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Teacher's Pet part 2

Synopsis: its the Monday after, what will the meeting involve for the Doctor and y/n?

a/n: uhm idk how sustainable my current writing rampage is. But tadah. We're writing to make ourselves happy. Set in the pov of the reader. Thank you to all who reads.

The Thursday after your meeting with Professor Smith, you felt like you didn’t even want to work. You could have sat on that bench until the evening chill came and claimed you.

Much more agreeable than one of your appointments canceling on you. You really needed the extra 150 quid.

Friday came and went. Nothing but dead air on the phones. The bookings girl was apologetic and let you have half a puff off her joint.

Such was life.

You were itching to get the weekend over. There was a footie match on, so you expected the bare minimum and weren’t let down.

Guess you were shopping at Aldi again, and figuring out how much of your savings you could really chip away at.

Monday was cold and dreary, it slapped you awake with your alarm. Your financial worries were keeping your sleep restless.

Not that you already wouldn’t have been kept up.

Your first class of the morning was somber. It wasn’t as dazzling at Professor Smith’s. The lecturer lacked chutzpah. Showmanship. Just droned on about hum-drum statistics and their relationships on graphs. You felt yourself slipping into a stupor.

By the time the class ended, you had lost most of your fingernails and had bitten a sizable swell on your tongue.

You dragged yourself into the toilets and started fixing yourself up. You were so nervous and every time you saw that man you fought the urge to drown yourself in the Avon. The man was beyond entrancing. Everything he said drew you in. And his flourishes?

Hypnotic.

You fixed your make up, glitter you had from your usual rota had built itself up in the corner of your eyes , no matter how much hard scrubbing you’d do, it would be there until it was time to get back to work on Thursday evening. You only had one class on Fridays so you could easily take two shifts.

You applied some chap stick to soothe a newly-chewed hole in your lip.

You muffled a scream into the sleeves of your jumper. You really didn’t know what was getting into you. It felt like your entire brain was sliding both downwards and to the left out of your skull. Through your ear. You were beyond close to failing this term. The term had barely started, but you knew it wasn’t going well!

And right now, you couldn’t afford to mess up.

You cursed yourself for following his order of “So long as it’s your last.” With your cigarettes. You threw away the entire, barely depleted pack into the trash can near the bus stop immediately after your meeting.

That entire ten minutes left you giddy and thrown off.

You sprayed some perfume on you and took a deep breath before trudging your way down to his office.

You knocked tentatively.

“Ah, come in (y/n)!” He announced.

His office was warm. Dynamic. He had an electric guitar perched on the wall. Overcrowded. There was so much to take it

Warm.

When so much of the university was drafty and got worse on days with bad weather. His office felt safe. Like somewhere there was an invisible fireplace roaring. It was more than comfortable. It was cozy.

You plunked your bag across the shoulder of the chair that faced the desk and started trying to drag out your notebook for his class.

He waved you down.

“No need for that, just yet.” He smiled easy. His holey sweater layered with a tee-shirt and hoodie matched it. The usual blazer he donned for lecture slung across his chair.

“How was your weekend?”

“I just worked. It was so slow.” You confessed.

“What about those appointments?”

You let out a nervous, yet angry laugh. “Oh, one canceled on me.” You tugged on your jumper. It was warm in here and you got nervous when anyone asked anything regarding work. You didn’t want anyone to know. Especially a professor at your school! What would the consequences be? The two worlds of you and your work never should meet. You tapped on your thigh.

“And yours?”

“Not much to report, just also work.”

“Ahh.” You replied. You felt awkward.

“Uhhmm, I have accommodations put in by the university for my stuff. But right now, I don’t think they’re working? And the office who deals with that is totally backed up and can’t see me right now.” You drummed on your thigh a bit more and pleaded with your eyes. You were way out of your depth. You were just hoping maybe he’d have some pity. Some empathy. His class was engaging. He talked so well about everything. It was labeled as a philosophy class, but it felt more like some advanced physics class at time. He was poetical and waned on about too many a topic.

It challenged you, and you did like that.

