Idk wtf I'm doing, I'm just really stressed and needed to do something (probably won't continue UNLESS... 🤨 You guys suggest scenarios on what should happen between them)
Cried like a bitch, I'm so excited for the next episode. I'm not really into Thai BL's, this is my first thai bl that i ACTUALLY dedicated myself to watching, I can't even describe how amazed i am cause this series is the one I've been looking for my whole life, wrapped into a pretty bow 😭😭 School setting, handsome actors , amazing plot, the development EVERYTHIGNGGG GOSSHH I'm freaking out THEY'RE SO ADORABLE PLEASE😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 I LVOEJYEMRJEN
Daily reminder to tag your x reader fics correctly
It’s really not that hard either, but for some reason writers that write for fem readers are the only ones thinking that they don’t have to tag their fics.
X reader does NOT mean female reader, it’s gender neutral. Even people that write gender neutral readers tag their fics as such. People that write male readers also always write that it’s a male reader, so I don’t get why it’s a reoccurring issue with female readers. All you have to do is add an „f!“ or something, just anything to indicate that the reader is female 🥀
Then there’s gonna be people telling others to „just filter the female reader tag“ AS IF WE HAVENT TRIEDDD. I have like 20 variants of female reader tags blocked, but I still get a bunch of them on my feed cause so many are just plainly tagged as x reader and I cant filter the x reader tag cause if I do that I’m not gonna get any fics at all, like do you see the issue??
Or when it’s apparently a gn reader, but so obviously written with a female reader in mind, I’m tireddd.
If you have enough to time write „___ x reader“, you also have enough time to just write a fem or something in front of it. There is literally no reason not to. Shoutout to the female writers that do tag their fics 🙏
This is so fucking real like.. I don't have anything against female reader fanfics, however PLEAAASEJEIEKEKSK tag your fic with the specified gender 😔😔😔 I've been saying this since 2021🙏🏼
Tumblr getting banned in my country cause they thought this was a gambling site is so fucking hilarious???? 😭😭😭 How about you focus on the real situations we got going on bro JEEZ
So I just discovered your blog and omfg... YOU WRITE FOR MALE READERS??? Actually in tears rn and atp I've already read all of your m!reader fics in just one sitting, you're so talented and you're also so efficient when writing, your recent caleb fic had my toes curling 😭😭 now I'm here to request something since you're open for it.
Can I request Jock Gojo x Nerd M!reader?? Gojo is not the brightest in academics, and he's also a womanizer but didn't really get down on them. So Gojo is failing one of his classes and the teacher asked him to get a tutor if not he's going to lose his varsity title, and that tutor is the m!reader, it's like a trope where the reader fell first but Gojo fell harder at the end. As for the smut part.. in the library maybe and some cockwarming bcs we freaky 👀
I'm so sorry to the sweetheart who requested this. I wrote it, and when I was proofing it...I HATED IT! SO MUCH! The writing was trash! 🤮. I couldn't post it! So I rewrote the lot!
I hope this one lives up to your expectations though! Please still be my four-leaf clover anon! 🥺
(P.s. I'll be posting the female version asap)
Masterlist
The scent of old books lingered in the air, mingling with the faint scent of the coffee you’d let cool beside you. The heating system murmured steadily, a low vibration that seemed to settle into your bones the longer you sat still.
You had arrived twenty minutes early, the way you always did, arranging your materials with meticulous care, the syllabus at the center, highlighters fanned out in chromatic order, notebook open to a fresh page already marked with the date and section title in your very precise handwriting.
Order helped. Order kept the small, traitorous flutter in your chest from spreading when you thought too long about who was coming.
The double doors at the far end of the room swung open with the careless momentum of someone who had never once worried about being seen. And there he was.
Satoru Gojo.
His snow white hair had been shoved back beneath a backwards facing baseball hat, strands already escaping to curl against his temples, his varsity jacket hung open over broad shoulders, and beneath it, a plain white shirt clung to the lean planes of his chest.
He spotted you almost immediately, blue eyes flicking over the rows of tables until they landed on the one corner you had claimed.
A grin curved his mouth, the same one that had once stopped your breath in a crowded hallway freshman year when he’d shouldered past you, murmured a quick ‘sorry, cutie’, and kept walking without a second glance.
You had hated how that single word, that single smile, had lodged itself somewhere in your chest and refused to leave.
Now he crossed the distance in long, unhurried strides, backpack swinging from his hand. When he reached the table he let the bag drop with a heavy thud that caused a ripple of turned heads and stifled sighs through the nearby carrels.
Several students shot him looks, some of irritation, some of awe, before reluctantly returning to their work.
You forced yourself not to look up.
“You’re late” you said, voice level, eyes fixed on the syllabus page you had already read three times.
“Traffic” he answered without missing a beat, the lie so smooth it almost sounded true. The chair opposite you scraped back, he dropped into it with the loose-limbed sprawl of someone who has never needed to make himself small.
Long legs stretched out beneath the table, knees falling wide, the inseam of his jeans giving you a view you had absolutely no intention of acknowledging. Heat crawled up the back of your neck anyway.
You shifted your gaze to the margin of the page, thumb brushing absently along the edge of the paper as though the texture might distract you
A beat passed. Then another.
Only when the silence began to feel pointed did you finally lift your head.
Those eyes were still impossibly bright, too vivid, too piercing, like you were staring into the heart of the summer sky and finding it staring right back.
They held yours without hesitation, without fear, amusement curling at the corners as though he already knew exactly what kind of internal arithmetic you were performing.
You wondered how many weeks you had spent watching him from the periphery of lecture halls, how carefully you had schooled your expression into one of disinterest every time his laughter rolled across the quad.
How you had told yourself, repeatedly, insistently, that the campus’s most notorious flirt would never notice someone like you except as a very temporary inconvenience.
He leaned back, arms crossing over his chest, jacket sliding slightly down one shoulder.
“Alright, nerd” he sighed, the word soft around the edges. “Teach.”
The nickname made your eye twitch. You felt a ripple move through you, irritation first, then something quieter, a flicker of want that had no business being there at all.
You pressed your lips together, schooled your expression into one of exasperation and slid the first worksheet across the table without comment, pushing your glasses higher on the bridge of your nose with a finger.
Your pulse was steady, mostly. You had spent two semesters learning how to keep it that way in his presence, how to hide even a flicker of interest.
But as he leaned forward to pull the paper closer, the sleeve of his jacket brushed the back of your hand, just the slightest graze of fabric against your skin, and for a moment you struggled to control your reaction to that accidental contact.
Your breath caught, something you hid behind a cough, eyes skirting off him, off the way his lashes dipped when he actually bothered to read the first problem.
You exhaled slowly through your nose, trying to steady yourself.
This, you thought, with something close to resignation, was going to be difficult.
Not because he was incapable, you knew he wasn’t, you had seen him solve problems in his head faster than most people could write them down… when he cared to try.
No, the difficulty would lay in the slow, inevitable erosion of your own defences, every careless brush of contact, every lazy grin he may toss your way, as though testing how long you could pretend indifference, every time those too-blue eyes lingered a half-second longer than necessary.
You had spent so long convincing yourself the crush was harmless, contained, private baggage you could carry around without consequence.
Sitting across from him now, watching the faint crease form between his brows as he frowned down at the worksheet, you understood, unequivocally, that your baggage would, soon, no longer be private.
---
The first few sessions were a practise in low-grade frustration.
Gojo arrived each time with the same carelessness, white hair tousled beneath the ever-present cap, the faint scent of cedar and citrus that trailed after him.
He doodled in the margins of every worksheet you handed him, lanky stick figures mid-dunk, occasionally a tiny version of himself wearing sunglasses and giving a thumbs-up.
When you tried to redirect his attention he would glance up, blue eyes lazy and amused, and ask you to repeat yourself, sometimes up to three times, before finally admitting with a sheepish half-grin that he hadn’t been listening at all.
You told yourself it was bearable because it was temporary. A finite number of hours, a very clear endpoint, just enough hours to scrape a passing grade so he can keep his spot on the steam, and enough time for Professor Yaga to sign off on the extra credit you greatly needed.
You kept your voice even, your explanations simply, your gaze fixed on the page between you rather than on the way his fingers toyed with the cap of a highlighter or the way his mouth curled down on one side when didn’t understand something.
But even for you, concentration was a fragile thing.
Every time he leaned forward to peer at a problem, the collar of his shirt shifted and you caught the clean line of his throat, the dip of his collarbone.
Every time he huffed in genuine confusion and raked a hand through his hair, pushing the cap back, you felt the pull to look longer, to let your eyes linger on the way his lashes cast shadows against his cheeks when he frowned.
You hated how your very body betrayed you, heartbeat steady one moment, in turmoil the next, while he remained blissfully unaware of the effects he had on you.
Then something shifted.
It happened on an ordinary Tuesday evening when your patience was already worn thin. The library was quieter than usual, the usual clusters of students thinned by impending midterms, leaving only the soft rustle of pages and the distant clack of someone typing.
You had arrived early again, worksheets laid out, the clock on your phone ticking past the agreed start time by fifteen minutes, then twenty.
You were halfway through gathering your things, notebook snapped shut, a half scribbled note telling him not to bother turning up anymore, when the doors parted and he walked in.
Not the usual swagger. No easy grin thrown over his shoulder at whoever had held the door for him.
His shoulders were rounded, steps almost dragging. The bright blue of his eyes looked muted beneath heavier shadows than you had ever seen there, lids low, the usual spark dimmed.
He moved like someone carrying more weight than his frame could carry.
You froze halfway out of your chair, palms braced on the tabletop, breath catching at the sight of him. Worry gnawed in your stomach, unwelcome and unasked for. You sat back down without conscious decision, the chair creaking faintly under you.
He dropped into the seat beside you rather than across, closer than he had ever chosen to sit before, and said nothing. Just looked at you with those tired eyes, head tilted slightly in silent request for you to begin.
Your hands flexed against the wood, gaze darting between his face and the neat stack of problems you had prepared.
“Um… do you like tea?”
The question came out small, shy. You squeezed your thumb tightly in your fist, hoping the brief pain would steady the sudden thrum beneath your ribs.
He blinked slowly, confusion creasing the space between his brows. “Yeah.”
“Okay.” You nodded once, and stood before the impulse could second-guess itself. Your wallet was already in your hand, fingers closing around it in your backpack. “Wait here. Don't move.”
You were moving before he could respond, slipping between the tables, breaking into a jog the moment the heavy library doors closed behind you.
The night air outside was cooler than you expected, sharp against your cheeks. You knew the coffee cart tucked into the alcove near the science building, the one that stayed open later than the rest, the barista who recognised your face and your usual order.
You spotted the warm glow of its fairy lights from a distance and felt a small, ridiculous rush of relief.
The barista was already wiping down the small counter when you reached him, breathless.
“Is it possible to get a coffee real quick?”
He glanced up, smiled the smile of someone who had seen you in every kind of hurry, and was already reaching for the large cup you always took.
“A cappuccino” you added, “and a chamomile tea. Please.”
He nodded, turned to the machine. Steam hissed, milk frothed, the small sounds oddly comforting in the empty quad.
You kept glancing back toward the library doors, half expecting to see Gojo slipping out, disappearing into the night, the whole errand rendered pointless. But the path remained empty.
You rushed back carefully, balancing the paper carrier, the warmth of the cups seeping through the cardboard.
At the entrance you paused, drawing several slow breaths until your heartbeat steadied, until the flush on your face could be blamed on the cold.
Only then did you push inside.
The library had dimmed further, more tables empty, overhead lights switched off in entire sections so that pools of warm desk-lamp light felt oddly private.
Gojo was exactly where you had left him. Though now he was hunched forward, cheek pressed to the tabletop, cap half off, white lashes resting against the high curve of his cheekbones.
In the soft glow he looked younger, more fragile than the campus god ever allowed himself to appear.
You stopped beside him, the carrier bending slightly in your grip, taking a moment to stare at him with impunity.
The faint crease still between his brows even in sleep, the slow rise and fall of his shoulders, the way his fingers had curled loosely near his face.
“Hey” you force yourself to whisper after a long moment.
Your hand hovered above his shoulder, uncertain. Touching him felt invasive, crossing a line you had spent weeks fortifying. You hesitated, breath held, then gave the lightest tap with two fingertips.
The contact sparked through you, sharp and bright, a quick throb of adrenaline that made your heart stutter.
“Gojo.”
You hissed his name, glancing around, a few remaining students lifted their heads, and you offered small, apologetic smiles before lowering yourself into the chair beside him.
You tapped again, softer this time. He stirred, a low groan slipping out as those impossible eyes fluttered open.
The cap slipped fully off. He caught it mid-fall, long fingers raking through his hair before tugging it back into place with practiced ease.
You nudged the chamomile toward him. “Tea.”
He blinked at the cup, slow to process, then wrapped one large hand around the plastic lid. “Chamomile” you added unnecessarily.
“Oh. Thanks.” His voice was rough, softened by exhaustion. He flicked the lid open, took a careful sip, and hummed, a small, involuntary sound that made you feel more than you should.
You watched the way his lids drooped with each blink, longer each time.
“You should go home” you said quietly after a minute. “You look tired. You won’t retain anything anyway.”
“But—”
“Seriously. You look five minutes away from a coma.” You took a swig of your own coffee, the bitterness soothing, and began gathering your things, worksheets sliding into your bag, pens dropped into their case. “Go home. Get some sleep, okay? We can catch up another day”
He watched you for a long beat, eyes flicking across your face.
“Thanks, dude” he murmured, and the sincerity in it, the absence of teasing, made something in your chest flutter.
Then his gaze drifted higher, settling on your forehead. Pale fingers lifted, reached out. You flinched instinctively, a small backward tilt of your head.
He didn’t falter, only continued the motion more slowly, brushing a single bead of sweat from your brow with the pad of his thumb. He rubbed it between his fingers, studying it with faint amusement.
“You shouldn’t have rushed” he said, voice low, the corner of his mouth curving.
“I didn’t.” The denial came too fast, too sharp. His smirk widened.
You looked away, back to your cup, fingers tightening around the paper. “Go home, Gojo.”
He didn’t move right away. Just sat there, tea cradled between his palms, watching you with an expression you didn’t feel like reading too much into.
Then he shifted.
The movement was small, a slight lean to one side so he could fish his phone from the pocket of his jacket. The device looked almost comical in his hand, dwarfed by the span of his fingers as he woke the screen with a thumb.
Light flared briefly across his face, sharpening the tired angles of it, and you felt the instinctive urge to look away again before he caught you staring.
He didn’t speak, just held the phone out across the narrow space between you, screen already open to the contacts page, cursor blinking patiently in the name field.
When you hesitated, he just murmured a quick “Number”.
It was a quiet demand, but it somehow carried more weight because it lacked everything you had come to expect from him.
You blinked anyway. “Why?”
“Because.” He tilted his head down so that the brim of his cap shadowed the worst of the exhaustion in his eyes, but not enough to hide the faint, stubborn glimmer that remained, blue on blue, bright even when everything else about him had dimmed.
You reached out before you could talk yourself out of it, taking care not to brush his fingers.
The device was still warm from his pocket, the metal edge carrying the faint trace of his body heat, and you hated how aware you were of that small fact.
You typed quickly, name first, then the digits you knew by heart, then slid the phone back across the table rather than risk handing it to him directly.
He lifted it with two fingers, and brought it close to glance at the screen. A small sound escaped him, not quite a laugh, more of a satisfied huff. Then the phone disappeared into his pocket again.
You busied yourself again, zipping your bag, stacking the empty coffee carrier on top of it, anything to keep from looking at him for too long. But you could feel the shift in the air between you, subtle as a change in barometric pressure.
He exhaled through his nose, a slow, deliberate sound, and finally pushed himself upright. The chair creaked faintly under the movement.
“Text you tomorrow” he murmured, voice so low it barely carried, then he smiled again. “If I’m not dead.”
You huffed a small, involuntary laugh despite yourself. “Don’t die. Yaga would kill me for letting his star player flunk.”
Then he stood, jacket sliding into place over his shoulders. He paused beside your chair long enough that you could smell the chamomile on his breath when he spoke.
“Thanks. For the tea. For… this.” His hand gestured vaguely, toward the table, the empty library, you.
You nodded once, unsure what to say.
He lingered another second, as though waiting for something, then turned and walked toward the doors. His steps were slow but steadier than when he’d arrived, the slump in his shoulders less pronounced.
You watched him go, watched the way the dim corridor light swallowed him whole, until the heavy doors closed behind him with a soft, final thud.
Only then did you let out the breath you had been holding.
But when you finally stood to leave, the chair he had pulled close still bore the faint warmth of his body, and you found yourself hesitating before pushing it back into place, some small, private reluctance to erase the evidence that he had been there, that close, that real.
You told yourself it was nothing.
You were getting no better at lying to yourself.
