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socialobligation · 3 months ago

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love in the margins | t. iida

a short, slow-burn library romance, ft. one blueberry muffin, exactly zero jokes, and a boy who takes flashcards way too seriously. (4597 words)

you meet tenya iida under circumstances that can only be described as tragically collegiate: a peer-led study group in the furthest, quietest corner of the campus library, surrounded by half-dead fluorescent bulbs and the palpable despair of students on the brink of burnout.

it's the third week of the semester, and you're already floundering.

you hadn't intended to be. in theory, you were going to stay on top of things—read the chapters early, color-code your notes, maybe even start a study group of your own. but somewhere between sleep deprivation, an avalanche of discussion posts, and the mysterious black hole that is the university's online portal, you fell behind. hard.

introduction to public policy has been your academic nemesis from the start. the textbook reads like legal jargon swallowed a thesaurus. the professor talks in dense, circular metaphors. every quiz is a minefield of trick questions and ambiguous phrasing. you are, in every sense of the word, academically drowning.

so when a brightly colored flyer promising a "collaborative review session" caught your eye on the bulletin board outside the lecture hall, you didn't think twice. you showed up. desperate. caffeinated. terminally underprepared.

and now you regret everything.

the room smells like dry-erase markers and nervous sweat. a whiteboard at the front is covered in illegible graphs. someone has already spilled a latte on the floor. the guy leading the group talks fast and loud, his explanations full of buzzwords and gestures but lacking anything remotely useful. you suspect he's just regurgitating the study guide at a slightly faster pace.

the other students seem to agree.

one by one, they start to trickle out. a girl leaves with the excuse of "office hours." a guy mutters something about dinner. another just quietly packs up and disappears, not even bothering with a pretense.

by the end of the hour, only two people remain: you, clinging to a futile hope of salvaging your gpa... and him.

he sits across from you with the kind of posture that makes your back ache just looking at him. tall, composed, and absurdly polished—like someone who writes essays three days early and carries a spare pen in case someone forgets theirs. his navy-blue sweater is wrinkle-free. his glasses catch the dim library light. his notes are not just color-coded—they're thematically organized, annotated with footnotes and marginalia in tiny, immaculate handwriting.

he hasn't spoken once. he hasn't needed to.

he radiates competence like it's a moral obligation.

"you're still here?" you ask, more surprise than judgment.

the boy looks up, blinking as if surfacing from a well of deep concentration. he adjusts his glasses with a practiced motion.

"yes," he says, voice clipped and oddly formal. "you are as well."

you arch an eyebrow. "no offense, but... are you actually getting something out of this?"

his expression doesn't change, but he tilts his head slightly—almost like he's assessing you.

"of course," he replies. "engaging in structured group review enhances cognitive retention and contextual understanding. it's an effective method for consolidating knowledge prior to a high-stakes assessment."

you blink. "so... yes?"

he doesn't hesitate. "yes."

you snort—audibly. it escapes before you can stop it. and to your surprise, a faint smile flickers across his mouth.

"i'm tenya iida," he says, extending a hand across the table with the kind of precision reserved for formal introductions at university mixers.

you stare at his hand for a moment, then take it. his grip is warm. steady. confident in a way that makes you sit up a little straighter.

"y/n," you say.

his smile grows just slightly. "it's a pleasure to meet you, y/n."

he releases your hand and immediately pulls out a second set of flashcards from his folder. of course he has a second set.

"would you like to quiz each other?" he asks, dead serious. "alternating questions could be a mutually beneficial method of review."

you stare at him.

he stares back.

something about him—the earnestness, the posture, the complete and utter lack of sarcasm—disarms you. it's like he's the living embodiment of academic sincerity. you're not sure whether to laugh or agree.

you do both.

"...sure."

you don't know it yet, but that's the beginning.

⋆˚✿˖°

you don't plan on seeing him again.

it's not personal. it's just that study groups are the social equivalent of jury duty—temporary, miserable, and best forgotten. you assume tenya iida is one of those hyper-dedicated overachievers who only exist within the academic ecosystem. he probably recedes into a cloud of flashcards and moral fiber as soon as the library closes.

you are, however, proven categorically wrong the following wednesday at exactly 8:03 a.m.

you enter the campus café half-awake, mildly hostile, and fully dependent on the idea of caffeine as a substitute for sleep. the plan is simple: grab something with enough espresso to make your eye twitch, stare blankly at your phone for fifteen minutes, and pretend the crushing weight of institutional learning isn't slowly hollowing you out from the inside.

but fate—or perhaps syllabus-based divine intervention—has other plans.

because when you step inside, there he is.

same posture. same glasses. same stupidly crisp button-down like it didn't just come out of someone's laundry but graduated magna cum laude from it. he's seated at a table by the window, surrounded by highlighters arranged like soldiers, reading the textbook that has been your personal tormentor since week one.

and next to his coffee?

a single blueberry muffin.

you hesitate, caught in that weird space where it's too late to pretend you didn't see him, but also too awkward to walk past without acknowledging him.

before you can make a decision, he looks up—and smiles.

not just a polite, "ah yes, i recognize you" smile.

a real smile. brief, but sincere. like he's actually glad you're here.

he waves you over.

you hate how quickly your legs respond.

"didn't expect to see you here," you say as you slide into the seat across from him, instantly aware of how tired you look in comparison to his perfectly combed hair and terrifying punctuality.

"i study here most mornings," he replies. "the ambient noise level is consistent, and the natural lighting is optimal for focus."

you blink. "that is... alarmingly specific."

he inclines his head. "i find that consistency breeds productivity."

you want to tease him, but the truth is, it's kind of admirable. alarming. but admirable.

he gestures to the pastry between you.

"would you like half?" he asks. "it's fresh. and i believe we have, at this point, established a cordial enough rapport to justify the sharing of breakfast items."

you stare at him.

"do you always offer muffins to people you've only studied with once?"

he doesn't even flinch. "only when they look tired enough to deserve one."

your mouth twitches.

"you've been saving that line, haven't you."

he looks mildly offended. "no. though i could annotate it in my planner if you'd like."

you laugh—genuinely this time—and accept the muffin. it's warm, sweet, and annoyingly perfect. just like him.

you don't pull out your flashcards. not immediately. you sit there in companionable silence, splitting the muffin and sipping your drinks like it's something you've always done. like this is normal.

you tell yourself this isn't a date. obviously.

it's too early in the day for romance. you're both clutching textbooks like weapons. he hasn't even made a single joke. (you're not sure he knows how.)

and yet—

when he leans in to show you a section he highlighted—carefully annotated with footnotes and marginal notes that are somehow neater than your typed essays—your shoulders brush. you don't pull away.

he doesn't, either.

later, you realize that you don't even remember what chapter you reviewed.

but you remember the sound of his voice as he quietly explained it. the way he passed you the last bite of muffin without saying anything. the way his fingers curled ever so slightly when he set his pen down between you.

you remember thinking, with a strange flutter in your chest: this could be something.

not yet.

but maybe.

⋆˚✿˖°

you tell yourself this is still just about school.

you repeat it like a mantra as you meet him at the library every tuesday and thursday without fail, settling into your now-permanent seats by the windows like assigned partners in some ongoing group project that no one else remembers being assigned to. his bag always lands on the table first, followed by a reusable water bottle the size of your emotional baggage. he brings extra highlighters now—plural—and starts leaving a green one near your elbow like he’s not even thinking about it.

you, in turn, stop pretending to study anywhere else.

because the truth is, you don’t concentrate better when he’s around—not even a little. he’s distracting in the worst possible way: tall and tidy and terminally composed, with a voice like a podcast host and a smile that you pretend not to notice every time he glances over at you with something like pride in his eyes.

and the worst part?

it’s working.

your grades are going up. you understand policy terminology now. you caught yourself referencing a case study unprompted in another class, and the look your professor gave you made it feel like you’d just been knighted.

you’d thank him for it—sincerely—if he didn’t look so smug every time you nailed a quiz.

“you’ve clearly been applying yourself,” he says one evening, looking over your annotated notes like they’re some kind of sacred text.

“i’ve been applying your study methods,” you reply, then instantly regret it, because the smile he gives you in return is devastating.

and that would be fine—annoying, but fine—if it weren’t for the fact that he’s started sitting closer.

not drastically. not inappropriately. just... close.

close enough that when you both lean in to look at something on the same page, your shoulders brush. your knees knock. his hand lingers near yours when he passes you a pen, and he doesn’t move away quickly. sometimes—and this is particularly evil—his thigh rests against yours under the table for minutes at a time, and you’re too proud (and too panicked) to say anything.

you’re not flirting. not really.

you’re both too stubborn for that.

but something is happening. you just don’t know what to call it.

one thursday afternoon, the sky is gray and heavy with the threat of rain. the windows in the library fog up slightly, making the whole room feel smaller, softer, somehow more intimate. your shoes are damp. your brain is fried. you’re barely holding onto your focus.

but he’s already there, sitting at your usual table with a mug from the downstairs café and a folder labeled “legislation review: week 5.” there’s a muffin. of course there’s a muffin.

he looks up as you approach. smiles. “you’re early.”

you blink. “so are you.”

he shrugs. “anticipation is efficient.”

“what does that even mean?”

he hesitates, like he’s genuinely considering it. “it means i enjoy this.”

your heart does something stupid.

you take your seat before your face can give you away.

thirty minutes in, your brain stops processing information entirely.

you’re trying to focus. really, you are. but his leg is pressed against yours and you swear it’s getting closer every time he shifts. it’s not even the contact itself that’s distracting—it’s the fact that he doesn’t seem to notice. like it’s just normal. like this is how he always studies with people.

(does he?)

(no. he can’t.)

“y/n?” he says, and you jolt like you’ve been electrocuted.

“hm?”

“i asked if you’d like to walk through the case brief again. you seem... distant.”

you clear your throat and try not to sound like someone whose brain has just been wiped by a thigh. “yeah, no, i’m fine. just tired.”

he nods solemnly. “understandable. your coursework has been particularly intensive.”

he says it like he knows your schedule better than you do—which he might. you’ve seen his planner. you’re pretty sure he’s memorized the entire academic calendar, national holidays included.

you try to return to your notes.

you fail.

eventually, you lean back in your chair and exhale.

“okay,” you say. “i need to ask you something.”

he looks up, immediately attentive. “yes?”

you glance around—no one’s within earshot— and lean in slightly.

“this thing we do.”

he blinks. “studying?”

“no. i mean yes, but no.” you gesture vaguely between the two of you. “this. the muffins. the flashcards. the... sitting so close i can smell your laundry detergent.”

he goes still.

“i’m just trying to understand if we’re, like...” you hesitate. “is this just a really intense academic friendship or are we... flirting?”

he doesn’t speak for a long moment.

then, carefully: “i hadn’t realized my proximity was making you uncomfortable.”

“it’s not!” you say, too quickly. “it’s just... confusing.”

“confusing how?”

you fidget with the cap of your pen. “because we do things that feel... date-adjacent. and i don’t know if that’s just how you are with people or if i’m—” you stop yourself before you can say not imagining it.

his brows draw together, faintly perplexed. “i apologize. i didn’t mean to cause confusion.”

you blink. “so you are flirting?”

his ears go pink. just slightly. “i wouldn’t define it as flirting. but i do enjoy spending time with you.”

you squint at him. “that’s not a no.”

he hesitates. then, quieter: “it’s not.”

oh.

you stare at him. he stares back.

and then—like the universe can’t stand unresolved tension—your knees bump again.

but this time, he doesn’t shift away.

and neither do you.

⋆˚✿˖°

you don’t call it a date.

not out loud.

not even in your head, really—not technically. because you’re not dating. you haven’t kissed. there’s been no confession. there’s been no moment of clarity where either of you has stood dramatically in the rain and said i think about you all the time, which, honestly, is a bit disappointing.

but you still change your outfit three times before meeting him for coffee on saturday.

you still hesitate in front of the mirror, adjusting your sleeves and second-guessing your hair, muttering get a grip under your breath like it’s a prayer.

you still pause at the door to the café, one hand on the handle, and remind yourself—again—that this isn’t a date.

you’re just meeting up. casually. like friends.

friends who sometimes sit with their knees touching under library tables. friends who share muffins and steal glances and somehow always find reasons to linger a little too long in doorways.

friends who, if they weren’t so emotionally constipated, might’ve figured this out already.

but you push the door open anyway, and the little bell overhead chimes bright and familiar.

he’s already there.

of course he is.

tenya iida is punctual to the point of pathology. if you told him to meet you in the afterlife at 3:00 p.m. sharp, he’d be there early, holding a clipboard and a fully prepared powerpoint.

he’s sitting near the window, back straight, hands folded politely in his lap. his hair is a little messy from the wind outside. his sweater is navy—clean, simple, a little oversized in a way that makes you stare longer than you should.

he sees you and stands immediately, which is both adorable and completely unnecessary.

“you’re early,” he says, voice warm.

“so are you.”

he doesn’t reply, but the smile he gives you is soft around the edges.

you order something with too much caffeine and not enough nutritional value. he offers to pay, like he always does. you decline, like you always do. it’s a silent tradition now, a ritual of stubbornness. he lets it go with a quiet nod, but not without giving you that look—the one that says i was raised right and this physically pains me.

you find a booth in the corner, a little more secluded than the rest. the sun spills in through the window in soft golden streaks, and for a moment, it feels like you’re somewhere outside of time.

