Ever since you found release in Professor Smith’s office, you’d realized just how deep the rabbit hole went. Suddenly, you felt cornered every time you felt his eyes roving over you. 

Really, it was your own damn fault. He’d practically laid out his intentions the minute you suggested this…social experiment. You’d been too caught up in the idea of being chased to realize he’d tied a bone on a stick and was leading you around. 

Which was how you found yourself ripping your eyes back down to your notes after catching him eyeing you up during the lecture. He was still speaking, though he made it nearly impossible for you to focus without your ears and cheeks burning. 

When class ended, you considered lingering, but then the shame of your little soiree inside the professor’s office replayed in your mind, and you felt suffocated in his presence, like you couldn’t get a full breath in without it getting caught in your throat and choking you out from the inside.

You basically dumped your belongings into your bag, taking the steps down toward the exit doors two at a time. You didn’t need to look up to know he was watching, monitoring your hasty exit. You had covered up today, legs clad in tight jeans and a button-down that you’d haphazardly tucked into the side of your pants, but it still felt too revealing. Like you were still bearing yourself to him.

When you finally got up to the library, you were panting, having practically zipped up the steps. Ymir was in her usual spot, sipping casually on some fruity drink from Starbucks. Her eyes roved you over before she lifted a fine brow. 

“I see you decided to give your legs a reprieve from prying eyes.” She said it teasingly, but the hair on the nape of your neck stood on end, and you were quick to sit down, settling into the quietness of the library. “Did the physics prof take a sick day or something?”

She knew bits and pieces of what you’d told her, though it wasn’t the full truth. Not because you didn’t trust Ymir, but because it made your heart race at a dizzying speed every time you got close to spilling it all.

“No,” you mumbled. “I just…I’m not feeling well.”

“Oh, do you want an ibuprofen?” She had already started shifting toward her bag, nudging the Starbucks cup closer to you. “Here,” she gently set down two extra-strength tablets. “You think you might be feeling up to hitting the brewery district tonight?” Ymir leaned on the table, closing her laptop.

“Maybe,” you hummed, downing the pills. “Probably not.”

“Too busy attending office hours?” Ymir teased, eyes lighting up. 

“It’s not like that,” you defended, though it came out softly, your hand coming up to play with the hem of your shirt. “It’s… he’s just looking. There’s no touching.” The lie burned in your throat, coating your insides with molten lava.

“I think it’s good for you,” Ymir leaned back, stretching out while stifling a yawn. “I haven’t seen you put so much thought into your looks since high school.” Her lips twitched up, “It’s okay to want to be seen,” then, she saw the way you stiffened, “and if a physics professor can do that for you, then I think it’s fine to let him look.”

“Right,” you sighed, though it was a rather pitiful agreement. “But…” that little, insignificant hesitation hung in the air, lurking, waiting. “What if we’re bordering on…” your hands worked their way into the air. “Like…voyeurism?”

Ymir’s face went blank, the Starbucks cup nearly slid free from her fingers before she set it down with lethal precision.

“Like..?” she asked it softly, as though she couldn’t believe what you were saying.

“Like…during his scheduled office hours?” You receded further into the chair, a blush creeping up your neck and smothering you.

“You didn’t,” Ymir whispered, a scandalized grin pulling her lips up. 

“I did,” finally, you spoke the truth to someone. “Yesterday.”

“And…” her eyes searched yours. “You…watched him?”

“Well,” your voice raised an octave. “He actually watched me.” The words came out quickly as she slammed her hands on the table, heads shot up to see what the commotion was about, and you winced and the sudden attention. 

“No fucking way,” she sat back down, whispering. “No way. I’m calling bullshit.”

You only stared, humiliated. 

“What…” she leaned forward, ready to grill you for more information, but then Ymir stiffened, eyes darting over your shoulder. 

You didn’t need to turn around to know who she was staring at with a newfound sense of interest, like he was a puzzle she was pleasantly surprised by.

“You know,” she spoke quietly, unwilling to let anyone else hear, least of all him. “I never would have pegged him as the type. He looks like the stick-up-their-ass type.”

“He’s a lot more lenient than I initially thought,” you shrugged, and you ignored the cheeky smile Ymir shot you. “Not relaxed enough to up my grade for a show, but… indulgent, nonetheless.”

“Quick,” she perked up, glancing behind you. “Unbutton another two buttons from your shirt.” Ymir hisses, rolling her hand in the air as if that would hurry you up.

“I’m not unbuttoning anything,” you derided, crossing your arms over your chest. “Besides,” suddenly, sharing this secret with Ymir improved your mood, and you cracked a grin. “He got his eyeful yesterday. I have my own business to focus on today.”

You took your notes out, getting down to business while Ymir resumed hers. You made careful work not to look behind you, and when the hour passed and you headed to your next class, you left the library only slightly disappointed. 

The steps headed down to the first floor for your chemistry lab were easy to navigate, and you walked confidently, somewhat excited. When you filed in, you hung your bag up neatly and took your seat next to Connie. 

Your lab professor was a severe-looking man; you’d yet to see him smile, at anyone, for any reason, and anytime one of his students tried to crack a joke, he only stared blankly. It often made for awkward and uncomfortable silences, especially with Connie sitting next to you. 

“So,” you turned to face him as he started dicking around with a few wingbolts on the edge of the table. “I hear everyone is headed to the brewery district tonight.”

“Yeah,” He looked up at you, eyes brightening as Connie nodded enthusiastically, his lab coat’s lapels shifting up and down. “It’s gonna be great, there’s this great place that also sells smash burgers, and Sasha had been dying to try them–”

“Springer,” Professor Levi’s voice sliced through the room like a knife, and both of you whipped your heads up to look at him. “Stop touching that. You’re going to bring the whole damn table down.”

Connie was nodding, overexplaining himself to Professor Levi, who had already turned his attention back to the very tall, very blond professor in the doorway. You held your breath, hand darting out to clutch the table. 

You went to lean your weight on the table, just to shift around and back toward Connie, and you felt the table give way beneath your hand, your ass sliding off the stool while Connie tried to leap up and help you.

You weren’t really sure how it happened. Your recollection of events had gotten a little spliced in the incident. One second, you were falling, watching Connie’s look of horror as he reached a hand out for you, the next, you saw one of the mobile weighing scales from the 80s hurtling toward you. At some point, you could have sworn you heard Professor Levi cussing Connie out so thoroughly that you laughed, but you weren’t sure if you had imagined hearing it, or if it had actually happened. 

When you came to, your head felt like it was going to explode from how bright the fluorescents were, and you couldn’t help the groan that expanded inside your throat, hands moving to cover your eyes. 

When you finally succumbed to waking, you realized you were in a hospital room filled with flowers. Bouquets of every size and shape littered your bed, and your lips fell open, trying to gauge just how severe the fall was. 

You reached over to the nightstand, your arm pinching where the IV had been inserted, though you paid it no mind. Someone had left most of your personal belongings from the lab here, neatly settled next to the bed. 

You opened your phone, frowning at all the get-well texts that you now had to sift through. Your phone informed you that only a few hours had passed since your chemistry lab would have ended, so you weren’t sure how word spread so quickly. 

The hospital was quiet, save for the heart monitor, quietly beeping, and you patiently waited for one of the nurses to check on you. You hauled your bag onto the small bed, pulling out your archaic laptop and notes, trying to at least make yourself useful.

You startled at a knock at the door, you could hear the sudden spike in your heart rate from the monitor, and your brows furrowed to find Professor Smith standing in the doorway, wearing his usual polite smile.

“Good morning,” he greeted. His eyes swept over you. You hadn’t actually seen yourself yet, but you could just barely make out the marred skin in the dark reflection of your laptop screen. “That was quite the scene.”