…
After that night, something in the rhythm between you changed. Quietly, without announcement, the way seasons turn when you’re not looking directly at the trees.
He began arriving on time.
Not early, never that. Gojo Satoru would never surrender the small theatre of making an entrance.
But the clock hands no longer crept past the hour while you sat alone with your open books. He would appear through the library doors at the appointed minute or within a breath of it, white hair catching the overhead light, blue eyes glittering.
He always dropped his bag beside the chair he now preferred, the one beside yours rather than across.
He stopped scrolling on his phone during sessions. The device stayed face-down on the table, screen dark, and even when his fingers itched toward it out of old habit, he would catch himself, flex his fingers once, and return them to the worksheet instead.
You noticed this because you noticed everything about him, the way his knee no longer bounced restlessly beneath the table, the way he angled his body toward you when you spoke, the faint crease that appeared between his brows when he was actually trying to follow something rather than letting it all slide past him.
Then came the moment that changed you a little more than you were prepared to admit.
You were walking him through a concept he had failed to grasp for weeks, something about implicit differentiation, and you watched the precise instant understanding clicked behind his eyes.
Those impossible blues widened fractionally, pupils flaring as the pieces clicked together. He leaned forward without thinking, elbows on the table, close enough that you could see the individual streaks of colour in his eyes.
“Damn” he said, voice pitched low. “You’re actually good at this.”
The praise landed as designed, stripped of bravado. Not the cocky smirk he flashed, not the lazy drawl he used to deflect. This was something genuine, a flicker of delight that made his mouth curve in a way you had never had directed at you before.
Heat crawled up your neck and into your cheeks. You schooled your expression into the familiar deadpan mask, the one that had carried you safely through two semesters.
“That’s… literally my job” you answered, voice flatter than you felt.
He laughed, a sound that seemed to settle into the space between your bodies. “Nah. You’re patient. Most people would’ve told me to fuck off by now.”
You let the corner of your mouth twitch, just barely. “I thought about it” you mused.
His laughter deepened, and the sound tugged at something low in your chest. You dipped your head to hide the flush that refused to retreat, pretending to study the next problem while your pulse betrayed you.
“Maybe you should have” he said, and the words came out like a purr, a velvety tease. He leaned in as he spoke, closing the already narrow distance until the air between you filled with the scent of him, sugar from the candy he’d been sucking on when he arrived, the clean warmth that always seemed to radiate from him.
Too close. Far too close.
Your eyes lifted before you could stop them. His face filled your vision, the high curve of his cheekbones, the faint shadow beneath his eyes, the slow part of his lips as he watched you watch him.
Your gaze snagged on his mouth, so pink and soft-looking, and your breath caught, loud enough in the quiet that you were sure he heard it.
Panic flared, alarm bells ringing in your head. You lurched backward, chair legs screeching against the carpet in protest.
“Move back” you barked, the words snapping out harder than you’d intended. Embarrassment and frustration knotted together in your throat. “You’re too close.”
He laughed again, delighted at your reaction, and the sound only made the heat in your face burn hotter.
He enjoyed this, you realised with a sinking clarity. He enjoyed the way he could pluck at the right strings and watch the reaction ripple across your carefully constructed composure. You hated how easily he did it. And you hated even more that part of you didn’t entirely hate it.
“Oh, come on, cutie.”
Your entire body stiffened, heart slamming against your ribs so hard you felt it in your fingertips.
You didn’t know what to do with your face, your hands, the sudden roaring in your ears. His foot nudged yours beneath the table, just once.
When you didn’t pull away he did it again, firmer this time, then leaned down until his face dipped into your line of sight, blue eyes bright and mercilessly amused.
He studied your face for a moment before he whispered “Cute”.
You shot out of the chair so fast your shoulder nearly clipped his chin. He jerked back, eyes widening, but the delight in them only grew. You felt exposed, like every careful layer you had built had been peeled back in a single careless moment.
“Need a book” you managed, voice strained, almost squeaking at the edges.
He waved a hand in lazy, theatrical sweep, that cocky grin sliding back into place like it had never left. “Go on then.”
So you fled.
The stacks swallowed you gratefully, tall shelves folding around you like a shield. You pressed your back to the cool metal of a bookcase, breath coming in shallow bursts, palms flat against the spines as though they could save you.
Your hands trembled.
But worse, far worse, was your cock, traitorously hard beneath the fabric of your jeans, aching in a way that made your stomach twist with shame and desire in equal measure.
You closed your eyes and willed it away. Forced slow breaths through your nose, held them for four, released them for six. Tried to summon the familiar armour of detachment, the calm logic that had always carried you through exams, through late nights, through every careful year of your life.
It didn’t work.
Images kept rising unbidden, the curve of his mouth, the warmth of his breath, the way his foot had nudged yours. You could still smell the candy on him, taste the ghost of sugar in the air he’d left behind.
Your mind conjured worse things, his hands on your hips, that same teasing whisper against your ear, the low sound he might make if you ever let yourself imagine him wanting you back.
You pressed the palm of your hand against your mouth, willing the images to stop, willing your body to behave, willing the frantic thump of your heart to quiet.
It didn’t.
You stayed hidden among the books until your breathing steadied, until the hardness eased enough that walking back wouldn’t be a ritual of humiliation, until you could force your expression into something resembling calm neutrality.
---
After five long weeks the evenings had begun to blur into one another, late hours spent hunched over textbooks under the same tired amber glow of desk lamps, the library emptying around you until the only sounds left were the soft turn of pages, the low hum of the ventilation, and the occasional creak of a chair when one of you shifted.
You had spent every one of those sessions trying to keep your feelings locked behind the same mask of professionalism, voice steady when you corrected his work, eyes fixed on the equations rather than the line of his jaw, the way his fingers sometimes lingered on the edge of a page as though reluctant to let go.
He had spent those same weeks testing the edges of that mask, brushing too close when he pointed at a problem, letting his knee rest against yours for a second longer than necessary, dropping casual nicknames that made your thoughts blank for a moment.
Tonight the textbook lay open between you, pages creased from overuse. You were both leaning in to trace the same line of work when he spoke.
“Why do you always look at me like that?”
The question was soft, almost casual, but it felt like a knife finding the gap between your armour plating. You froze. The words on the page swam, ink bleeding into meaningless shapes. You forced yourself to breathe, to keep your voice level when you answered.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re trying to figure out if I’m gonna bite or not.”
Your heart slammed against the inside of your ribs, hard enough that you were sure he could feel the tremor through the table.
Your breath turned shallow, unsteady, your eyes darted around the dim reading room, empty seats, a single student far at the opposite end with headphones on, the security desk unmanned for the last hour. No witnesses. No escape.
“I don’t—”
“You do.” He leaned closer, elbows planted on the tabletop, voice dropping to something low and intimate. “You’ve been looking at me like that since day one.”
You wanted the conversation to end there, wanted the neat, safe boundaries you had drawn around yourself to hold firm, wanted the perfect, impenetrable act of indifference to remain intact. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Liar.” His grin unfurled slowly, dangerous in its patience. “Do you like me?”
Your mouth went dry. The question hung between you, so simple, yet too enormous to manage.
You couldn’t find the breath to answer. He was staring at you the way he sometimes stared at a problem he had finally cracked, focused, certain, and quietly triumphant. His knee knocked against yours beneath the table.
“Go on” he murmured. “Tell me.”
You couldn’t.
Instead you seized the only deflection left. “You know you’re failing because you don’t focus” you whispered. “You’re just trying to distract me.”
He laughed under his breath, a soft, knowing sound. “Maybe. Or maybe I just needed the right kind of motivation.”
Then his hand moved, long fingers reaching across the narrow space between you, closing gently around your wrist. He tugged, not hard, but steadily drawing you forward until your body folded towards his, pen clattering to the wood.
His scent rushed in, and rational thought scattered like papers in the wind.
“Gojo—”
“Satoru” he corrected, voice smooth. His thumb brushed over the frantic pulse at your wrist, as though he were reading your heartbeat instead of waiting for the right words. “Say it.”
You swallowed, throat tight, the syllable almost painful. “Satoru.”
His eyes darkened, pupils swallowing the bright blue like night does the sky. A smirk, one you’d never seen before, curved at his mouth. “Good boy.”
Everything inside you fractured at once, want, panic, shame, need, all rushing to the surface so fast you couldn’t separate them.
Your body jolted, instinctive flight response firing, like your soul were clawing for distance even as your feet stayed rooted. He held you still, pressing your wrist down against the tabletop, palm warm and unyielding.
“Trying to run again?” His head cocked, breath brushing your temple, stirring the short strands of hair there. “That’s not something a good boy does.”
“Stop” you whispered, voice ragged. You glanced around again, acutely aware of the public space, of how close you were, how if you turned your head even a fraction your lips would graze his. “Stop this.”
“You really want me to stop?”
You hesitated. Just a heartbeat. Long enough to glance up through your lashes, lips trembling, long enough for him to see the truth you couldn’t bury. “I don’t want to be part of your game.”
His grip slackened.
You seized the opening and wrenched your hand free, the sudden absence of his touch almost as jarring as its presence had been.
You needed space, before you folded entirely, before you became nothing more than another ego boost for the campus’s golden boy.
You slipped from the chair, shoulder brushing his as you moved past him toward the stacks, desperate for the familiar shelter of your hiding place among the older journals, where the air smelled of dust and forgotten stories more beautiful than anything you could ever have.
You managed two steps.
Then his hand closed around your wrist again, firmer this time, long fingers encircling with quiet authority.
He didn’t speak, he simply pulled you with him, deeper into the library, past the last of the occupied tables, past the reach of the security cameras, into the back stacks where the oldest bound volumes sat untouched, spines faded and silent.
The moment the shadows swallowed you both he turned, pressing you back against the bookshelf with the same controlled force he used on the court.
His frame caged you in, broad shoulders blocking the faint light from the distant lamps, leaving you haloed only by the dim glow that filtered between shelves.
Your hands flew up instinctively, palms flattening against his chest to push, to create even a sliver of distance, but the heat of him bled through the thin fabric of his hoodie.
Your head tipped back against the books, spines digging into your scalp. Breath came in heavy, uneven pulls. Your mind raced, searching for equations, for logic, for any sequence of steps that might solve this, might let you slip away clean.
Nothing came. This wasn’t calculus. This wasn’t theory. This was flesh and blood and the glowing enigma of the man in front of you, close enough that you could feel the rise and fall of his chest against your own.
He didn’t speak at first. Just watched you, eyes dark, searching, patient in a way that felt almost cruel. One hand stayed braced beside your head against the shelf, the other lifted slowly, fingertips brushing the side of your jaw, tilting your face up so you had nowhere left to hide.
“You keep…running” he murmured, voice low enough that it vibrated through your chest. “But you never actually leave.”
Your lips parted, but no sound came.
His thumb traced the edge of your lower lip, pressing into the gap below the plush. “So tell me again” he said, leaning in until his mouth hovered a breath from yours. “You really want me to stop?”
The question hung there, and in the silence that followed you felt the last of your defences crack wide open, not with a dramatic shatter, but with the slow, inevitable give of something that had been strained too long.
You didn’t answer.
Instead you closed the distance yourself, small, trembling and terrified, and pressed your mouth to his.
It was barely a kiss at first. Just a hesitant, uncertain, brush of your lips, more question than declaration.
But he answered instantly, hand sliding to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, pulling you deeper into him with a low sound that vibrated against your lips.
Your world narrowed to the heat of his mouth, the press of his body pinning you to the shelves, the way he kissed like he had been waiting weeks for permission and now intended to claim every second of it.
It turned messy, fast.
Teeth grazed, tongues met in a hungry, uncoordinated rush. You tried to mirror him, tried to give back some fraction of the fire he was pouring into you, but everything you did felt clumsy and inadequate.
Your hands fisted in the front of his hoodie, knuckles brushing the hard plane of his chest, and still you were certain you couldn’t possibly be affecting him the way he was affecting you.
Your pulse roared in your ears, knees threatening to give, every nerve lit up and singing.
He drew back, breath tangled in the narrow space between you. You chased the taste of him instinctively, already addicted, already past caring whether the wanting might ruin you.
“You’ve been killing me” he muttered against your mouth, voice frayed at the edges. You blinked through the haze, struggling to focus on his words. “Sitting there all smart and pretty, acting like you don’t want me to bend you over the table.”
The sentence was like a mirror held up to your darkest, most shameful thoughts. Heat flooded your face.
You couldn’t deny it, couldn’t even pretend. So you did what you always did when cornered, deflect. Your fingers tightened in the fabric of his hoodie. “You’re the one who—mmph—”
He swallowed the rest with another kiss, deeper, more insistent. His hips rolled forward in the same motion, letting you feel the hard length of him pressed against your thigh.
He caught your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging gently, sucking the plush skin into his mouth before releasing it with a soft, wet pop.
“Been thinking about this for weeks” he admitted, the confession ragged. “Every time you looked at me with those eyes… fuck.”
He eased back just far enough to see you properly. Flushed, lips swollen and glistening, breathing hard enough that your chest rose and fell against his. You were already wrecked, and he knew it.
“Sit” he said, nodding toward the narrow strip of carpet between his feet and the bookshelf.
You obeyed without thought, folding yourself down until your knees met the floor, back braced against the lower shelves, completely caged by the long lines of his body and the silent rack of books.
The position left you looking up at him like someone staring into the heart of something holy and terrifying all at once.
His hands moved to his jeans, button popping free, zipper rasping down in the quiet. You held your breath as the dark fabric of his boxers came into view, the slow reveal feeling almost ceremonial, like curtains parting on a stage you’d only ever watched from the shadows.
He peeled them back with the same teasing patience, freeing himself inch by inch.
Thick, flushed a deep red, the tip already glistening with a heavy bead of pre-cum that slid slowly down the length of him. Your mouth went dry at the sight, pulse throbbing between your legs.
You had done this before, once…badly.
A fumbling encounter where the other guy had thrust into your mouth suddenly, too deep, leaving you choking and almost puking on him.
But you remembered enough to try to summon technique from the fragments of porn you’d watched in secret.
No teeth, don’t choke, hollow your cheeks, use your tongue.
“You’re staring at it like a science project” he said, voice strained with a mix of amusement and desire. A large hand cupped your chin, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth.
“I just… don’t want to mess up” you whispered, looking up at him with a raw honesty. Your whole body was trembling now, feeling so small and helpless under the weight of his gaze.
“As long as it’s you” he murmured, “there’s no way to mess it up.”
He extended his hand. “Give me your hand”
You slipped your palm into his without hesitation. He guided it slowly to his cock, letting your fingers close around the hot, heavy length.
The skin was soft but rigid, hot and pulsating. The moment your grip settled on him he let out a low, strained groan, face tipping back toward the ceiling, throat working.
“Just…stroke me for a bit” he said, voice breathy, fraying. “Yeah… just like that.”
You moved once, slow and experimental, watching, transfixed, as his jaw clenched around a swallowed moan.
Colour rose high on his cheeks, eyes screwed shut. You stroked again, bolder now, letting your thumb drag deliberately over the slick slit the way you knew felt good on yourself. His hips jerked forward, a shudder running through him.
Emboldened, you leaned in, gathering saliva in your mouth and letting it fall in a slow, deliberate string onto the flushed head.
He nearly yelped at the sudden wet heat, head snapping down to watch your lips hover mere inches away.
You spread the slickness with your hand, gliding up and down his length until the sound of it, wet and obscene, filled the narrow space between you.
“Shit” he gasped, hips rocking into your fist as you quickened the pace.
You couldn’t wait any longer. Hand still working him, you leaned forward and sealed your lips around the tip.
He bit down on the back of his own hand to muffle the sound that tried to tear out of him. You glanced up through your lashes and hummed in quiet delight at the sight, the usually unflappable Satoru Gojo coming undone from something as simple as your mouth on him.
You took him deeper, slow bobs of your head, tongue swirling around the head, dipping into the slit, then flattening along the underside. Your own cock throbbed painfully in your pants, you shifted your hips, trying to ease the ache, but it only sharpened the need.
Your free hand worked the base, stroking what your mouth couldn’t reach, lips and tongue worshipping the rest in careful, dragging strokes.
A warm palm settled on the crown of your head, fingers sliding into your hair, as if grounding himself. His hips stuttered forward, the tip nudged the back of your throat.
You fought the instinct to gag, swallowing hard around him, blinking rapidly to clear the reflexive tears. Air came in short, desperate pulls through your nose.
“Shit—shitshit—” His voice was wrecked, fingers flexing and releasing in your hair like he couldn’t decide whether to pull you closer or hold you still. “I’m gonna cum.”
You hummed around him in answer, eyes lifting to meet his. The moment your gaze locked, a shocked, almost disbelieving smirk curved his mouth.
“You want it?” he breathed.
You nodded as best you could with him filling your mouth, eager and shameless.