“i’ve never seen you wear that color,” he says as you sit down.

you glance at your shirt. “yeah? too much?”

he shakes his head immediately. “no. it suits you.”

your mouth goes a little dry.

you recover quickly, leaning back and sipping your drink like it doesn’t mean anything. like the warmth crawling up your neck is from the coffee and not the compliment.

“so,” you say, clearing your throat. “what’s on the agenda for today? rigorous academic analysis? philosophical debates about economic ethics? impromptu pop quizzes?”

he tilts his head. “i thought we might take the day off.”

you blink. “from... studying?”

“from everything.” he shrugs, a little sheepishly. “i realized we’ve never spent time together without a textbook between us.”

your heart does something strange.

“you mean like... just hang out?”

“yes.”

“like friends.”

he hesitates. just barely. “yes. like friends.”

the words hang in the air between you—awkward, uncertain, but not unkind.

you nod, slowly. “okay. yeah. we can do that.”

and you do.

you talk. not about school, not about deadlines or group projects or the upcoming midterm. you talk about dumb childhood stories and weird food preferences and the fact that he once tried to start a recycling initiative in his middle school and was very upset when no one followed the sorting chart correctly.

you tell him about your obsession with terrible reality TV. he listens with the seriousness of a man taking notes for a thesis.

he tells you about his older brother, and how much he looks up to him. you tell him about the stray cat that used to follow you home in high school, even though you never fed it.

he laughs—really laughs—when you tell him about the time you broke your nose in gym class trying to dodge a volleyball and ran straight into a bleacher.

“i’m sorry,” he says between gasps. “i don’t mean to laugh at your pain.”

“no, you do,” you say, grinning. “and it’s okay. i would too.”

at one point, your knees bump under the table again. this time, neither of you pulls away.

it’s later than you mean it to be when you finally leave the café. the sun is dipping low, the sky tinged with lavender and orange. the street is quiet, and the wind bites just enough to make you zip your jacket up.

you walk together. not toward the library, not toward another class—just aimlessly. like people who have nowhere else to be.

it’s peaceful.

and weirdly... intimate.

you’re not talking. not really. the silence between you is comfortable now, lived-in. every so often your hands brush, and you wonder—wildly, stupidly —what would happen if you just reached out.

but you don’t.

because this isn’t a date.

it’s not.

except maybe... it is.

“this was nice,” you say, when you finally reach the crosswalk where you’ll part ways.

he nods. “i enjoyed it.”

there’s a beat of silence.

“we should do it again,” you say. casually. like it doesn’t mean anything.

but he looks at you like it does.

“i’d like that,” he says. and then—“you’re very easy to be around.”

your breath catches.

you want to say something. you’re easy to be around too. i think about you when we’re not together. i don’t know if i’m imagining this but i hope i’m not.

instead, you say, “you’re weirdly charming, you know that?”

he blinks. “i—thank you?”

you grin. “it’s a compliment. mostly.”

he laughs. soft. pleased. “i’ll take it.”

he takes a small step back, like he’s about to leave —but then pauses.

“y/n?”

“yeah?”

“if this had been a date...” he clears his throat. “would that have been... agreeable to you?”

you stare at him.

then, slowly—carefully—you nod.

“yeah,” you say. “i think it would’ve been.”

he smiles. it’s small. tentative. but it lights up his whole face.

“then maybe next time, we won’t pretend.”

you feel like you’re floating.

“deal.”

he nods once. then, with a strange, lingering sort of hesitation—like he’s not ready to go yet—he turns to leave.

you watch him go.

and for the first time in a long time, you feel... hopeful.

⋆˚✿˖°

you don't know what you're expecting.

when he texts you the next morning—same time tuesday? not for studying this time. if you're free.—you stare at it for a good ten minutes before responding. not because you’re unsure of your answer (you’re not), but because the implication hits like a freight train.

not for studying.

not as friends.

just you. just him. again.

this time, it’s a little different.

this time, he’s calling it what it is.

you don’t overthink your reply (for once). you just type yeah. i’m free and throw your phone face-down before your heart can beat out of your chest.

and when tuesday rolls around, you are twenty minutes early.

you tell yourself it’s because the weather’s nice and the walk was shorter than usual and you didn’t want to cut it close. but the truth is, you’ve been ready since noon.

you’re wearing the sweater he said he liked once, months ago, after a study session where he handed you a highlighter and your fingers brushed and you both paused like the world might end. it’s not even your warmest or your nicest sweater. it’s just... the one he looked at a little too long.

you don’t want to admit what that means.

you sit in your usual seat by the window. a small table, worn edges. your coffee in hand. no textbooks. no flashcards. just the sound of the café around you and the low simmer of anticipation in your chest.

he walks in three minutes early, which is basically scandalous by iida standards.

you glance up, and the second your eyes meet, he smiles.

it’s not his usual polite, committee-appropriate smile.

it’s something else.

something softer.

he sits down across from you like he’s been doing it his whole life.

you stare at him for a second too long.

“you’re early,” he says, like it’s a fact worth noting. his voice is gentler than usual.

“so are you.”

“a rare occurrence.”

“should i be concerned?”

he laughs—quietly, warmly. “i thought you might say that.”

you both go quiet.

not awkward quiet. just... full.

full of everything you’re not saying.

you sip your drink and hope your heart doesn’t explode.

twenty minutes in, you realize you’ve forgotten what time it is.

again.

you’re talking about something stupid—a professor you both silently hate but never speak ill of in class—and he’s mimicking their voice in a whisper, hand shielding his mouth, and you’re laughing.

like genuinely, honestly laughing.

like you don’t have a hundred things weighing you down.

he always does that. makes everything feel easier. lighter.

it’s dangerous, how much you like it.

how much you like him.

you haven’t said it. not out loud. not even to yourself.

but the truth is: you’re in trouble.

deep trouble.

because tenya iida has the power to wreck you in a way no one else ever has.

not because he’s dramatic. not because he’s charming (though he is, in that annoying, understated, golden-retriever-with-a-perfect-credit-score kind of way).

but because he’s steady.

because he means things.

because when he looks at you, it’s like you’re someone worth understanding.

and you’ve never been loved gently before.

not like this.

you walk out together.

neither of you mentions how long you stayed. it’s dark out, but neither of you cares.

you walk close, side by side. your hands brush once, then again. his fingers twitch toward yours, and you pretend not to notice—not because you don’t want it, but because you’re not sure what happens if you reach back.

you talk about nothing. and everything.

he tells you about the time his older brother accidentally dyed his hair blue with a shampoo prank and how no one in their house was allowed to mention it for an entire year.

you tell him about the time you accidentally set off a fire alarm trying to microwave leftover curry in a dorm that very explicitly prohibited strong-smelling food.

“you’re a menace,” he says, laughing.

you bump your shoulder into his. “you say that like it’s a bad thing.”

he glances at you. “i didn’t say that.”

you both stop at the crosswalk—the same one where you stood days ago.

the same one where he asked if this had been a date...

you’re not pretending anymore.

and yet.

you don’t know what to say.

you just look at him, the wind brushing through your sleeves, your fingers cold where they’re shoved into your pockets.

he looks at you.

longer than before.

long enough that your heart stumbles.

and then—quietly—he says, “can i ask you something?”

you nod. “of course.”

his voice is softer than you’ve ever heard it. careful.

“why me?”

you blink. “what?”

“why... this?” he gestures gently between you. “i know i’m not the most exciting person. i’m not particularly funny or... spontaneous.”

you frown. “iida.”

“i’m just trying to understand,” he says. “why you keep showing up.”

you want to say because i like the way you talk when you’re tired, or because your laugh makes me want to listen to every dumb story you’ve ever told.

you want to say because i’ve never felt so calm next to another person in my entire life.

instead, you say, “because when i’m with you, i don’t feel like i have to be anyone else.”

his expression shifts.

his jaw tightens. his eyes soften.

he takes a step closer.

“i don’t want to mess this up,” he says.

“you’re not.”

“i don’t want to misread it.”

you exhale, a laugh escaping despite yourself. “you’re not.”

his hand lifts, hesitates—then lands gently against your cheek.

you stop breathing.

“may i kiss you?” he asks.

you nod before your brain catches up.

“yeah,” you whisper. “you may.”

and he does.

it’s not rushed.

it’s not fiery or desperate.

it’s patient. reverent. like he’s memorizing the feeling. like he’s been waiting for the right moment and this, finally, is it.

his lips press softly against yours, and your hands lift automatically to his jacket, holding on, grounding yourself.

when you part, he leans his forehead against yours.

you’re both quiet for a moment.

then he says, “i’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

you smile. “i could tell.”

“was i too obvious?”

“painfully.”

he laughs, arms sliding around your waist like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“this is still new,” he says. “i know that.”

you nod.

“but i’m willing to take it slow.”

“okay.”

“i’ll be patient.”

“okay.”

he pauses. “and i’d like to take you to dinner. an actual dinner. with reservations and menus and probably overpriced appetizers.”

you grin. “are you asking me on a real date?”

he lifts your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles.

“yes,” he says. “i’m asking.”

“then yes,” you reply. “i’m saying yes.”

you walk home hand-in-hand.

you don’t have to say anything.

it’s not pretending anymore.

and for once—finally—that feels like enough.

321 notes · View notes

jayaury · 6 months ago

Text

School Daze

Titania University

Be the Man You Were Meant to Be.

With a sense of pride Zack read those words on the brochure again. There weren’t a lot of men that were invited to attend Titania. In fact, until a decade ago, it had been an all-female school. Not only that, but it had been one that catered almost exclusively to demi-humans. So to be a human and get accepted? Well, needless to say he appreciated the honour.

And it had been an honour. Admissions had made that very clear when they gave him the good news, explaining how only the choicest of male students were admitted.

And now he was here.

But where was the orientation officer?

He looked about the campus, adjusting his grips on his bags. Miss Cutter was supposed to meet him by the front doors on the hour, but it was now fifteen minutes past and no sign of her. He was starting to get worried.

And he noticed he was getting a fair bit of notice.

He nervously shifted from one foot to the other, trying to avoid looking at the girls around campus. Of course, he knew Titania was the biggest and most prestigious college in the country that accepted monster girls. And he’d be lying if he said that hadn’t played some role in his decision to attend. Still, he wasn’t used to this much attention. Some goblin maids near the trees kept shooting him glances and giggles, and he was sure those three centaur girls had walked by at least half a dozen times by now. He caught himself fixing his hair again and swallowed nervously.

“Zachary Newfeld?”

“Huh? Sorry?”

He whipped about and started back a step, finding an absolutely gorgeous woman in front of him. She wore a prim jacket and almost scandalously high skirt, while silver scales shimmered on her neck and cheeks. Small fins flicked instead of ears, while lustrous black hair framed her face. Her eyes had a certain… reptilian quality about them, he couldn’t help but notice. But far from being unnerving, Zack found them oddly intriguing.

She smiled, “Clarissa Cutter,” she said, putting out her hand. “Orientation supervisor.”

“Oh, ah, hello,” he said, taking her hand and shaking it. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” she said, flashing a brilliant smile, her voice sonorous and sweet, like a wave of gentle sound carrying him away. “Sorry for the delay. We’ve had quite the crop of freshmen. Were you waiting long?”

“Oh, no. No. Not at all.”

“Excellent. Shall we?”

She opened the doors and ushered him inside, smoothly taking the lead.

“I hope you appreciate the privilege being bestowed on you,” Cutter said as they walked down the polished hallways of the school, her heels clicking rhythmically.

“I do. Really!” he insisted. “And I intend to do my best to honour the rich culture of the school.”

“Yes. About that,” she said with a sideways glance. “I’m sure you’ve heard some things about the low graduation rates of male students.”

“I have,” he admitted.

She nodded along. “Yes. You see, unfortunately, a number of our attendees tend to come to Titania for, shall we say, less than academic reasons.”

He felt his face warm. “I ah, assure you, ma’am, I’m absolutely dedicated to getting my degree.”

“Let’s hope so,” she said with a sweet smile, yet the subtle teasing in her tone slid through him with a strange shiver of nameless anticipation, and made his manhood pulse and harden in his pants. “But all the same,” she continued, her voice tugging him back to the present, “we have a daily orientation class in the afternoons for our male students. One of the projects we��ve undertaken to increase retention.”

“Is it uh, mandatory?”

She nodded sympathetically. “I’m afraid so. But not to worry. I try to make it engaging, and I hope you won’t mind listening to me for an hour everyday.”

Zack sincerely doubted he’d have a problem with that. Her voice was so soothing and relaxing, he felt like he could listen to it all day.

“I don’t mind.”

“Wonderful,” Cutter said with another of those winning smiles that made him feel like he’d just stepped under a tropical sun. “I’m sure you’ll make a splendid addition to our school.”

Zack nodded along eagerly, resolving to do his best at Titania, if only not to disappoint the gorgeous woman. Especially if he’d be meeting with her every afternoon.

His own expectations about the college were more than satisfied as they toured the place, taking in the cafeteria, gyms, extensive libraries and study halls. All of which, he couldn’t help but notice, were positively stuffed with female coeds of every race imaginable. And though he spotted more than a few male students, it always seemed like they were outnumbered by females at least two to one.

“The dorms are this way,” Cutter said as they once more crossed the lawn and towards a tall brickwork building on the other side. “And there is… one thing I should warn you about.”

“What?”

