໒꒱ིྀ ˚. ᵎᵎ ᢉ𐭩 tutor turned bf series
pairing: nerdy!zayne x pervert!reader
contents: mdni!!! smut, masturbation (f), implied virgin zayne, reader & zayne are in college.
words: 500 :( short ik.
authors note: my take on the nerdy zayne trope. i kinda wanna turn this into a short series bc i have sooo many ideas.
— ʚɞ next part
When you first met Zayne, he was tutoring you in anatomy and physiology. The moment you saw him, you thought he looked downright edible in his specs.
He wore baggy hoodies and sweatshirts adorned with your college's name, sometimes even wearing button down shirts with a tie. One time, you grabbed his bicep to 'steady yourself' (to feel him up) and you felt the hard planes of muscles hidden under his clothes that immediately gave you filthy thoughts.
From then on, you'd do anything to see that pretty blush that'd sometimes grace his defined cheeks, and it wasn't even a difficult thing to achieve. Really, most of the time calling him cute was enough to get him turning as bright as a tomato.
You always wore something low-cut and tight to your tutoring sessions, biting down on your lip and shamelessly pushing your cleavage together as you pretended to listen to him explain the skeletal system, your panties getting wetter and wetter the more and more he stumbled with his words.
When he finally gathered enough courage to ask you out on a date, he took you to a a museum. As you reached the exhibit that showcased a short film, you both sat down and until the final ten minutes you pretended to stretch and yawn, moving your hand to rest on his thigh.
Zayne stiffened in his seat, a bulge starting to form in his pants that you pretended not to notice, all the while drawing hearts on the inside of his thigh with your pretty nails.
When you two finally started going out officially, you could tell that he didn't have much experience with relationships. His kisses were clumsy and he kept apologizing if he was 'doing it wrong' and you thought it was the most adorable thing ever.
The first time he let you into his dorm room, it was like his personality had been transformed into a bedroom. Sticky notes on the wall above his desk, navy blue bedsheets, book piles here and there, the smell of clean linen in the air. When he slipped off into the bathroom, you rolled around in his sheets, smelling his shampoo on his pillow, your hand drifting to rub yourself over your panties.
You giggled when you saw all the different boxer shorts neatly arranged in his drawer, grabbing a blue plaid pair and slipping them into your bag.
Later that night, you called him, wearing his boxer shorts, your arousal soaking them the moment you put them on. He answered in a groggy voice that caused another pang of need to go through your body. He’d been up late doing homework, explaining the subject of his essay while you simply 'Mmhm'ed and 'Oh?'ed at everything he said, too busy playing with yourself to pay any real attention.
You worked yourself closer and closer, picturing his hand was the one getting you off, thinking about what it'd be like to jerk him off with your favorite strawberry-scented lotion.
When you finally felt your orgasm rock through you, you bit down on your pillow to muffle the moans and the 'nngh!'s that escaped you.
And for the next ten-or-so minutes, you just listened to him rant about his classes, your hand still in his boxer shorts, a satisfied smile on your lips, thinking of all the ways in which you wanted to defile his innocence.
— ʚɞ