That small assent seemed to break something in him. He groaned, hips rocking forward in shallow, helpless thrusts, not rough, not cruel, just desperate, like he couldn’t stop himself anymore. “Fuck—I’m gonna—”
The first pulse hit your tongue, hot and thick. You swallowed instinctively, taking him deeper so the rest slid down your throat.
You fought the urge to choke, swallowing again and again as the salty flood continued. His hand clamped over the back of your head, holding you there, so even if you’d wanted to pull away, you couldn’t.
You kept your tongue moving, stroking gently along the underside until the last tremor faded and the pulsing eased.
When he finally let you go, you pulled off with a wet, rasping gasp, bracing your hands on your knees, staring blindly down at the carpet while you tried to drag air into lungs that felt too small.
Your lips tingled, jaw ached, throat burned faintly, but beneath it all was a strange satisfaction.
Satoru was still breathing hard above you, one hand braced against the shelf for balance, the other carding through his own hair as though trying bring himself back to reality. When you finally looked up, his eyes were soft, wide and stunned and impossibly tender.
He tucked himself away and crouched slowly, bringing himself down to your level again, thumb brushing the corner of your swollen lips.
“You…” He exhaled, half-laugh, half-disbelief. “You’re gonna kill me.”
You laughed, a soft, breathless sound that cracked in the middle, dragging the back of your hand across your mouth to wipe away the glistening mix of spit and come that still clung to your lips and chin.
The taste of him lingered, coating your tongue even as you tried to swallow it down. Satoru stayed crouched in front of you for a long moment, his hand resting lightly at the curve where your neck met your shoulder.
His thumb traced a slow, absent arc over your pulse point, feeling the frantic flutter there, and then his gaze drifted lower.
To the obvious, straining tent in your pants.
Heat rushed to your face. You moved instinctively to cover yourself, one hand dropping to your lap as though you could hide the evidence of how badly you wanted him, but he caught your wrist before you could make contact. His fingers closed around it gently, a single brow arching in quiet amusement.
“I have an idea” he whispered.
He glanced over his shoulder toward the small study table you’d claimed earlier. “I’ll be a second.”
He stood in one fluid motion, leaving you kneeling there on the carpet, legs weak and heart hammering. You rose slowly after him, smoothing your shirt down with shaking hands, tugging the hem of your hoodie lower in a futile attempt to look less like someone who had just dropped to his knees for the campus golden boy in the back stacks of the library.
The thought sent a giddy, reckless thrill curling through your stomach, equal parts terror and delight.
He returned quickly, arms full of your neatly stacked books, your bag slung over one shoulder, his own backpack dangling from the other hand.
You helped him arrange everything on the table the way it had been before, textbooks aligned, notebook open to the last worked problem, highlighters fanned out in their usual chromatic order, your fingers moving on autopilot while his eyes kept flicking to you, watching the careful precision with which you restored order to the chaos he had so easily brought.
“Right” he said once everything was in place.
He stepped up behind you, close enough that the warmth of his chest pressed against your back and sent a full-body shudder racing down your spine.
You felt his breath against the nape of your neck, then his hands slid around your waist from behind, until his fingers found the button of your pants. A soft pop, and the zipper followed, rasping down in the near-silent library.
“Easy, cutie" he hummed against your ear when you startled, voice low and coaxing.
His head settled on your shoulder, chin resting there so he could look down the length of your body as his fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your boxers.
The touch was warm and sure. You bit down hard on your lip to stifle the whine that wanted to escape, anticipation twisting sharp and bright in your gut.
Finally his hand closed around you, long fingers wrapping firm and hot, and gave one lazy, dragging stroke inside the confines of your boxers. Your knees nearly buckled. Your back peeled away from his chest as you hunched forward slightly, eyes squeezing shut against the sudden rush of sensation.
“I still need to pass” he whispered, sinful hand stroking you again. A pathetic whimper slipped past your lips before you could catch it. He turned his head, lips brushing the sensitive skin beneath your ear. “And I think I’d focus better… inside you, hmm.”
Your head whipped around so fast you nearly cracked your neck. Eyes wide, breath caught, you stared at him, searching for the joke, the tease, the moment he’d laugh and take it back.
But his expression was almost innocent, head tilted, blue eyes steady and dark with want.
The hand not currently driving you to the edge gently pushed your boxers and pants lower, past the crease of your ass, leaving your cock exposed and throbbing in the open air. He leaned in again, chin digging into your shoulder so he could see properly.
“Cute” he whispered.
You wanted to sink through the floor. Instead you stayed trapped, caught in the slow-spinning web he had woven around you without you ever noticing the threads.
“Come on.”
He stepped back, dropping into the chair at the small table with a casual grace that belied everything that had just happened.
He patted his thighs once, smiling, open and inviting, utterly unafraid. You glanced around wildly, fear of discovery clawing at the edges of your mind, but the library was a ghost town at this hour. No footsteps. No voices.
Desire won.
You hobbled over, legs unsteady, hesitating only a heartbeat before lowering yourself carefully into his lap.
Your palms braced on the tabletop as you settled, weight distributing slowly until you were seated fully against him. The moment you did, his arms slid around your waist, broad palms settling on your hips and kneading softly.
“Breathe, cutie” he teased, words ghosting across your ear, nose nudging the sensitive spot just behind it.
“I’m nervous” you hissed, glancing pointedly toward the shadowed aisles.
He laughed, the vibration rolled from his chest into yours, making your cock twitch against the fabric still bunched around your thighs.
His palms began to wander, sliding beneath the hem of your shirt, smoothing over the bare skin of your stomach, then higher. One index finger flicked across your nipple once, deliberate and light.
“It’s fine” he murmured, leaning closer. “I’ve never seen anyone come back here.” His voice dropped even lower. “I’ve heard it’s haunted.”
“Shut up” you groaned, half-laugh, half-desperation.
You were aching, painfully hard, exposed and vulnerable, and every teasing word only wound the tension tighter. You wanted him to hurry, to stop talking and just do whatever he had planned before you lost your mind entirely.
“Hey.” Two fingers appeared in front of your lips. “Suck these. I know how good you are with your mouth.”
You had the sudden, overwhelming urge to bite him, but instead you parted your lips and let him slide the digits inside.
You sucked gently at first, then harder, tongue swirling around them, coating them in spit until they glistened.
He moved them slowly in your mouth, shallow thrusts that made heat pool low in your belly.
You could feel his eyes on you, watching the way his fingers disappeared between your lips, watching the hollow of your cheeks, and behind you he was hardening again, thick and insistent against your ass.
He spread his thighs a little wider, forcing your legs to part further, then gave your waist a soft, encouraging tap.
You let his fingers slip free with a small, wet gasp.
He held them up between you, splitting them apart to watch the way your spit strung between the digits, thin and glistening. Satisfied, he lowered his hand behind you, dragging the slick fingertips across the sensitive skin of your ass until they notched against your rim.
He paused there, applying only the lightest pressure, just waiting.
You swallowed, the sound loud in the silence. But you didn’t pull away. Didn’t stand. Didn’t run.
His fingers began to press in, slow and careful, one knuckle at a time.
The stretch was strange. Intimate, unfamiliar, not quite pleasure yet but not pain either. You sucked in a sharp breath.
His other hand settled on your stomach, steadying you, grounding you, while his head rested against your shoulder.
Small, helpless noises slipped out of you as he worked deeper, drawing his fingers out only to push them further on the next stroke.
By the time they were fully inside you were trembling, pre-cum leaking steadily from your cock in embarrassing beads that dripped onto your pants.
You shifted once, instinctively, and his fingertips brushed something inside you that made your stomach clench, sparks flare behind your eyes, and a strained moan rip from your lips.
“Ah—ah” he chided softly, the hand on your stomach sliding up to cover your mouth, muffling any further sound. “Do you want to be caught?”
You shook your head frantically, breath shuddering through your nose.
“Then stay quiet” he whispered, easing his palm away.
He began moving his fingers again, slow deliberate slides in and out, letting you feel every ridge, every inch. You pressed your own hand over your mouth, eyelids fluttering as the warm coil in your belly tightened and spread.
You leaned forward onto the table, back arching slightly, head dropping as you tried to focus.
For a moment the library itself dissolved, the risk, the exposure, the books, all gone, until there was only the slow drag of his fingers and the building heat.
“Faster” you whispered, hips trying to roll in small, helpless circles.
A breathy laugh answered you. His free hand clamped onto your waist, holding you still.
“No” he rasped. “I want something else.”
There was a rustle of fabric behind you, the soft sound of his zipper again. A warm palm smoothed down the length of your spine, pressing you a little further forward against the table until your chest brushed the open textbook. Then another hand slipped beneath your face, hovering just below your mouth.
“Spit, cutie.”
You blinked at the open palm hovering beneath your mouth, confusion flickering through the haze for half a second before the insistent little wiggle of his fingers made the request unmistakable.
Heat crawled up your neck again, sharper this time, more embarrassed than before, but you gathered saliva on your tongue anyway and let it fall in a careful, quiet drop onto his waiting skin.
Full-on spitting felt too crude, even here in the shadowed back corner where no one would see.
He gave a low, amused chuckle that vibrated against your back, the sound soft enough to stay between the two of you.
His fingers slipped free from your body with a slow drag that made you clench around nothing, a small, involuntary whimper catching in your throat.
Then his hand withdrew entirely, and the next sound was unmistakable.
The wet, slick glide of your spit being smeared along his length. The obscene noise filled the narrow space between your bodies, making your stomach tighten and your cock twitch against the open air.
You felt him shift behind you, urging your hips up with one steadying hand while the other guided himself.
“Are you ready?” he rasped against your ear.
You nodded once, quick, jerky, because you were sure your voice had abandoned you entirely.
You bit down hard on your lower lip, eyes fixed on the looming ranks of books in front of you.
The blunt, warm head of him pressed against your rim, steady pressure that made your thighs begin to tremble almost immediately. You tried to hold yourself aloft, muscles straining, but the effort only made the anticipation sharper.
“Let me, baby” he murmured, both hands settling on your hips now, firm, grounding. He took your weight easily, lowering you inch by careful inch, pausing whenever your breath hitched too sharply or your body clenched too tight around the intrusion.
Every pause came with a soft exhale against your neck, every resumed descent accompanied by a low, strained sound from deep in his throat.
By the time he was seated fully inside you, deep enough that you could feel the heat of him pressed flush against your ass, the coil in your belly had wound so tight it hurt.
Your body spasmed around him involuntarily, walls fluttering and squeezing, and he groaned into the fabric of your hoodie, the sound muffled but raw.
His grip on your hips turned bruising, fingers digging in as though he needed the purchase to keep himself from moving too soon. His breaths came in heavy, uneven pants against the side of your neck, stirring the fine hairs there.
You waited for the snap of his hips, for the rhythm you had imagined, fast, desperate, overwhelming.
Instead he stilled completely. His arms slid from your hips to wrap around your waist, pulling your back flush against his chest until there was no space left between you.
His chin settled on your shoulder, cheek pressed to yours, and you could have sworn you felt the low, contented rumble in his throat, almost a purr. His cock throbbed inside you, slow, insistent pulses that made your own length leak steadily onto the front of your pants, darkening the fabric in small, milky patches.
“What are you doing?” you hissed, turning your head just enough to glare at him from the corner of your eye.
“Fuck” he breathed against your neck, voice wrecked. “You feel… so good, shit”
“Then move!”
“Not yet.” You clenched around him without meaning to, a pure reflex, and he cursed under his breath, hips twitching upward in a tiny, helpless jerk that nudged the head of his cock against that spot inside you again. Stars burst behind your eyelids. “I just wanna stay like this for a moment.”
You were dumbfounded. You didn’t have much experience, but you were reasonably certain sex involved motion, friction, rhythm, something.
None of the videos you had watched had featured this, just sitting, stuffed full, trembling, while the person inside you simply… existed.
The pressure was immense. Your body kept trying to push him out even as it moulded itself around him, walls pulsing and fluttering in helpless little waves. He felt enormous, thick enough to force you open, long enough to press against places you hadn’t known could feel like this.
The thought alone made you clench again, another bead of pre-cum slipping free.
You whimpered, the sound small and broken. “Satoru—”
“I know, baby.” He pressed a soft kiss to the corner of your jaw. “I know. Just wanna feel you for a minute. Been thinking about this for… some time.”
His hands slid beneath your shirt, warm palms smoothing over your sides, fingers brushing along your ribs as though he were counting them.
Minutes dragged by in agonising slowness, him buried to the hilt, both of you shaking with the effort of holding still. Every tiny shift of weight made you both gasp, every involuntary flutter of your walls drew a ragged breath from him.
Eventually the stillness became unbearable. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, frustration and need twisting together until you couldn’t tell them apart.
“Toru—” His name tore out of you, raw and pleading. “Please. I need you—please, it hurts—move—”
He exhaled shakily against your neck, then began to rock, just the smallest movement, barely an inch in and out. Enough to tease the sensitive rim, enough to graze that spot inside you over and over without ever giving you the depth you craved. It was torture.
“You’re so tight” he whispered, voice fraying. “So perfect. Knew you’d take me so well.”
You bit your lip harder, trying to trap the moans that wanted to spill out.
He noticed. “Don’t hold back. No one’s coming back here.”
The permission shattered what little restraint you had left. A broken, needy sound escaped you, and he rewarded it by grinding deeper, slow, deliberate circles that pressed him right against that spot until your vision whited out for a second.
“Gonna fill you up” he promised, the words rough and wrecked. “Gonna make sure you know who you belong to.”
His hands returned to your hips, lifting you just enough that he could thrust upward, steady, controlled rolls that drove him deep each time.
You braced your palms on the table, fingers splaying across the open textbook, fighting to stay quiet even as the pleasure built to something blinding. His rhythm quickened, shallow at first, then harder, faster, until the chair creaked faintly beneath you both.
One of his hands wrapped around your cock, stroking in perfect time with his hips, thumb dragging over the slick head on every upstroke.
The dual sensation snapped that burning coil inside you.
A startled yelp tore from your throat as you came, shaking, clenching hard around him, pleasure crashing through you in white-hot waves. Cum splashed across his knuckles as he continued to stroke you through it, dripping down his fingers and onto your pants.
Your brain blanked, body going lax and trembling in his lap, but you could still feel him, still feel the desperate snap of his hips, the way he chased his own release inside your spasming heat.
He followed moments later.
His arms locked around your waist, pulling you down flush against him as he ground up hard, burying himself as deep as he could go. A low, broken groan vibrated against your neck, muffled into your skin as he spilled inside you, hot, pulsing, filling you until you could feel every throb.
His hips stuttered, then stilled, holding you there while the aftershocks rolled through both of you.
For a long minute neither of you moved.
His breathing gradually slowed against your shoulder. His hands gentled, stroking up and down your sides in soothing passes. When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, rasping.
“You okay?”
You managed a small, shaky nod, too overwhelmed to form words just yet.
He pressed a kiss to the side of your neck, lingering there. “Good boy.”
You whined involuntarily at the praise, the sound slipping out before you could catch it, even as the sharp edges of reality began to seep back in.
The library’s quiet hum returned, the drone of the HVAC, the faint rustle of pages from some distant corner, the knowledge that you had just cum in the back stacks with the campus’s most untouchable golden boy buried inside you.
Your thighs trembled as he helped you lift your hips, his softening cock slipping free with a slow, slick drag that pulled matching gasps from both of you. The sudden emptiness ached in a way that felt almost obscene.
Before you could step away, before you could even think about standing on legs that still felt like jello, his arms wrapped around you again, drawing you back down onto his lap.
Your back settled against his chest, his heartbeat thudding against your spine. His arms encircled your waist, one hand splaying wide across your stomach, the other resting just beneath your ribs, holding you close enough that you could feel every rise and fall of his breathing.
“Hey” he whispered suddenly.
The teasing lilt was gone. His voice had dropped into something quieter, more serious, almost careful. His nose pressed to the side of your neck, lips brushing the skin there as he spoke.
“I didn’t mean for this to happen like this.”
Your breath stilled. Your heart seemed to slump, sinking to the bottom of your chest. “What do you mean?”
“Fuck.” He buried his face deeper against your neck, words muffled into the crook where shoulder met throat. “I wanted to take you out on a date first.”
The confession landed soft, almost sheepish. Your heart lurched, soured for half a second with the fear that he regretted it, then soaring again in the next heartbeat. The whiplash of emotion was so sudden, so dizzying, that a helpless giggle bubbled up in your throat.
“A date?” you teased, turning your head just enough that your cheek brushed his forehead. He nodded against you, a small, pathetic whine escaping him.
“I’m such a himbo.”
You laughed, the sound cracking open in the quiet. Nerves, post-coital euphoria and sheer disbelief swirled together until you felt almost giddy, lightheaded. “Himbo?”
“I really wanted to take things slow” he mumbled, voice muffled and childish. “But then you kissed me and…” Another whine, softer this time. You could almost picture him kicking his feet beneath the table if he weren’t holding you so tightly.