She gave him a backwards glance, for the first time looking a bit apologetic. “You see, due to the… periodic shortage of male students once the year gets in full swing, Titania has made the decision not to segregate the dorms by sex. It just complicates things unnecessarily when the boys clear out. We keep the rooms male and female only, but am afraid that you’ll be sharing the dorm with a number of female students. You don’t have a problem with that, do you?”

“I don’t see why I would,” he replied.

She beamed and stopped before the doors. “Wonderful. Now, this is your key,” she said, producing one from her pocket. “Room two two one. I’m sure you’ll enjoy your time here at Titania. And, of course, I’ll be seeing you tomorrow at four sharp in the Shimmer Annex. I’m so looking forward to helping you adjust to your future here.”

Again, Zack felt that thrill of anticipation at her words. “Me too,” he said.

She gave him a last smile and left him at the door to the dorms.

He watched her go, knowing he shouldn’t stare at the way her ass rocked in her skirt, but unable to quite resist. When she was out of sight, he finally made his way inside, climbing to the second floor and hunting down his room. It took him some time to find it, but when he did, he tried the key and teased it open.

His dorm was about what he expected, consisting of two beds on either side of the room along with a pair of desks. One side was barren, but the other was clearly occupied, the bed heavy with bags, while a poster of an amazingly busty woman with cow horns graced the wall, framed by Christmas lights.

As he stood in the doorway, Zack heard the familiar sound of a shower from the room’s shared bathroom. Making his way towards the unoccupied side of the room, he dumped his bags onto the bed.

The hiss of the shower cut off and Zack heard the thumping of someone moving around. A few minutes later the bathroom door opened to reveal a fit young man in a pair of loose pants and no shirt, a towel covering his head as he dried himself off. As the towel came free, it revealed a head of lanky brown hair and two surprised eyes.

“Hi,” Zack said. “Name’s Zack.”

“Oh, hey. You must be the roommate,” the stranger said with a lazy grin. “Name’s John. Nice to meet you.”

“Thanks. Already chosen your space?” Zack said, nodding at the messy bed and lights.

“You know it,” John winked, tossing aside the towel and sauntering to his bags. “Not that I expect to be spending too much time in here.”

Zack frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Come on, man,” John chortled as he pulled on a shirt. “You kidding me? Getting into a school that’s seventy percent hot monster girls? You better believe I’m going all in on this. Doubt I’ll be in this room at all with all those hotties looking for a guy to share their bed. Right?”

Zack frowned. Not that he was surprised. As Cutter had said, there was going to be some male students like that. Zack was just annoyed he was going to be rooming with one who so clearly didn’t appreciate the opportunity they’d been given. “That so?” Zack said neutrally as he pulled clothes from his bag.

“Oh yeah,” John said, tugging on his shoes. “Going to really enjoy my school life. Get me?”

“I do,” Zack said as he put his things into his dresser. “But I’m really more focused on classwork.”

“C’mon,” John said with a wry look at him. “You really didn’t think about getting laid when you got here? Really?”

Zack cleared his throat. “Well, I mean…”

John guffawed. “Of course you did! Every guy here is coming to get some of that sweet monster girl tail.”

“That would explain why men so rarely graduate,” Zack muttered.

“Eh,” John said, shrugging. “Some guys might not be able to handle it. Especially with the rumours.”

Zack paused and glanced back. “Rumours?”

“Sure,” John said as he finished lacing up his shoes. “You must have heard them, right? That the reason most of the guys don’t finish is because they fall in love with a girl here? Drop out to marry her? C’mon, you have to have heard that bit.”

“Not really. But, well, seems unlikely.”

“Too true. I mean, monster girls are great for a quick fuck. But marrying them? C’mon?”

Zack scowled. “Nothing wrong with it, in my opinion,” he replied.

“Sure. Sure. Whatever you say,” John said, pushing himself off his bed and to his feet. He smoothed back his hair and grinned into a nearby mirror. “As for me, I’m going on the prowl. Rawr!”

“Good luck,” Zack said, not really meaning it. If John noticed he didn’t show it, instead strolling out of the room with a lazy saunter.

Zack sighed and turned back to his new dresser. Pulling out more of his clothes, he cocked his head as he heard the door open again. “Forget something?” he asked without turning around.

“Maaaaaybe.”

The feminine drawl made him start, but before he could turn around a pair of arms looped around him and tugged him back against a soft chest. His head whipped about in surprise and he found himself almost nose to nose with a strikingly lovely face. Eyes with reptilian slit pupils in spiral rings sparkled impishly amid a mane of copper hair. A brush of scales gleamed on her cheeks, and a hint of fang was revealed in her grin. She wore a t-shirt with the words ManEater warped by the curve of her breasts, while a skirt hid her hips, but not so much he didn’t see her lower body was that of a snake

“S-sorry!” Zack gasped. “Who…”

“Just your neighbour from across the hall,” she purred, squeezing him again, in more ways than one. He suddenly felt a tightness around his legs and looked down to find serpentine coils wrapping around him. “Name’s Sammy.”

“O-oh. Nice to uh, meet you. I think,” he gasped. “I’m Zack. But uh-”

“Sorry,” she giggled, though she didn’t look apologetic. She did take her arms off him, though her lower half remained tight about him. “When I saw you in here, I just couldn’t resist having a little fun.”

“Er, right. Thanks. But the, uh…”

“Oh, don’t mind my tail,” she said dismissively. “I swear, it sometimes has a mind all its own!”

“Kinda hard to ignore it,” Zack replied as her coils slid further up his thighs and to his hips. If they went much further, they’d come across the unmistakable bulge in his pants.

“It’s because you keep tensing up. If you relax, it won’t think you’re prey.”

“Relax?”

“Sure! You gotta learn how to relax around here. Or college will just gobble you up!” she giggled. “Want some help with it?”

“I-”

“I know some very good techniques,” she said, her voice dropping a little. Becoming sly and sonorous as she moved in close again, her t-shirt stretching wide across her bust. Soft breasts outlined sharply by the fabric, warping the logo like the letters were being stretched across a pair of basketballs. “In fact, that’s what I’m taking. Massage Therapy. How about you?”

“Oh, uh, Transportal History.”

“Oooh, bit of a dry subject. And not much money in it,” she noted.

Zack tried not to wince. He knew only too well it wasn’t a very practical degree. But it was what he was interested in, and what he would take.

“It’s an interesting fi-ield!” he gasped as the coils slid up around his waist, rubbing his bulge in a very unsubtle way.

“I bet. Pretty intensive too. Takes lots of… concentration.”

“Er, s-some,” he admitted in a tight voice.

She gave him a knowing look. “Mhmm. Well, I think I think I’d better keep an eye on you,” Sammy said, tapping a finger to his nose, her eyes flashing with amusement. “I bet you’re gonna need a fair bit of… help. But be careful,” she added teasingly, her finger stroking his cheek before sliding off with a flick to his chin. “Cute guy like you will have lots of interest soon. Reaaaal soon.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” she giggled, her tail loosening from around him as the lamia sidled out of the room with a backwards wave.

Zack watched her go, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he felt his cock throb in his pants. He shivered again at the memory of those scales. The intensity of her eyes.

But he steeled himself. He wasn’t here to date, after all. He was here to study. To graduate. With conviction he resumed putting away his clothes.

And tried to ignore the needy throbbing in his pants…

Zack yawned, his hand fanning his mouth as he plodded up the stairs of the dorms. He’d known that his chosen subject would be difficult. But maybe he hadn’t quite appreciated just how difficult it would be. Transportal science was a heavy subject, and took a lot of effort. Especially given the professor tended to single him out a lot. Something he didn’t appreciate, given how much attention the female students gave him as a result. He practically ran out of the room at the end of class.

Though, avoiding his fellow students wasn’t the only reason for that. Or his exhaustion. To be fair, he kind of suspected that had more to do with orientation.

Zack berated himself with frustration. Though he’d been attending Cutter’s orientation class, he only ever seemed to come away drowsy and heavy headed. Just listening to her voice seemed to take all he had. That sweet, wonderful voice. So smooth and lyrical it was like listening to a song that ferried him away on soothing waves. It was a struggle not to close his eyes and just… fall asleep listening to her. He knew some of the other male students were, but she never seemed to notice.

Even then, though he managed to stay awake, he never seemed to remember what was talked about in there. He was only glad there were no tests for it. Especially since he came away from them so tired. He groaned as he plodded up the stairs, reaching his floor, and smiled in relief as he saw his room. He couldn’t wait to get in there, get into bed, and just…

“Oh you have got to be kidding me,” Zack moaned as he spotted the sock on the doorknob. Fucking hell. Every night like this! It never seemed to fail that John had some girl over when Zack got back. Honestly, he was starting to wonder if John went to any damn classes.

And John was definitely in there. Zack could hear the moans and thumps of bed posts against walls. And likewise, Zack knew that banging on the door to try and get the pair’s attention would be an exercise in futility. He’d tried that a few times with all of zero results, and when he brought it up later, John didn’t seem to give a shit. Just off in his own little world. Zack sighed. He would just have to wait.

Again.

Of course, he groused, this wouldn’t be a problem if the last orientation session hadn’t gone on for so long. Gods. Every time he finished them, he had such a headache. How was he supposed to study with all this bullshit happening?

“Fuck’s sake,” he snapped, slamming a fist on the door even though he knew it wouldn’t do any good. “It’s ten, dammit! I need to sleep!”

Moans and pants were all he heard and Zack banged his head into the door, resting it there with a groan. Dammit. Was he really going to end up spending the night in the cafeteria again?

“Problems?”

Zack turned his head to find Sammy in the doorway across the hall, the lamia leaning against the frame and giving him a knowing smirk. He also couldn’t help but notice that she was only wearing a sports bra to restrict the immensity of her bust.

“Just… locked out of my room. Again,” Zack said, trying not to sound bitter and knowing he failed utterly. “My roommate is having some… fun.”

Sammy’s smirk widened. “Aw. Poor thing,” she crooned, sidling out of her room and towards him. “What are you going to do?”

He sighed and shrugged. “I guess go study in the cafeteria again.”

“Oh no no! We mustn’t have that,” she said, her tail sidling around him.

Zack barely bothered to notice. Sammy’s tail always seemed to be touching him whenever they met. Which was often. Though he’d been put off from her at first, he’d grown unexpectedly comfortable around her. Largely because she always seemed to pop up wherever he was, and had little concept of personal space.

And to be fair, he wasn’t against getting to know the gorgeous snake-girl. He just… wasn’t sure how to deal with her. She was very forceful. He hadn’t thought he liked that in a girl, but Sammy had a way about her that put him at ease.

“Not like I have a lot of choice,” he told her with another look at the sock.

“Of course you do. Just stay in my room until they finish.”

He gave her a startled look. “Your room?”

“Sure. My roommate is never around anyway. And it’s quite cozy. Promise,” she said, her tail drawing him in towards the door like a fisherman reeling in a trout.

Zack wasn’t too sure about that. But as her spiral eyes gazed into his with that hopeful look, he found his arguments dying on his tongue. And… it would save him an awful lot of walking to and from if he did stay with her for a bit.

“I… guess I could…” he said.

“That’s the spirit. Now, come along,” she purred, drawing him after her.

Zack followed the pull of her tail and found himself in a room almost the mirror image of his own in design. The same two desks and beds. The same single bathroom. Even the same solitary window between the beds.

But the decoration was considerably different. He had no trouble picking out which side belonged to Sammy. Clothes were strewn about and spilled from dresser drawers left hanging open. The sheets of the bed were in a tangle and practically lost among sumptuous pillows.

By contrast, the other side of the room was neat and primly made up, the bedsheets tucked in, the desk arranged in almost meticulous uniformity. Zack would have wondered if anyone even lived there, if not for the fact he was sure Sammy’s mess would have migrated to the other side of the room if given the chance.

“Here we are,” Sammy cooed, sidling onto the messy bed and depositing him beside her. She smiled at him, her long lashes fluttering as she nestled her chin in her hands and stared intently at him. “Feeling better?”

“More comfortable than the hall,” he admitted.

“I bet.”

He saw the tip of Sammy’s tail tug the door closed. Only then did he realize the situation he was in. Alone in the room with the gorgeous snake girl, he suddenly felt his face warm and looked about uncertainly.

“So, uh…” he coughed. “I should maybe get to studying…”

“If you think it’ll do much good,” Sammy said as more of her tail wrapped about him, sliding around his midriff.

“Why uh, wouldn’t it?”

“Remember what I told you?” Sammy asked with a knowing smile. “How bad stress is for studying?”

“I think so…”

“Well?” she said coyly. “You certainly sound stressed. Very stressed.”

“I mean, yeah. But who wouldn’t be?”

“Mmm. Want me to help with that?”

“You?”

“Sure,” she said, drawing herself up beside him. “Didn’t I tell you? I’m an expert in massage, and I can help make you so very relaxed.”

“I… don’t know…”

“Come on,” she crooned, moving in closer, her eyes bright and gazing into his. A smirk on her lips. “I promise it’ll be sooooo soothing…”

Zack opened his mouth, on the cusp of refusing again.

But as he gazed again into her bright, shining eyes, he felt the urge to refuse fade. His mouth slowly slide shut as he looked into those golden orbs. Why, the spirals of her pupils almost… seemed to swirl…

“I… guess it couldn’t hurt,” he said at last.

Sammy’s smile widened. “Attaboy,” she purred. “Now, let’s get started. Go ahead and take your shirt off.”