You went back to trying to claw your notebook out. He tenderly grabbed it out and placed it on the desk.

“Thanks!” You replied to the gesture…

He produced a plate of chocolate chip cookies out of seemingly nowhere. They seemed freshly baked.

“Since I’ll be keeping you from lunch…” He shrugged. “Hope you don’t mind. We have to go over everything.”

You took one, it was big and gooey. Delicious. Had a hint of something else in it that you couldn’t place.

“Now, love, what are we looking at?” He muttered rifling through the pages.

“Fuck if I know.” You blurted out. “Sorry for my language.” You slapped your hand across your mouth, as if to stop anymore profanity from escaping your lips.

“It’s fine, heard worse. You should hear my wife. Mouth like a sailor! She once went in for twenty minutes at some dignitaries that wouldn’t let her scarper off with an artifact!” He laughed.

The minute he mentioned a wife, something in your chest fell down deep inside your gut.

Of course he’s married! He fit the entire profile. You should have known that from a mere glance. His age, married. White collar job. This place was probably his passion. The one good outlet that stopped him from visiting other places…

You stopped yourself from putting him in a neat little box. That was for work. Not for school. You mentally shook yourself.

“She sounds a riot! What does she do?”

“Oh, she was an archeologist! And a professor! Total bad girl.” He reminisced.

The ‘was’ put that sunken feeling back in your chest.

“Your notes are amazing. Very detailed. Really appreciate the scribbles and the note of ‘if you can’t focus today-> you’re wasting £76.21 today’”. He pointed out your mathematical equation you did breaking down the cost of tuition, the fees and the exact price each class cost per day.

“Am I wrong though?” You grimaced.

“You’ve got the wrong perspective, but I can see where you’d go with that. Capitalism has ruined what should be a shaping experience for you!”

You scratched your neck and shook your head.

“Yeah.”

You both poured yourselves over the topics covered and the remarks you made about it in your ongoing scribbled in reminders to yourself about class.

You felt him leave his seat and move over to the one beside you, probably meant for another student. The way his hands (large, sinuous, seemingly decently manicured, thin and well-jointed, you noticed appreciatively.) Combed the paper and tapped on words was enthralling.

The conversation expanded. He was letting you go off and follow your own conclusions about the subjects at hand. He commented and helped you link one thought to the other. Like a well-oiled duo. The office lights warmly reflected off the steely blue eyes that seemed to glow and shimmer when you made your own conclusions that fell in line with the lesson he was trying to give one so and so day in so and so page of note. You felt yourself relax and curl into the chair, sat cross-legged.

“So that means that time isn’t effectively real It’s a construct as much as a hobby?” You reported your findings from the deep trudged corners of your mind.

“Fuck yeah!” He shouted. Echoing your sudden use of profanity earlier…

It was oddly endearing.

He caught your gaze and you saw yourself in those haunting blue eyes. There were things brewing in those eyes. His mind was working faster and more erratically than yours was. And you were the expert on racing thoughts and flying minds.

Or so you thought…

You quickly dropped your gaze.

A red, hot flush ripped through your body. It was like he stripped you bare. And not in the way so many others have seen you bare. It was like he was inside your head. He was inside you, your very soul.

You became all to aware of your body again, the sudden ricochet into personhood was oddly violating. You uncrossed your legs and tore at what remained of your one middle finger’s nail. Really gouging into the skin around it. Doing the ultimate amount of damage. The casual, open phase of this meeting had ended.

He noticed your change and smoothed himself out.

You hated that you were the catalyst for this tone shift.

“I’ve kept you too long, (y/n). Why don’t you go. I’ll email you if I can see you next Monday.”

The thing in your chest from earlier sunk deep again. Further than the last time.

You gathered your things and made your apologies with your eyes. Walking out, you noticed your middle finger was bleeding. Profusely.

The campus felt colder than ever.

You could have shot yourself.

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Teacher's Pet part 17

Synopsis: The Doctor muses on the nature of what he could do, the reader is a willing accomplice to her own life.