Your laughter came again, quieter now, and you brought a hand up to cover your mouth as though the sound might carry too far.
“Maybe you’re the himbo” he whispered accusatorially against your skin, and the words coaxed another giggle out of you, bright and helpless.
Your head was swimming, disbelief threading through a warm, steady affection, excitement flickering beneath it all like sparks.
“Satoru” you said, still smiling despite yourself, “you’re rambling.”
“I’m nervous.”
“That’s new.”
He laughed then, a little self-conscious, and let more of his weight rest against your back, his chin settling more firmly on your shoulder. “I’m being serious. I wanted you to take me seriously.”
You let the words settle between you, let the quiet stretch while you actually considered them.
You pictured what it might be like, seeing him outside the library, outside the role of failing student and reluctant tutor. Coffee somewhere off-campus, his hand brushing yours without the excuse of a worksheet. Walking together across the quad, his arm slung around your shoulders. Late nights that didn’t end with him leaving.
The thought didn’t make you anxious. It didn’t feel uncomfortable or impossible. It felt… right. Like something you had wanted without ever letting yourself imagine it.
“I do take you seriously” you said, keeping your voice steady, serious. “I mean it. I—I like you, Toru. I have for some time. I—”
“Me too!” The words burst out of him, almost too loud for the library’s hush. His arms tightened around you, squeezing the air from your lungs in a rush. “I’ve liked you for a while. You’re the only reason I even bothered coming to these sessions. I looked forward to every moment I was here.”
You felt the confession settle into your bones. His grip loosened just enough that you could breathe again, but he didn’t let go.
One hand slid up to cradle your cheek, turning you gently so he could see your expression. His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth, tracing the shape of it, as though memorising the way you looked right then. Flushed, lips still swollen, eyes wide and soft.
“I’m not good at this” he admitted quietly. “The slow part. The… not jumping in headfirst part. But I…want to try. With you. If you’ll let me.”
You searched his face, those impossible nebula blue eyes, unguarded for once, the faint flush still lingering high on his cheekbones, and found nothing but sincerity beneath the usual bravado.
“Okay” you whispered, nodding your head just slightly.
His brows lifted fractionally. “Okay?”
“Yeah.” A small, shaky smile curved your lips. “Let’s… try.”
Relief washed across his features, he leaned in, pressing a kiss to your temple, then another to the corner of your eye, then finally to your mouth. A slow, lingering, achingly tender press of his lips. When he pulled back, his forehead pressed against yours.
“I’m taking you out tomorrow” he said, voice low and certain. “Proper date. Dinner. Movie. Whatever you want. No library tables. No rushing. Just… us.”
You laughed softly, the sound muffled against his lips. “Tomorrow sounds good.”
He kissed you again, briefer this time, but no less earnest, then helped you stand on unsteady legs.
Your pants were still half-down, he fixed them with careful hands, tucking you back in, zipping and buttoning with the same gentleness he had used moments earlier. He took his jacket and wrapped it round your waist, hiding some of the more…questionable stains.
You did the same for him, fingers lingering on the waistband of his jeans, and when you were both presentable again, clothes straightened, hair finger-combed into place, he took your hand.
“Come on” he murmured, lacing your fingers together. “Let’s get out of here before the night staff starts doing rounds.”
You gathered your things in silence, slinging bags over shoulders, books tucked under arms. He never let go of your hand, not when you turned off the desk lamp, not when you walked together through the dim aisles, not when you stepped out into the cool night air.
The quad was empty, streetlights casting long shadows across the grass. He squeezed your hand once, then lifted it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.
“Tomorrow” he said again, softer this time.
You nodded, heart still racing, but steady now in a way it hadn’t been before.
“Tomorrow.”
I really hope whoever requested this enjoyed, sorry it took so long!
Please don't steal, reproduce, feed into AI, or repost without my consent.
Synopsis: Football player, Clark Kent, auditions for his high school’s musical production during senior year to get his crush’s attention
Tags: fluff, cute, comedy, yearning Clark, pining Clark, jealous Clark, Clark is a jock, smitten reader, reader wears glasses, musical director reader, librarian assistant reader, first kiss
Reader is Zatanna Zatara’s brother.
No use of Y/N.
High School AU.
Author’s note at the end :)
————————————————————————
“You’re really gonna audition with us for the show?”
Clark turns to Lois and Jimmy, the both of them already have had their names written on the sign up sheet on the bulletin board in the middle of the school hallway.
Clark shrugs, gulping as he jots down his name along with the others. “I mean it’s our senior year when will I ever get the chance to do something like this in the future?”
“You mean trying your luck with the Zatara kid and hoping he’ll fall for you because you’re so different from the other cool kids in school?” Jimmy snickers on the side before yelping when Lois elbows him in the ribs.
Lois gives Clark a warm smile. “I think you’ll do great, besides it’s just auditions. You might not even get the part.”
“Golly, Lois. Thank you for the vote of confidence.” Clark rolled his eyes at his best friends.
Lois shrugged in response. “Okay to be fair, you know I’m crap at emotionally supporting the both of you.”
“I think you broke a rib.” Jimmy whines next to Lois, making her huff at his overdramatic display of injury before grabbing him by the arm and hauling him away.
Clark chuckled and shook his head, watching his friends go.
“The three of you are always so lively.” Clark jumped before whirling around and staring in shock at the object of his affection.
Clark opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, trying to figure out how to respond.
You chuckled before your eyes drifted to the sign up sheet behind Clark. He watched as your face bloomed into a giant grin.
“You’re auditioning?” You asked Clark, your eyes sparkling with interest.
Clark felt his face flush at finally getting your attention on him. “Yeah, I’ve always been interested but never had the guts to do so before. Are you here to sign up too?”
“Nope.” You smirked as you continued reading all the names on the list.
Clark felt his shoulders deflated, disappointment settling in his stomach. “Oh, I thought you auditioned every year. You’ve been in all the shows.”
“You’ve seen all the shows I was in?” You asked with a raised eyebrow.
Clark tried sputtering out a response, only receiving a laugh from you.
“I’m directing this year’s show, Kent.”
“Oh wow that’s so cool.” Clark breathed out, memorising your face and your facial expressions to heart.
He doesn’t know when he’ll get the chance after years of pining from afar.
You smirked up at him. “I guess I’ll see you in auditions, Kent. Break a leg.”
Clark nodded as he watched you walk away, he felt a little breathless seeing you sway your hips confidently with every step.
He huffed to himself, thinking about the perfect audition song he could think of to impress you with.
Clark glances at the direction that you went off to, his heart skipping a beat at how close the both of you were not that long ago.
He’s hopeful that it won’t be the last time.
~~~~~
“Hi, I’m Clark Kent. I will be auditioning for any role that you think is suitable for me.” Clark told the three people sitting in the makeshift booth for judging.
His eyes scanned the three faces.
Mr. Perry White, the Theater Club’s Advisor, sat on the far end, you in the middle and Lex Luthor sat on the other end while sporting an unimpressed glare thrown at Clark.
Lex leaned forward. “And pray tell what our dear quarterback is doing, auditioning for our show?”
“Luthor.” You tutted disapprovingly at the man beside you before directing a soothing smile at Clark as you adjusted the glasses on your face.
“Okay Clark, I know this is your first time. So just take a breather before you start singing for us.”
Clark nodded, his sole focus was on you as he started to sing when the background music started playing.
He didn’t really choose a character for the show, he didn’t think his acting or singing skills were good enough.
As Clark sang and moved his body across the stage, his mind drifted elsewhere.
Usually on the field with football, he was moving with precision and an obvious goal of getting the ball across the field as fast as he can with the help of his team.
It was a lot of stress especially as the quarterback, feeling like the whole world was on his shoulders.
Whereas on stage, he felt happy, giddy and even free.
He couldn’t really see anything or anyone by the auditorium seats except the light shining on the three people sitting in the booth but even then his eyes were fixated on you.
Clark didn’t even realise he had completed the song before he sees you stand up and clap with a bright smile on your face.
Mr. White clapping along with you while Lex rolled his eyes before clapping as well.
“Thank you, Clark. Check the bulletin board again in the next three days to see your results. Up next is Kendra Saunders.” Mr. White announced as Clark walked away slightly dazed.
He sees Lois and Jimmy smiling brightly at the side before they went up to him with congratulatory hugs.
“You did it, Clark! You were amazing up there.” Jimmy crowed.
Lois nodded in agreement. “How long have you been hiding those pipes of yours, Kent?”
Clark shook his head, trying to regain his focus.
He actually stood up on stage and sang!
He couldn’t believe it.
Now it was just the waiting game.
~~~~~
“Congratulations, Kent.”
Lex snarkily tells Clark in front of the bulletin board before shoulder checking the taller jock and walking away after posting the results on the board.
Clark didn’t care for Lex’s attitude, he didn’t even feel the shoulder check because he was too busy staring in awe at his name on the paper.
Clark was the male lead of the show.
“Holy shit.” He heard Lois and Jimmy say simultaneously as they stood next to him.
Clark tutted at his friends. “Language.”
“Luthor didn’t seem too happy when you auditioned but it looks like even he could agree that you have a lot of potential.” Lois mused as her eyes scanned the names on the list to find hers.
Jimmy smiled noticing his name as well. “This is awesome, Clark. I get to be your understudy!”
Clark smiled at his two best friends but his mind strayed to the thought of you.
“Congratulations guys, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Clark told his friends before making a hasty retreat.
Lois smirked, watching Clark walk away with a new pep in his step. “Say hi to your future boyfriend for us!”
Clark almost tripped on his own two feet, his face blushing furiously as he made his escape with the sound of his friends’ laughter fading behind him.
Clark hurried to where he knew you would definitely be at.
The school library.
You were always there after school, having volunteered to keep your credit score up.
Clark sighed remembering the first time you both met and it was at the library, freshman year.
Clark was this tall, lanky kid with glasses who hadn’t joined the football team yet and you were the new kid that moved from somewhere out of town.
He felt lost, walking through the endless maze of literature, trying to find a specific book for a school project.
You had found him in one of the random stacks, looking like he was having a mental breakdown.
Clark jumped in surprise when he felt your hand land on his shoulder, making him turn to you in surprise.
You gave him a gentle smile and introduced yourself.
Clark blinked owlishly. “I’m Clark Kent.”
“Hi, Clark. You look like you’re about to have an aneurysm, you mind if I help you out?” You tilted your head with a smirk.
Clark sheepishly shook his head. “Oh sorry, I was just trying to find this book but I can’t find it for the life of me.”
That was how Clark developed his crush on you, watching you behind the main desk on the library’s computer to search for the book he needed before he obediently followed you to the proper section to get it.
“Don’t be afraid to come up to the desk and ask about a book. I promise the head librarian won’t bite your head off but if you’re scared of her then you can just look for me instead.” You winked at Clark as you checked out his book out of the library system.
Clark felt his face flush before nodding with a smile as he took the book from you. “Thank you, I’ll return this as soon as I’m done with it.”
“Don’t be a stranger.” You smiled at him before heading back to your original task while Clark walked out of the library with a small smile on his face.
Clark had thought he would get more of your attention when he joined the football team but he quickly realised that you were in a world of your own with theater club, being a librarian assistant and keeping your grades up.
You were at the top of your classes.
It somehow made Clark yearn harder whenever he’d see you in the school hallways or when he’d come visit the library to borrow a book for one of his classes.
Clark, of course, had random people try to flirt and hit him up but they were never you.
And now he had found himself, yet again, standing in the middle of the stacks in the library to look for you.
The sound of a cart being pushed makes Clark turn his head and he meets your bright and curious eyes, staring straight at him.
“Is it me or is this déjà vu?” You greeted him with a slight quirk to your lips as you started to shove books into the shelves.
Clark gulped. “I didn’t think you’d remember that interaction.”
“Clark.” You glanced at him, chuckling slightly.
Clark shivered at the sound of your voice saying his name.
“Of course I remember. You literally come to the library every other week to borrow a book for one of your classes.”
You looked down at a book in hand before you lifted your head up to scan the shelves to see which section the book belongs to.
You quickly shoved the book into its respective section as you pushed the cart forward, Clark stepping to the side to let you pass.
“Well yeah but it’s not like we do small talk or say hi to each other in the halls.” Clark replied, not realising that he had inadvertently revealed one of his insecurities to you.
He sees you wince. “I’m sorry Clark, I guess I haven’t been too aware of my surroundings. My dad says I’m doing too much and not enjoying my youth.”
“Sounds like your dad may have a point.” Clark said in amusement, watching you roll your eyes at him and huffing out a laugh when he sees you get on your tip toes to place a book on the highest part of the shelf.
You turn to playfully glare at him through your thick rimmed glasses. “Not all of us are freakishly tall.”
You took out another book from the cart and rose to your toes again, your shirt riding up and exposing the bare skin of your hips.
Clark gulped before he stepped up and grabbed the book out of your hands to help you place it on the top shelf.
“Oh, you didn’t have to do that.” You blinked up at Clark, your bodies now closer to each other.
Clark smiled down at your flabbergasted look. “I didn’t mind.”
He sees your face flush before you gently pushed at his chest so you could make your way around him to finish up your task.
Clark bit his lip, silently watching you place books back on the shelves. The feeling of your fingertips still lingering on his chest.
“I know you didn’t come here to help me shelve these books and you don’t seem to be in a haste to find one for class, so what’s up?” You asked Clark, turning your whole body around to face him while crossing your arms.
Clark sheepishly scratched the back of his head before sighing. “I was wondering if I got the part of the male lead because of my status in school.”
Your eyes widened in surprise before you shook your head. “God, no. Clark you got the part because you’re talented and you deserved it. I wouldn’t have chosen you otherwise.”
“Oh, thank you. I mean this is your last high school musical so I thought you’d want someone more experienced as the lead.” Clark replied, suddenly feeling ashamed.
“A lot of people auditioned for the lead Clark but you had the most potential. You said it yourself that you’d audition for the role that we, the judges, think you’d be most suitable for. It just so happened to be the male leading role.”
Clark nodded, feeling slightly better at your words. “Right.”
You huff out a small laugh before walking up to him, your hand gently rubbing his arm. “Take it easy, you already have a lot to juggle as it is as quarterback. The school can’t have you have a mental breakdown over a stupid musical.”
“Musical’s not stupid. You’re directing it.” Clark murmured, seeing you give him a soft smile.
You walked back to the cart, already pushing it. “I’ll see you in rehearsals, Kent.”
“See you.” Clark watched as you disappeared into a corner, the feeling of doubt slowly leaving his body.
He walked out of the library with a new sense of determination.
~~~~~
Clark decided that theater was tougher than football.
Besides learning the songs, he also had to memorise his script and unsurprisingly, he had a lot of lines as the main lead.
Not to mention his disastrous mishap whenever he needed to exit stage left or stage right.
Clark felt like a goddarn fool running around on stage with Lex’s snickering in the background whenever he’d make a mistake.
It was only day one and he’d already disappointed everyone.
“Okay guys, I think that’s enough for today. Go home, rest and memorise your parts.” Mr Perry White announced to everyone before leaving the auditorium.
Clark’s shoulder sagged noticing the pitiful glances and glares thrown his way by the other students.
He sighed before slinging his backpack over his shoulder to leave as well.
“Hey, Clark. Do you mind staying behind for a bit? I’d like to have a conversation with you, if you don’t mind.” You called out to him from the piano that was backstage.
Lois and Jimmy gave him comforting head nods before they left the auditorium, leaving him alone with you.
“Hey.” Clark timidly greeted you as he walked up to where you were sitting on the bench by the piano.
You looked up at him with a small smile, adjusting your glasses slightly as you closed what seemed to be a notebook in your hand.
“Hi, Clark. Thanks for staying back, I know it’s been a tough first day but I’m happy you’re here.”
“I guess that makes you the only one.” Clark replied as a joke although his voice betrayed him by how it trailed off after his sentence.
You frowned up at him. “Clark, you know that’s not true.”
“I don’t know, between Lex’s condescending laughter to the glares everyone just gave me, I think the evidence speaks for itself.” Clark shrugged, his face reflecting your frown.
You sighed before getting up from the seat and standing next to Clark, looking up at him since he was admittedly taller than you are.
“It’s your first day in the auditorium and you’re just starting to learn theater etiquette as well. I’m not gonna fault you for your inexperience when you really have none. Also, Lex is an asshole while the other students will be getting an earful from me.” You told Clark, your hands resting on your waist.
Clark smiled seeing you defend him. “It’s okay, I get it. I’m the newbie and I’ll work on improving myself. Also maybe don’t call Lex an a-hole, that’s just not nice.”
“I’m sorry, am I just finding out that the school’s beloved quarterback is also a boy-scout? Should I rewrite the whole script and put in swear words just for you?” You teased Clark with a grin.