Still uncertain, but figuring that he may as well at this point, he grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it up. He felt himself warm under the intense gaze of the lamia as he bared his chest and abs. He didn’t have much of an ego about it, but knew he was fit. And he swore he heard her whisper, “Nice.”

“So uh, what next?” he asked.

“Next, we get you laid out on the bed,” she said.

Zack yelped as the serpentine coils around his legs suddenly twitched him onto his back.

“Then we get you nice and tied up,” she purred as her body slithered more securely around him, his arms suddenly pulled tight against his sides. Her coils wrapped about him head to foot, and he tensed with a sudden instinctive alarm as he felt her body lazily flex around him. As he sensed the power in her coils and realized he was at the mercy of them.

“Now now,” Sammy giggled as she suddenly loomed above him, smirking down at him. Predatory. Dominating. “No use getting all rigid now. This is all part of the process.”

“I-it is?” Zack said.

“Of course,” she purred, her human half almost on top of him, her breasts hovering over his chest, her hands planted on either side of his head and her eyes right above his. “Lamia massage is very… special… indeed…”

Zack shivered beneath those eyes. The heat in them made him shift in her tight coils. Yet, strangely, he started to feel a bit… thrilled to have her wrapped around him. To have her coils lazily flex, squeezing and rippling around him in slow, heavy motions. To be surrounded by the gorgeous monster girl. Utterly at her mercy…

“There now,” Sammy breathed as she lowered her face a bit closer. “Isn’t that nice?”

“Y-yeah,” Zack admitted as he gazed into her swirling eyes. Yes. They… they were definitely swirling….

“Don’t you feel relaaaaxed?”

“Yeah…”

“Don’t you feel easy? Soft? All that tension just ooooozing out of you?”

“Yeah,” Zack breathed, and realized it was true. He could feel the tension escape him. Hell, it almost felt like… like all of the tightness was being squeezed out of him.

“That’s right,” Sammy breathed, her voice almost as smooth as Cutter’s. “So sooooft. So eeeeeasy. Just let it all out, handsome. Just look into my eyes. Look deep into them, Zack. Just look deep. Deep as you can go…”

Zack nodded vaguely. He did his best to follow her directions, and found it remarkably easy to do. Her eyes were like endless pools rippling before him. Drawing him from his body, yet always leaving him aware of every sensation. The gentle, subtle squeezing of the coils around him. The shudder of pleasure that ached through him. Even the feeling of her soft breasts coming down lower. Pressing into his chest. Soft and heavy and making his cock throb with desire.

“Does it feel good?” Sammy breathed, her voice faintly hissing, slithering into his ear and wrapping around his thoughts. “Does it feel so nice? So pleasant? So wonderful to give in and relax?”

“Yeah,” he breathed again.

“Then do it,” she whispered. “Just let all that tension go. Just relax for me, Zack. Just let those silly thoughts get squeezed out. All that tension pushing down. Down. Down into that big… throbbing… cock…”

Zack shifted where he lay, blushing at the suggestion, even as he found it oddly compelling. “I um…”

“Just relax, Zackie,” Sammy crooned as her coils gave a particularly tight squeeze. “Don’t worry about it. Just enjoy it. Just do as I say. Just listen to my voice, and let all your worries melt away…”

Zack found himself nodding. Found himself doing as she said. He shuddered softly, the tightness of her coils oddly pleasurable. Restricting. Yet exciting. He felt like her coils weren’t just squeezing his body, but his mind. Massaging his thoughts until his scattered worries just… melted away, as she’d suggested.

He sighed, relaxing as commanded, and found it was amazingly easy to do as she said. To just let all that tension seep down into his crotch. To throb in his hardening cock.

“I can feel it, Zack,” Sammy purred as her fingers danced down his naked chest and sides. Down and to his crotch. Her coils shifting so his bulge was bared, helpless as her palm pressed against it. Her fingers gently squeezing. Pumping him. Making him gasp and moan in ecstasy as she massaged his balls. “I can feel all those worries down in your cock. Filling up your balls. Poor boy. We need to take care of that, don’t we?”

“Ah… Y-yeah,” he gasped.

“That we do. That we definitely do,” Sammy cooed, her face leaning in closer. Her eyes spinning with wonderful hues as her tongue slid hungrily around her lips. “Can I, Zack? Do you want me to? Do you need me to do whatever it takes to get that heavy… aching… tension and stress all out of you?”

“Y-yesssss,” he groaned, arching beneath her.

“Just what I was hoping to hear,” Sammy laughed, her fingers sliding to his zipper and tugging it down.

He gasped as his cock popped free, throbbing with desire. He heard Sammy croon as her fingers played along his manhood, stroking it slowly.

“Oh my,” she breathed, her fingers wrapping around him, beginning to slowly pump him. “Look at that. You were really stressed. Look at how big… and thick… and full you are. Big and hot and heavy. But don’t worry,” she teased tenderly. “I’ll fix that. I’ll free you from all that heavy cum. All those heavy, tight thoughts.”

“S-Sammy?” Zack gasped. “I um… is this…”

“It’s all very technical,” she murmured as she pumped him. “Very specific. I’ve gotten lots of lessons in it. So many. All to make good males nice and happy. Nice and relaxed. Nice and obedient. You want to be happy, don’t you, Zack? You want to be obedient, right?”

“I um…”

She leaned in closer, her eyes thrumming. “Right?”

Zack stared into those eyes, his protests fading from his thoughts. And why would he argue? Hadn’t he agreed? Didn’t she know what was best? She was the expert here. She knew what he needed.

Yes.

Yes, there was no reason to doubt. To hesitate.

She knew best.

Sammy knew best.

“Y-yeah,” he sighed, the tension oozing from him yet again.

Sammy smiled, her eyes lighting up, and the sight filled Zack with a strange pleasure that rushed through him like mulled wine.

“Good boy,” she purred, leaned down, and kissed him.

Zack shivered with delight as those lips met his. He moaned in pleasure as her fingers pumped his throbbing cock. He shivered in ecstasy as Sammy’s coils rippled and tightened around his helpless form. Squeezing him adoringly.

Zack wasn’t sure when he started undulating in her coils. Squirming in her grasp. Thrusting into her pumping hand. He only knew that he couldn’t stop. That it felt better than anything he’d known before. He only knew he had to cum.

Cum.

Cum!

“Mmm. Mmm! Mmmmmm!” he moaned into her kiss, shuddering as he came. His cock spurting into her stroking hand in sharp bursts of pleasure.

Sammy sighed in delight, her warm breath washing over his face as her fingers lazily stroked him a last few times, coaxing out the final few bursts of his seed. At last she lifted her lips from his, her eyes lidded and sated, her smile wide and amused.

“Mmm. Did you enjoy that?” she asked teasingly.

“Y-yeah,” Zack gasped.

“And are you feeling more relaxed?”

Zack nodded happily. “Very,” he agreed, realizing it was true. Even the headache he had from orientation was gone.

“How good to hear,” she purred, her coils giving him another loving squeeze. “Which means I’m sure you’ll be needing lots more relaxing, right? Gotta ace those assignments, right?”

“Uh…”

“Right,” Sammy breathed, the rings in her eyes pulsing.

Throbbing.

Spinning.

Zeke blinked, then smiled and relaxed. “Yeah. Exactly,” he said agreeably.

“Good boy,” Sammy said, her body squeezing him again. “Good boy…”

Zack winced as he checked his marks on his latest assignment.

How?

How could this be happening?

He checked it again, as if he might have read it wrong, but no. It remained just above a failing grade.

Which meant that if he didn’t pass the next exam…

“Fucking hell,” he groaned, slipping his phone back into his pocket, his shoulders drooping as he trudged through the dorm. What was going on? He’d been completing all his assignments. Working so hard. Making sure he kept nice and relaxed in order to get the assignments done.

So how?

How was this happening?

He sighed, rubbing his face with his hand. Fuuuuck, he felt his shoulders tensing and stomach tightening with stress, sensations that seemed to torture him these days. Whenever something went wrong he just… well, felt confused. Like he was too dumb to figure it out. He had to get a fucking grip, or he’d fail! Fail like all the other guys in orientation class. When he first started with Cutter, there’d been over fifty male students. Now, he was one of just a handful. All the others had dropped out, he’d been told.

“Goddam it,” he groaned, shaking his head and pushed open his dorm room.

And froze, staring blankly.

For a second he thought he’d walked into the wrong room (not an unusual occurrence these days), but a quick check showed that his side was still there. John’s things, however, were gone, aside from a pair of boxes on the bed.

But the most startling addition to the room was a tall holstaur standing by the desk.

She’d turned in surprise at his arrival, the movement sending her chest wobbling in a way that instantly arrested his eyes before he could drag them away. She was tall and unbelievably busty, with a soft face that seemed made for smiling and did so at once. She wore cut off jeans that positively strained around her ample hips and rear, a short blouse pushed open by her bust and over a sports jersey. A pair of bovine horns broke from her wavy, straw blonde hair, which she brushed back as she smiled at him.

“Well hey there,” the cowgirl said, her voice thick with a southern drawl. “You must be Zack.”

“Uh… hi,” he said. “Who…”

She laughed, which made her chest do some very interesting things. “How silly of me. Do forgive my manners. I’m Bess. John’s girlfriend. How funny we haven’t met. But I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“You have?”

“Oh yeah. And I imagine you’ve heard a lot of me and John,” she said with a wink.

Zack flushed slightly. “I uh, right. Where is John anyway?”

“Him? Aw, poor thing. I’m afraid he’s done and dropped out.”

“D-dropped out?”

“Sure! Turns out his grades were fallin’ somethin’ awful. Poor thing realized he just wasn’t cut out for college life. But don’t worry! He found his true callin’. Yes he did.”

“Er, what’s that?”

“Why, bein’ a handsome hubby a course! And I was most happy to accept his hand in marriage.”

Zack’s jaw dropped. “Marriage? But, he… I mean…”

“Oh, I know,” Bess said with a lazy laugh and wave. “That boy was a real player. But once he got a good feel of these girls, he just couldn’t get enough!”

Zack felt his jaw drop as Bess cupped her breasts and gave them a teasing bounce.

“I uh… I…”

“And I bet you know what that’s like. Don’t ya, handsome?” she asked with a sly look his way.

“S-sorry?”

“Ya know,” Bess said, lazily moving towards him, her chest bouncing in the tightness of her shirt. “Seein’ a gal around the school. Gettin’ a good gander at her assets. Maybe thinking about how much nicer it might be not to have ta study so hard? Work so hard? How much… easier it’d be ta just be a nice, happy house husband? Eh?”

Zack realized he was backing up and forced himself to stop. Which may have been a mistake as before he knew it Bess was right in front of him, the heavy orbs of her breasts right before his face, their subtle bounce arresting his attention. He felt his cock thicken in his pants. Dear gods, he swore he could hear a sloshing in those ample tits. He sucked in a breath, and the sudden scent of her body and the flowery perfume she wore made his head spin.

“I uh…” he stammered.

“You’re a real cute one, darlin’,” Bess said, her hand reaching out, stroking his hair, nudging him forward. “A real cutie. Why, hard ta believe ain’t no one claimed you yet.”

“O-oh,” Zack gasped as his face was gently compelled into her chest. Against the immense heft of her breasts, a shudder working its way through him as he felt that perfect softness press around his warm cheeks, a wave of aching weakness radiating through him as her hands gently pet his head.

“Poor boy,” Bess cooed as her arms folded him into an embrace. “Look at you. All helpless. Such a silly thing. But I’m willin’ ta share myself between two cuties. I got two breasts, after all, and both a them could use some real… lovin’... attention…”

Zack groaned, his eyelids fluttering, his head swirling like he was drunk. Thoughts spun in clouds of pleasure and his body was hot with need and desire. So much so, he barely felt the coils wrapping around his chest and suddenly giving him a possessive squeeze.

“I’m afraid he’s not up for grabs.”

Zack blinked, Sammy’s voice breaking through the fog in his head as her serpentine body tightened around him. He looked up at Bess and saw the holstaur looking past him with a wry smirk.

“Ain’t he?” Bess asked sweetly. “But he’s still a student this late in the year…”

“That’s my business, cow. Not yours.”

Zack looked uncertainly between the two women, feeling the tension crackle between them. At last, with a lazy shrug, Bess released him, Sammy’s tail wrenching him back and against the lamia’s body. The bovine beauty chuckled throatily and gave them a smirk.

“A’right. A’right. I can take a hint. But best be careful there, snake. Or that boy’ll get snapped up lickity split.”

Sammy hissed, and Bess merely chuckled again and strolled out the door.

Zeke watched her go, enthralled by the sight of her ass as it swayed with every step, her jeans flexing against those perfect curves until she was out of sight. He came back to himself as he felt Sammy’s tail squeeze him again. He glanced nervously at the lamia, whose lips were pursed with thought and annoyance as she stared after the holstaur.

“S-Sammy?” he gasped.

Her eyes snapped to him and she smiled sharply. “Come with me, Zack. There’s ssssomething I want to talk to you about.”

“I uh… okay,” Zack whimpered as she dragged him back into her room. He found himself being plopped back onto the bed with a grunt, Sammy’s tail still wrapped around him.

The lamia loomed over him, thoughtful, lips pursed as her spiral eyes took him in, her expression unreadable.

“She may have had a point,” Sammy finally mused to herself.

“Sorry?” Zack said.