“Did…” You bit your lip, “Did Professor Levi… was he upset with Connie?”

“The young man who I assume is at fault?” Erwin tilted his head, eyes darting to the heart rate monitor that betrayed your thundering heart. “Yes. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Levi so angry.”

He was slow to come and stand at the side of your bed, sitting in the visitor’s chair next to it. He eyed the laptop and notes, though he didn’t comment on them.

“I hope Connie didn’t get in too much trouble,” you mumbled, “it was an accident.”

He leaned into the chair, settling into the leather before he brought his legs up, leaning them on the edge of the bed. 

“You’re quite the mess,” he said quietly, letting his words permeate the air. “You made quite a mess in my office.” The heart monitor crept to a rapid pace. “Breathe,” he leaned his head on the edge of the chair, listening. “You’re going to raise attention if you don’t relax a little.”

“It’s a little difficult to let go when you know exactly what to say to wind me up.” The admittance is small, but you see the delighted flash in his eyes before he’s on his feet, prowling toward you.

You don’t move, there’s nowhere for you to hide, and when he taps your shoulder with two fingers, motioning for you to move, to face the window while he stands behind you, you obey. You expect him to go on a whole spiel, something akin to Mufasa reminding Simba that everything the light touches is his, but he’s quiet.

He thumbs your shoulder, gently. Careful of the bruising before increasing pressure. A strange whine gets caught in the back of your throat as he pushes just a little harder, massaging into you. You don’t realize it, but you’re leaning into the touch, eyes fluttering closed as he continues. 

“See?” he hums, stepping back slowly. “You haven’t gotten to experience it yet, but I’m diligent in ensuring the aftercare is well maintained.”

And then there it was again, the insufferable heart monitor beeping rapidly.

“Maybe you really should go get a nurse,” you sighed, trying to give him an excuse to leave. “I’d like to try and catch the next bus home.”

He abided, though he frowned. You didn’t give it much other thought, focused on slowing your breathing. 

The nurse and doctor were thorough, shooing Professor Erwin from the room before checking your vitals and going over what happened.

“Well,” the doctor shifted his weight. “Ideally, we would keep you overnight, just to keep you under observation,” his fingers reached out, grazing the bruise along the side and back of you neck, “but it seems like your boyfriend is pretty keen on getting you home so you can rest properly.”

“Oh,” your back stiffened, “We’re not…dating.” The words were strained, and you were sure you were blushing. 

“Whoever the hell he is, then, I don’t care,” he waved off the embarrassment. “If you feel safe going home with him and letting him keep an eye on you for the next 24 hours, then I suppose I can discharge you right now.”

You took a second, just a minute to really, seriously contemplate the option. 

“Sure,” you shrugged, trying to stay nonchalant. There was no way Erwin would take that responsibility seriously. He had a million other tasks to get done, he had a lecture to prep for in the morning. He would probably just drop you off at home and tell you to prepare for the lecture in the morning.

“I’ll have him start signing the papers. One of the nurses will be in with your clothes.” The doctor was swift, leaving the room.

When you stepped into the hospital lobby wearing your clothes, flowers shielding your vision, Erwin was quick to step forward, helping manage most of the heavy lifting.

“I feel bad that I missed so many people coming to see me,” you mumbled. You walked slowly, trying to fish your phone out to look up the bus schedule. “I think we need to go that way,” you pointed to the left.

“Why?” Erwin hummed, tugging on your elbow in the opposite direction. “My car is over there.”

You stumbled, “I just–the bus–”

“The bus?” he halted, grinding the two of you to a stop. “I just signed papers promising you’d be looked after for the next 24 hours,” he was shaking his head, strides long as he pulled you across the parking lot, still muttering to himself about how silly an idea taking the bus home was.

You let him usher you into his car before he took off. 

He helped you with the flowers and your bags, bringing them up the steps before you unlocked the door. Ymir was nowhere to be found, probably enjoying the breweries with everyone and assuring Connie that he was being dramatic. 

You eased it open, letting Professor Smith through before you shut the door behind you. The apartment wasn’t huge, but it was home.

“Do you want some water?” you ventured forward, taking your bag and fishing out your metal to-go cup, rinsing it before putting it into the dishwasher. You didn’t look up. “You can just put the flowers on the counter. Historia can take them the next time she’s over; she’ll be able to care for them a lot better than I can.”

You held out a cup to him, neglecting to fill your own before you were on the move again, stepping toward the bathroom. You left the door open, turning on the light before you really looked. 

It looked a lot worse than it felt, no doubt. 

Slowly, your fingers brushed past the purple skin, hissing and flinging your fingers back when you pressed too hard on a particularly sensitive spot.

“It was the scale,” Professor Smith supplied from behind you. He didn’t encroach on your personal space, but he leaned on the doorframe, holding his water in one hand while the other was in his pocket. “The table gave way when you leaned on it, and the scale came crashing down on top of you.”

The scale. 

Your thoughts wandered as you nodded absentmindedly.

“You’re lucky that boy managed to push you just slightly, or it would have crushed your windpipe.”

Oh.

“Levi, I think, was more upset about the mess he needed to clean,” he said the words dryly, a small joke. “He’s a bit obsessed with keeping his space sterile, so a little blood sent him into a tailspin.”

“Blood?” You questioned. “I…bled?” 

Erwin’s brows furrowed, catching on the back of your button-down shirt. Slowly, he watched you turn and pull your hair up, craning your head to try to look in the mirror.

“Jeez,” you sucked in a breath, letting the pads of your fingers ghost over the jagged clotting on the nape of your neck. “I had no idea. The nurse helped me put on my shirt, but I didn’t even see it.”

“It didn’t look very deep,” Professor Smith wet his lips. “Mainly superficial. I’m certain it looks worse than it feels, much the same with the bruising.”

“Well,” you let out a breath, slipping past Professor Smith. “I feel like I need a beer.” You were quick to dart into your room, peeling off the bloody shirt and tossing it into your hamper before forcing a turtleneck on. It didn’t matter that Erwin stood in your doorway, darting between the photos on your windowsill and the neat way you’d made your bed. It didn’t matter that he glanced at the trash filled with empty chip bags and wrappers. It didn’t even matter that his gaze lingered on your closet, catching on the boxes of bras, underwear, and socks you labelled overtop your dresser. It was off you, and off of that godawful bruise. 

“A beer?” he looked at you, really looked at you, tucked under a layer of clothing. “What happened to tequila shots?”

“Well,” you rummaged through the fridge. “In all honesty, I only ever take tequila shots at the bar. They’re easy, they’re fun, and they get you fucked within the hour.” You pulled one out, handing it to him before you grabbed one for yourself. 

When Ymir and Historia stumbled through the front door late into the evening, you and Professor Smith were sitting beside one another at the counter, going over notes.

Historia let out a little gasp, clutching onto Ymir’s hand a little tighter while Ymir flitted her eyes over the scene, sight lingering on the beer bottles. 

“Come on, Historia,” she tugged the blonde further into the room, nudging the door closed with her foot. “We’ll get the skinny in the morning.” Both of them disappeared behind Ymir’s door, leaving you and Erwin to lock eyes. 

“Is she always so charming?” he questioned. 

“Especially with professors she doesn’t like,” you grinned.

***

You weren’t really sure what time Erwin left, only that he stayed much later than he should have. When morning came, and your alarm went off, you and Ymir boarded the bus, and you were grateful when she took her spot standing behind you, keeping an eye out to ensure that no one bumped into your shoulder by accident.

You’d worn another turtleneck; you didn’t need the extra attention. The wool overcoat paired with the trousers, the ankle boots, and the turtle neck added a professional air to you. Not to mention you’d settled on wearing your glasses again. Only because you couldn’t find your contacts. 