A/n: first off, I'd like to thank @queerconfusionthings on the slightly darker tone of this chapter and our long talks about 12, it changed this chapter. You get me in a way precious others do...and to all my readers, yall are best. To my mutuals, I'd die for you. Especially those who don't share my needs here. Love u.

It started to border on experimental. So many untapped valleys and choices he could make now that his pet fawn was solidly by his side, and now bound to leave him, no matter how dire the situation or how many red flags or fears the ghosts of his past could bequeath to her. (Y/N) was firmly in his grasp. Perhaps indefinitely.

There were certain thought experiments that were hypothetical that he was taught at the academy. How to not just bind a weaker species to your mind not just in mind, but in blood. The facets of addiction was the singular universal trait of all sentient life in the cosmos. He admitted that he was becoming as addicted to her as she was to him, and those nasty substances she would take.

He was of half a mind to remove their influence on her body and substitute them for him. As they walked through Kew Gardens, he mused on that. Take the urge that crippled her for drinks and cigarettes to the point of clouding her thoughts at times, bind those starved out brain cells to the idea of him. The swap from nicotine and ethyl alcohol to the Doctor would he fairly easy to do.

Ultimately, after she flashed him a smile and kissed him on the cheek before heading to the loo, he decided against it. For now.

She was getting beyond handsy…almost to the point of him being begged to fuck her in public. Maybe the switch was happening naturally. The addiction to the physical was clearly getting stronger…

Wouldn’t he be so lucky?

He’d have another full-scale rifle in her mind soon to assess the current situation!

Maybe he was more like the Rani than he’d previously assessed…

Wouldn’t that just choke the life from Missy? Her precious parallels dashed in the face if him ending up much more like their estranged friend turned mutual foe.

Whatever the case in this poorly-plotted and infinitely nailed-out love story he was crafting, the Doctor was sure of one thing. His reputation as the universe’s biggest savior, it’s self-inserted martyr needed to stay intact. Missy knew to some extent. Missy could feel and reveled in his own self-corruption at the hands of this mere human.

Missy would, even if she wanted to escape, keep this secret. Their rivalry and comrades and millennia-long bond, despite how fucked up it was, or how many times they’d kill or fight one another was iron-clad.

Honor among thieves or something…

The idea of some sort of vivisection briefly clouded his vision as he saw her exit the toilets. She was beaming. She held her jacket in her hand and her teeth caught in the light.

He decided against that idea.

There were opportunities endlessly flowing out.

“Hey, I’m absolutely starving!” She pulled him by the ties on his hoodie. “Do you want to go to a pub after this? There’s got to be a really good one that does a lovely roast dinner or something.”

Totally clueless, totally obvious to the danger she was in. So fine-tuned to weird shadows and knew when a human man on the street was up to no good. She didn’t know that the real predator was getting the aglets of his hoodie flicked around.

Poor her. Poor little fawn. Fully in the wolf’s maw and her neck was already snapped. Lost in the too-dark woods, separated from her herd. Only the guidance of that would come had made a meal of her. And was toying her corpse out further…

He felt his cock stiffen.

Maybe he would take her tonight. Just until bleeding. See how far her dependence on her would go. Maybe degrade her a bit.

If he could, he would. Wasn’t it his right?

He did own her, after all. Everyone from the team at UNIT to that last scrappy remnant of Torchwood saw her over-the-moon, fully-tethered ache for him…

They all picked up on something far more grasping than mere companion in their relationship. He wasn’t risking her life and breaking her spirit on planets far outside her home solar system. A dark, full-bodied compatriot. An equal lover. Perhaps they would arrive at the conclusion of his idea of settling down on Earth.

Not like their human opinions mattered in the end…

“Yes, of course.” He returned her eager, lavish smile with one of his own.

He slammed these thoughts back in the dark chest that was his mind. For now he’d just play with her hormones and her mind. Just put them at maximum. Continue this charade.

Keep everyone and everyone in the dark…

It was a great rest of the day, a butterfly landed on her arm. She delicately picked it up to rest on her finger and it stayed put as if she was her own form of magic. The little insect crawled around and she led it to rest on his jacket.