A slight smirk graced her lips. He gasped, reflexively going limp as her coils flexed around him. “Poor boy,” she cooed. “Poor, silly Zack. So deep under my sway you’d just melt for any pair of tits or gorgeous gal. It’s my own fault, really. I’m just too good at what I do.”

“S-Sammy?” he murmured blearily. “I don’t… um…”

She giggled. “Did you really think the reason so few boys graduate here is because the courses are hard? I mean, they are. But they’re not that hard. And did you really think, Zack, that all those orientation meetings were meant to make sure you understood the culture of the school? To help you graduate? Oh no. No no no. They’re for a very… special… reason…”

“Ooooh,” Zack groaned as he felt her coils ripple around him. Pulse and ache through him, his toes curling in his shoes with relaxing pleasure. “Wh… what um, do you mean?”

Her smile widened. The spirals of her eyes beginning to lazily spin. “Simple, my sweet boy,” she sang. “All those precious meetings? That time spent in that dark room as Cutter goes over and over those pointless rules and slides? As her voice fills the room? They aren’t to help you get used to some campus culture. Oh no. You never even thought to wonder what Cutter was.”

“A um… a reptile?” he ventured blearily.

“No,” Sammy cooed as her tail gave him another mind-melting squeeze. “She’s a siren. And her pretty voice has been working so very hard to prime you. To get your mind all soft and defenceless so us sweet girls can swoop on in and just… brainwash you cute boys into happy husbands.”

Zack blinked, an inkling of fear working into him. “I… wh-what?”

“Did I forget to mention that?” Sammy said, her grin widening with wicked amusement. “Oooh, I probably shouldn’t tell you this, Zack, but I have to admit seeing that look on your face is just delicious! That uncertainty. That suspicion. That realization that you were never really meant to graduate from this fine institution. No no no,” she purred, moving over him, her eyes slowly spiralling with hues that seemed to suck at his thoughts. “Titania was made for boys like you, but mainly women like me. Women who are guaranteed an excellent career out of school, but have no time to go fishing for the right man. So the school takes care of that. Makes you boys all dumb and brainwashed and deliciously helpless to our control. Gives us a chance to pick our new, obedient, happy boyfriends and just… melt them into the perfect husbands.”

Zack gaped, his mind struggling to understand what she was saying. He blinked, the tug of her eyes almost irresistible. “You… you’re…”

“That’s right,” Sammy giggled, moving in closer above him, planting her hands on either side of his head, her breasts bouncing in her top as she looked down at him hungrily. “I’ve been brainwashing you to just adore my touch. Just give in to my coils. To relish being under the thumb of a big, busty babe from the moment my tail was all wrapped around you. Too relaxed to think. Too dumb to study. But just right to be my sweet, adoring, dumb bimbo husband.

“And doesn’t it feel goooood,” she purred as her tail gave another loving squeeze.

Zack moaned, shuddering in her grasp, his lips trembling as pleasure ached through him, urging him to do as she said. To relax and enjoy her embrace and her touch. “B-but I’m… I’m not y-yet…”

“Oh no. Not yet. That’s where the fun comes in,” Sammy purred. “I was lucky that dumb cow almost stole you away. I realized how close you were to giving in. To being utterly primed to be the best hubby a girl could ask for. But not quite there. So I’m going to do it now, Zack. I’m going to make you mine right now. I’m going to let you know exactly what I’m going to do so you can understand every bit of it, and then give in anyway.”

Zack panted, flushed, fear tingling through him at the revelation.

But there was worse.

Oh so much worse.

And that was the arousal that wormed through him like a fire.

Intoxicating. Shamefully delightful as he squirmed helplessly in the lamia’s coils. Feeling the aching need throbbing from his balls and cock. The position was so familiar. So wonderfully the same. The feel of her entrapping coils squeezing and massaging him as he stared into her eyes as they spun and glowed. Feeling his body yearn to give in. So easy to sink. To give in despite all she was saying. The temptation not to fight.

To just…

Give in…

“It’ll be so gooood,” Sammy purred, her voice seeming to vibrate in his bones. Throb in his thoughts. “To give in at last. To just quit. Why study? Why bother? Don’t you like being in my coils? In my grasp? Don’t you love all these days and nights when I’ve had you all wrapped up? Don’t you enjoy sssssurrendering? Delight in jusssst… giving in? No need to fight. You’ll be sssso happy.”

Zack whimpered, because he knew she was right. He would enjoy being under her control. Trapped in her coils. Helpless to her whims. His thoughts only about her. About pleasuring her. About doing whatever he could to make her happy and be a good husband.

“Every night we’d fuck,” Sammy hissed, her forked tongue licking out, teasing his nose. “Every night I’d wrap you up. Squeeze you. Fuck you. Sssssink you into my eyesssss. Deeper under my control. My own persssonal trophy hussssband. Ssssso happy to be mine. Ssssso enjoying my love. Won’t that be wonderful?”

It would.

Dear gods, it would be wonderful. He could feel his body tremble, yearn to slip into that sweet oblivion. Blessed ignorance and eternal pleasure being promised. He whimpered as her coils again flexed.

And her fingers danced on his bulge.

“Sssssso horny,” Sammy whispered as she slipped down his pants. Drew out his cock. “Ssssso needy. And I have just the fix, Zack. Just the thing to make you feel so good. So happy. So mindlessly wonderful. And all you need to do… is give… in…”

Zack groaned as her hand began to lovingly pump his cock. He couldn’t stop his body from undulating, thrusting into her palm despite the shame of it. It was so goooood! Again her coils constricted, holding him tight. Holding him helpless.

“Come on,” Sammy whispered, leaning in closer, her breasts pressing into his chest, her eyes devouring him. “Do it for me, Zackie.”

The sound of that pet name seemed to race down his spine with a tingle of unholy ecstasy, race into his cock and throb in his balls. He gave a great groan, head falling back as he felt the pleasure rush into him. The tension tightening as he stared into her eyes.

“Give in, Zackie. Be a good boy. Be mine. Give in. It’ll feel so good to cum. To cum that silly brain away. To give in to me. To be mine. Don’t fight it. Give in. Give in…”

“S-Sammy. Sammy. I… I… O-ohhhhh!”

Zack cried out as he felt that final peak of pleasure consume him. As he surrendered. As his cock throbbed and cum spurted from him in sharp bursts of pleasure. As his mind swam and sank beneath the waves of ecstasy. Dark waters that surged up and swallowed him whole.

And above him Sammy smirked, lazily milking his cock. Even as he remained hard. Throbbing. Horny despite the shuddering ecstasy that washed through him.

“Good boy,” Sammy purred as she manipulated her human half above his twitching manhood. As she eased down and pressed the delicate slickness of her pussy against his cock. “Gooood boy. Going to make it even better now. Going to make sure I milk every thought out of your head. Make you a perfect husband. A perfect boy utterly obsessed with me. Going to teach you how good it is to obey, Zackie. Going to make you all mine. Forever mine. And it’s going to be soooo good.”

He gazed up at her, his face red, flushed, his lips panting and body tingling with pins and needles of pleasure and knew she was right.

He knew it would be good.

Wonderful.

Amazing.

He felt it in his bones.

Knew his chance to resist was now gone. The possibility of defying her was now behind him.

Her coils flexed again. He groaned in ecstasy as her lips descended on his and kissed him softly. Passionately. And his cock slipped into her slick pussy. Felt her inner walls flex and fuck him as she pulled him hard against her. Her hands stroking him. Confining him in her coils.

In her love.

In pleasure ever lasting…

“Dropping out, hm?” Miss Cutter said from the other side of her desk, giving him a knowing look.

Zack nodded eagerly. “Y-yes,” he gasped, squirming as the serpentine tail flexed and squeezed around him. “I ah… mnnn… th-think my life is taking… taking a d-different direction and that… um… that college is m-maybe not what I need in life.”

“Yes,” Miss Cutter said with a smirk at the lamia sitting in the chair beside him. “I imagine so. I suppose you found something a bit more… important in life, right?”

Zack nodded eagerly, biting his lower lip and groaning as he felt Sammy’s hand in his lap, squeezing his bulge. “So true,” the lamia cooed. “But then, isn’t that what school is for? Learning more about yourself and the world?”

“S-so true,” Zack gasped, gazing at her, eyes filled with love and devotion. Hearts pulsing in his pupils as he gazed at the seductive serpent.

Miss Cutter chuckled. “I understand,” she said, sliding the form across the table. “Just sign here, and we can get everything sorted out.”

Zack picked up the pen and put it to the line, and for the briefest moment hesitated. Then he felt a squeeze of serpentine coils, and he exhaled, relaxing again, and happily signed.

“Wonderful,” Miss Cutter said, slipping the form out from under his pen. “And since we’re so close to spring break, I assume you two have something in mind?”

“Naturally,�� Sammy cooed as her tail again squeezed Zack. “We’re going to get married right away. I have the wedding all planned out.”

“Really?” Miss Cutter said with an amused look between the pair. “And are you going to stay, Sammy?”

“Of course,” she replied. “I’ve still got my studies to finish. But I’ll be taking my darling husband for a quick honeymoon back home. My mom and sisters will take very good care of him while I’m finishing up school. And they live close enough I can head on up to spend the weekends with him. Doesn’t that sound wonderful, sweetie?”

Zack moaned as her hand massaged his bulge, stroking his rapidly hardening manhood through his pants. He nodded eagerly. “Y-yes. Sounds… sounds g-good. Love you.”

“I love you too,” Sammy breathed, leaning over and kissing him fondly on the cheek.

Miss Cutter chuckled. “Now now. Save it for the dorm room you two.”

“Yes ma’am,” Sammy cooed, rising from her chair. “Come along, darling.”

“Yes dear,” Zack breathed, obediently following his serpentine bride, her tail tugging him after her like a leash. But he didn’t mind. Sometimes, a husband needed a firm hand to keep him from going astray.

And he couldn’t wait for the wedding, the honeymoon.

And especially to meet the family…

#brainwashing #mind control #mindless #brainless #mind corruption #hypnosis #hypnotized #brain drain #jay aury #ai artwork #lamia #snake #gentle fdom #gentle domination #spiral eyes #short story

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qqueenofhades · 4 months ago

Note

Congrats on your sleep in!

Please to ignore if you're not feeling Sandman currently but man I'm craving the specific way you write Dream being a cosmically powerful dumbass. Maybe he's performing a possibly unnecessary rescue rampage for Hob, or setting Hob up to heroically rescue him but isn't quite conscious of his reasons.

Enjoy your break!

Quite obviously, Neil Gaiman can die in a fire at his earliest convenience and I still haven't decided what my level of engagement with Sandman will be going forward -- if I'll watch the new season or write any more major Dreamling fic, etc. Fuck you, Neil Gaiman. However, I did have this idea and could not resist. For what may be obvious reasons. It is set somewhere in my "Dreamling & the Delights of Academia" mini-verse for also obvious reasons.

There is some kind of disturbance in the intangible ether of the Dreaming: dark and violent, threatening and perilous, that catches Morpheus's attention from where he reposes in brooding gloom and makes him look up with a jerk. He cannot be sure from where or whence or why it originates, but it twists the particular soul-resonance that is only associated with one being in all of the universe -- indeed, one human, specifically. He does not know what Hob can be doing, out in the mortal world of London and Goldsmiths and the everyday minor (or indeed, not so minor) irritations of British academia to merit it, but Dream has learned to never underestimate his dearly beloved's talent for attracting trouble. If it isn't just the woes of grading papers and attending endless faculty meetings to be informed blue-in-the-face about the need to Prioritize Student Retention Due To Budget Concerns, then it might be -- monsters or angels or demons, any or all are likely when it comes to Dream of the Endless and his human consort -- no, no. He cannot take the chance.

With barely a barked word to Lucienne to inform her of his departure, Dream stands up in a whirl of wild dark hair and coat, takes a few steps, and leaves the Dreaming, thus to reappear on the lawn in front of the Goldsmiths history department and frighten several students, who utter squawks and throw dirty looks as they power-walk away. He does not care about them; all his attention is on Hob. Mouth dry, he vaults through the doors and races up the squeaky linoleum stairs, shouldering aside several more unsuspecting denizens. Their looks are somewhat more familiar, but equally dirty; they know who he is, having been exposed to his "social skills" at many, many faculty mixers and department events. Hob uses the quotation marks liberally. Dream doesn't see what the problem is.

He reaches the next floor and hurtles along it to Hob's office, drawing up his most fearsome manifestation of nightmare and horror, the great penumbrous shadow of starshine and abyss-dark, a snarling serpent's head and spreading black wings. Whatever is in that office and attempting to meddle with Hob Gadling will face the full force and terror of the Endless, the devastation and cessation of their dreamscape and all their hopes, their very selfhood and soul, and be reduced to a pile of trembling goo. If they dare -- his own beloved, the second half of his old and eternal soul -- if they dare --

Dream bursts through the door in said form of nightmare doom-death-serpent, ready for anything. It is only very belatedly, in the ensuing silence, punctuated only by a tiny whimper of terror from the doltish young student in the chair across from Hob's desk, that he realizes he might have miscalculated. Only a little.

"Pro.... Professor Gadling?" the student squeaks, trembling like a leaf. "What exactly is -- is that?"

Realizing his error, Dream has hastily returned himself to his more-or-less human form, though there still might be a stray proboscis sticking out somewhere. He smooths his hair and attempts to sound deep, regal, dignified. "I beg your pardon."