When you slid into Professor Smith’s classroom, you ducked your head, taking your usual perch in the middle of the room. You didn’t miss the small nod he gave you, though you doubted it was because of your outfit. There was nothing sexy about being professional. 

When he clapped his hands after checking the clock and starting the lecture, the entire class let out a collective groan. 

“Now now,” he stepped forward with a stack of papers. “If you’ve been paying any attention at all during my lectures, this quiz should be a breeze for you.”

When he started the timer, the class fell silent, save for pencils scribbling across the paper. For a moment, you stared, somewhat stunned. Then, you let your pencil glide, taking off as you wrote down formulas and explained the theories.

This was the course material Professor Erwin had suggested you look over last night. 

You were the first one to hand in your paper, and he congratulated you, letting his fingers brush over yours before he sent you on your way.

You finished class an hour early, and when you stopped by the Starbucks on the 5th floor just outside the library, you slumped, waiting for your coffee. 

The library was quieter than usual, and Ymir had yet to make it to your usual spot. You rolled your shoulders, stretching out before you got to work, studying for the next class.

“Oi,” you felt a shoe kick the chair you were sitting in, and before you could stop him, Professor Levi sat down across from you, exactly where Ymir would be sitting in 15 minutes. “Your shoulder,” he nodded, a leisurely motion. “What did the doctor say?”

“Just that I should take it easy,” you lifted your fingers, listing off, “no strenuous exercise, no chemistry labs, the usual.”

“Yeah,” He let out a sound that sounded suspiciously close to a laugh, though there was no discernible smile on his face. “I’ll believe it when I see the doctor’s note.”

Silence fell between you. Professor Levi, though a severe-looking man, sat leisurely, one leg crossed over the other, while he leaned an elbow on the armrest of his chair, resting his chin on his palm. 

“Springer,” he spoke again, eyes narrowed. “I’d like to get your thoughts on an acceptable consequence for that little stunt he pulled.”

You blinked, head tilting. “I don’t think it was a stunt, Professor Levi,” you leaned back, stretching again. “He’s just a guy who’s never been clinically assessed for ADHD. He was just fidgeting with the first piece of movable metal his beady little eyes locked onto.”

“Well,” he inclined his head, straightening his shoulders. “That’s not unbelievable.”

“I think that if you want to punish him, you should ask him to hand clean all the chemistry equipment we’ve used this semester. It’s his own personal hell to be subjected to sitting still without talking to someone, and being forced to do something monotonous.”

“Fuck,” Professor Levi swore, “Erwin wasn’t joking when he said you were quick on the uptake.”

“You expected me to be…stupid?” you mumbled, “Aren’t I passing your class with a 96% right now?”

“Anyone can bullshit anything,” he waved a hand through the air dismissively. “I expect everyone to have the same shitty attitude and aptitude for fuckery until proven wrong.”

“Sir,” You held your hands up, “Don’t misunderstand, I most definitely have an aptitude for fuckery,” you tried not to smile as you spoke. “I just think there’s a time and a place. A chemistry lab is pretty low on the list.”

A wry upturn of his lips flashed, so subtle you would have missed it if you weren’t looking. Then he spoke, and the easy morning you’d been breezing through came to a screeching halt. 

“Am I to assume Erwin’s office is higher up on the list?”

He tilted his head, waiting for an answer while you gaped.

You blinked. Once, twice. Three times.

You opened your lips to speak, but a hand clamped over your injured shoulder, pressing down just enough. 

“Don’t make a scene,” Erwin’s voice dipped down low. You didn’t break eye contact with Professor Levi; your heart felt like it was going to explode. “Levi,” he greeted, “I thought we agreed to wait.”

Oh.

oh.

“I was just curious,” Levi didn’t move, didn’t so much as flicker his eyes up at Professor Smith as he sat down next to you, between you and Professor Levi. “Is she always this prone to freezing up?”

You were sandwiched between the two men and the wall to your side unless you wanted to try and stand straight, but the table was in the way, and scooching backward on the carpet was just simply not an option. The chair would get stuck, and you’d never make it out of the conversation without getting dragged back.

“I’m just contemplating the best way to flee,” you mumbled out. Adrenaline rushed through your ears as you swallowed. “Also trying to wrap my mind around what this ambush is.” You couldn’t really feel what you were saying, you couldn’t distinguish one lip from the other as they flapped with your words, couldn’t twist your tongue into the right shapes around the vowels.

“You’re a smart woman,” Levi pushed, “You said it yourself, your mark is weighing at a 96 in my chemistry lab right now,” you’d never expected to hear such a condescending tone seep from such an otherwise monotonous man. “You didn’t really think you were only dressing up for blondie over there, did you?”

“Am I…” the words were disjointed, “dressing for anyone else I should know of?” your eyes squeezed shut, willing your brain to try and somehow work your way out of this.

“Not yet,” Erwin spoke, languidly sipping on a mug of coffee. “I don’t intend on telling anyone else.”

“So,” you couldn’t bring yourself to look at Erwin. Not right now. Not when you were being flanked and bound down like this. “I know what Professor Smith and I are getting out of this, but what are you planning to give and take?”

“Nothing yet,” Levi made a show of getting to his feet, picking an imaginary piece of lint off his shoulder. “Nothing you would want to deny me.” He let his eyes drift, flickering to the library door. “And in exchange, you’ll buy my silence.” Then he nudged Professor Smith up.

Your steps were measured and precise as you exited the library. Ymir had already left the university in favour of going home and having a night in with Historia, and you weren’t exactly eager to intrude on that so early in the night. 

Which was how you found yourself on the second floor, standing in front of a rather plain-looking door and shifting nervously. You raised your hand, rapping the door gently. You’d expected him to call from the other side of the door, but instead, he opened it, narrowing his gaze.

He didn’t ask questions, just opened the door wider, allowing you access to his office. His eyes were heavy-lidded, flitting between the sheer sweater you wore and the skirt that hugged your ass like your life depended on it. 

You sighed, setting your bag down before heading toward the coffee carafe, watching the steam rise when you poured it into one of the mugs. Two sugars and two creams later, you stirred before perching yourself in your chair opposite your professor.

“I thought you didn’t make use of office hours.” The words were dry, and he clasped his hands together.

“I decided to make an exception,” you shrugged, innocently looking up at him through your lashes. “I thought you might like to get a look up close, where you didn’t need to hide behind a podium.”

“How…generous,” he settled, wetting his lips. He let his eyes roam, though he made no effort to touch. “of you to tease me in such close proximity. Very bold of you. Stupid, but bold.”

“I disagree,” you let yourself relax, “See, I know this is a ticking time bomb, and I’m willing to ride it out. But I also know you’re a man well versed in discipline,” you let the coffee warm your tongue before swallowing. “You’re also a man who likes to account for all the variables; you’ve done the math on how long you need to endure this before you can make a feast out of the ingredients. It’s too soon for you to crumble in the face of a challenge.”

“You’re somewhat correct,” he conceded. “While I’ve done my research concerning you, you’ve yet to show the same passion for this experiment.” his words sank into the heavy air. He moved slowly, getting to his feet before he sauntered around the table. “You’re underestimating my ability to scheme out an ending that benefits me perfectly.”

“And,” you tilted your head, watching him stop a foot away. “What kind of ending would that be?” 

He let out a soft breath, something akin to a laugh as he sat on the edge of his desk, shoulders straight. 

“You’re a woman,” he spoke softly, eyes gleaming under the fluorescents. “You’re obviously a tease, you probably like the horribly cliché idea of being chased after, or being lusted after,” he didn’t break eye contact, pinning you beneath his gaze. “Going to class with no bra? That’s not for me, that’s for you,” his eyes dipped down, “You do it to feel sexy, because it makes you wet to see me observe and commit your body to memory.”