“He’s probably picking up the sugar scrub I used last night.” She rationalized.

“Or you’re just preternaturally sweet.” He let out the cheesy line as it flicked itself off his being and flew into the air. She shot him a bemused sideways glance. When she finally got it off her finger and it was firmly on his being she slightly shook her head and rolled her eyes.

Obviously, it didn’t take a liking to him.

It’s instincts were far better tuned.

He took her to the closest pub. It wasn’t doing a roast dinner that night. She was put out, but ordered chips with a gin and tonic and some little sandwich thing.

His Earth girls really loved their chips.

Maybe that was his type? Little, bold Earth girls with loud minds that could devour nothing but chips for all eternity and be perfectly happy doing so.

He could live with that…

She went out for a cigarette and he mentally made contact with Missy.

She ‘picked up’ the mental receiver.

‘How goes London, you filthy old man?’ The words shot into his mind like an icicle from a roof.

‘Fine, just curious, how much attention did you pay to Professor Hedflonhorzthenethar’s lessons on groove-making in lesser species?’

‘Rapt, Doccy. Why?’

‘Send me your memories, I’ll Amazon a tuba to my office.’

Another betrayal of the morals he started this regeneration with…

‘Let me see you do it. I’ll only do it if you do it now and let me look through your eyes!’ It was sharp, it felt like she was beside him shouting it.

He gave her permission to see through his eyes. He sighed and whipped out his phone, ordered a tuba and closed up the connect to his eyes.

The entirety of her memories regarding the lessons pinged into his brain like an email or perhaps a text notification…

His little fawn slid back onto the barstool next to him as Missy closed the line…

‘Don’t break her yet! I want to be her friend! I’m so lonely!’

He could still feel her teasing pout lingering in his brain. Perhaps she left it as a taste of his own medicine.

“The night’s getting cooler.” (Y/N) informed.

“Pity, you’ll need to cover up.”

Her mind was clearly projecting images of her taking him to the toilets and fucking him in the stall. Loudly.

Her mind was wandering, she kept admiring the line of his brow and the way his fingers crossed over as he held the glass of Fanta he was slowly sipping. She needed him in ways that would shock perhaps even Captain Jack Harkness or perhaps that smaller, dark shadow that used to follow him around, John Hart was his name?

A pathetic kicked dog that craved the Captain’s attention…

Just like him and Missy.

He shook his head at that particular parallel.

Probably the advantage of dating someone in her profession. She knew what was avant-garde in sex!

Or at least for a human of her time period that had never been off-planet…

The Doctor let his mind wander into hers. Despite her clear projection, he wanted to see exactly what the damage of the last night was. She was chattering on about a philosophy book she picked up for between clients and for downtime at work. She completed it and wanted to share her critiques of it and her ways she’d probably improve upon the messages. As well as what she liked from it- she wasn’t all kvetching, no appreciation, after all.

In all honesty, he loved the wild tangential spin she loved. He felt some remorse about how deeply he had rummaged in her brain. She still was, in a sense, her own. Just now permanently entangled in his web. Like a rat in a glue trap, but only she didn’t grasp how sticky the glue was…. She was fully mentally tethered. He’d have to be more careful, he didn’t want to lose her, or push these experiences too deep. Losing this spark of ingenuity and tired vivaciousness would be a sin worse than anything else.

He swallowed another sip of his Fanta.

It seemed a bit shaken, but he swept those away. Kept them as salacious afterthought. Bonded the memories from today that were pleasant to her already aching neurotransmitters. Amped up her hormones a tad bit.

Anyone around her, even a stupid human could probably hear her mind now. It was both very intrigued by the subject matter of the book but also so desperately needy for her Doctor. He could feel her aching cunt and body responding from here. Anybody with a pulse could probably get her drift.

He'd probably, if anyone was sensitive enough, have to start beating them off with a stick!

That could be fun, lure her further. Let her know that she was only safe with him…

He ran the possibilities and scanned the bar, seeing if he could play any games.

Sadly not.

He decided against that for the moment.