"Oh for the love of -- " Hob, for his part, has seen too many of these awesome spectral manifestations to evince the slightest terror or indeed to be any more impressed than he is with anything else about Dream, and the expression on his face is one of abject exasperation. "Bloody hell. Crucified Christ. Jordan, this is my husband, Morpheus. Morpheus, this is my student Jordan Binnings, first-year history seminar, and we've just been having a small chat about why he cannot, in fact, use ChatGPT to answer all his essay questions. Now why don't you scoot your overprotective ectomorphic backside out of here and let me do my job, eh, love?"

Morpheus opens his mouth. Morpheus shuts his mouth. Finally he manages, "There was such a disturbance -- you were in pain, you were thinking that this was the worst thing to ever happen -- "

"Because dealing with dozens of AI-generated papers of slop is in fact -- " Hob aims a wrathful glare at the unfortunate Jordan Binnings, who shrinks in his chair even further -- "the worst thing to ever happen in all of time and space, and I'm saying that, as you well know, with plenty of experience to judge by. I've got five more Students of Concern Academic Integrity Reports to fill out after this, because these hapless infants are fucking allergic to thinking for themselves, apparently. If I can get to the end of this module without having them all marched up for plagiarism, I swear -- "

At that, suddenly, he catches himself. Looks back and forth between Jordan and Morpheus with a speculative gleam in his eye. It's the look of Hob the medieval bandit, Hob the enterprising thief, Hob the merry-devil-may-care flouter of all ordinary rules -- even most terrifyingly, the University of London Code of Professional Conduct. "Y'know," he says slowly. "Now that you're here and all, you great gobbling oik, maybe you can be useful. You think?"

Morpheus is briefly lost as to what, exactly, he is supposed to do, until it dawns on him. Eager to atone for his marital faux pas, he once more assumes the dread eldritch form of the King of Nightmares and leans forward, blasting the quaking Binnings with the almighty horror of his eternal Endless presence. "YOU WILL NOT," he booms, sepulchral and stentorian, "USE ARTIFICIAL INTELLIGENCE IN YOUR ESSAYS EVER AGAIN, JORDAN GRAHAM BINNINGS. IT IS AN INSULT TO HUMAN CREATIVITY AND POTENTIAL, TO DREAMS AND WORDS, TO BOOKS WRITTEN AND UNWRITTEN. THIS YOU WILL DO, OR SUFFER NIGHT TERRORS UNCEASING UNTIL YOU COMPLY. THIS IS MY WORD. DO NOT TEST ME."

After Morpheus shrinks back into his normal self and he and Hob stand there, glaring at him in unison, Jordan nods furiously, gibbers his intention to never so much as sneeze in the direction of ChatGPT again so long as he lives, seizes his backpack, leaps to his feet, and races out. Well, if he files a report against Hob and/or Hob gets marched up before the Faculty Disciplinary Commission for failing to contribute to Student Retention: earned it.

"Thanks, you massive git," Hob says fondly, leaning over to kiss Morpheus on the cheek; Morpheus squirms and harrumphs, but not-so-secretly hugely enjoys it. "At least you're good for something."

Morpheus gives him a jaded look. "We have been married for over a century, Robert."

"Indeed," Hob says, cheerfully and remorselessly. "So about time you coughed up for one useful thing. Now, then. Scoot. All those Student Integrity Concern Reports or whatever the fucking things are called won't write themselves. But if any of the others get too shirty, I will call you back. You have my word on that."

Morpheus raises an eyebrow at him. Hob raises one right back. That, indeed, is as much as the almighty King of Dreams can ever win an argument with his ferociously stubborn mortal husband. So Morpheus takes the hint, nods again with as much icy dignity as he can possibly muster, and departs.

(He does not tell Lucienne a word about it when he returns. Not one.)

#reallyintoscience #ask #fic prompts #dreamling #dreamling ff

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carriondell · 1 year ago

Text

ratio excels in all that can be taught, and teaches all he excels at. while you certainly recognise his scientific talents (but then, what contrarian fool would deny them?), you hold no respect for what he dares call pedagogy.

he is rude, tactless, emotionally unaware to the point of outright cruelty towards the most unfortunate of his students. he expels few, as they tend to drop out before he loses hope for their improvement, though that is little comfort to crushed egos. the 0,01% who pass are rightfully lauded as geniuses on par with their stringent professor.

three auditoriums over, you teach engineering—nothing lifesaving the way ratio's innovations are. still, your name appears in the occasional publication, and your students are proud to learn from you. you did assist in designing and building many of the genius society's and intelligentsia guild's spacecrafts. you're proudest of your wards' achievements; each work, each project, each test, an occasion to climb to newer, brighter heights.

your colleagues decry your methods. coddling and pampering, shaping a generation of prissy engineers, ill-equipped for the universe. you've gotten into scuffles with jerks who claimed you were bloating your students' results and their doctorates ought all to be revoked.

"maybe my courses have a 99% passing rate because i'm an actually good professor." you've said that a solid dozen times, and gotten punched at least half of those times.

somehow, ratio has never been among your detractors. the reverse is true. you criticise the way he forgoes teaching for bashing students' merest mistakes, as if they would find illumination in insults, and though you have attempted to bring it up to him, his attitude has hardly improved, and his classroom retention even less so.

"knowledge shouldn't be bitter medicine," you rant, voice nasal from the nosebleed you're pinching away, as he inspects the nicks and bruises on your face. he nods absently, and you waggle a hand before his eyes. "you above all! listen! listen well and good, knowledge should be fun, an adventure, a reward—it should be sweet. why do you insist on making it such a miserable chore?"

"should you be antagonising the man currently tending to you?"

groaning, you whack his hands off. "forget it. i'm fine. and i'll just ring up a doctor if it gets worse."

"i'm a doctor."

"a different doctor, obviously."

you slip down to your feet and take a few steps, wading past him with some effort, as though trying to walk in a wild river, pushed about by currents rushing your way. he grips your arm when you stumble, but you shake him off.

"signs of a concussion," he says. "call the hospital."

you flip him the bird, but fetch your phone all the same.

ratio is left alone, fingers tinged with your blood, unused band-aids and disinfectant on the desk. for all his genius, he hasn't mastered the emotional and interpersonal skills you value so highly. he used to loathe niceness for niceness's sake—a sycophant's game. but you support your students so all may succeed and do not suffer one mean remark about them. he admires that: your kindness, your grit.

#ratio x reader #dr ratio x reader #veritas ratio x reader #ratio hsr x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader

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ladyiristheenchantress · 5 months ago

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What im actually doing as a college witch

Hello! I have finally settled into university after a long couple months getting all my affairs in order, and I wanted to do an update post to my university witch series and tell you about tips and tricks that worked for me, and ones that didn't work so much. I am a transfer student, living in campus apartments, and here are some things im doing to keep the magic alive in my life :)

Things that work

I brought a couple decks with me, but I mostly have switched to online formats like using online rune casters or even using a random wheel picker to do things

I have been using a lot of water magic, using crystal elixirs and rue water (no one is allergic!) to protect my apartment in a college friendly way

I dont really have space for wands or candles, so instead I enchanted my room spray for certain goals, created an academic perfume oil for tests, and enchanted my medications

I use a lot more makeup magic, so certain shades of eyeshadow for test days, using under eyeliner

Created a sigil for testing calm, and another one to help draw anxiety out from me and you just throw it away to keep it away from you

Nap magic has become a really big part of my life, my favorite spell has been saying a prayer before my nap to be fully recharged so I can retain information better

Doing little bits of divination here and there

Nature magic! My campus has a lot of spaces to check out plants and walk with history, so that’s been very grounding

“Sleep magic” so before bed I like to honor water by going to a sacred space in my mind and using wave noises to sleep, it’s a way to have a sacred moment every day easily!

HAIR MAGIC!!! Vailing, braiding, and other stuff with my hair has been amazing! I keep a crystal in my bun, cover my hair for certain observations, and braid it when trying to do stuff. Plus it’s been a great way to connect to my culture

Honest to god baneful magic saved my ass when I got into some hot water so I’m keeping that close to me

What hasn’t worked for me

Daily meditation, I just lack the time to actually sit down and do it, so instead I’ve been integrating it into my mornings and lunch time by eating outside to ground myself

Essential oil magic, as much as I love it, a lot of people are sensitive to scents so I try to just enchant my perfume and body spray instead and pair with a sigil of the day

“Study magic” in general can be really tedious especially when you need to lock in, I would recommend pre-enchanting your notebooks for retention, and just focusing on the content

Any physical items like crystals are great at home, but because I am in so many labs and lectures they tend to just be left home, instead just try to integrate what you can

Really intentional “self care” stuff, like affirmations and such can be really hard to remember, so instead take some time before showers or self care time to just breathe and reflect, and that can be a good enough reset!

As I think of things I hope to include more of my experience as a college witch! I wanted to be transparent in what things worked and what things didn’t, so this was a wonderful check in! Feel free to leave your college magic tips or opinions in the comments!

Fair winds!

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klaineccfanficlibrary · 27 days ago

Note

Any older Kurt? Like could you give me a list?

Love you

Thank you

I assume you mean, there's an age gap between them? Rather than Kurt being an old man! Here's a list, that hopefully will keep you busy reading! ~Jen

I won’t let you down by MrsCriss2012

AU. 16 year old Blaine moves to Lima with his mom and new step family. Desperately unhappy and alone, he is befriended by one Burt Hummel who lives across the road. The pair start to restore a classic car together, but what will Blaine make of Burt’s surly 27 year old son?

~~~~~

It's Not Babysitting by @anxiousssquirrel

AU, present time. Kurt Hummel is 28 and has been living in New York for ten years now. He has a good job, nice apartment and two best friends anyone could wish for: Sebastian, a snarky lawyer, and Cooper, a workaholic investment specialist. What he doesn't have is luck in relationships. But then Blaine, Cooper's 17-year-old brother comes to NY to spend the summer. He turns out to be gorgeous and quickly develops a huge crush on Kurt...

~~~~~

Crush into me by @gleekto

Third year NYADA student, Kurt, returns to Lima for an internship coaching the Glee club. The leather jacket and eyebrow ring-clad senior, Blaine, thinks he’s cute.

slightly older teacher-ish!Kurt/ badboy!Blaine

~~~~~

Through Different Eyes Verse by GLEEanna

Blaine Anderson-Berry is in love with his big sister's best friend Kurt Hummel. Will Kurt ever see him as more than a little kid?

~~~~~

Distraction by @kurtsascot

Blaine Anderson is doubling as Saturday Night Live’s host and musical guest to promote his first album in 10 years.

He’s also secretly fucking his manager.

~~~~~

Stay by @bowtiesandboatshoes

Written for the prompt: Kurt and Blaine’s parents are close friends, so they sort of grew up together even though Kurt is 5-10 years older than Blaine. Blaine has just graduated university and Kurt offers to let him move into his apartment until he can find something better.

~~~~~

Lights Flash and We Run by kurtpuppet

Blaine Anderson found himself secretely dating Vogue's creative director, the powerful, attractive and older Kurt Hummel. It's as if all his dreams came true, except everyone had something to say about it once they're found out.

~~~~~

Undiscovered by @heartsmadeofbooks

All Blaine Anderson needs is a little help to put himself through school. That’s all. But he’s going to get so much more than he hoped for when he meets Kurt Hummel, the successful, sexy workaholic who in turn needs someone to make the loneliness disappear.

~~~~~

Push verse by orphan_account

Despite a 12 year age difference, neither Kurt nor Blaine can deny just how much they want each other. Blaine might only be 16, but he knows what he wants -- and what he wants is for Kurt to push him just a little.

~~~~~ Story of my life by klaineanummel

Kurt reflects on the past twelve years of his life, coming to realize that one man in particular has affected him far more than he ever thought he would

~~~~~

Washington is burning By @quizasvivamos

Widowed at a young age, Kurt was left to raise his only daughter on his own. Knowing that she must marry into a wealthy family to ensure the retention of their family fortune, as her seventeenth birthday is approaching in October of 1812, Kurt makes arrangements with the Andersons. However, complications arise with the marriage arrangement when the eldest son, Blaine Anderson, and Brittany’s husband-to-be, becomes an unbearable distraction for Kurt.

~~~~~

All of me by CoffeeCat72

As a young and successful fashion designer living in NYC he shouldn't have a problem finding a sub. Yet, he has been alone since a college relationship gone wrong. When the Department of D/s affairs proposes that he be a mentor for a college bound troubled sub from Dalton he accepts knowing it will be the right thing to do. What he doesn't expect is the perfectly submissive Blaine Anderson. Title based off the John Legend song.