Just barely, he reached forward, the pad of his finger trailing down the collar of your sweater, though he made a conscious decision not to touch any bare skin. You watched his eyes catch yours again, then he let his hand inch away from the neckline, ghosting just over your nipple.

Your breath hitched, getting caught in your throat when he retracted his hand.

“The reality is that I’m not the one stuck begging to be seen or touched,” he rolled his thumb over his fingers, the pad that had just barely touched you. “I see the way you clench your thighs when you think no one is looking. I see the way you actively look for my approval on your little outfits every morning before the lecture starts. The way you squirm when we catch sight of each other for too long.”

“You’ve chosen this experiment for yourself, to your own detriment, might I add,” he leaned back, canting his head to look down his nose at you. “But when the semester ends and I get to choose the subject matter for our next experiment, I can promise I won’t be so kind and patient as I am now.”

Your heart was hammering, pounding against your ribcage as you gaped at him. The nipple he’d barely brushed up against was suddenly attuned to how cold his office was and how nice it felt to brush against the material of your sweater. Your thighs clenched together, and you shifted uncomfortably, realizing just how closely he’d monitored you.

Perhaps you really were in over your head.

“In any case,” he stood up, watching you with blatant delight. “A meal often tastes better the hungrier you are for it.”

“And,” you cleared your throat, tongue finally remembering how to form words, “are you?” You caught the way he froze, the way his fingers trailed along the desk as he gave you space to breathe again. “Hungry, I mean.”

“Oh,” he said your name, tauntingly, tone swollen with malignant pity. The way his brows drew up, lips curling into a sinful, clement smile. “I might be hungry by the time the semester finishes, but you, you’ll be starving.”

“And,” your throat had gone dry. “What if…” You trailed off, biting your lip. “What if I’m already starving?” Your core was throbbing; you knew he was picking apart how you squirmed, thighs pressing and squirming as you sat beneath his watchful eye. “What if I wanted…just a taste?”

“I’d remind you that while the research we’re conducting is an experiment in patience. And while I can’t touch you or vice versa, you’re more than welcome to try and satiate yourself.”

He sat down, a smug smirk resting on his face. It only deepened when you huffed out a frustrated growl, getting to your feet and slinging your bag over your shoulder. You didn’t say anything more before you quietly dismissed yourself.

When you finally made it through the doors, you could hear Historia and Ymir, clear as a bell through the walls, and your eyes squeezed shut. At least someone was having fun.

***

Another month passed by agonizingly slow. 

You’d made it a point to stop by Professor Smith’s office at least once a week. Even if it was only for a few minutes before your head starts rushing with lewd thoughts that made you desperate for a cold shower. Then, one chilly afternoon, you knocked before letting yourself in. 

You took your usual seat, letting the dress ride up as you slouched, letting your knees lean against the desk to keep you in place. 

You watched him watch you, acutely aware that he was eyeing up the black thong you wore. It only spurred you on.

“You know,” you said it languidly, your fingers drumming against your calf. “Maybe we won’t make it.” With a month and a half left, your resolve was crumbling like a pillar of salt. 

“Are you so cock obsessed that you can’t make it to the deadline?” he peeled his eyes away from the lacy unmentionables you flashed him with. “Or, perhaps you’re struggling to alleviate some of that tension at home.”

You blinked, once, twice, trying to discern if that was an invitation. 

“Well,” you let a shy smile grace your face, staring up at your professor, “Perhaps you’d be looking to teach me?”

You watched him contemplate it. Not much really dumbfounded the professor, and your words seemed to have little to no effect on him, which drove you insane to infinite degrees. 

“Fine.”

You twitched, perking up immediately. You went to move, but he was faster, leaning over the desk and putting a chaste hand on your knee.

“Don’t move,” he said it softly, your core warming in response. He watched you relax your knees against the desk again before he leaned back in his chair, clasping his hands. He revelled in the way your brows furrowed in silent questioning. “Wider.” 

Slowly, you parted your legs, the dress hitching up above your knees and giving him a pretty view. 

“That’s a good little slut,” The term slut brought warmth flooding to your dampening core, and he must’ve realized, because he smiled that slow, predatory grin before adding, “I knew you were desperate, but a whore who loves degradation?” he shook his head, chuckling. “That’s going to be delicious to unpack.”

Your toes curled, still, though, you waited for him to move, and he didn’t. He sat there, observing.

“Well?” he gestured toward you. “I think you’d better start with your thong.”

You listened, perhaps a touch more than you would otherwise, during one of his lectures. Your thumbs hooked around the waistband before you slid your legs out, tossing the sopping undergarment on the hardwood haphazardly. You resumed the earlier position, forcing your breath to come out even as you bared yourself to him.

“Wow,” he narrowed his gaze, “I can see you clenching from here.” 

Another flare of warmth, and you nearly moaned. 

“Start with your clit.” Again, soft words guided you, your fingers circling the nub gently. “That’s a good girl.” Your breathing hitched, “don’t stop,” you missed the way he inched closer, hiding the bulge in his pants beneath his desk. “Have you ever squirted?”

You couldn’t hold back the whine that escaped your throat when he spoke, and feverishly, you shook your head no. 

“No?” he sounded surprised, “Bring your other hand to your perky little nipples,” he tracked the movement with his eyes, “Now take your index and middle finger, bring them up to your dirty mouth and lick them, get them nice and sloppy,” saliva coated your fingers, dripping down in rivulets as he continued, “Insert them gently, slowly.”

He palmed himself through the trousers, nearly groaning.

“Can you fit one more?”

You nodded, a breathless, “Yes, Professor,” tumbling out of your lips as you followed his instructions, arching your back at how full you were.

“In and out, start slow, let yourself build pace,” you could hear the headiness of his voice, smell your own arousal dampening the air. You tilted your head back, feeling an orgasm just starting to crest. “Start scissoring your fingers. Hard.” and you did. 

For a moment, for a blissful moment, you were so close, but then his hand was tugging your arm away, and you were whining, about to snap at him, but then your fingers were replaced by his fingers, and the words died in your throat when you felt him start moving his digits inside you.

You forgot the majority of your vocabulary as your chest struggled to get a full breath in. He was kneeling in front of you, his fingers warm as he spoke. Then you found your back arching again, toes curling.

“That’s a good little whore,” he grunted when you heard the splash, and you expected him to slow down, but his movements were precise, and he grinned when your hand jutted out, resting on his bicep as he pulled another, nearly immediate orgasm out of you.

You were breathing hard when he retreated, slouched on your chair. Your mind swam, foggy, while your head lulled to the side. You watched his tongue dart out, licking a stripe up his index finger. 

“You can leave the panties,” he was up in an instant, back to his chair. “A prize for showing you a taste of what’s to come once the semester finishes.”

You didn’t argue, struggling to pull in a full breath, and your thighs and knees shook as you moved, taking your glistening pussy off display. 

For a long time, you let your body settle into the exhaustion, and when your eyes fluttered shut, Professor Smith was gently shaking your shoulder, “Come on,” he nudged you again, “I’ll drive you home.”

You obliged his request, legs still sticky from earlier as you walked beside him through nearly vacant halls. His car was a lot nicer than you’d anticipated, and the heated seats felt nice against the cold sweat you’d built up. 

When he dropped you off, you retreated to an empty apartment, sagging against the doorframe. 

Another month and a half. You could try to play the game for another month and a half.

Erwin, meanwhile, drove under streetlamps, his knuckles white against the wheel. His mind kept replaying everything, from the way your toes curled to the delirious little smile you wore afterward. He was careful to separate the important bits and pieces he dragged out of you, cataloguing them for future use once your exams were finished. The number of times he had discreetly palmed himself under the desk while you sat there was ridiculous, and his imagination grew rampant. 