Especially since something told him that she’d have precious little trouble fighting for herself. Unless he purposefully put her mind in a state of freeze, he doubted that a pub brawl based on her appearance would faze her. She, like most human girls, had been numbed to that sort of violence.

She’d probably have to come in and save him, by the looks of a few of the other patrons here…

He dissolved that idea. He couldn’t risk breaking his promise to her and regenerating on the spot if she was frozen, meant to witness. His superior genetics and all that may come with was no match for a gone-to-seed ex-rugby player nor someone who clearly worked security. As he finished his assessment of the crowd in the pub.

His mind games would have to play out in other ways still…

Just adjust the plans that he had. And take in the information Missy had pinged him.

The illusion of free will still reflected true, right?

His old pal, Plato did some allegory with a cave…sadly he wasn’t paying attention when the man was speaking. Missed the point, invented a self-lubricating spatula for flapjacks.

Oops.

He’d never say he was depriving her of that outright, no too controversial. Too salacious. Guidance, yes. A dual corruption arc? Definitely.

Daddy knows best, rung through his skull. An old line he told Kate about the poison to kill the Zygons…

Paternalistic? Yes.

How could he not be? A human is so young and weak compared to most species out there. Let alone him and his!

After all, he was her teacher. Her educator.

These thoughts, mixed with how strong she was fantasizing about fucking him, and her natural allure…he was shocked that he wasn’t bursting through his trousers, exposing himself to all to see.

He'd fuck her tonight. Not only did she clearly need it, but if he didn’t give in, he would probably act out.

He had fully surrendered himself to current path he was on. Yes.

He’d not destroy her entirely. Take away what enchanted him to her. That would be a sin graver than killing her outright. She had goals and dreams. They had discussed at such at length. He’d let her have those. So long as she’d never stray from his clingy side.

He half-wished he could summon a past version of himself, or perhaps a future without risking too much. Just to confer and pass back ideas.

All he had was Missy.

Or to sneak off and search for the Rani.

And they’d destroy him with zealous help.

No! He was alone in this path. Only solace was Missy and her enjoyment of his fawn and petty need to be good and please reform for her release. He walked his path utterly alone.

The evening wound itself up. The Doctor had to pounce. To claim what little of his fawn lay left unclaimed. Ruin her forever. Claim her indefinitely…

He paid their bill and ventured into the night.

A pep laid in his step, his cock still semi-stiff. He’d destroy her to rebuild her.

Teacher’s Pet.

He’d have his fun next term. Make her into a professor’s aide. Push her servile nature to him into a possibly public place. Show her off, perhaps even.

But for now? He was about ready to explode. His balls ached, and his hearts were full.

All in the name of love, right?

Or obsession…

Either way, still to have someone as alluring with such a firm form like (insert a description of your body, reader…) and a mind as hard in her ideals, but so easy to toy with?

Ecstasy…

Teacher's Pet part 3

Synopsis: The Doctor struggles with morality. The student is struggling. Both are tearing themselves up.

A/n: I'm sorry for the bit of pain. The next one should be a bit more pain, but it will get better soon. Also. These things are fun to bang out. Especially when you listen to dramatic early 2000s nu metal. Thank you all. Your response to this mean the world to me.

Utterly ashamed and indecent, the Doctor remarked to himself once (y/n) fled the office. He felt utterly indecent. Ashamed. He was shocked that even he could hold such an array of thoughts. Not that he didn’t have similar thoughts before. He had been married before. To multiple people, multiple times. He was the reason why the Virgin Queen wasn’t really a Virgin.

But to a student? No, he couldn’t. Even though this was a charade, he still felt bound to at least some of the rules a professor should follow…

And the scenarios his mind was running? Much more akin to something that his dear best enemy, locked in her Vault would have.

He kicked her out for her own good. Her obvious tone shift and body language change had clued him in to the fact that she picked up on it. The girl was very good at making connections, it seemed. Maybe not getting them in a correct or orderly manner. But she was no idiot. Despite what her brain, past educators, and experts had probably told her.