~~~~~

The Dumbing Down Of Love by JustGidget

“The butterflies in his stomach had been lying to him and it was only in that instant that he realized it. He wondered just how long his traitor brain had been duping him. All he was sure of was that what he was beginning to feel for Blaine was very, very dangerous.” AU. Klaine. age difference. older!Kurt.

~~~~~

Oh, For Fuck's Sake by @teddyshoney

When Finn calls on his brother for last-minute help with McKinley's musical, Kurt agrees to come back and lend a hand. There, he meets school badboy!Blaine Anderson who flirts with him until he finally gives in to his very sexy advances.

Rated M for language and Blaine Anderson being a little to sexy on school property

~~~~~

If I Lose Myself by @fablewriter

Anonymous asked: Can I prompt you ; billionaire older Kurt and pretty young thing Blaine in a relationship and just Kurt spoiling him and just fluff and smut or whatever, take creative freedom as you wish(:

Read at: [PDF]

#klaine fanfiction #fic finder #Older!Kurt

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do-you-have-a-flag · 2 months ago

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just read that article from new york magazine, "Everyone Is Cheating Their Way Through College - ChatGPT has unraveled the entire academic project."

didn't reveal anything new to me about the use and functioning of the plagiarism-grown, glorified auto-predict, language models that were rolled out so irresponsibly it means now anyone can waste water instead of their own time and effort. but was still fascinating to read, in a bleak way.

it's so interesting because cheating and corner cutting will always exist in education, whether out of desperation or laziness, it will always be there. but by university it truly is wild how many people are not actually there to learn, because at that point if you have a program do all your work for you you are fully not there to learn so why waste your time and money playing pretend at a degree. a degree you aren't qualified for because you did not do enough.

we aren't in a post-capitalist universal basic income world where the idea of a few individuals lightly supervising automation is feasible. the technology is not there and the culture and economic stability is not there. so when a professor in the article reasons to students “you’re not actually anything different than a human assistant to an artificial-intelligence engine, and that makes you very easily replaceable. Why would anyone keep you around?” that is not hypothetical. and in terms of the degrees just because the on paper grade says you passed doesn't mean you passed it means you curated automated responses that pass with no actual guarantee of comprehension or retention of information on your part.

and there are tools and templates and minor automations that can be used to supplement your own efforts! they take longer but not that significantly, and more importantly they are less likely to impede the actual practice of learning to implementation.

that's what a lot of people who cheat or use these tools in this way seem to miss.

let me pull out three paraphrased statements of possible justifications from this article:

The education system is flawed

These exercises are irrelevant

I'm bad at organisation

these are all experientially true to my experience of education at various points. and the first point exacerbates issues with 2 and 3 to where students can feel overwhelmed or underprepared or frustrated for various reasons. however where i differ personally from the choice making of these students, is that while i never had access to such a powerful tool i still never chose to cheat or cut corners with things like chapter summaries instead of reading a book, or getting someone else to write for me, or any other obvious forms of cheating/plagiarism.

and the reason for this is not lack of frustration or feelings of antagonism towards the system or confusion over content or lack of organisation skills (all issues i had). it's that throughout my education, i am talking back to primary school, i always tried to figure out WHY we were doing the work assigned to us. what in our studies is it trying to get us to engage with, what methods does it force us to put into use to communicate that knowledge, and how much of the information have we comprehended and retained. some assignments are bad at the execution of these goals but if you can see what the goals are you can still benefit from attempting to achieve them while meeting the requirements enough to pass. IMPORTANTLY the process of doing this frustrating and often inefficient process helps not just critical thinking skills but also is how you actually learn things.

no one else can know stuff for you. it makes sense to outsource a basic sum to a calculator app on your phone, but this means you are not a mathematician. if you use a chapter by chapter summary to write a book report you have not read that book. if you read the wikipedia article for a movie you have not watched that movie. all of these are more verifiable sources of information than language models.

if you get a transcript of a lecture you did not attend and use a chatbot to make notes for you then you did not attend that class- if you read the transcript and take notes and then use the chatbot and compare the difference at least then you used your capacity for thought to process the information and assess it through comparison.... but it would be better to find a classmate and compare notes with a peer so you both have the opportunity to not only check how well you understood the lecture/refresh the information covered, but also a much lower stakes chance to try out communication skills than the group assignments and oral presentations often assigned for this purpose. and on top of that you get to socialise and network with someone in your field of study in a way that benefits both of you.

i'm not even against the use of machine learning models generally, i think they are useful in a repetitive task automation and data scanning context. but why are we delegating things like Knowing Stuff and Human Connection to the 1 and 0 machine that might as easily sell our info as have it leaked to hackers. what kind of cyberpunk surveillance dystopia are we shrugging lazily into? you do not have to pay all that money to pretend to be a competent professional. and if that sounds harsh it's because it is. there are enough scammers and barely qualified people succeeding in this world.

you do not have to dedicate your life to labours that you are not capable of, at the very least be honest with yourself of your own capacity for thought and action. genuinely try to figure out if you are using this technology because of a 'can't' or a 'won't'

it's not a tool if it knows more than you- it's a tool if you could do the job without it.

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justinspoliticalcorner · 3 months ago

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Ryan Adamczeski at The Advocate:

A Florida high school teacher has lost her job simply for calling a student by their chosen name. Melissa Calhoun, a teacher at Satellite High School in Brevard County, was denied a contract renewal for the 2025-2026 school year after allegedly calling a student by their preferred name without their parent's permission. She is believed to be the first fired for refusing to comply with the state's forced outing policy. District officials were notified by a parent that Calhoun had called their child by their preferred name, Brevard Public Schools Spokesperson Janet Murnaghan told FLORIDA TODAY, though they did not provide further details. Calhoun allegedly told officials that she "knowingly did not comply with state statute," and was issued a letter of reprimand. "BPS supports parents’ rights to be the primary decision-makers in their children’s lives, and Florida law affirms their right to be informed," Murnaghan wrote. House Bill 1069, passed in 2023, prohibits all employees and contractors of public K-12 schools from using their preferred titles or pronouns if those “do not correspond to their sex.” For students, the state Board of Education requires that their parents sign a "Parental Authorization for Deviation from Student's Legal Name Form" before they may be called by a name or pronouns — even a nickname — different from what is in their records. The bill has been criticized for forcefully outing students — revealing their LGBTQ+ identities without their consent. LGBTQ+ minors who experience forced outing are more likely to develop depression, as well as face less support from their families, according to a study from the University of Connecticut.

Satellite High School teacher Melissa Calhoun loses her job due to respecting a student’s wish to call a student by their chosen name without parental permission, instead of that student’s legal name.

This arbitrary non-retention of Calhoun by Brevard Public Schools in Florida is why anti-LGBTQ+ forced outing policies are harmful to students and teachers.

See Also:

HuffPost: Florida High School Teacher Loses Job After Calling Student By Preferred Name

#Florida #Forced Outing #LGBTQ+#Anti LGBTQ+ Extremism #Gender Identity #Melissa Calhoun #Brevard County Florida #Brevard County Public Schools #Satellite High School #Florida HB1069

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spacenutspod · 24 days ago

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In a quiet part of Northern California, where pine trees brush the sky and the hum of giant satellite dishes fills the air, something big is happening in science education. A new wave of college students is getting the chance to explore the universe — not through textbooks, but with real data from a world-class observatory. Thanks to a growing program called ARISE Lab, students and teachers from community colleges are diving deep into the science of space, radio signals, and the search for alien life. The SETI Institute, which focuses on the scientific search for extraterrestrial intelligence, has expanded this groundbreaking effort. With new support from a grant by the Amateur Radio and Digital Communication Foundation, the ARISE Lab (Access to Radio Astronomy for Inclusion in Science Education) is now reaching even more classrooms across the country. Making Space Science Hands-On The main idea behind ARISE is simple: when students get to do science themselves, they understand it better and stay interested longer. “Hands-on experiences are proven to improve student engagement and retention,” said Dr. Vishal Gajjar, a radio astronomer who leads the project at the SETI Institute. That’s why ARISE puts real scientific tools directly into students’ hands. The Allen Telescope Array at Hat Creek Radio Observatory. (CREDIT: Luigi Cruz) The program uses GNU Radio, a free and open-source software that lets users process radio signals. This gives students a way to study actual data from the SETI Institute’s Allen Telescope Array (ATA). The ATA is the first and only radio telescope in the world built just for detecting signs of advanced life beyond Earth — also called technosignatures. With these tools, students don’t just read about pulsars, spacecraft, or distant stars. They study them. They learn to sort signals, find patterns, and understand how astronomers listen to the sky. What the ARISE Curriculum Offers Dr. Gajjar and his team built the ARISE curriculum using something called experiential learning technique, or ELT. This method focuses on learning by doing. Students start with pre-lab reading, move through guided lab work, and then reflect on what they discover. Related Stories How podcasts are revolutionizing health education and behavior Groundbreaking discovery promotes verbal learning and fights memory loss New AI-based learning system provides personalized math instruction for students ARISE includes two types of content: modules and labs. Modules are more complete packages that come with slides, notes, reading materials, lab manuals, and instructor guides. They are designed to be added directly into a science class. Labs, on the other hand, are shorter, standalone activities that can be used by themselves or as part of a larger lesson. The labs cover a wide range of topics. Students might explore signal modulation — the way information travels through radio waves — or learn how data science applies to astronomy. Each lab has step-by-step instructions that make it easy for both students and teachers to follow. By linking lessons to the search for extraterrestrial life, ARISE grabs students’ attention. Research shows that this subject sparks more interest than almost any other topic in science. “With ARISE, we’re combining cost-effective tools like GNU Radio with one of the most captivating topics in science — the search for life beyond Earth — to spark curiosity and build skills across STEM disciplines,” Gajjar said. Vishal Gajjar, SETI Institute. (CREDIT: SETI Institute) Real Tools, Real Signals, Real Skills The ARISE team doesn’t just give students data and walk away. They create chances for them to experience what it’s like to work in space science. “Whether it’s detecting a signal from a Mars orbiter or analyzing pulsar data, students are gaining real experience with tools used in both professional astronomy and industries,” said Joel Earwicker, the project’s lead research assistant. “It’s about making science feel real, relevant, and achievable.” That real-world feeling is what sets ARISE apart. It connects students with data from the Allen Telescope Array, a set of 42 dish antennas located at the Hat Creek Radio Observatory. This array scans the sky daily, looking for faint radio waves that might come from intelligent life in space. Students learn how to filter out “noise” from human-made signals, track moving sources across the sky, and identify natural phenomena like pulsars — stars that blink like cosmic lighthouses. These skills mirror what professionals do in both astronomy and tech careers, building a direct path from the classroom to the workforce. Students examine live radio signals from deep space, learning to decode real astronomical data using modern tools and guided scientific methods. (CREDIT: SETI Institute) Growing the Program in 2025 After the program’s first pilot workshop at Hat Creek in 2024, the results spoke for themselves. Teachers loved it. Students stayed engaged. The SETI Institute decided to grow the effort. In 2025, ARISE will offer: 15 new labs on topics like astronomy, digital communications, and data analysis 2 hands-on workshops at Hat Creek to train instructors from community colleges On-site lab support at 10 schools to help teachers roll out the new content The team will also host an in-person workshop for six selected community college teachers from June 25 to June 27, 2025, at Hat Creek. These instructors will get travel and lodging covered. At the workshop, they will visit the telescope site, watch live observations, test out lab activities, and collaborate with other science educators. SETI efforts around the world. (CREDIT: SETI Institute) This expanded effort aims to bring advanced science training to places that often get left out of big research programs — local community colleges. These schools educate nearly half of all undergraduates in the U.S., and their students often come from backgrounds underrepresented in STEM fields. By targeting these schools, ARISE gives more people a chance to be part of space science. It also helps instructors bring fresh energy to their classes. Looking Up, Reaching Out When students see real data from space scrolling across their screens, something clicks. Science becomes more than just facts in a book. It becomes a search — one they can be part of. With ARISE, the SETI Institute is changing how students learn science. Instead of memorizing equations, they explore the universe. Instead of just hoping to understand radio signals, they decode them. By giving students the tools, data, and support to study space firsthand, ARISE opens doors — to science, to careers, and maybe even to the stars. Research findings are available online on the SETI Institute website. Note: The article above provided above by The Brighter Side of News. Like these kind of feel good stories? Get The Brighter Side of News’ newsletter. The post New SETI program helps students detect signs of advanced life beyond Earth appeared first on The Brighter Side of News.

#space #astronomy #news #science

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erbiumspectrum · 1 year ago

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How I survived pchem

So, the time has come: you have to take physical chemistry in uni. Hell's favorite, the most terrifying of nightmares, the source of emotional damage for hundreds of science students worldwide... Or so they tell you. There's no denying pchem is no field of flowers, but I managed to pass the numerical part with a 4/5 and the theoretical part with a 5/5, so let me just say - pchem is definitely passable. Here's some of my advice.

Go to class

Seriously. I know all of studyblr always tells you to go to class, but with pchem I mean it more than ever. Don't skip lectures. Go see the way your professor links the concepts and explains the necessary math. Please. It'll save you so much hassle!

Abuse office hours

And don't hesitate to ask questions in class. Lab partner and I would stay after lectures to ask our professor extra questions or go see him in his office several times during the semester and it always paid off. They won't be mad! They're here for you! Chances are, they'll be happy a student is invested in their subject.

Be consistent

I cannot stress this enough: consistency is everything. Do not leave studying for a test/exam until the last minute. If you can cram pchem at all, that's impressive. But I don't think you can cram it well. Go over your lecture notes the same day - with a textbook, so that you can fill in the gaps in your understanding of the given topic - it does wonders for comprehension and retention.

Do practice problems

And if you get mandatory exercise sets you need to complete for class, try to do more than that. Looking at somebody's solution and thinking "yeah I see what's going on here" isn't enough. If you aren't able to solve similar exercises by yourself, from scratch, you don't actually understand the topic.

Make friends with a good textbook

Ideally, your professor should be the one to recommend textbooks and exercise books. If they don't, ask! Personally, aside from some Polish textbooks, I read Atkins religiously. The textbook is great. The exercise book is a lifesaver - the answer key has complete, step-by-step solutions *cries in joy*

Understand the material thoroughly

Don't just skim through the chapters - see how every new concept is "stacked" on top of the previous ones and how it complements them (why do we need the second law of thermodynamics? Why is the first one not enough? Why is entropy defined as heat over temperature and not work over temperature if both heat and work are a way to transfer energy?). Similarly, don't just memorize formulas!! See where they come from. Derive them yourself, identify the steps that are unclear and try to understand what happens there.