September had come and gone in what felt like the blink of an eye. Suddenly, your entire life had been swallowed whole by the looming threat of endless exams, and where you might have had the patience to at least attempt to look nice any other week, that didn’t apply this week. 

Shark week.

You had already been feeling a little under the weather, taunted by an insufferable little itch in the back of your throat every time you spoke or breathed too deeply. Not to mention your sinuses getting so plugged up that you’d lost hearing in one ear. The cherry on top was when you felt the cramps tighten halfway through the weekend, and you nearly cried in frustration.

Midol, coffee, and pure stress were the only things keeping you going these days.

When Professor Smith dismissed the class, collecting the exams at the front of the room, relief flooded your veins. He’d actually been rather passive as of late with you, ignoring you and sticking to his lecture hall instead of accompanying you up to the library. It was a nice change of pace. 

You were slow in gathering your belongings into your bag, and as you turned on your heel, you bumped right into Professor Smith’s chest, your head almost knocking into his sternum. He put his hands on your shoulders to stabilize you as you stumbled backward.

His hands were warm; you could feel them through the thin wool overcoat you wore, and when you craned your neck, you flinched. The cramps decided to ramp up in intensity despite the three midols you’d viciously downed 2 minutes before class.

“Is everything alright?” he didn’t remove his hands; you didn’t ask him to, you let the warmth seep into your skin, nearly sagging into it. “You haven’t been yourself.”

The concern that laced his words was dangerous; it sounded real, genuine, sincere. 

“I’m fine,” you swallowed thickly, the grit in your throat rubbing uncomfortably. Still, though, you made no effort to move, and neither did he. “It’s just a cold.” You were stiff in stepping back, feeling the absence of his hands immediately.

“Seems like quite the unfortunate time for a cold,” his eyes rested on the window, and you followed his gaze to the frost painting the window pane. It was a small mercy not to stare at you when you knew you looked so terrible. “You’re knee deep in exam season.”

You hummed in agreement, practically shivering. “It’ll pass,” you said quietly, worn out from the mental dance you had to try to perform every time Professor Smith cornered you. “It could always be worse.”

He settled his hand on your shoulder, steering you toward the door. You let him, exhaustion forcing you into palpable submission. He halted you at his desk while he gathered the papers, organizing them into his briefcase before he stepped forward, beckoning you to follow with two fingers. 

You concede, training your eyes on his back as you follow his frame through the sea of students. He took the elevator, and you stopped at the threshold, eying it warily. You can feel how intensely he’s watching you, eyes lit up by the sun cresting in through the glass windows, and you swallow, dipping your head and stepping in before he presses the button for the second floor. 

The elevator lurches forward before you feel it start to sink, and your grip on the railing is white-knuckled. You’re certain he notices, but Professor Smith makes no move to comment on it. When the elevator stops and opens, you’re stepping off of it within the same heartbeat, and you let him pass you, let him lead you forward.

You watch him slide a lanyard out of his pocket, fingers searching through the keys before they settle. You stop in front of an unassuming oak door, and when he opens it, you realize it’s his personal office. He holds the door open for you before closing the door, and you swallow thickly. 

It’s clean, the sun filters through the window, lighting up the dust motes as they linger in the air. His office is warm, soothing the ache in your joints from shivering. You don’t realize it as you let yourself settle into the chair, but your shoulders sag, and you tilt your head back, leaning it against the edge of the chair while your head pounds. 

“Can I offer you coffee?” Erwin’s steps are surprisingly light on the hardwood floors, “Or, perhaps tea?”

You perk up, if only a little, sitting up a little straighter. “What are the options for tea?” Your voice is a rasp; it makes you cringe, not just from the feeling of sandpaper biting into your windpipes, but from the godawful whine that follows your syllables.

“There’s a garden variety,” he shrugs, “I’ll put the water to boil,” and he does. You watch him set the kettle on a small counter, starting it before he pours himself a cup of coffee from a carafe. He takes it black, which, you realize with disgust, is exactly how you pictured him to drink it. 

He’s deliberately slow, you can tell. His movements are precise, practised as he walks by you and sits on the other end of the desk, the leather of his chair squeaking as he regards you.

You glance outside again. This feels too personal.

“You haven’t made use of my office hours yet,” he takes his time to take a drink. “I was surprised that you’ve managed to maintain such a high average while avoiding your professor. It’s impressive.”

The dull, throbbing sensations in your abdomen turn sharp for a moment, and your fingers twitch in your lap before curling into a fist. You don’t miss the incline his head takes in question, but you ignore it. 

“I’ve never really been the type of student to take advantage of office hours.” You swallow again, sniffling rather pathetically. “If I have a question worth asking, the internet is at my fingertips. It’s not difficult to find information in this day and age.”

The subtle dig at his age doesn’t go unnoticed, though he lets it slide again, and he leans back in his chair, drinking deeply. 

The kettle shuts off with a click when it comes to a boil, and you get to your feet, turning your back on Professor Smith. You use a paper cup; using one of his personal ceramics felt bizarre. You let yourself spoon some honey in before picking the first herbal tea you found and pouring the water in, dunking the bag a few times before settling in again. 

“I’ve been debating how to approach this topic with you for the last week,” finally, he’s getting to the point. He rests his forearms on the table, watching you carefully. You watch him note the way your attention flits to the door, measuring the distance and how quickly you can flee the conversation. “You’ve become a distraction to me during the lectures.”

The words are frank, spoken with a callous inflection in his tone. 

“What?” You’re careful not to let your grip on the paper cup slacken, and you busy yourself with taking a sip, letting the tea and honey soothe your throat. 

He sighs, watching you fidget. 

“I think you should drop the class.”

This time, you put the cup down because you don't trust yourself. 

“What?” you repeat, suddenly a little more awake, slightly more alert. “Drop the class?” At first, it stings; then it turns to incredulousness. “If you wanted me to drop your class, you should have told me before I spent the last 48 hours studying my ass off for this midterm.”

Your eyes narrow at the slight tilt his lips take. You realize he’s enjoying this interaction. It feels as though you’ve been doused with ice water. 

“I just don’t see us making it through the next two and a half months,” he ran a hand through his hair, feigning exhaustion. “I’ve tried to develop a healthy student-teacher relationship with you, and you’ve done nothing–”

“Cut the crap,” your voice cracks, hands trembling just slightly as you jut out a hand, “What’s this really about?”

He chuckles, dark and low, and you find yourself receding into the leather of your chair when he leans forward, resting his elbows on his desk. 

“I’ve been having very dangerous thoughts about you,” he hums, like it’s an ordinary confession. “Thoughts that could have my teaching licence revoked while you’re put on academic probation, or worse.”

You slow your heart rate down, willing yourself to relax, or at least fake the way you lean back into the chair, bringing your steaming tea to your lips. 

“Oh.” It’s the only thing you can really think to say. You’ve never been put into such an…uncomfortable situation. 

“You–” his voice is gravelly, and he scowls, just for a heartbeat. It’s the most severe expression you’ve seen him make. A crack in the facade. “You only make it more difficult when you try to blend in.”

You feel your brows raise as you tilt your head, a frown settling over your features. Your heart won’t listen to reason; it doesn’t slow, and it actually feels like it speeds up. 

“Would it help if I started sitting front center and wearing ridiculous clothes?” 

You say it before you have time to ponder what you’re offering. You see the way his head snaps up, eyes narrowing before he remembers himself. 

“We could call it a social experiment, or something,” I say the words slowly before taking another sip of tea. Then, another thought hits me. “What kinds of thoughts?”

You don’t like the way your stomach coils when he smiles. He clicks his tongue, holding your gaze. 

“Perhaps we can discuss that once you’re feeling better,” he’s on his feet, closing in on you quickly.