Clark’s face fell in shock as he laughed nervously. “You’re not actually going to force me to say them, right?”
“No, of course not.” You told him with a smirk as you gathered your things from the piano.
Clark cautiously followed you as you walked out, not believing you. “I don’t think my parents would like it very much, you know.”
“Noted.” You said offhandedly as you locked up the auditorium, Clark looming nervously behind you.
You turned to see Clark fidgeting at the side before you mindlessly reach out to play with the letterman jacket he was currently wearing.
“Relax, Clark. I’m just pulling your leg, you need to learn how to relax while you’re here.”
Clark nodded dumbly, too distracted by the fact that you were tugging slightly on his letterman jacket before you patted him on the chest with a small smile.
“Now, let’s get out of here. I think we’re done for the day, I’ll see you in rehearsals.”
As Clark left the school grounds, he felt his heart beat faster as he remembered your gentleness around him.
It was getting harder for him not to tell you that he was completely enamoured by you as the both of you spent more time together.
Clark sighed, he really needed to get a hold of himself.
~~~~~
Clark was getting used to the flow of the musical, it took a couple of sessions but he thinks he’s confident enough to not mess up the simple things.
It helps that he’d hear your praise and see your bright smile aimed at him whenever everyone goes through a smooth run.
He admired your work ethic as you maintained a professional tone with the other performers as well.
Sometimes Clark would see you and Lex in a corner, chatting with laughter and that would make Clark feel a little iffy about how the close the both of you were.
“If looks could kill.” Clark jumps in surprise, turning his head to look at Kendra.
She was the female lead and his romantic partner for the musical.
Clark blinked dumbly at her. “What?”
“Oh, come on.” Kendra scoffed. “You always look at our dear director like he personally hung the moon every night for you. It’s a dead gay giveaway.”
Clark laughed and shook his head. “No, come on. I’m just admiring how hard he works.”
“Like that’s any less gay.” Kendra replied with a knowing smirk.
Clark rolled his eyes at her. They were pretty close friends, considering that she was dating his cousin, Kara.
“Ugh.” Kendra groaned looking through the script.
Clark eyed her curiously. “What’s up?”
Kendra lifted up the script in her hands. “We gotta kiss on stage, can you believe that?”
“Oh.” Clark replied, his voice getting a little high at the thought of it.
Kendra raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him. “What, can’t kiss your cousin’s girlfriend for a show?”
“That’s definitely not what I’m implying. It’s just you know, I’ve never really had an experience like that before.” Clark replied, trying to be vague.
Kendra tilted her head. “On stage or in general?”
Clark’s sudden silence makes Kendra’s eyes widened in surprise before she nodded in understanding.
“Hey guys!” Your cheery voice causes both of them to jump. “Is there a problem?”
“No, of course not. Clark just had an issue with the ending where we have to kiss in the show.” Kendra told you, causing Clark to turn his head towards her with an accusatory expression.
Kendra chose to ignore his glare.
You tilted your head in confusion. “Oh what’s wrong with it?”
“I think you need to go and have a personal talk with him, director. It’s pretty private.” Kendra whispered to you before walking away, leaving you and Clark alone.
You turned your attention to Clark, your expression softening. “See me after rehearsals?”
“Yes, dear.” Clark automatically replied, freezing when he realised what he said and judging by your raised eyebrows, you had definitely heard it too.
“Director. Our dear director.” Clark chuckled nervously before making a strategic exit, leaving you alone with your mouth slightly agape.
He was doomed.
~~~~~
“Okay, start.”
Clark was shaking from where he stood in front of you, unable to find the proper words to convey his feelings toward you.
Darn it, Kendra.
“Clark.” You sighed when the taller man in front of you wouldn’t say anything.
Clark jumped when he felt you grab his hand, pulling him to the floor to sit with you. He mindlessly followed, getting comfortable on the floor as you sat across from him with a soft smile.
“Okay how about we do a little trust exercise between the two of us? Just nod if you’re okay with that.”
Clark nodded, grateful that you’re fast at adapting to his sudden muteness.
“Since we’re both here alone, I think it’s the perfect time to be more open with each other, don’t you think?”
Clark nodded, receiving a small smile in return.
He could listen you talk to him all day if you’d let him.
You sighed while adjusting your body on the floor to get more comfortable, your legs crisscrossed.
“Are you having a hard time getting out words to express your current emotional dilemma with me?”
Clark’s eyes widened but he nodded, shocked by how fast you were able to read him.
“Does it involve the kissing scene in the script?”
Clark nodded.
“Does it involve having to do the scene with Kendra?”
Clark shook his head, earning a confused head tilt from you.
God, he thought you looked so adorable in front of him.
You adjusted the glasses on your face, quietly stewing in your own thoughts.
“Does it involving the act of kissing in general?”
Clark hesitated, feeling his cheeks warm up before he nodded.
He sees your eyes widened, silently processing the new information.
“When you called me dear, earlier. It wasn’t a mistake was it?” You sheepishly asked, your eyes looking away from Clark.
Clark huffed out a small laugh, his hand reaching out to hold yours. It makes you look up at him in surprise.
Your mouth open and closes, unable to form your own words this time and it makes Clark grin.
“This wasn’t the way I had thought of telling you.” Clark finally voices out, making your face flush.
You gave him a soft and shy smile that makes Clark slightly feral, excitement running up his spine at the mere thought of you reciprocating his own feelings.
“So you really haven’t kissed anyone before?” You asked him, making Clark smile as he leaned towards you before shaking his head in response.
You leaned in next, batting your eyelashes up at Clark. “Do you want to?”
“Absolutely.” Clark breathed out before capturing your lips with his.
It was clumsy, Clark not knowing which way to angle his head so your glasses hit his nose and your teeth clashed against his.
You laughed against his lips, pulling back with a hand cradling his face. Clark leaned into your touch with a soft smile.
He had dreamt of this countless of times over the years, he hoped this wasn’t a dream this time.
“You need to slow down, Kent.” You whispered with a small smile before leaning and pecking him on the lips.
Clark was dazed as one peck became two and so forth, the softness of your plump lips against his as you took charge of the kiss.
Clark hears you breathe through your nose as you deepened the kiss, the vibrations of your moan against his lips causing him to get slightly dizzy at how good it felt.
A thought of wondering where you learned to kiss so well came into Clark’s mind but he quickly shoved it down in favour of enjoying the moment.
He felt you push your body against his, climbing into his lap and letting your arms rest on his wide shoulders.
Clark’s hands resting on your waist, letting you get comfortable as you sat squarely on his lap before capturing your lips with his once again.
His tongue prodding on your lips, asking for permission to be let in before slipping in and exploring your mouth once you let him.
Clark relished the sweet moans and whimpers that you gave him, swallowing every sound you make that drove him insane.
He felt your hands push at his chest, causing the both of you to break your kiss. You panted as you looked at him with confusion.
“What’s the matter, baby?” Clark purred, making you flush.
You cleared your throat. “I thought this was your first kiss, where’d you learn to use your tongue like that?”
“Honestly? It felt like a natural thing to do and I’m not opposed to learning from porn.” Clark grinned when you laughed in surprise.
He squeezed your waist, making you shudder in his lap. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing.” You grinned. “I didn’t think the school’s boy-scout would be so dirty.”
Clark groaned at your teasing. “Oh come on, I’m not a boy-scout.”
“What are you then?” You bit your lip, continuing to tease Clark.
Clark leans in and pecks you on the lips. “How about your boyfriend instead?”
Your eyes widened in surprise.
“I didn’t think you’d be interested in me like that.”
“I wanted to be with you since you helped me in the library back when we were in freshman year, will you please bestow me the honour of being yours?” Clark asks you, his eyes scanning the entirety of your face before resting on your lips.
You giggled, kissing him. “Theater must be rubbing off on you if you’re speaking like that.”
“Yeah? Turns you on?” Clark grinned watching your face reddened before you slapped his shoulder.
“Clark.” You scolded him, letting him pull you closer to him so he could shove his face into your neck and take a deep breath of your scent with a groan.
“Gosh, you smell so good.” Clark murmured against your neck, his lips moving against your skin and making a noise of approval when you tilted your chin up to expose more of your skin for him.
Clark couldn’t help but nibble on the skin of your neck, making you jump slightly in his lap at the slight sharp pain before he apologetically soothes it with his tongue.
He felt your hands push on his chest again, making him pull away from you with a frown that makes you laugh.
“Enough of that. Now that we’ve uncovered the problem, I’m guessing you’re okay going through with the kiss in the show?” You teased him with a smirk, Clark huffing out a small laugh as he nodded.
He frowns again when you got up from his lap, pouting when he sees you fix your clothes to look more presentable.
Your smirk still on your face when you look down at him still sitting on the floor. “You’ll get more once the show’s over.”
“Tease.” Clark retorted, standing and dusting off his clothes before putting his hand out for you to take.
You raised your eyebrow at him in amusement before linking your hand with his and leading the way out of the auditorium.
“You know this means everyone in school’s going to be talking about us till the end of the week.”
Clark shrugged. “I’ve waited for you for about four years, I can handle senseless talking.”
“You’re such a dork.” You snorted as the both of you made your way out of the school, hand in hand.
Clark grinned goofily. “Yeah but I’m yours.”
~~~~~
Clark grinned as he walked up to your locker.
It was the day after the school musical and everything went smoothly. Clark had even met your dad after the show.
Turns out your dad was a fan of Clark judging by how many times you and your dad had attended Clark’s football games.
Clark grinning like a maniac the entire time while you stood at the side with a furious blush at your dad blabbering about how it was always your idea to attend the football games.
Now, Clark gets to tease you about being as obsessed as he was about you over the years.
“Hi, honey.” Clark greeted you, causing you to flinch in surprise with a blush on your cheeks as you smiled shyly at him.
Unable to control himself, Clark leaned in and stole a kiss from you before pulling back with a smug grin at your surprised expression.
“Clark, we’re in public.” You whispered at him, your eyes glancing around but you had a satisfied smile on your face.
Clark hummed. “Don’t care, you’re my boyfriend.”
“Speaking of.” Clark shrugged off his letterman jacket before handing it to you.
You gasped as you took it into your hands, your fingers playing with the material of the jacket as you stared down at it dumbfounded.
“The big game’s coming up, it’s my last so I want you there and wearing this so everyone knows you’re mine.” Clark told you, making you laugh as you tried out his jacket on your body.
It was a size too big on you but Clark found it adorable.
“Possessive much?” You quirked an eyebrow at Clark, only to get an eye roll in return.
Clark leaned his body towards yours, his impressive stature towering over yours as captured your lips with his mouth.
When the both of you separated, Clark couldn’t stop the grin that formed on his face as he stared lovingly down at you.
“What’s on your mind, Kent?” You asked, amused by Clark’s blatant staring.
Clark smiled softly at you. “Just can’t believe I finally get to call you mine.”
You laughed as Clark pulled your body in for a hug.
“Such a dork.” You muttered against his chest, making Clark chuckle.
“Only yours.”
*****
Author’s note:
Happy New Year’s Eve!
I thought I wasn’t going to finish any other fic but I managed to do this one!
This has been in the drafts for quite some time and had a much bigger story in mind but I decided to go against it once I realised I needed some fluff instead
synopsis: A scientist who lives for data and a Marine who lives to break things get stuck in a messy situation after Jake whacks a plant like a total dumbass. Now they have to deal with the physical fallout of a pollen trap while trying not to kill each other in the proces (or something more).
content warnings: 18+, smut, bottom male reader, scientist!reader, who also has an avatar, sex pollen trope, unnatural avatar biology (dont question it), fingering, oral sex (reader recieving), p in a, unintentional mating, creampie.
word count: 1.3k words
a/n: the title is the song from all the avatar 3 jake edits lmaoo. now watch me disappear again bye
The humidity in the Hallelujah Mountains made the air feel like wet wool. Every breath you took smalled like the damp forest floor, a constant reminder that you were miles away from the sterile, air-conditioned safety of the base. You adjusted the strap of your sampling kit, trying to ignore the heavy thud of Jake’s boots behind you. You were a senior lead in the xenobiology department, a man who had built his career on being the most capable mind in the room, but currently, you were stuck being babysat by a guy who thought the forest was just a target range.
"You're going to walk into a cliff if you don't take your eyes off that tablet, Doc," Jake said. His voice had that casual arrogance that always made your blood boil.
"And you're going to trip over a root if you don't stop staring at the back of my head," you shot back without looking at him. "This is a sensitive collection, Jake. It requires focus. I don't expect a grunt to understand the value of precision."
Jake let out a short, breathy laugh. He stepped over a glowing vine, moving with a grace that honestly annoyed you. He reached out to swat away a cluster of hanging, purple bulbs, his movements reckless in his boredom. "What's this one do? Aside from taking up space?"
"Jake, don't touch the—"
A sharp hiss cut you off. A cloud of fine, gold dust erupted from the plant, hitting both of you square in the face. You coughed, waving your arms through the shimmering haze, but the air already tasted sweet. It was a thick, cloying scent like overripe fruit.
"Fantastic job, hero. You just triggered a pheromonal defense mechanism," you growled, wiping the dust from your eyes.
"I didn't mean to set it off. Relax," Jake said, though his voice trailed off. He rubbed his chest, his pupils beginning to blow wide. "Is it just me, or did it get hot out here?"
A sudden, sharp heat coiled in your lower belly. It was a prickling sensation that made your skin feel too tight. You fumbled for your comms unit, your fingers feeling heavy. "Norm? Come in. Sully just set off a Venera-Spora. Gold dust. We’re feeling a reaction."
Norm’s voice crackled through the earbud after a second of static. "The gold dust? Oh man. You guys are in trouble. That’s high-potency sex pollen. It targets the neural pathways for arousal. The itch won't stop until the receptors are satisfied- like, fully satisfied. Good luck-"
The line went dead with a final click. You stared at the unit in disbelief. "Norm? Norm!"
You turned to Jake. He wasn't looking at the trees anymore. He was looking at you with a gaze that had stripped away the sarcasm, replaced by a sort of... hunger. He straightened up, a slow grin spreading across his face despite the sweat beading on his brow.
"Well, Doc," Jake rasped, his voice dropping an octave. "You heard the man. Scientific necessity."
"Don't act like this is a favor," you panted. The heat in your groin was becoming a throbbing weight.
"I'm a Marine. I follow orders," he quipped, moving toward you with a swagger that felt like a challenge. He reached out, his hand catching the back of your neck. The contact felt like lightning. Your Avatar’s body was already reacting to the pollen. Your hole felt slick, an unusual biological response that made every movement feel lubricated.
Jake pushed you back against a mossy stone floor, his hands sliding down to your hips, pushing your pants and boxers right off. "You're already wet," he noted. He knelt between your legs, his fingers finding the entrance of your hole and sliding in with startling ease.
The pollen had made your walls soft. The natural slickness made the entry of three thick fingers a seamless, squelching intrusion. You threw your head back, a broken moan escaping you. Jake watched you, his golden eyes glowing as he stretched you out. One of his digits rubbed against your prostate with a precision that felt way too intentional.
"Still want to talk about the data?" he teased, before leaning down.
He took you into his mouth with a hunger that was both generous and demanding. His tongue swirled around the head of your cock while his fingers continued to work you open, creating a loop of pleasure that threatened to short-circuit your brain. You reached for him, your hands tangling in his hair- dangerously close to his kuru, pulling him closer as the intensity of the pollen pushed your sensory limits.
When he finally stood up, his own cock was out, a pretty blue shade with bioluminescent freckles all over. He didn't use any more words. He hauled your lower body properly to the floor and lined himself up.
He slammed into you in one long thrust.
The air left your lungs. He was so thick he felt like he was splitting you in two, his length bottoming out with a force that made your vision go white. The tsaheylu happened in the chaos, your braids tangling and locking together by pure instinct.
The silence that followed was heavy. Through the bond, you felt his raw need to claim you, and he felt your desperate surrender. It was a mutual agreement. You wrapped your legs around his waist, locking your ankles behind his back, and pulled him deeper.
Jake began to move with a relentless pace. Every time his hips slammed against yours, the sound of skin slapping on skin echoed through the clearing. You could feel the shape of him inside you, his cock filling every corner of your raw, slicked-out hole. Through the link, the pleasure was doubled. You were feeling your own walls clenching around him at the same time you felt the crushing tightness of your heat from his perspective.
You were both lost in it. He leaned down, his teeth sinking into the sensitive skin of your shoulder as he maintained a rhythm that left you completely unstrung. You were drooling, your eyes rolled back, your fingers buried in the muscles of his back as you rode the waves of the pollen’s influence.
The itch was fading, replaced by a unbearable pressure. Jake’s breathing turned into a series of ragged snarls, his movements becoming more frantic as he felt the mating bond start to solidify. He wasn't just fucking you anymore. He was marking you.
"Now," he thought through the link.