Less fear, more curiosity

All right, pchem is hard, pchem is demanding, sure. But pchem is also fun. Pchem is fascinating, pchem is beautiful! The intersection of sciences! The chemistry you're already familiar with translated into the universal language of mathematics! Nature explained at a molecular level! Look. Everybody told me pchem would traumatize me, so I decided to prove them all wrong. I tried to approach it with as much enthusiasm as I could and it worked! Yes, I absolutely had to work my butt off in this class, but I enjoyed it! Please, try to do the same.

Additional resources

The organic chemistry tutor - physics (yt)

Professor Derricotte (yt)

Physical chemistry (yt)

The chemistry library - physical and theoretical chemistry

Have fun and good luck!! 🍀💖

#obviously these aren't universal #but i think most of them can be helpful to a lot of people #mine #studyblr #chemblr #stemblr #sciblr #chemistry #op

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gghostwriter · 1 year ago

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Entangled Strings of Fate

Chapter 1. Lighting stuck (and was caught in a bottle)

Spencer Reid x FOC

Summary: Caltech, Pasadena - Cleo considers herself a woman of logic. With an IQ of 158 and an eidetic memory, how could she not. But meeting Spencer, the boy genius to hers, had her believing in intangible theories like the invisible string and the fates. Now, if only he would notice the depth of her feelings. Set in Caltech, pre-season 1 and will progress from there. previous chapter || series masterlist || next chapter

“Luck is not chance, it’s toil; fortune’s expensive smile is earned” - Emily Dickinson

The day started off beat when the alarm for her 8am class didn’t ring and it continued to snowball since then. Rushing out the door with a piece of bread in her mouth, her bag strap broke into two. The vending machine around the corner was out of order. She stepped on gum while brisk walking to her next class. And missed the chance to borrow the last book copy of a pre-requisite read for another class. In retrospect, these could all be the fates and time setting the scene.

“Excuse me, I was told by the librarian you borrowed the last copy of The Origins of Totalitarianism?”

A pair of eyes looked up at Cleo blankly from his cluttered library desk by the window. He looked young, younger than any university boys she’d seen around the campus. Locks pushed behind his ears, he was pleasing to the eyes. If the academic genius was the type and it was true for her.

Cleo found herself rambling under his scrutiny. “I know I’m not supposed to know who borrowed which book due to personal privacy and the librarian shouldn’t have have told me anything even with my incessant questioning but I really do need the book for a pre-requisite.”

“Actually yes, you shouldn’t have been given access to library records or been privy to any of those information. But I do have the copy you’re looking for,” he pointed at the mentioned book from underneath a precarious book pile.

“Is it possible for me to borrow the copy for a while?”

Silence.

“At least right now? I can read through it quickly and never have it leave your area of premises,” she pleaded, sitting down at the empty chair in front of him. “Please and I’ll never bother you again after that.”

He quirked his eyebrow up. “It’s a 579 page book. You can finish it in one sitting and not compromise retention?”

“Well, I do read fast and have an eidetic memory.”

Cleo blushed and averted her gaze. She knew better than to brag about her skills that would get her labelled as a freak of nature but she was past the point of no return. Flashbacks of the high school teasing and gum in her hair incident whirled in her mind. It could have been worse if not for her older sister, Thalia, by her side. A 5’3” terror of a protector specially when Cleo accelerated from 1st year to 3rd year which was her sister’s grade.

The young boy slid the battered copy to her view point. “I actually don’t need it back right away. It’s more of a light reading.”

Her eyebrows rose with intrigue. Any run-of-the-mill university student wouldn’t consider this type of book a leisure read. “I’m Cleo, by the way. Cleo Murphy.”

“Spencer. Spencer Reid.”

“Well Spencer, I didn’t think anyone would consider Origins of Totalitarianism a great book to pass time with. None of any college boys I’ve encountered, any way.” She started, looking around the various books on the table—from Chemistry, to Philosophy, to fictional classics in its original language. “Which begs the question, are you a genius?”

“I don’t believe that intelligence can be accurately quantified, but I do have an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory—like you, and can read 20,000 words per minute,” he rambled on. “Yes, I’m a genius.”

Cleo couldn’t help but be impressed with his response. It was commonly estimated that one of the greatest theoretical physicist to ever walked the Earth, Albert Einstein, had an IQ of about 160 and here was a modern day genius that beat one of the greats by a mile in numerical value. A proficient reader can read 280-350 words per minute without compromising comprehension and she herself can read 625-950 words per minute, a feat on its own, but here was someone who made that skill seem so ordinary.

“You’re taking up Political Science as an undergraduate for law school, correct?” His intelligent hazel eyes locking into hers. “And a genius too.”

She smiled. “What made you say that?”

“Well, you mentioned that this book is a pre-requisite for your class. You also used the term personal privacy, have an idea that library information should not be shared and apologized for it to cover bases. You’ve also hounded the librarian for those details, getting on her nerves similar to how lawyers hound information to get the court hearing outcome that they want,” he paused, tapping his finger on the table like he was in further in thought. “As for the genius commentary, you didn’t seem surprised when I mentioned my IQ. You also mentioned that you read fast, probably not as fast as 20,000 words per minute but faster than the average reader. An eidetic memory and based on your favorite character keychain hanging from your bag it looks to be more popular for a 13-15 year old than a university student so you graduated earlier than average.”

“Everything was almost right. Except the keychain, it’s not my favorite. It’s my older sister’s,” she looked at the keychain on her bag and chuckled. “I’d like to guess you’re in Caltech for a Ph.D, your interests on reading is too varied to pinpoint what but I’d say you have a BA in Psychology with how you intellectually guessed me.”

“It’s not an intellectual guess. It’s actually called profiling,” he clarified. “And I graduated with BAs in Psychology and Sociology, recently. Currently acquiring my PhDs in Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering concurrently.”

“So you’re a sophophile?”

“I prefer the term polymath,” he stated as he closed the book in front of him, seemingly wanting to focus on the conversation at hand. “Sophophile isn’t really a proper term is it? I don’t think I’ve encountered it in the dictionary.”

“It’s more of an urban dictionary term, from the Greek origin of Sophia—wisdom and philac—love.” She explained as the 3pm bell rang. “Well then Spencer Reid, I’d leave you to your readings. Do you want to meet up for coffee tomorrow by Cecile’s at 10am? It’s this hole in the wall coffee spot just around the campus block.”

Spencer opened his mouth, seemingly about to disagree.

“As a thank you for lending me the book, I mean,” she rushed out, stuffing the book inside her bag as she stood. “And I’d like to hear more about your eclectic taste of light reading.”

He smiled, a full grin lighting up his baby face. If she thought he was attractive before, it was nothing compared to when he smiled. He was beautiful.

Heart threatening to jump out of her chest, Cleo felt the times were trying to mark this moment as significant. A moment now engraved in her own mind. A chance meeting that altered the course of her life here on Earth as she knows it.

“I’d like that.” He replied.

And as it were pre-destined, their red strings of fate intertwined.

———

Cleo was woman of logic, always hated the unknown and where all the impossibilities may lead. That was what attracted her to law, in the first place. Everything is clean cut, written on a piece of legislation with corresponding violations should there be a breach in right or contract. She Also liked her order and structure, clearly seen adapted to her surroundings. Her small personal collection, brought from her home library, of books organized in a Dewy Decimal System. Her number of shoes beside the entryway arranged by type, color, and height. And her clothing arranged in the same manner. Her roommate, Raina, once jokingly asked if she had ever gone to the doctor to get diagnosed for OCD. It wasn’t that really, it was more of a result to her rigid upbringing as a member of the upper echelons of society.

Meeting Spencer has thrown her life into chaos. Her bed was made, yes, but various pieces of clothing were haphazardly thrown all around it. She was undecided on what to wear, an inconceivable act from someone like Cleo. Was it too casual to wear her favorite jeans or was it too dressy to wear her green maxi skirt. An IQ of 158 and she was unable to answer such a simple problem. Her phone rang underneath all her clutter, a reminder that she had 15 minutes left before the scheduled coffee meet.

The walk to Cecile’s was an 8 minute walk, 6 minutes if she walked faster than usual. Which gives her a shy of 7 to 9 minutes to decide what to wear and exit her dormitory. She looked at the clock on her bedside table, 1 minute had passed since then. She sighed and reached for her own type of uniform—low rise jeans, long sleeve top, and her trusty black Converse—and she was out the door with 9 minutes to cover the distance. She disliked being late, no matter the setting, and from what she gathered Spencer was the same.

Rounding the campus block, she spotted Spencer waiting outside Cecile’s. He had his hair, again, pushed behind his ears—possibly gelled slightly to stay in place. A polo tucked in his khaki pants that are slightly rolled to showcase his mismatched socks, scuffed black Converse, a light cardigan hanging on his wiry arms, and a brown satchel to finish the look.

“Hey Spencer,” she greeted. Peeking at her wrist watch, she noted that she was right on schedule. A small success.

“Hi,” he greeted back with a his awkward smile and half wave of his hand.

As she stepped into the warm shop after him, she was greeted with the enticing smell of newly baked pastries and ground coffee. It was a Saturday, meaning the average university students were all asleep, hung over from Friday parties and booze. The shop was almost empty, sans one table being occupied by a staff.

“So, what do you like? My treat,” she asked. No longer needing to look at the menu. This was her spot to decompress and people watch. Her order was always the same. She is ,after all, a woman of order and predictability.

“Just plain black coffee, filled only until a fourth of the cup.”

She thought that was an interesting choice of drink and specifications. She’ll have to ask him to explain that later on. She turned to face the cashier, a teenage boy with apparent bags under his eyes. “Hey Adam, one order of plain black coffee filled until a fourth of the cup and my usual, please.”

“Hey Cleo, sure thing. My mom just baked a fresh tray of croissants, any interest on those?” He asked while ringing up her orders.

She laughed. “Like you’d need to ask, make it two for here and two to go.”

“You didn’t have to buy me a croissant too, you know,” Spencer stated as they walked to the table by the window with their orders on hand. “The coffee is enough compensation for lending you the book.”

“I want to,” she insisted, sitting in front of each other. “Plus, the croissants here can rival the ones from Paris.”

“Okay. But why two to go?” He continued to ramble on. “Scientifically speaking, pastries are best eaten after 20 minutes of cooling. They go through a process called starch retrogradation, with moisture from inside the pastry continuing to migrate outward and evaporate, leaving a moist interior and a nice crispy crust.”

“That may be true but those to-go pastries aren’t for me. They’re for my roommate, Raina, and he,” she pointed to Adam. “Is her boyfriend. Where’d you learn that interesting tidbit?”

“From a pastry cookbook. I was trying to bake myself some pastries for whenever I need a sugar rush.”

“You know how to bake? That’s charming,” she blushed. This specimen of a teenage boy couldn’t get any more perfect than he already was. “But I have to ask, why the specifics on your coffee order?”

Spencer proceeded to scoop 7 spoonful of sugar to his coffee, seemingly showing her the answer to her question.

With an eyebrow raised, she sipped her order—a flat white. That definitely answered her question. That much sugar added to coffee can have bad effects in the future, such as diabetes, when done regularly but she knew Spencer knew that so it was more a taste type of choice, she concluded as she slid the lent book across the table.

“Thank you again for letting me borrow the book,” she said. “It’s not my choice of light reading, per se, but it was a great read still.”

“Then what would you consider as light reading then?”

She pondered over the question. With the large repertoire of books she has read ever since she was a kid, the inquiry was hard to answer with just one title. “It would depend on what I’m looking for really, definitely fiction, it is a great form of escape after all. If I’d want to stimulate my brain, I’d go for a mystery novel. If it’s for nights when I can’t fall asleep, The Little Prince in it’s original language always does the trick. And if it’s just to pass time, I’d say I gravitate towards contemporary fiction that tackles societal issues.”

“You read in French?” He asked, clearly intrigued with the workings of her mind.

“Oui, my family moved to France when I was a little girl due to business and my mother wanted me to learn French from the locals rather than subject me to non-native teachers. Do you also speak French?” It was also her mother who enrolled her to learn Russian, German, Italian and Spanish but she didn’t need to brag more than she already had.

He took a sip of his coffee and smiled. “I can read and understand French, Russian and Spanish but speaking it is a bit difficult. The accent comes off wrong and I’d like to think it’s because I have a lot of things to say so my pronunciation can’t keep up.”

“I don’t see how that can stop you from speaking the language. If you’d like, we can talk to each other in French for your pronunciation practice,” she suggested. It was a great excuse to not lose connection with him. The boy who tugs at her heartstrings like no other. “Granted I can also communicate in Russian & Spanish but my accent for those two is a bit wonky at best.”

Staring deeply into her eyes, she felt vulnerable and hoped that he couldn’t hear her heartbeat threatening to jump out of her chest.

“Oui, j’aimerais bien,” he replied. His accent sounding American still but Cleo thought it was cute nonetheless.

“Parfait,” she breathed out, unable to stop her large grin from spreading.

#criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds #Spencer Reid fanfic #Spencer Reid fic #Spencer Reid x fem!oc #spencer reid fanfiction #gw fics #esof fanfic

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