You’re quick, a little hasty to reach for your bag, slinging it over your shoulder while you head for the door. Something feels wrong; the air is suffocating inside his office. You reach for the doorknob, but he’s faster; he towers over you, looking down while you stare up, your lips parting in surprise. 

“A social experiment,” he tests the term out, saying it with newfound purpose. “I’ll think about it.” Then, he steps aside and opens the door for you, letting you pass through.

You hear the door click shut behind you, and your eyes press together as your head aches. 

***

The rest of your midterms pass by in a blur. Partially due to how much cough medicine you take, but also partially from how drained you are by the time you get home and sleep. You can tell you’ve lost some weight, just from the way your clothes have started to fit differently. 

You didn’t tell Ymir about the conversation in Professor Smith’s office. You weren’t even sure you recalled it correctly, and even if you did, you weren’t sure you’d be able to explain it without causing an uproar. 

So when Monday morning rolled around, and you got dressed for the day, your earlier words rattled around your head. It was a very small, insignificant change in attire. The old Adidas shoes you’d had for ages were replaced with a pair of ankle boots you’d previously reserved for special occasions. You wore jeans with a loose button-down shirt that you tucked in haphazardly. It was nothing special, nothing over the top, but you were interested in conducting social experiments of your own this week. 

When you stepped into class, you kept your head down, taking your usual seat. Front center was still reserved for the diehards, and you refused to lump yourself in with them. When you settled in, opening your laptop, you could feel him glance at you. Nothing conspicuous, but when you peeked up, he seemed…satisfied. 

He only gave the smallest inclination of his head. That was it. 

He didn’t call on you to answer questions; he kept a good pace during the lecture, but most importantly, he didn’t stop you at the door. You felt at peace when you sat across from Ymir, triumphant. 

She didn’t ask, merely let you bask in the success of your morning before stalking off to her next class. 

***

When you arrived the next morning, you’d gotten just a little more daring. Only slightly. You kept the same ankle boots, but you’d worn the same black, asymmetrical skirt that you’d worn to the bar weeks ago, and a plunging knit sweater that you tucked into the skirt. You’d forgone a bra, knowing the only way it would really make a difference was whether a certain someone decided to take the bait and loom, though the chances were small. 

You felt a certain enjoyment when heads turned as you walked. The outfit looked cozy to most other women, but the men were enjoying the view. It made no difference to you. 

You sat quietly, arranging your things with a leisurely grace. You crossed your legs, leaning back in your seat as you waited for class to start. Then he finally let himself catch sight of you, of the outfit you’d put together just for him. 

You felt his patience thinning. You still hadn’t gotten an answer regarding what sort of thoughts Professor Smith had been having concerning you, but based on the expression donning on his face, you had a pretty decent idea. 

You smiled wickedly, twirling your fingers as you waved before busying yourself with your laptop. Perhaps garnering male attention was more fun than you had initially anticipated.

The class ended a few minutes early, which was practically unheard of. Professor Smith lingered at his desk, flanked by two students asking him questions. You caught his eye right as you slipped through the door, leaving him in your dust. 

When you made it to the library, Ymir wasn’t in your usual spot, though you shrugged it off. She was probably grabbing an early lunch with Historia somewhere. 

You opened your bag, searching for your notes and pencil case before settling in, focusing on the work at hand. Your eyes flickered between the laptop screen and your notes, studying quietly. 

Time had escaped you, it seemed, and you groaned, stretching in your seat while your eyes fluttered shut. 

A cup was set down rather aggressively on your table, and you startled, jumping in your seat. 

Professor Erwin stood just a hair too close, staring down at you with an unreadable expression. 

This felt…dangerous. 

You stared between his hand, still clutching the Starbucks cup he’d unceremoniously set down, and his eyes. 

He grunted when he sat, shoulders taut, though he made a show of leaning back comfortably and crossing his legs. 

“I got you the blonde roast,” he nodded toward the cup. Perhaps something akin to a peace offering. “You don’t strike me as the type to drink black coffee, so I asked them for a vanilla latte.”

Your brows furrowed, and you tilted your head. 

“That would be…my usual order.” It felt bizarre that he had somehow dissected something so mundane about you, and you took it, letting it warm your hands. 

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Merely sat silently, regarding one another. 

“This…social experiment,” he hesitated on the words, on the term you’d previously called it. “Give me the hypotheses, tell me what the conditions are? What is the control group? How do you plan to measure the outcomes?”

“Well,” you tilted your head, noting the way his eyes dipped down to trace the plunging neckline in your sweater. “I hypothesize that you won’t be able to make it through the semester without putting your career at serious risk.” You let your lips curl up, “I hypothesize that your restraint is going to snap and you’re going to pull me into your office and play out whatever fantasies have been roaming around inside your mind for the last few weeks.”

Erwin mimed you, tilting his head to match yours, eyes gleaming. “And,” his voice was low as he leaned forward, eyes catching on the curve of your breasts beneath the sweater. “If I happen to make it through the semester?”

“Then,” You leaned forward, just enough to tease his sight with the bare skin below your sweater. Just for a heartbeat. “You can consider this an experiment in patience. After the semester ends, you and I can become something akin to…” You hummed, leaning back again. “Research partners.”

“Research partners,” he echoed, lips stretched into a fine line.

You felt his eyes on you as you darted toward the middle row, somewhere unassuming. The back row was for people who didn’t care about the class and just needed to complete it as a prerequisite for a different course, and the front row was for the do-gooders who gave too many shits about the class or wanted to kiss ass. No, the middle was a more accurate depiction of where you stood. Somewhere between being mildly interested in the course material, but perhaps only because it ensured your grades would remain in good standing as long as your attention was garnered.

The hair on the nape of your neck stood as the professor finished his sentence. Silence hung in the air before he spoke your name, and your spine went rigid, fighting against your fight or flight instincts as he asked, 

“Explain the fourth dimension to me in layman’s terms.”

You watched him warily, the way you felt his eyes dissecting you with clinical assessment. He wore a charming smile, crinkling at the corners of his eyes. He looked young, perhaps in his early thirties, though you couldn’t narrow it down. He maintained a well-mannered facade, disarming the faculty and students alike. 

Not you. He had the opposite effect on you.

You could feel everyone’s eyes boring holes into your head, and you leaned back in your chair, gripping tightly to your pencil.

So much for going unseen. 

“You stated that, in its most simplistic form, it could be described as time.” The words tasted foreign on your tongue, and you straightened your shoulders. You could practically see the gears spinning as you turned his own definition back at him, and he nodded, the smile tightening. 

“And?”

You bit back the annoyance at the prompt. The easy way he leaned forward on the podium, steepling his fingers while he waited. 

“And…it’s theoretically another spatial direction that we can only hope to see the shadow of.” The words were curt, impatient, and he nodded, shifting his attention off you and back to whatever notes he had on the projector. Your shoulders relaxed, and you resumed scratching notes here and there through the lecture. 

When he dismissed the class, you were quick to shove your notebook, laptop, and pencils into your bag, slinging it over your shoulder. When your eyes flickered up, intending to do a quick scan of the room, your breath hitched. He stared at you, unblinking. He didn’t even look away when you caught eye contact, and your stomach roiled. 

You bolted out of the class before he could try to stop you. Some other poor soul was shifting anxiously in front of him, trying to ask for clarification on something or other. It made no difference to you so long as you kept your distance.

When you reached the library on the 5th floor, your legs ached. You nearly collapsed in the seat across from your roommate, sighing. Her eyes were hard, glancing up for just a moment, peering at you over her glasses before she resumed staring at her textbook.

“Again?” she questioned, turning a page languidly. 

“Again,” you confirmed. “I hate going to that class.”

“Because the teacher is…” she trailed off, waiting for you to finish her sentence. 

