#kalel

Absolutely not though, due to your roomate Reese, is fucking another guy for the 3rd day in a row. She knew you enjoyed the comfort of your shared dorm, but sadly she takes everything you do for granted. You huffed out as you blew the single strand of frizzed hair away from your face. frustration swarmed you in red flames as you continued to type.

A few silent tables away, Professor Kent, Lane and Oslon sat discussing midterms for their students. Clark's hands covering his mouth as he chews and speaks. His classes midterm over creative writing. Lois' political science and Jimmy's over photography. Clark's view shifted from his co-workers to you for a split second. you waved, your face softening as you spotted one of your favorite professors.

Clark waved back as his pointer and middle waved up and down. his own little "old-man" wave as his students called it. Even though he was in his mid thirties and I twenty something and impaitent. One girl described it as his "daddy wave." which made you giggle out loud, causing Professor Kent to glare at you mid lecture over your assignment on "Write about your earliest memory... the one you've never told anyone." What seemed to be an easy assignment for you, seemed to be like the hardest one Kent has given all semester.

Groans and slight kicking could be heard as kent raised a hand in the air for silence. "You're attention please." he gruffed out, his eyes on you briefly before he overlooked the crowd. "Now, I want you to do this assignment with keeping in mind... it's worth 50% of your overall course grade. As this is your midterm before spring break in two weeks." The rest pf lectured carried on with the class doing rough outlines and planning. along with a loud "class dismissed!"

Here you were now, ever the teachers pet (as Reese called you) because you were getting a head start on the assignment, when it was due until the 13th of March. Your eyes crinkled in corners as you shifted focus onto your macbook once again. You barely noticed when the noise died down and checked the time. 5:41 pm. You stretched and grabbed your bag, as you saved and closed the rough outline to your midterm.

✧ Delta Krypton Phi, the jocks with big athletic energy and "legacy bros." Sigma Kael Nu, the academic nerds with secrectly the most powerful house on campus. Alpha Metroplis Sigma, mean girls central/elite with their old money and where everything is a competetion. Zeta Prometheus Tau, no one knows what they stand for but they throw the best house parties.

Your feet carried you to the apartment, you needed some quiet time to think and finish your draft. the silent click and turn of the lock lulled you into thr routine you've done nearly enough times. the smell of printer ink and coffee grounds immersed you when you stepped in, toeing your sneakers off in the progress. you let out a huff as you set your own keys down. "bingo." you muttered as you saw the set of keys hanging next to where you put yours.

"you're early..." he uttered, his glasses catching the low light of his kitchen, his back turned as he read whatever was in front of him. "problem professor?" you purred, as you made your way towards him. sliding in between him and the counter. His eyes looked over the rims of his glasses as he studied your face. "no." he snit. "I thought we agreed to see each other this weekend. It's Monday." his voice whispered as he set down the assignment.

your eyes shined like a baby doe's in the kitchen light. "Yes, but I wanted your critiques on my rough draft Clark." your voice moaned, your hands coming to grab his glasses. His hand stopped you, as he looked at you with that 'stern' look but really it was him trying to not give into you. "alright sweetheart, I'll look into it... you sure you didn't just miss me? you're always so needy you know?" you feigned hurt as your hand drew to your chest.

"Always needy?! WOW! The Clark Joseph Kent called me needy!" you pushed off the counter as you walked away. Clark's hand grabbed your wrist, sliding to your waist as he pulled you in. "I was just kidding sweetheart, no need to be upset." you wiggled out of his grasp, going to grab your laptop. "Here, Can you please look it over?" your voice pleaded as you clasped your hands together, praying. "okay." he huffed, he pushed his glasses back and focused.

"so?" you impunged, your voice soft. you titled your head to look at him, neck craning up. His adam's apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed, apple bitten into as he hummed. "Well... your intro is the hook. You gave me a foreshadowing moment within your writing. You pull people in without even trying." His eyes dropped to your mouth. "Much like right now." His eyes slowly clouding over with lust and his pupils blown so only the barest hint of blue could be seen.

"Is that so?" It wasn't a question, you knew exactly what you were doing. He set the apple down slowly, deliberate, like a man deciding something. The air shifted. His hand came up, thumb brushing your jaw before his fingers wrapped loosely around your throat, not squeezing, just.. reminding you they were there. "you like being told you're good at things, don't you?" His voice dropped an octave. Your breath caught.

"careful," he murmured, tilting your chin up further. "That little mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble." you swallowed, knowing you were playing with fire. "Maybe I want trouble." The corner of his lip pulled. He reached past you, fingers curling around the rope draped over the chair behind you. You hadn't even noticed it until now. "Then be a good girl," he said quietly, "and put your hands behind your back."

"His voice dropped low, almost a murmur your ear. "Smart girls still fall apart, you know." The rope was soft but firm where it looped your wrists above you, his knot he tied deliberate, tested twice. He stepped back to look at you and something in his expression made your stomach drop in the best way. "Daddy..." you started. "I know." He cut you off gently.

"You can handle it." His hands moved slowly at first, mapping every reaction, cataloguing you like you were something worth studying. And when you arched and whimpered he just smiled, unhurried, and started again from the beginning. "Please." the word fell out before you could stop it. "Please what?" Not a question. A lesson. Your wrists pulled against the rope instinctively. His eyes flicked up. "Say it properly, sweetheart."