He surged deep one last time, his hips locking against yours as his knot began to swell. You felt the first hot spurt of his cum hit your internals, and the sensation sent you over the edge. You screamed into the quiet of the forest as your own orgasm ripped through you, your walls convulsing violently around his length. He held you there, pinned to the ground, as he emptied himself into you in long, pulsing throbs, filling you until you felt bloated with his seed.
You stayed locked together for a long time, the only sound the ragged gasps of your breathing. The haze was gone, replaced by exhaustion. You looked up at him, and for the first time, you didn't have anything to say.
- - -
The walk back to Hell's Gate was a nightmare of sore muscles and awkward glances. By the time you reached the lab, you just wanted to crawl into a bunk and sleep for a week. Norm was leaning against the main console, holding a mug of coffee and looking entirely too pleased with himself.
"Back so soon?" Norm asked.
"Shut up, Norm," you muttered, heading for the lockers.
"Hey, just a heads up for next time, Sully," Norm called out. He pointed to the comms unit on Jake’s vest. "The mute button only works if you actually press it. The whole bridge got to hear your scientific progress. Especially the part about the Doc being a slut for a Marine. Very descriptive, Jake. Ten out of ten."
You froze, the blood draining from your face as Jake’s jaw dropped.
"The recording is already in the archives," Norm added with a grin. "I think they’re planning to play it at the next staff briefing for educational purposes."
The One I Can Touch (Male Reader x Sukuna) (An Extra Little Drabble!)
Pairing: Sukuna Ryomen x Male Reader.
Genre: Fluffy, a little sad.
Word Count: 2,469
So I wrote this quite quickly, really didn't want to disappoint the sweetheart who wrote to me, especially since I replied sooo late! It's not proofread, so I hope it's okay.
Part 1 (here) Part 2 (Here)
Kinktober Masterlist - Masterlist
You stare down into wide, marble like eyes, your fingers twitching at your sides, itching with a want you’ve learned you can never indulge. You can’t touch.
When it suddenly springs toward you, small paws lifted as if it means to grab you, you slip neatly out of reach with a breathy laugh. The sound seems to delight it. The puppy gives chase, stumbling over in its enthusiasm, lunging again and again as you duck and weave, always just beyond its grasp.
“What are you doing?” His voice purrs behind you, low and gravelly.
You don’t turn, you don’t stop either. You simply pivot aside once more, letting the pup skid past you.
“Playing” you answer lightly, offering a careless half-shrug. “I can’t touch it, so the best I can do is plat with it.”
“Why not?” he sneers, stepping closer, looming just behind your shoulder as he also sidesteps the excitable little creature with practiced ease. “It is only a dog.”
“They have so little time on this earth” you murmur, dodging again. Your laughter softens as the puppy trips, front paws sliding out from under it with an excited little yip. “That’s what makes them precious. I’d hate to take even a second from it.”
“Ridiculous” he grunts, but he’s closer now despite himself.
“It looks so soft” you say dreamily, eyes tracking the puppy as it scrambles upright again. You imagine the give of its fur beneath your fingers, the warmth of its small body, the frantic, hopeful flutter of its heartbeat. “I wish I could stroke it.”
You feel his gaze settle on you, heavy and intent as you step back once more. Before you can react, he moves.
One moment the puppy is bouncing at your heels. The next, it’s scooped up effortlessly into his arms.
The sight is slightky absurd a man so massive, with so many arms, cradling something so impossibly small. The puppy thrashes, wriggling with delight, stretching desperately to lick at his face. Sukuna recoils with visible disgust, baring his teeth.
“It’s soft” he growls, like the word itself offends him. “Warm too. Softer than wool. A bit like—” He cuts himself off with a scowl.
You blink up at him, breath catching, realising suddenly, that he’s trying, the best way he can, to describe it to you.
“The fucking thing won’t stop moving” he adds, another large hand coming up to steady the squirming pup, clamping more firmly than necessary.
You step closer without thinking. Carefully, reverently, you place your hand over his, as close as you can get. As if touching the puppy by proxy.
His red eyes snap to yours, unreadable. Still, he doesn’t pull away.
He allows you to guide his hand, slow and deliberate, down the puppy’s back. You’re careful not to brush its fur, not even by accident. This is as near as you’re allowed.
“It’s so beautiful” you murmur. Your voice cracks just slightly, grief threading through the awe as the truth settles in, that you’ll ever never feel it for yourself. That this is the closest you’ll ever come. “You’re so lucky.”
His mouth curves into a smirk, it’s sharp and reflexive, but it falters when he notices the tears glassing your eyes. Instead of mocking you, he grunts.
“It’s just a mutt.”
“You’ll wouldn’t understand” you breathe, shaking your head faintly, still guiding his hand in that careful, borrowed motion.
“Teddy!” a voice calls from somewhere down the path.
Your head snaps up at the sound. Sukuna lowers the puppy at once, releasing it to the ground. You watch it scamper off, yipping happily as it disappears back toward its home, tail wagging like it never knew danger at all.
Sukuna watches it go. Then he looks at you.
“I need…” he says, turning away, voice rougher than before. “…to go do something.”
“Do you want me to com—”
“No.” His answer cuts in immediately, low and firm. “Stay here. Keep yourself hidden.”
He brushes fur from his clothes, you nod without argument. You’ve learned not to ask questions, learned that some answers tend to hurt more than ignorance ever could. Whatever it is he’s about to do, whatever violence or consequence waits for him beyond this quiet pocket of the city, you don’t want it seared into your mind.
He hesitates, just for a fraction of a second.
Then he reaches for you, stopping just short, his hand hovering in the air like he’s reconsidering the risk, the intimacy. Finally, he commits. His fingers brush a silken lock of hair away from your forehead, slow and careful, the heat of his touch startling, like freshly poured steel.
“Don’t get hurt, he mutters. It’s not and I love you, but it’s the closest thing he’ll ever be able to offer.
But you know how much it costs him to say even this. The knowledge makes your heart squeeze in your chest, tight and aching, because you understand how hard it is for him to open himself to anyone, even you.
“So long as you don’t either” you murmur. I love you too sits heavy behind the words, unspoken but thick with meaning.
Somehow, he seems to hear it anyway.
He grunts, a sound that might be acknowledgment, discomfort, or something dangerously close to emotion, and then he’s gone. Disappearing like smoke, dragged to whatever blood-soaked duty demands him.
And you’re left behind.
It’s quiet here. A leafy, secluded part of Tokyo, where the city hum dulls to a whisper. You glance up at the sky, branches overhead breaking the light into dappled patches that scatter across the ground at your feet. You let out a slow, heavy sigh. You have no idea how long you’ll be waiting this time, minutes, hours, maybe days, so you resign yourself to it.
You wander without direction, searching for somewhere to sit, somewhere to exist while time stretches painfully between you and your King. Eventually, you find a small park. A fenced-off patch of grass, a lone bench, a children’s swing set creaking faintly in the breeze.
It’s empty, so you lower yourself into one of the swings instead, pushing off gently, rocking back and forth. The chains squeak loudly with each motion, the sound oddly comforting in the stillness.
You don’t know how much time has passed when you hear it, the soft tap of footsteps approaching.
You lift your head, squinting against the sunlight.
You blink. Once, then twice.
For a moment, you’re convinced your loneliness has finally tipped you into hallucination.
But the shock of white hair is unmistakable.
Gojo stands there, tall and blinding against the light, Nanami at his side, glasses fixed neatly in place. And behind them, impossibly, Yuji, Megumi, and Nobara, all clustered together. They stare at you like you’re something unreal. A ghost. A mistake.
Your heart slams against your ribs, swelling with too many emotions to name.
You’ve missed them, so much. But beneath that longing coils a uncomfortable fear, the sickening thought that they might be here to kill you. To take you back.
“Y/N!” Yuji shouts suddenly, lifting an arm to wave like no time has passed at all.
You rise unsteadily from the swing, legs trembling beneath you like they’re made of fog.
“Yuji” you breathe, a shocked laugh tearing free as you step toward him, but Nanami moves.
He steps between you like a wall forged from stern steel, cutting you off cleanly.
“Y/N” Gojo greets, his voice dark. You can’t see his eyes beneath the blindfold, but you know what’s hidden in them. Weariness, hurt, maybe even anger. You don’t blame him. You’ve done what Geto once did to him. The thought makes your chest ache unbearably. “Where is he?”
“Who?” you try weakly, grasping at denial even as it slips through your fingers.
“Sukuna” Nanami says flatly. His voice is cold, stripped of any familiarity.
“Not here” you manage, staring down at your feet. The silence crashes down around you, thick and suffocating. “Are you… going to kill me?” you whisper.
“Do we have to?” Gojo asks quickly, voice sharp, your head snaps up, eyes blurring instantly. “Will you kill us?”
“No” you breathe, nausea curling in your gut at the thought of any of them dying because of you. “Never.”
The quiet returns. Yuji looks between the three of you, confused, worried. You ache with the urge to ruffle his stupidly spiky hair, just once.
“We thought you were dead” Nanami finally grinds out, jaw tight, fists clenched at his sides.
“I’m sorr—”
“You disappeared” he cuts in. “The last intel we had put you heading north, toward his hideout, and then…nothing.”
“I know, I’m truly sorry, I—”
“You know you’re just an adversary now, right?” Gojo interrupts. The words hit like a physical blow, you gasp, a tear slipping free and tracking down your cheek. “How could you?”
You drop your gaze, forcing air into your lungs, swallowing hard around the pressure in your throat.
“You’ll never know what it’s like” you begin, voice trembling helplessly, “to never hold someone. To never—never stroke someone’s hair—”
Your eyes flick briefly to Yuji, to that mop of pink hair so reminiscent of Sukuna’s. He offers you a small, gentle smile. You drop your eyes again before you continue.
“T-to never hold someone’s hand. To never hear someone’s heart beneath your ear. To never kiss someone. To never—have someone touch you.”
Your chest tightens painfully as the words spill out.
“Before Sukuna… even when I was injured, no one would touch me. If I was sick, no one would help me. If I tripped, I fell, no one caught me. If I cried… no one held me.” Your voice fractures further with each sentence. “I was so lonely.”
Nanami’s jaw clenches harder, his hands curling into fists.
“I just wanted someone to love me” you finish quietly, shoulders sagging in defeat.
Your breathing is the only sound left, ragged, shuddering breaths dragged through a painfully tight throat.
“We will have to face each other” Gojo says softly. “Across a battlefield. Someday.”
A sob rips free from you before you can stop it. You clutch at your chest desperately, willing the pain to stop.
“I’d kill myself before I ever hurt any of you” you gasp hoarsely. “I swear.”
“What about Sukuna then?”
You swallow. “I’d kill myself before I ever hurt him either.” You admit, pausing for a moment. “I love him.”
They all freeze, as if the thought of someone loving the King of Curses was absurd.
You shake your head, stepping back, tears dripping freely now.
“I need to go. He might return soon. I don’t want you hurt.”
“Wait” Yuji says suddenly, stepping forward. “Is this it? Is this goodbye?”
“Yes” you whisper. “My sweet Yuji.”
He looks down, thinking, really thinking, then lifts his eyes again. “Can I hug you?”
Your heart shatters.
“I don’t care if you take some of my life” he adds softly. “I just… really want to hug you. At least once.”
“Yuji, that’s unsaf—” Nanami interjects, but Yuji continues.
“Please.”
You break, pulling him into your arms, one hand burying itself immediately in his soft hair as your body shakes with sobs. You cling to him, desperately, greedily, trying to ignore the familiar pull, the quiet siphoning of life slipping from him into you.
You try to fight it, slow it, take as little as possible. But fear claws at you, you push him away before it’s too late.
“Thank you” you breathe, looking at all of them, each one of them, trying to imprint their faces into your memory.
Nanami nods.
Gojo doesn’t move.
“Stay safe.” You breathe.
Then you run.
You turn and flee, forcing distance between yourself and everything you’v ever loved. It hurts, like your heart is being torn from you, but you know being alone forever would hurt more.
You don’t realise how far you’ve run until you slam headfirst into something solid.
An immovable force.
You bounce back and hit the ground with a startled groan, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs. When you manage to look up, blinking through tears, you’re met with the sight that steadies and destroys you all at once, four familiar crimson eyes, blazing and alive, fixed entirely on you.
“Did they hurt you?” he mutters, already looking past you, gaze lifting toward the direction you’d just fled from. His jaw is tight, muscles bunching beneath his skin like he’s seconds from tearing something apart. He must have known. Maybe he even brought you here on purpose, silently giving you the chance to see them one last time.
The realisation hits too hard.
A pathetic cry tears free from your chest, and you curl in on yourself instinctively, arms wrapping tight around your ribs as your breathing collapses into shallow, broken gasps. You hear him click his tongue in irritation, it’s not cruel, just helpless, before four hands close around your arms and haul you back to your feet with frightening ease.
“Stop snivelling” he growls.
“I can’t help it” you whine, voice thick and wrecked as you scrub angrily at your eyes with the backs of your hands. “They mean as much to me as you do.”
“So I heard” he grunts. You lift your gaze to him then, eyes glassy, tears clinging stubbornly to your lashes. For a brief moment, he meets your eyes, and something raw flickers there before he looks away sharply, as if the sight of your face is more than he’s willing to endure.
“I won’t ask you to hurt them” he says coolly. “Just as I won’t ask you to die for me either.”
The words are measured, almost careless in tone, but you hear what’s buried beneath them. The restraint. The promise. The impossible mercy you’d never dared to dream of.
You step forward without thinking, closing the distance and slipping your arms around his impossibly wide waist. You hold him hard, desperately, clinging like you’re afraid he might disappear if you loosen your grip. Any normal man would have hissed in pain.
But he doesn’t.
“I see my little leech is back” he scoffs, though the insult lacks bite. A hot hand settles against your back, not pulling you closer, but not pushing you away either.
“Shut up” you mutter, giving his back a light, frustrated punch before tightening your hold again, pressing your face briefly against his chest. “Can you take me home?” you ask softly.
He exhales through his nose.
“Yeah” he says after a beat, turning slightly. “…Come on, leech.”
And for all his gruffness, for all the sharp edges he refuses to soften, he lets you stay exactly where you are, arms wrapped around him as he takes you away with him.
Again, not proofread and written in about 2 hours, but I hope you enjoyed a little slice of fluffy sadness.
smut idea, bottom male reader. A/B/O. Alpha! Reader who gets roomed with one of the most sought out alpha on campus, Hong Rui. He’s cool with everyone but you it seems. You try to push past the weirdness until you realize your body is changing into an omega… and it’s all Hong Rui’s fault.
The whole alpha or omega thing doesn’t matter to you in comparison to others. You don’t prescribe to the stereotypes of alphas or the ways you must act. You did whatever you wanted. While everyone liked to believe they were open minded—there was still a sense of rigidity in societal expectations.
And you didn’t give a shit.
People would often think you were a beta. Betas were allowed freedom in comparison to everyone else. Betas were rare as well but were great for societal balance. Both of your parents were betas so it’s perhaps why you acted differently compared to most alphas.
So in turn—you were a bit of an outcast. Especially when you were younger. It was only in recent years that people reacted more openly towards you. Perhaps due to omegas gaining more power in the world.
But you still had people (mostly other alphas to be honest) who were weirdly angry with how you acted. It wasn’t like you acted like an omega, you just didn’t adhere to their rigid masculinity.
Hong Rui was no different.
When you found out he was your roommate—you were surprised. One because you thought a rich kid like him wouldn’t want to room in student dorms. And also because you’ve never spoken to him before despite knowing him since middle school.
You were excited. Finally, maybe you two could become friends?
Except when you went into your shared apartment and held out your hand, he looked at you like you were dirt on his shoes and walked away.
Asshole.
So things weren’t okay.
Luckily the apartment allowed you both to have your own room so you didn’t have to deal with seeing him. It was awkward whenever you two accidentally bumped into the other. Didn’t help there was only one shared bathroom.
You believed that he must’ve hated you because you didn’t act like a ‘real’ alpha. Hong Rui was everything an alpha should be. Loved by all of the omegas. Strong, athletic, sexy. Rich most importantly.
It didn’t matter at the end of the day. You just tried to continue on with your life. Being a freshman in college wasn’t easy. Especially as a biology major.
The stress of your exams took over that you didn’t notice you weren’t having your ruts until it happened for a third time. Strange. Very strange.
If you were an omega missing your heat, you’d assume you were pregnant. As an alpha, you assumed you were about to die. So you rushed to the hospital.
“Ah. oh… you’re turning into an omega, haha. Don’t know how, it’s irreversible. Your first heat is next week, bye, get birth control.” The doctor said nonchalantly as if this has happened before.
“Excuse me?!”
“What? It must be planned yes? Your body isn’t rejecting the transformation at all. It’s going quite smoothly actually.”
“Wait how does that even work?!”
