away.â
His eyes soften.
Bingo.
âBut Iâll leaveââ
âLook, Iâm sorry. Letâs just forget about this and start over.â He ran a hand through his hair, then leaving it on the back of his neck.
You bit back a smirk.
There were pleading undertones laced in his words, feeling guilty for judging your outfit and questioning your morality. You knew this time to come off less forward, figuring out he liked submissive women instead. Women who go with what he wants, who let him control the situations.
âUnderstood. Shall we get started?â You offer, in which he chuckles and agrees.
For the duration of two hours, Art accessed your abilities. He complimented you multiple times on how quick you were. Although he was significantly faster when it came to hitting the ballâyou knew he didnât expect you to be at least a little good. After the session, Art when to retrieve the both of you water as you grabbed the cash from your purse.
You shouldâve paid him triple just for how good his butt looked in those shorts.
âThanks,â Art handed you your matte black hydroflaskâsnatching you from your thoughts. He watched you take a couple swigs from it, a drop of water rolling down between the crack of your breasts.
He licked his lips before chuckling, hoping you didnât catch him stare. âYou hate the color black, huh?â
Looking down at your hydro, you laughed before holding out the cash for him. âItâs my favorite color. Besides, it goes with everything.â
âHm,â his eyes fall to your hand offering the cash. Instead of taking both 50 dollar billsâhe takes one and sends you a smirk.
âYou get a half off discount for me being a dick. One time offer.â
You nod and chew on your bottom lip as he swallows thickly. âPerhaps I can at least buy you a smoothie or something. Itâs pretty hot,â you offer, adding a suggestive tone to the end of your sentence. Noticing a hard tent forming in his pants, Art steps back, clearing his throat.
âI canât today. Iâll see you on Thursdayâsame time.â He mutters, turning around and offering a sheepish smile before walking away. You wondered if he was going to rub one out in his car, or fuck his girlfriend and imagining it was your pussy he was driving into.
The thought made a pool begin to seep through your panties.
The tip of his cock poking out between his fisted palm, leaking with drops of creamy pre-cum. A mouth of pure ecstasy pulling at his features as his mouth hangs open, gripping his center console as he finishes all over the interior of his car.
Or fucking his girl from behind, imagining your bouncy ass rippling with every thrust. His fingers tugging at your strands, reaching the deepest spot inside your dripping pussy. He would think of youânot her. He wouldâŠ.
âŠâŠcum for you.
Patrick, your cousin, had been visiting from East Boston and staying at your familyâs house. He was passionate about tennis, just like you, and pretty much taught you everything you know. Thatâs why you were so skilled. Learning from Art was simply to get into his pants.
And of course, he wanted to crash your tennis class with Art. Said some bullshit about Art and him meeting at a summer tennis campâwhatever. You were plotting on snatching Art from his perky titted girlfriendâbut with Patrick there, it may be a bit hard.
âFor fucks sake, I said no!â You shout before lighting a cigarette, painting your big toe a glittery cherry color you bought at the drug-store. You heard your neighbor slam their window shut before Patrick slides open the screen door and comes out to the backyard where you were. After taking a puff, you blow the smoke into his face. âLove you, cuzzo. But youâre cockblocking me here.â
Patrick snatched the cigarette from you, taking a frustrated hit of his own. âDidnât you say he had a girlfriend?â
âAnd?â
You receive a glare, causing you to roll your eyes and snatch the cigarette back from him. âFine. Whatever. You can come.â
He gasps before hugging you, causing you to scoff and push him off you. It would be cool for him to reunite with his old friend, but this was so not the time for that. Patrick got on your nerves but you had love for the dude. Itâs always been hard to say no to him. It was despicable.
You took another hit. The rancid stench filled your senses, smoke swirling around your figure. After finishing your last toeâPatrick pulled up a chair and sits on it backwards. âYou like this dude or what?â
A laugh couldnât leave your lips after. Who does he think you are?
You havenât truly dated a guy since you were seventeen. Ever since your ex, you didnât grow feelings for another individual. And it had nothing to do with himâyou just outgrew relationships. It was fun to have options. Especially when those options, were already taken.
Men with girlfriends are harder to obtain. They had settled already, and it takes a lot for them to trust you. But once thereâs a clear understanding you donât genuinely care for themâŠand only whatâs in between their legsâ
Thatâs when the real fun begins.
âHell no. Heâs hot. Thatâs it.â
Patrick lights another cigarette, nodding before blowing out the white ropes of smoke. âAh. I see. You wanna fuck his brains out.â
âPrecisely.â
âBack when I met him, he was dating this cute tiny little thing. What was her name? Tracy? Tara? TamâTiffany!â
Your smirk twitched, taking another hit of your cigarette. It was almost finished at this point. âIs she blonde?â
He looks over at you, sending a brow. âYou know her?â
âIâve seen her prancing around.â
âHe told me sheâs controlling and shit. Wonder if thatâs still true,â he pops open the cooler and pulls out a beer, tilting his head back and taking a swig. You suddenly perk up at his words as he swallows the fermented alcohol harshly.
âHeard they took therapy classes together.â
You pressed a finger on your chin, giving him a mischievous look. âTheyâve been together for a while nowâŠhuh?â
âYeah, pretty much.â
Hm.
It was going to feel all the much better to steal him.
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