“Kind of a jerk off,” you muttered, sipping from your thermos of coffee. “I have yet to see him call someone else in the class by name. I don’t even know how he picked my name out from the other 150 people in class.”

“A name has a lot of power,” finally, she shut her book, taking her glasses off as she regarded you coolly. “Ymir, for instance. I was named after a goddess, and I only accept when people use my name reverently.”

Despite the serious tone, I cracked a smile.

“Right,” you agreed, “I hear Historia say it all the time through the thin walls. That’s about as reverent as it gets.”

“At least I’m getting some action,” Ymir grinned. “Your bed barely sees you, let alone another person besides the cat.”

“Hey,” your tone turned teasing, “the only action my bed needs to see is me studying or sleeping. Nothing more, and nothing less.” Another sip, savouring the warmth from the coffee. “Besides, I don’t have the time to chase after anyone right now, especially not when Professor Smith is breathing down my neck.”

“Breathing down your neck?”

A voice from behind you startled you, your knuckles going white against your coffee. Ymir must’ve seen the panic welling in your eyes, because she scoffed, waving a hand in the air dismissively. 

“You’re intruding on a private conversation, Mr..?” she leaned back, crossing her arms lazily.

“Professor,” he corrected. “Professor Smith.” You could practically hear the polite smile he plastered to his face whenever he spoke. You could feel him looming over your shoulder, and you had half a brain to shrink into your seat, if only slightly. “I didn’t realize I was imposing.”

“You were,” Ymir’s voice came out flat. You could see her assessing the situation, weighing it to see if it was worth getting into a verbal scrap. “You should really consider your audience before eavesdropping.”

“I did,” he hummed, settling his hands over the headrest of the chair. You could nearly feel the vibrations of his voice through the chair. Still, you faced Ymir. “I weighed the variable and decided the best course of action would be to ask my star student if everything was alright, given her tardiness to my lecture this morning.”

Ymir’s eyes rolled, and she said nothing, metaphorically passing the torch back to you.

“I’m not sure it’s any of your business.” The words rolled past your lips before you could think to stop them, then you shifted, turning to finally address him. Since beginning his class, you’d made it a point not to stop and chat for any reason, and having him encroach on your personal life outside of his lecture hall made your insides flip. “But if your curiosity is piqued, then I’ll have you know my bus ran late.” 

You met his eyes, willing your face not to betray your feelings, keeping his stare. You didn’t fidget, though you did need to crane your neck to stare up at him.

“Your bus was…late?” He raised a skeptical brow, eyes swimming in confusion. “You don’t live on campus?”

“And pay an arm and a leg?” you nearly laughed at the thought. “I think not.”

A muscle in his jaw jumped before he spoke again. “Right,” you could feel him analyzing, eyes roving over your clothes. “Regardless, I’ll ask you to compose yourself before entering and disrupting my lecture the next time you’re late.”

You felt your own jaw slacken, eyes widening just a pinch. “I was composed,” you defended. 

“I could hear you trying to catch your breath after you sat down,” he argued. “And if I were up at the podium, I can only imagine how loud it was for your peers sitting next to you.”

“Perhaps,” you ground out, grip tightening on the thermos, forcing your lips to tug into a smile, trying to imitate Professor Smith. “You shouldn’t be trying to fluster me after I’ve just run up three flights.”

Then, he did the unthinkable, and he leaned down from behind. “Perhaps,” you could almost feel his breath shift against the shell of your ear as he rumbled, just above a whisper, “you could have just taken the elevator.” He stood back to his full height before you could process it, waving over his shoulder and bidding you a good day. 

When you looked back at Ymir, she said nothing, contemplating. Neither of you spoke for a long time, and you busied yourself with studying before your next class.

The day passed by slowly, and your mind kept reeling back to your encounter with Professor Smith. Apparently, your pea brain could handle complex subjects like the fourth dimension or microbacteria and their effect on different organisms, but as soon as your professor applies a little pressure, it’s game over. 

By the time you made it home, the sun had long since set. Your jacket did little to shield you from the biting winds, and when you opened the door to your apartment, Ymir and Historia were just getting their shoes on, apparently leaving.

“Wow,” you mused, a smile teasing your lips, “We’re like two ships in the night.”

“We were just headed out,” Historia beamed, bright and steady, “We’re going bar hopping. You should totally come.”

You started to shake your head no, bar hopping was for when you were younger, fresher, and less dedicated to getting good grades.

Ymir seemed to sense your discomfort, and she lifted a finger, pointing toward your room, “Go put on that skirt that’s been collecting dust in your closet since we moved in,” she was teasing you, but she gave no indication of joking around. “And something sheer. It’ll be a good time. The rest of the gang is going, too.”

You were hesitant, the moon hung high in the sky, and bar hopping wasn’t your first option on how you’d rather spend your evening, but Ymir was insistent, pushing you toward your room while she leaned against the doorframe, waiting for you.

When you emerged, overcoat in hand, Ymir and Historia grinned, and the three of you scuttled across the sidewalks until you reached a strip of pubs, clubs, and bars. You stuck to the usual route, grinning when Connie and Sasha flanked your sides, tugging you further into the club. The shots started flowing early, tequila coating your breath as you danced beneath flashing neon lights. 

You stumbled, words slurring together as the group marched forward. Eren’s hands were all over Mikasa, and the last time you saw them was in an alleyway, making out when you left the first club. The next to leave was Armin, who hadn’t had much to drink, claiming he had a quiz in the morning he needed to be alert for, and he peeled off after the third bar. Slowly, the group started whittling down until you reached the last bar on the list, with only Ymir, Historia, Connie, and Sasha. 

Ymir and Historia tucked themselves into a small corner, while you bumbled around, taking a seat at the bar. You could feel your skirt riding up, but it didn’t matter under the haze of the alcohol. You crossed your legs, leaning on the bar while Sasha and Connie ordered shots. You could feel yourself just cresting, beginning to cash after a long night out, and you yawned, a lazy smile gracing your lips as you lifted your shot in the air.

“To another successful bar crawl,” you slurred, clinking the glasses before tapping them on the bar and downing the liquor. Sasha was practically vibrating with energy as she shifted from foot to foot, trying to decide on what kind of food she wanted to reward herself with for making it to 2 in the morning. 

Slowly, the room fell away, and your legs dangled off the barstool. It got quiet, too quiet, and when a warm hand touched the small of your back, you startled, jumping in your seat and darting to my feet. You pivoted, eyes wide as you gripped tightly to the bar counter, holding onto it to keep yourself upright. 

Then you groaned.

“You again,” your finger jutted out, poking into a broad chest. You could see the mirth dancing in his eyes as he gazed down at you, at your finger touching him. “You have an 8am class to lecture, you shouldn’t be prowling the bar at–” you checked your wrist, where you neglected to put a watch on, “at–at such a late hour.”

As inebriated as you were, it seemed to have been a good save. 

You could have sworn he leaned into your finger, still jabbing into the fabric of his shirt.

“Neither should you,” again, he gave that polite, charming smile, and you felt your annoyance growing. “I’ll give you a ride home, you don’t look like you’re in any shape to be taking an Uber, or worse yet, trying to walk home.”

You raised a brow, turning to scan the bar for Ymir, who was watching the situation unfold with rapt attention. You let your shoulders sag. 

“I have friends here,” you finally removed your finger, redirecting it to point toward Ymir and Historia, where, funnily enough, Connie and Sasha had suddenly drifted to. “I’m sure that between the five of us, we’ll make it safely.” The words were dry, spurred by liquid courage. 