“Through stimulation. An alpha just treats another alpha like an omega. Through scent marking, biting of the gland, or knotting.”
“Uh… but—”
“Your alpha must be a dominate one… I’ve never seen a bitching happen without the need of medical intervention. Hm, would you mind if we run a few tests? I have a study on bitched alphas and you would be a great new—”
You left before he could finish his sentence. This didn’t make any sense. Bitched alphas weren’t totally rare but certainly hard to achieve. Alpha x alpha relations were only now being viewed without distain.
Alphas and omegas existed with subclasses in them. Dominant, regressive, and submissive. Regressive meant you were essentially close to a beta. Most people were just a regular alpha or omega. Only 1 out of 1,000 people had a subclass within them.
Hong Rui was one of the best alphas… him being a dominate wouldn’t shock you. But that didn’t explain how you were turning into an omega. Was he scenting you secretly?!
Until you thought for a second…
Hong Rui practically scents you all the time.
You hadn’t noticed before because you really genuinely didn’t care about the whole alpha-omega hierarchy.
Once per day, Hong Rui would somehow find time to just stand near you. He wouldn’t speak to you or even look at you. He’d just stand near by you as his scent filled the room before leaving as if satisfied. You assumed he was just marking his territory at the apartment but now it seemed as if he was making sure his scent clung to you.
Other times, he’d brush against your scent gland. A scent gland was an intimate spot on someone’s neck. Most alphas would react violently to being touched by another alpha.
But you would just giggle because you were ticklish.
“Crap… what am I gonna tell mom and dad…” you muttered to yourself. Most alphas would be freaking out but you were just wondering how to buy birth control.
Did this mean you have a womb or something?
Interesting.
In any case, you needed to tell Hong Rui to leave the apartment next week so you could spend your heat alone.
兔兔 — hey, Hong Rui, can you spend the week at someone else’s house? Thanks
好看的傻子— ? Why?
兔兔 — just find somewhere to go, dang! I leave whenever you have a rut, so you do the same!!
好看的傻子— ????
When you made it to the apartment, Hong Rui and a friend of his were on the couch in the living room. The friend, Wu Ken, if you remembered correctly were talking. It was about you.
“He just asked you to leave?” Wu Ken asked. “He’s probably having his heat then.”
“His heat?” Hong Rui spoke with a weird sense of fear. “Do you think he’ll spend it with someone one?”
“Uh, probably? I doubt he’s a virgin…”
“He’s not?!”
“Uhm. Rui, you can’t be this— huh? It smells sweet.” Wu Ken suddenly turned to your direction, his eyes wide. He stood up from the couch and stepped towards you. “Did you always smell this sweet?”
“Huh?” You raised an eyebrow. “No, I’m wearing pheromone blockers.” You sniffed at your clothes, not sensing the sweetness Wu Ken was smelling. “Are you smelling something—?” You’re pushed against the wall, hands gripping your shoulders tightly.
Wu Ken’s pupils are dilated. He didn’t look as if he was lucid anymore. Like an alpha being controlled by the intoxicating scent of an omega. “You—”
But before he could really do anything, he’s unceremoniously cuffed by the back of his neck, and tossed outside of the apartment. Hong Rui slams the door shut and turns to face you.
“He’s dominant so he’s sense of smell is better than others.” Hong Rui said without any sense of urgency. “I didn’t know you still had heats I thought you were on suppressants.”
“Hah?” You stared at him in confusion. “I’ve never been on suppressants. I’m an alpha! Or I was… now the doctor said I’m turning into an omega.”
“What? But… you smell the same to me.”
“…..”
“…..?”
“Hong Rui, explain yourself. Why have you been scenting me so much?
“Oh. Ah, I scented you so other alphas could leave you alone. And… I like making you smell like me. I’ve been doing it for awhile now.”
“Awhile now…?”
“….since middle school.”
You blinked. “I—? How haven’t I noticed??”
“Well you don’t really pay attention to people’s scents or anything dealing with subgenders really. You act like a beta. But I still don’t understand, you weren’t an omega this entire time?”
“No!!!! The doctor said you’ve been bitching me!!”
Hong Rui smiled sheepishly. “But I would have to be doing that intentionally. I’ve just been scenting you regularly.”
“Why?”
“Oh, I like you. Since middle school.” He confessed easily. “I tried leaving you alone since you rejected me that first time but I wanted to try again after waiting a few years. So I had my mom pay the school to let me room with you, sorry.”
“You confessed to me before???”
“Yeah…. (Name), how unaware of alpha-omega courting are you? I’ve been courting you for two months now.”
You thought your brain was going to short circuit. “Wait but that doesn’t explain why you thought I was an omega this entire time! Do you not smell me?”
“I do. But maybe I’ve been smelling something else, like the omega scent deep within you. I do have a stronger sense of smell as an enigma. So—”
“—excuse me?”
“Hm?”
“Enigma…? You’re not an alpha?”
“…… I told you this before?! How did you forget?”
Things were not right.
1. You were now an omega
2. Hong Rui thought you were always an omega
3. Hong Rui has a crush on you (??????)
4. Hong Rui is an enigma?!
Smut sneak peak:
1.
“Don’t you think this is weird?” You muttered, frowning slightly. You were turning into an omega—or at least sort of? The doctor mentioned people would still smell an alpha musk off you unless they were a dominant alpha or an enigma. But enigmas are rare, really rare, like 1 in 3 million rare.
Just your luck one had a crush on you since middle school.
“No I don’t think so.” Hong Rui said, his eyes focused on your legs. More so what’s between your legs. You were dripping slick, the wet substance dripping onto the bedsheets beneath you.
“Of course you don’t think so, weirdo. You wanted this to happen.” You weren’t mad about being an omega, not at all. Just weirded out at the new functions of your body. “But you’re weird naturally too, being an enigma and stuff.”
Hong Rui hummed and didn’t seem to care that you were insulting him. He was so different when it came to you—especially now after your body officially took his scent claiming. His hand reached out and gently pried open your legs, your body flinching from his touch.
“I’ve always thought you were an omega so it’s nothing new.” His hands slowly slid down and gripped your ass, gently pulling them, allowing your asshole to stretch open. More slick gushed freely. “It probably tastes really good.”
“Gross.” You tried to sound disgusted at his words but your cock twitched. You sighed softly and leaned back on the mountain of pillows Hong Rui collected to cushion you.
His finger slowly traced the rim of your asshole, gently threatening to slip inside the tight wet heat. You groaned, biting your bottom lip as you watched him. To think you were letting him do this without any fight. A guy who you could essentially blame this new biological reality for.
“Don’t tease me so much…”
Hong Rui didn’t respond. His gaze focused solely on the beautiful sight in front of him. It was different from any sort of wet dream he had before. He leaned forward and tentatively licked your puckered hole.
You gasped, glancing down at him in shock. “Hong Rui, don’t lick me, it’s dirty.” His eyes were the only thing you could see. He pulled away just a bit for you to see the small smirk on his lips.
“Nothing about you is dirty.” He licked his lips.
“Besides, I was right. It tastes really good.”
2.
“You don’t get it, you never will.”
You never expected Hong Rui of all people to lose his cool. To publicly claim you in front of all his friends. To boldly declare his enigma status in front of almost the entire school. All because someone expressed interest in you. It was just an alpha. You didn’t understand why.
You weren’t interested in alphas. Even as you were becoming more like an omega—you didn’t feel any attraction to them. Or anyone really but Hong Rui.
“Rui,” you muttered, staring up at him. His hands caged you down in the bed. But you didn’t feel afraid. Quite the opposite. For some reason you were into his weird display of dominance. The way he moved you around like it was nothing despite there not being a big height difference between you two.
“I forced it on you, didn’t I?” He sighed. “I got too excited. You probably weren’t interested in me anyway.” He moved to pull away but you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him back.
“You didn’t. But are you really going to pull away?” You whispered, hands pulling up your shirt. His eyes immediately focused on your waist, the way your pants were hanging low on your hips. “When I’m so close to my heat…? Should I just go back to Wang Pei? Maybe he’s still interested—”
Hands suddenly grabbed your thighs, hands sinking into the soft flesh, making a mark into your skin. He forcibly pushed them before he grabbed your pants—tugging it off with a single pull. Teeth immediately nipped at your thighs.
“Wang Pei? I don’t want you saying another man’s name in my presence ever again, Gu (Name).” Hong Rui’s voice was harsh. “Do you really think any alpha can just touch you without any consequences?”
You shuddered from his touch. “No. Because deep down, you’re more possessive than you look. Stop holding back.”
“Stop holding back? Do you know what you’re asking for?”
“Mhm. I’m asking for my enigma to show me what he’s really feeling inside. I saw it earlier… but I want to see it again.”
“You’re on contraception, right?” He suddenly asked, momentarily confusing you.
“Uh, yeah. Why—?” A gasp left your throat as you felt the tip of a thick cock pressing inside of you. You hadn’t even noticed he pulled down his pants.
“Because this time… I’m going to fuck you how I really want to.”
Heh…. As an apology for suddenly disappearing on y’all… full fic? Yay or nay?
Don’t worry, next fic is gonna be my first A/B/O fic that I did with Gu Xiaowen. Just had to finish up finals before I could come back to yall.
listen!! hear me out!! nerdy!male reader, we tlaking doing super complicated equations withing seconds in his head typa smart, and he got tattoos/piercing, but they are always covered up, i wanna know, jasons reaction to seeing this needy man undressed plsplspls
the nerd has.. what?
jason todd x nerdy male reader
contains: slow burn (barely), dom jason, sub + vocal male reader, jason likes playing with male reader’s nipple piercings, blowjob, ass eating, handjob, male reader makes a mess of himself with his cum whoops!
wc: 2.9k+
Jason first noticed it during a lecture that was supposed to be painfully boring.
You’d solve problems in seconds while everyone else groaned. You’d correct the professor—politely, quietly—when he slipped up. You filled your notebooks with neat, cramped writing and symbols Jason couldn’t even pretend to understand. And Jason, naturally, starts sitting closer just to tease you for it.
Not obviously. Jason Todd doesn’t hover. But somehow, over the next few weeks, his seat migrates until he’s always a chair or two away from you. Close enough to hear the scratch of your pen. Close enough to see that your notebooks are filled edge-to-edge with dense writing—equations stacked like architecture, arrows and notes squeezed into margins like they’re racing for space.
Sometimes he’d flick your notebook closed or lean over your shoulder just to mess with you. “Careful,” he’d add, smirking. “Keep this up and people are gonna start stuffing you in lockers.”
You’d roll your eyes, lips twitching like you were holding back a smile. “You’re the only one who cares.”
That was true. Jason cared way more than he let on.
The teasing didn’t have any real bite to it. He wasn’t mocking you—hell, half the time he sounded impressed despite himself. And when you weren’t around, his thoughts had a nasty habit of drifting.
He’d catch himself wondering what you looked like under all those layers. You were always covered up: hoodies, long sleeves, high collars, jeans that never showed skin. It made his imagination work overtime. He pictured you slimmer than him, all smooth and unmarked skin, no scars, no rough edges. The complete opposite of himself.
It messed with him more than he liked.
Jason would lie on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Of all the things to fixate on, it had to be the quiet guy who solved equations in his head and dressed like he was allergic to showing skin. He imagined your hands—quick, precise—resting against bare skin instead of paper and ink. Imagined how awkward you might be about it, how flustered.
He’d scoff to himself. “Get it together,” he’d mutter.
Then the next day, he’d be back in class, nudging your knee with his boot.
“Hey, nerd,” he’d say, voice easy, familiar. “Wanna dumb that down for the rest of us?”
You glance at the board. Once. Maybe twice.
“Um, It’s easy though,” you say.
“You didn’t even write anything down.”
You hesitate, then shrug. “I already worked it out earlier. It’s… kind of hard to un-see once you get it.”
Jason snorts softly. “That is the nerdiest thing I’ve ever heard.”
You’d sigh, turning toward him, and Jason would feel a stupid twist in his chest. Because yeah, he teased you.. but every time you looked at him, his heart would skip a beat.
He wanted more of that.
༶•┈┈୨୧┈┈•༶
Jason started finding excuses to stick around.
Group study sessions he didn’t need. Sitting beside you instead of his usual spot more often. Walking with you out of lecture even when his route home was the opposite direction. He told himself it was convenience. Anything but what it actually was.
One afternoon, you were scribbling furiously in your notebook while the TA talked, brow furrowed in concentration. Jason leaned over, chin propped on his hand.
“You ever think about taking a break?” he asked. “Like, for your own health?”
You didn’t look up. “I am relaxed.”
“Pipsqueak,” he said, tapping the edge of your page, “you’re doing differential equations for fun.”
That finally got you to glance at him, unimpressed. “You’re the one watching me.”
Jason smirked, but it felt a little too close to the truth. “Hard not to. You make the rest of us look bad.”
You closed your notebook at last and stretched—arms over your head, hoodie riding up just a fraction before you tugged it back down. Jason looked away a second too late, heat crawling up his neck over something that minor.
“Why do you care so much?” you asked, genuinely curious. No accusation. Just honest.
Jason shrugged. “Guess I like knowing what’s going on.”
“Liar.”
He barked out a laugh. “Okay, yeah. Maybe I just like giving you a hard time.”
Your mouth curved into a small smile, softer than the ones you gave other people. “You’re bad at it.”
That stuck with him.
Jason glaced down to watch your hands. Long fingers. Ink smudged faintly along the side of one knuckle. Clean. Unscarred.
“You know,” he said quietly, “it’s kinda unfair.”
“What is?”
“You make being a nerd look… cool.” He winced immediately. “Okay, not cool. But—” He gestured vaguely. “Impressive.”
You blinked, clearly not expecting that. “That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
There was a beat of silence.
“Jason,” you said, hesitant. “Why do you always sit next to me?”
He didn’t joke this time. He just looked at you, really looked at you, and for once the answer didn’t feel like something he could dodge.
“…Guess I don’t mind being outsmarted,” he said. “Long as it’s you.”
Your ears went pink. Jason noticed. Of course he did.
And for the first time, he thought maybe you were thinking about him too.
༶•┈┈୨୧┈┈•༶
Jason and you had grown closer without even really realizing it. Library sessions stretched into hours, sometimes ending with you sprawled across his bed at the manor, hoodie pulled even tighter around you, laptop open, solving problems while he lounged nearby, scrolling on his phone or tossing a pen absentmindedly.
You’d returned the favor at your apartment, filling his ears with quiet explanations of things he pretended to understand, occasionally nudging him to look at a tricky solution.
Jason’s mind, however, was far from calm tonight. He couldn’t stop his imagination from wandering. What if we… slept together? he thought, heart thumping. Then I could finally see what’s under all those layers.
He hated that thought almost immediately. Embarrassed, mortified at how shameless it felt. But he couldn’t push it away entirely.
And of course, you noticed.
“Jason,” you said while sprawled across the floor in his room, a complicated problem scribbled across multiple sheets of paper, “why are you staring at me like that?”
Jason froze, trying to act casual, because surely nothing was showing. “Staring? What? I’m not staring.”
You tilted your head, squinting. “You are. You’ve been doing that lately. What are you thinking?”
“Nothing,” he muttered, shifting slightly in a way that, if you were paying attention, was definitely not nothing.
But you weren’t done. Oh no. You leaned a little closer, puppy-eyed, voice softer than usual but dripping with a little needy insistence. “Come on, Jason. Tell me. I won’t judge. I just… I feel like you’re hiding something.”
He swallowed hard, blinking at the floor, panting a little in his own mind. “I’m not hiding anything. Seriously. Just… thinking about the problem.”
Your eyes narrowed, unconvinced. “The problem, huh?”
“Really, it’s nothing,” he repeated, voice firmer this time, though his hands twitched slightly on his knees. “Just… focus on your homework.”
You huffed, “Uh-huh.”
And yet, if you were paying really close attention, you might have noticed that some things—like the way his pants hugged him as he shifted in his seat—were definitely saying otherwise.
Instead, he leaned back, muttering under his breath. You just smiled, scribbling another line of equations, completely unbothered… for now.
But Jason? He was very, very bothered.
A few hours later, the chaos of notebooks and textbooks had finally died down. You were no longer sprawled on the floor, instead you were perched on Jason’s bed, legs crossed and on your phone for once. The soft glow of his desk lamp made the room feel smaller, more intimate.
Jason had been watching you for a while, pretending to scroll through his phone, but the tension in his chest had built up enough.
Finally, he threw the phone onto the bed beside him, sitting up straighter, trying to look casual. He failed spectacularly. “Alright,” he said, voice rougher than he intended. “I can’t… I can’t keep pretending anymore.”
You glanced up, notebook paused, an eyebrow raised. “What do you mean?”
Jason ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “I mean… I’ve been thinking about you.”
His eyes locked on yours, a mix of embarrassment and desperation. “Like… what it would be like to—God, I don’t know, see you naked?”