"Please..." you tried again, wrists pulling agaisnt the rope uselessly. "use your words." His voice was infuriatingly calm. "You're my best student." Your face burned. "Please, daddy." The smile that crossed his face was slow and devastating. Like he'd been waiting all semester for exactly that. His hands smoothed uo your side, unhurried while your breathing came apart completely.

Every time you got close he'd pull back, read you like a page he'd already memorized, and start somewhere new. "You're doing so well." moments had felt like they passed. "Good Girl." The praise hit different when you were like this, Undone, wrists bound, completely at his mercy. He knew exactly what he was doing when he said it. Knew what it did to you.

He leaned in close, mouth near your ear. "you going to be good for me or are we going to have a problem?" Your voice came out smaller than intended, "Good." His hand came down on your soft cheeks flesh once, sharp, deliberate. "I didn't hear you." You swallowed hard. "I'll be good." His voice like steel moved you. "Prove it." The words landed somewhere low in your stomach. You knew what he wanted. You always knew.

That was the thing about him, he never had to spell it out. he'd trained you too well for that. You held his gaze and didn't look away. That was your answer. His smile was slow, satisfied. "There she is." The corner of his mouth curved. "Good girl." Twp words. That's all it took. Your whole body responded before your brain could catch up warmth spreading through your chest, your breath going shallow.

He pulled back just enough to look at you properly. Taking his time, like he had all night. He did. His eyes on you, like he had all the time in the world and you were going nowhere. (you weren't) "Tell me what you want," he said quietly. "And be specific." Your throat tightened, being specific was the hard part. He knew that, that's why he asked. "I want..." you started, then stopped. "Try again." No impatience. You exhaled slowly and made yourself say it. All of it.

Every word he'd been waiting for. Your voice came out quieter than you meant it to. "I want you to touch me. I want you to tell me I'm good. I want..." you paused, cheeks warm, "I want to make you proud daddy." The last words barley above a whisper, but he heard it. He always heard everything. His hand moved to your jaw, tilting your face up slowly. "Since you asked so nicely."

His other hand found your waist, pulling you in without rushing, making you feel every second of the wait you'd earned your way out of. "Eyes on me," he said quietly. "The whole time." His mouth found your neck first. Slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world and wanted you to feel exactly that. Your breath caught. "Good girl," he murmured against your skin "Stay still for me."

Your hands reached for him but you couldn't not when his knot was tight. So you kept them above you, he noticed. He always noticed. "That's it." His voice low, approving right at your ear. His hands moved slowly, giving you exactly what you'd asked for, making you earn every moment of it. "Tell me what you want." he said against your ear, low and unhurried once more.

The words came easier now. You'd already broken that wall open. His grip on your waist tighthened just slightly, rewarding the honesty before you'd even spoken. Waiting. Paitent. In control. He guided you back gently, his eyes never leaving yours. Every moment deliberate, every touch exactly where you needed it. You stayed present, stayed his, gave him everything he asked for without hesitation.

Afterwards, he pulled you close, his fingers threading slowly through your hair. "That’s my girl," he murmured softer now, less commanding, more reverent. "So good for me." But the urgency was gone. What remained was warmth.

Your breathing steadied against him, your cheek pressed to his chest as his hand continued its slow, absent strokes through your hair. He didn’t let go. Didn’t rush. Didn’t speak for a while.

When he finally did, it wasn’t praise it was quiet certainty. "You alright?" You nodded, too tired to form more than a hum. Safe. Heavy. Boneless in his arms. He pressed a kiss to your forehead. Lingering. Not possessive. Just there.

Moments later, he shifted carefully. "I may have overworked your legs," he said under his breath, almost amused with himself. "Let me fix that." The bathwater ran warm, steam curling through the room. He lifted you without ceremony, like something precious but familiar, lowering you into the heat.

"You know," he said quietly as he knelt beside the tub, rolling the tension from your calves with slow, practiced hands, "you’re going to make a good writer someday." You blinked at him, sleep tugging at your lashes. "You think so?"

"I know so." His tone sharpened slightly, professor and partner blending together. "And not because of us. Your work is yours. It always has been." That made you smile. "Well… relieved." He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your palm once, then again. "I’m serious. I wouldn’t trade this for anyone else."

You watched him for a long moment. "I just can’t wait to stop hiding." There it was. The real thing. The weight under the softness. He reached for the towel, draining the tub before wrapping you up and lifting you again, holding you close to his chest. "Soon." he said, more firmly this time. "Spring break. After that, you’re not my student anymore."

Not a warning. A promise. "No grades. No office hours. No pretending we don’t look at each other like that." Your heart stuttered at the way he said it — steady, deliberate. Planned.

He set you down gently on the edge of the bed and pulled one of his worn t-shirts over your head, helping your arms through like it was the most natural thing in the world. "Socks," you mumbled.

He huffed a quiet laugh. "Right. Can’t forget those." His glasses slipped down his nose as he tugged them onto your feet, shaking his head at himself. You watched him like he was something impossible.

"After spring break," he continued, softer now, "We’ll tell them. Not dramatically. Not recklessly. Just honestly." You searched his face. "You’re sure?"

"I’ve never been more sure of anything." That silenced the last of your doubts. You leaned forward, resting your damp head against his chest. "I love you," you whispered. His arms came around you instantly, solid and warm and real.

"I love you too," he said not playful, not teasing. Steady. “And when you walk across that stage in May, I’ll be clapping for you like everyone else.” A pause. "Just with better seats." You laughed weakly against him, already slipping toward sleep.