His gaze drifted down, darting between your eyes before they dipped down. You swallowed as you watched his gaze linger before he took a small step back, stepping out of your personal space. The relief was short-lived when you realized with abject horror that your skirt had ridden up, the slit in the thigh dangerously high, revealing far more skin than you were comfortable with. Even worse was the shirt you’d precariously worn, fishnets with nothing but lacy unmentionables that you never imagined your physics professor would ever spy.

“Anyways,” you stumbled forward, hurrying to throw your overcoat on, anything to cover up and hide your humiliation. It was sobering, really. “If you’ll excuse me,” your cheeks and ears were burning below your makeup, and you refused to look him in the eye for a moment longer.

Ymir was already hauling Connie and Sasha up by their elbows, pushing them out the door behind you. When the chill hit your face, you sighed. Then you stopped, feeling the silent questioning in everyone’s eyes before you sidled out a laugh, joined by everyone else in a moment. 

“That was crazy,” you wheezed. “Fuck, the lecture in the morning is going to be so awkward.”

Connie grinned widely, “What if we all show up? Do you think he’d notice that we weren’t actually supposed to be in that class?”

“Please,” Ymir scoffed, “That man misses nothing. He could find where a needle lands in a haystack from a mile away.” 

Ymir led the way with Historia in tow while the rest of us dawdled behind. You didn’t remember crawling into bed, just that it was the easiest night’s sleep you’d ever fallen into.

***

The morning was rough, to say the least. You cringed when you trudged off the bus, wincing when the frost-bitten air hit your cheeks. You felt like shit, probably looked it, too. And worst of all, you were stuck attending your 8 am lecture, lest you miss anything important and fail whatever assignment Professor Smith decides to dish out. 

The stairs left you breathless, though you were on time this morning. It was annoying to feel his eyes on you when you entered, quietly shuffling toward your seat. You made no effort to look at him; in fact, you made a conscious effort to keep your attention focused on the cursor you kept dancing around on your laptop screen. 

More students shuffled in, and you yawned, stretching in your seat while you waited for class to begin. The coffee was extra good this morning, courtesy of Ymir, who claimed Historia made it with extra love and care. 

Class started and ended without a hitch. You’d been holding your breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for whatever dumb question Professor Smith deigned to torture you with today, but it never came. Instead, he dismissed the class right on time, and you sighed as you began packing up.

“You look…awful.” 

You only gave a short glance, enough to gauge that Professor Smith was a hair too close for your liking. He stood on the opposite side of the desk, but he could have easily leaned over and touched you if he wanted. 

He didn’t.

“I feel…better.” The truth felt easy enough to say; the pounding inside your head had lessened halfway through his lecture. “You know,” it came out in a drawl, sipping the coffee within your thermos, “if it were anyone else, they might be offended when you say they look terrible.” 

The joke didn’t land, and he frowned.

“You looked like you had a fun time last night.” You watched him shift his weight, hands in his pockets. 

You zipped the bag, standing to your full height before you straightened your shoulders, craning your neck to gaze up at Professor Smith. 

“I did,” you nodded, bringing the thermos of coffee to your lips. You savoured the warmth.

“You don’t smile the way you did last night when you attend my course.” He said the words slowly, gauging your reaction with rapt attention. “Why is that?”

“That’s…an awkward question to ask a student, professor,” you shuffled backward, just a bit.

“Merely a question,” he lifted his hands in mock surrender, “Your answer won’t count toward your final grade, I promise.”

You lifted a brow, “and why should I smile during your lectures?” You took another slow, deliberate sip of coffee before adding, “Especially when my professor singles me out?”

“Because,” He leaned on the table, getting down to eye level with you. The muscles corded in his shoulder were just barely visible through the seam in his shirt. “You enjoy rising to meet a challenge.”

“Mmm,” you hummed, shrugging while nodding. “Yes, but only when I’m not hungover out of my mind.” Then, as if to add extra insult, you let your lips turn up, “and only when it’s on even ground. You should really start cornering other unsuspecting students instead of me.”

The chuckle that broke through his throat was deep, and he watched you sling your bag over your shoulder, tucking in your chair before you set off toward the door. He fell into step with you when you left the lecture room, taking the stairs at your pace.

 It was annoying that he seemed to know exactly where you were headed. 

“I’ve done something to offend you.”He stated, arms swinging leisurely at his sides. His tone was light, expectant, knowing.

 Irritating.

“And if you have?” You questioned, unwilling to admit it. 

“Then I would ask what I could do to earn your good graces back.” He said it easily, as though his words didn’t hold any weight. 

“Then you should know that my good opinion, once lost, is lost forever.” It seemed a good way to end the conversation, but Professor Smith only smiled. 

“It’s refreshing to see a scientifically inclined student be well-versed in literature, too.” he took no offence to your words; in fact, it seemed impossible to offend him despite having tried to toe the line multiple times in the last 24 hours.

“Is there a reason you’re still walking with me?” You halted at the landing, right before the doorway into the library on the fifth floor. “Don’t you have another lecture to prepare for? Or another student to torture endlessly?”

“You believe I’m torturing you?” If he felt sorry, he didn’t look it. In fact, he looked infinitely amused by your reactions. “You’re a pleasure to have in class, hungover or not. I’m only trying to build rapport with an individual taking my class.”

“Yes,” you sarcastically hissed, “I’m sure you follow all my other peers up two flights of stairs, pestering them about the night out they had.”

“Speaking of your little soiree,” his eyes twinkled in the fluorescent lights as he held the door open for you. “What were you drinking? Whatever it was, it looked like it did a number on your sobriety.”

“Why,” you entered the library, taking long strides. “Are you interested in getting lit and going clubbing with your colleagues?” You took a sharp right into one of the library aisles, eyes darting between book spines, searching.

“Getting lit,” the professor repeated, noting your eyes scanning the books. He was leisurely when he leaned, placing a hand next to your head as he stretched his arm above you, plucking a book from the shelf and holding it out, a knowing gleam gracing him. “Is that what the kids are calling it nowadays?” 

You frowned, slowly turning your palms up for him to place the book into. “The Fourth Dimension and Beyond” was written in gold lettering across the worn leather; it weighed your hands down, decidedly heavier than initially anticipated. You didn’t ask how he knew what you were looking for; it made no difference. 

“Getting lit,” you clicked your tongue, tucking the book against your chest, “is a term I never want to hear you say again.”

“Getting lit,” he echoed, matching the cadence of your tone as he leaned on the bookshelf. “I suppose it doesn’t have the same bite that an otherwise young person would have.”

“No,” you glanced him up and down, “It doesn’t.” Your head started to pound again, and you turned away from him, stepping toward the self-checkout of the library. Still, he followed. “Are you planning on following me all the way back to my apartment?” The words were sighed, a dare for him to cross the professional threshold. 

“No,” he watched you scan the book before sliding your student ID over the scanner, listening to it beep. “As you’ve so keenly reminded me, I have other classes and responsibilities to tend to.” You watched him put his hands in his pockets, acutely aware of his presence when he studied you. “I look forward to seeing you in class on Friday.”

Your lips remained sealed, watching him stroll back the way we entered.

I think we're coming up on Tainted Royalty having been up for an entire year in a week, which is crazy to think about. You've been here just about since the beginning, so for that, I need to commend you. I feel bad because I really don't have the steadiest updating schedule, and I know it's likely frustrating for you since you don't know what'll happen next. I'm in the last legs of writing this chapter, I just need some sit down time to get it done. I miss the days where I could write an entire chapter in a week (Which, I'll remind you, was during the summer, so fingers crossed that I won't have too many obligations and I can just go ham)

Also, jeez, the dedication. That's really endearing, especially for me. I never really imagined that people would want to read this, especially because there are other fics out there that are better structured and written. Finding out that Tainted Royalty is your favourite fic and that the wait is always worth it is lowkey making me tear up. I'm honestly so relieved that you think so.