The air between you thickened instantly. You were quiet for a moment, nibbling on your bottom lip. Then, quietly you asked, “Do… do you want to see?”
He suddenly swallowed hard, voice tight. “What?”
You nodded slowly, cheeks flushed, eyes cast downward. “I.. I’m probably not at all what you imagined. You’re probably wrong about… everything.”
Jason’s heart jumped. He’d imagined every possibility a hundred times, but hearing you say it out loud, sitting there on his bed.. it was like reality was catching up with every daydream he’d ever had.
“Okay,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Uh, okay… if you’re sure then go ahead.”
You stood up to take off your hoodie, then your shirt underneath, the motions deliberate but still shy. Removing your pants was harder, you fumbled and kicked them off awkwardly, leaving yourself standing in only boxers.
Your skin wasn’t bare like he imagined—tattoos snaked across your torso and arms, each one unexpected. His gaze locked on the one just above your v-line, bold and obvious, and heat shot straight to his crotch.
And then he noticed the subtle glint of metal at your chest: fucking nipple piercings. His jaw went slack, and for a second he couldn’t even form words.
You swallowed at his reaction, cheeks pink, shrugging shyly. “T- Told you… probably wrong about everything.”
Jason didn’t say anything. In fact, his eyes kept roaming, taking in the rest of you. You weren’t scrawny—not in the way he feared. Smaller than him, yes, but there was muscle under all those layers, the kind of body that was soft in some places but hard in others.
His mind scrambled, trying to reconcile the shy, quiet nerd he knew in class with the inked, pierced guy standing in front of him.
“Wow,” was all he could say, voice barely above a whisper. “Just… wow.”
You gave him a nervous smile, still shifting slightly, still trying to cover yourself.
Jason’s hands twitched at his sides. His mind raced, his heart thumping in ways he couldn’t control. He hadn’t been ready for this, not at all, and yet… he couldn’t look away.
His eyes flicked down, and he noticed the subtle strain in your boxers. Your shyness radiated from you like heat, shoulders hunched slightly as if you were trying to disappear.
You were quiet now, shifting your weight nervously under his gaze, biting your lip.
Jason’s mouth widened into a grin. He leaned back on the bed, casual but deliberate, giving you just enough room to feel the tension without letting you escape it.
“You’re… really something, you know that?” he said, voice low, playful, with just the faintest edge that made you flinch.
You swallowed hard, trying to avert your eyes, fumbling with the hem of your boxers like it would somehow cover the obvious. “I—I’m not… I’m just…”
Jason let out a low chuckle, reaching a hand toward you but stopping just short. “Yeah, I can see that,” he said, tone suggestive, letting the silence hang heavy for a moment.
You looked up, eyes meeting his, and that was all it took to know: whatever happened next wasn’t going to be just studying.
༶•┈┈୨୧┈┈•༶
You nervously eased yourself onto his bed, legs dangling over the edge, hands gripping the sheets on either side of your thighs, boxers clinging tightly to that straining bulge.
Jason chuckles as he knelt in front of you, reaching out to palm your erection through the fabric. He can feel how hard and embarrassed you are.
He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your boxers and tugs them down. Your aching cock springs free..
Jason’s eyes suddenly widen as he notices the shiny metal piercing decorating the underside of your cock, just below the head. You whimpered at his reaction.
“Fuck.. a frenulum piercing? You keep surprising me.” He murmurs as he wraps a large, calloused hand around the shaft, stroking it at a steady pace.
“Ah-!” You squeaked, back already starting to ache.
When Jason takes you in his mouth, sloppy and wet and eager, his head bobbing in a stuttering rhythm. The cool metal of your piercing contrasts deliciously with the heat of his tongue as he swirls it around the sensitive flesh.
"Stay," Jason suddenly warns when he notices you leaning forward to grab his hair.
"Jason, please, I—"
"Stay.” He repeats himself, slightly more insistent, sending a shiver up your spine.
Soon enough, muffled sounds of slurping and sucking fill the room as he services you skillfully, his head moving faster up and down your throbbing cock. Occasionally, he pulls back to flick his tongue teasingly over your piercing, sending jolts of pleasure racing through you.
You cried out, hips jerking desperately into his mouth as your face flushes even more. “I- it feels so good. Let me— ngh!”
He pulls back momentarily, his lips popping off the head of your dick with a lewd sound.
"You’re so loud. Someone’s gonna hear you." He grins, stroking your slick cock faster, his grip tighter.
“Sorry.. I’ll be quiet— A- Ah, I’ll try..”
Just to mess with you, Jason leaned down and swirled his tongue around the sensitive crown of your cock, roughly flicking it against your frenulum piercing. You let out a shaky noise. He grinned wider.
“H- Haa!” You gasped loudly as he dived back down, taking your cock deep into the tight, wet heat of his mouth. He starts to suck you with wild abandon, his head bobbing up and down your shaft.
“M- Mmhn! Ah!” You whined, throwing your head back and desperately trying to shut your legs. The feeling was so overstimulating.
He glanced up at you and practically smirked at your thighs beginning to clamp tightly around his head. It didn’t bother him at all, in fact it was cute. Plus, he was stronger anyways.
His mouth didn’t falter at all when he slipped his hands under your knees and forced your legs wide open, holding them up. He takes your even cock deeper, until the head bumps against the back of his throat and his nose is buried in your pubic hair. He swallows around you and continues to watch your face.
It’s so fucking cute. Your face is so pink and sweaty, your eyes are wide and wet with tears, those damp lips parted and panting.
He pulled back from your slick cock with another lewd pop, his lips glossy with your pre-cum. “I can tell you’re about to cum. I’m not letting that happen yet so lay down.”
You gulped nervously and listened. With that, Jason leans in, his hot breath wafting over your winking hole. He extends his tongue and drags the flat surface of it over your entrance, tracing the delicate ring of muscle, making you shiver.
“Mmph, fuck... you taste so good.” He murmurs appreciatively before diving in, his tongue probing and pushing against your entrance insistently.
“N- Nngh..” You groaned softly, all the pleasure going to your still-hard cock.
Jason starts to eat you out, his hands gripping your thighs tightly as he tongue-fucks you. He swirls and twists the smooth muscle, thrusting it deep into your hot, clenching hole. Your back formed a deep arch like it was allergic to the bed. Obscene slurping noises fill the room.
“O- Oh god.. Ah, f- fuuck..!” You cried out and squirmed, hips desperately grinding against his mouth.
He reaches a hand to stroke your dripping, neglected cock in time with the thrusts of his tongue, pushing you closer to the edge. He can feel your cock throbbing and pulsing in his grip, leaking pre-cum onto his calloused fingers.
“Please— I can’t.. s-so good.. gonna—!” You let out a needy noise, shortly turning into incoherent rambles. Your hips jerked as you clenched the sheets, your knuckles turning white.
He feels your asshole clenching desperately around his invading tongue. He pulls back just in time to watch your cock spurt ropes of cum onto your stomach and chest as you shake and cry.
"That's all it takes?” Jason chuckles, his voice dripping with amusement. He pumps your spent cock with rough, demanding strokes, squeezing out every last drop as you made small, whiny noises. You were so messy!
As your orgasm starts to subside, Jason stands up. The mere sight of your own cum covering your body, coating those tattoos made Jason want to lick it all up.
And he did.
He leans over you to lap at the mess strewn across your heaving chest. His tongue scoops up your cum and paints it across your skin, swirling and flicking his tongue over one of your nipple piercings. You shiver and let out a strangled hiss. He raised an eyebrow at your sensitive reaction.
He continues to play with your nipple piercing, his other hand coming up to pinch and rub the other. You let out a quiet moan at the pleasure-pain sensation. “T- That.. mhngh! Ahh..”
Jason’s teeth close around the metal bar, biting down just hard enough to make you gasp.
He finally releases the pierced nub, a string of saliva connecting his tongue to the glistening metal. He stepped back to admire his handiwork, taking in the delightful sight of you: flushed and embarrassed with tears, chest heaving, cock spent and smeared with cum, and your nipples pink and swollen from his ministrations.
“We should study more often, huh?”
“Um, I- I.. mnyes?” Your voice was shaky and slightly slurred as you sat up.
“Hm, pipsqueak? Come on, speak clearly. You’re supposed to be the smarter one.”
pairing: clark kent x male reader
summary: boredom hits hard in the workplace, why not bring clark into it?
tags: smut(mdni), exhibitionism, tie pulling, rimming, creampie, office sex, anal, (service?) top clark, bottom male reader
wordcount: 1.8k
the daily planet was alive with its usual symphony of chaos, phones ringing off the hook, keyboards clattering, and printers whining in protest. clark sat at his desk, glasses sliding down his nose, eyes locked on the glowing monitor as he reviewed an article about a downtown metropolis redevelopment. his brows knit together, lips pursed the way the always did when he was deep in thought. a light tap on his shoulder broke his focus. “hey,” clark turned, blinking up through his glasses to find you standing there, a teasing smile curling at your lips. “meet me at the water cooler,” you said simply, voice low enough that only clark could hear. before the reporter could ask why, you were already walking away, leaving him staring after you, half bewildered and already fighting the small, helpless smile tugging at his mouth.
with a quick save of his draft, clark stood, adjusting his glasses and loosening his tie just a smidge. he glanced around the bustling newsroom, perry was in his office yelling at someone on the phone, lois was deep in conversation with jimmy, and the rest of the staff was too buried in deadlines to notice anything. clark made his way to the water cooler, hands tucked into his pockets to hide the way his fingers twitched with anticipation. he leaned against the wall beside it, feigning casualness but his pulse was already kicking up.
“alright, what’s this about?” clark murmured, voice low, eyes flicking to you as he approached. you look around for a second, scouting the area, checking to see if anyone was around. when the coast was clear, without a second thought you pulled on clark’s tie before kissing his lips. clark’s breath hitched as you yanked him in, the sudden contact sent a jolt through him. his hands instinctively came up to your waist, gripping just tight enough to ground himself because god, the way you kissed him, like you owned him, like you didn’t care who could walk it, and it was maddening. a quiet, needy sound escaped his throat as he melted into it, his body already responding, heat pooling low in his stomach. his mind raced, the newsroom, anyone could see, perry’s office is right there, but the way your tongue teased against his lips, the possessive and unrelenting grip on his tie, had clark forgetting all about caution.
clark broke the kiss just long enough to whisper, breathless, “s-someone could—” before you pulled him back in, cutting him off. he groaned in reply, fingers flexing against your hips, his superhuman control fraying at the edges. he should stop this, he should, but then your teeth grazed his lower lip and all coherent though short-circuited. his body already leaning in for more. the thrill of being caught, the danger of it was intoxicating. and you knew it. “shut up, ‘m horny…” you pull even harder on his tie, his knees nearly buckled. the way your demand vibrated on his lips. a shiver ran down his spine, his body responding instantly, cock already half-hard in his slacks, pulse roaring in his ears.
his hands slide up your back, fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt as he let himself be manhandled, let you take control. the water cooler gurgled beside them, the distant hum of the newsroom fading into white noise as clark’s world narrowed to the heat of your mouth, the insistent press of his body. the way he gasped your name in between kisses, the way it came out as a wrecked whisper, it egged you own. “we can’t someone’s gonna—” but then you sink your teeth into his bottom lip, just hard enough to sting and his protest dissolved into a broken moan. clark’s hips jerked forward involuntarily, seeking friction, your own erection rubbing against his made you groan into his mouth. he should stop and pull away, but the way your hands were already slipping lower, fingers tracing the waistband of his slacks. it was all intoxicating. “no one’s gonna see us—fuck—they’re all busy, clark.” you grind on his thigh, letting the man feel the pressing weight of you. his hands tightened on your hips, fingers digging in just enough to bruise, not that you would mind, as his mind short-circuited between ‘this is reckless’ and ‘fuck, i want him so bad’.
a low and desperate sound escaped him as you rolled your hips again, the pressure of your arousal against him almost enough to make him forget they were in the middle of the daily planet newsroom, only a single partition separating them from getting caught. your mouth crashed back onto clark’s, swallowing any protest, his body betrayed him completely, his hips rocking up into the grind, his strength the only thing keeping them both upright. the distant clatter of keyboards and ringing phones felt a million miles away. right now, there was only you, the heat of you, the demand of your kiss, and the way your body moved like you owned clark. and god help him, clark let you.
“shh, no one will…fuck…” he continues to roll his hips on clark’s muscular thigh. a dark, wet spot forms on the tip of the bulge of his slacks, staining the kryptonian’s pants. “n-no one…” your breath started to come out in ragged gasps as you feel his entire body tense under you, the wet heat of your arousal seeping through the fabric. the sight of that dark spot spreading on his slacks sent a shameful and desperate thrill through him as his cock throbbed painfully in response. clark’s hands slid down to grip your ass, fingers flexing as he helped grind him down harder, his own hips jerking up in helpless, needy little thrusts. the friction was maddening, the risk of being caught making it all the more intoxicating. clark could hear the distant chatter, the occasional footstep passing bu, but none of it mattered. not when you were whimpering against his mouth, not when your scent—musky and desperate—filled clark’s senses. his free hand fumbled between them, thumb pressing on the wet spot on your slacks, rubbing in slow and teasing circles. “you’re gonna make me cum like this,” he groaned, his voice rough with need. “right here, in the middle of the—” a broken moan cut him off as your teeth grazed his ear, the promise of more sending him spiraling.
“‘m not done,” you hoist yourself up on the nearby table, hidden by the wall. you quickly unbuckle your belt before pulling down your pants in a swift motion, offering yourself up to clark like a sacrifice. “i need you…” your hands grip on your wrinkled and stained button up, pulling in up. your blazer spread out behind him like a sinful offering. oh god, this sight will be the death of clark. his breath stuttered in his throat as he takes in the sight of you spread out, half-undressed, and desperate hitting him like a freight train. his pulse roared ever louder in his ears, his cock aching painfully in his pants. his hands trembled as he stepped closer, body moving on autopilot. he shoulder stop. he should but then your hands curled around his tie again, yanking him forward, and any last shred of resistance crumbled.
clark’s hands landed on your thighs, thumbs brushing over the sensitive skin there, teasing, torturing. he dropped to his knees in front of him, the linoleum cold on his skin, but he barely noticed. all he could focus on was you, your scent, your taste, the way your cock twitched as he blew a hot breath. “you’re gonna kill me,” he muttered, his voice rough with need, before his tongue made contact with the rim of your hole, the muscle toying with your ass. his hands grip the globe of your cheeks to spread them further, letting him deeper inside you, tasting you. he savored the way your hips jerked, the way your breath hitched as he reaches further. to clark, there was only this, the taste of you, the way your fingers tangled in clark’s hair, the way your thighs trembled and tried to clench together. and clark? he was starving.
the sound of the table hitting the wall and the slick and obscene sounds of their bodies moving together drowned out screaming, copiers running, and heels clacking. you were lost in the pleasure, the way clark’s cock pulsed deep inside you. the bigger man’s hips met yours as you pull his tie harder. his body burned, the sting of the fabric biting into his neck, the tight, wet, heat of you clenching around him. his hands gripped your hips hard enough to leave bruises, his super strength barely restrained as he snapped his hips forward, burying himself deeper with a broken groan. clark could feel your pulse around him, could taste the salt of sweat of your lips as he crashed your mouths together again, swallowing your moans like they were your last breath. “gonna—can’t hold—” clark’s hips stuttered, his rhythm faltering as pleasure coiled tight in his gut. his entire body trembling with the effort to keep himself from losing it right then and there. but your nails raked down his back, your voice a filthy whisper in his ear, “then don’t.”, and something inside clark snapped. the garter of his self-control breaking after you stretched it for so long. with a harsh, desperate groan, he slammed his hips forward one last time, burying himself to the hilt inside the scorching and silken heat. his eyes rolls back, his body seizing as he exploded, his cock pulsing and jerking as it paint your insides white with his release.
at the same instant, his mouth crashed onto yours, swallowing the cry of his boyfriend as you tumbled over the edge yourself. the kiss was filthy, messy, a clash of teeth and tongue and the taste of coming undone, and clark drank it down like a starving man at a feast. you both clung to each other as the waves of pleasure crashed over you, leaving the both of you shaking and gasping in the aftermath. clark slumped forward and you leaned your head back on the hard table. your foreheads pressed against each other, your chests heaving in tandem as the world slowly swam back into focus. eventually, clark forced himself to stand, his legs shaky and his shirt rumpled, but his heart full. he tucked a strand of sweat-damp hair behind your ear, his thumb brushing over his cheek with a tenderness that was at odds with how they had just ravished each other. “that was—” clark began, his voice hoarse, his eyes searching yours. but he couldn’t find the words. there was no word big enough, strong enough, to describe what had just happened between them. all he could do was lean in and capture your lips in one last, searching kiss.
romaincrisis
areudirty
ellievsbear
dailybridgerton