He knew all about various so-called learning disabilities and some honestly just seemed like evolutionary differences to give the species different roles throughout the tribes and flocks.

Once, before Rose. Before he swore to himself that he would run solo forevermore. He held the idea, the hypothesis: to take a random person from a random planet. Mold their life and bend it to his will. Make a perfect companion. One noble enough to save the day, but not stupid and caring enough to get themselves killed in an act of bravery. Like so many if his past ones.

He shuddered, thanking Rose in Pete’s world for saving him from himself…

But this one? He felt oddly returned to this idea. A perfect companion. This time shaped by her own insecurities. Not preconditions he would control. He admitted he was lonely.

Nardole and Missy didn’t really count.

He stopped himself there. Maybe Missy was rubbing off on him. Getting him to pry back into those darker, more primal urges.

He needed a breath of fresh air. A trip off-planet.

Just Missy’s influence, he shook himself as he meandered down to the mess hall to get a bit of scran before a trip to somewhere. Nothing more, nothing less. Relapse in it's most basic indulgences.

He found himself at the Eye of Orion. Just exactly what the Doctor ordered! Peace and solace. Stop what was shaking him up at the source.

Too bad that he was being plagued by thoughts of (y/n).

She was possessing him.

Clever, nervous, just a hint of something else. She came to the meeting with some sparkly gunk crusted to her eye corners and the residuals of make up being slapped on in layers.

The way she quickly diverted the topic when her work was mentioned slightly irked him. She didn’t elaborate, just a missed appointment and a shocked tone.

What did she do?

Another mystery girl to lure him out of his shell. The universe, in all of its infinite wisdom, loved tossing mystery women at him.

They always frustrated him to arousal. A stupid trait he felt he got from his days crushing over Missy when they were young lads. Back when he shielded everyone from the Drums until they drove him to madness and self-corruption.

Corruption…

That stupid past plot of his past self echoed again. It might be fun. She might be fairly easy to tip into it on her own accord.

He decided against it. Ultimately.

Missy’s influence. Damn it!

He leaned back on the patch of grass he was on. Trying to clear his mind. She was just another daft ape. Just a student for him to inspire to help along the way.

But her grins and demeanor wouldn’t leave him.

Her hunched over form, and the clanging of her jewelry and the way she used her hands to speak…

Was doing something to him. Awakening something he tried to kill.

He relaxed for a while more before returning. Nardole, of course, was exasperated that he went away. Especially without telling him beforehand…

He hadn’t felt this frantic since he was locked in the Confession Dial.

Back in his office, he had a queue of students waiting for Office Hours. Mainly droll questions about the mid-term project. (Mandatory by the university.) The other students sat in her seat, where she had spilled crumbs on. He engaged them. And got a kick out of them and their findings and research. There were a good batch of students in his classes this term.

The Doctor found delight in them and the thoughts of (y/n) went to back-burner.

Then Tuesday came. One of the two days the class (y/n) was in was.

He groaned.

Hopefully today whatever was abnormal faded. Maybe she’d not come. Some sort of survival instinct will have kicked in…

Of course. He wasn’t so lucky. He remembered her scribbled maths equations about her monetary investment in university. He doubted that she’d go and waste the nearly eighty pounds a singular class was costing her. It seemed out of character.

He, in bad faith, wished her ill enough to take off.

Too bad the universe rarely responded well to bargaining.

She slunk in in between the masses of people. As if to go incognito, to not draw his attention. She removed her notebook and got a pen out and slouched forward. He scanned the room as he opened up with his exciting build-upon on Thursday’s lecture. A poem from Robert Burns that tangentially related to the themes. She wasn’t making eye contact, instead she was chewing on the chain of one of her many necklaces. This particular one was the chain that held a pendant with a historical symbol. She was scribbling furiously. Her eyes squinted and she seemed to be muttering a tad bit under her breath. He didn’t want to admit how much he wanted to pry in. To hear. To understand. To respond. To feel.

“And fare thee weel, my only luve! And fare thee weel awhile! And I will come again, my luve, Though it were ten thousand mile.” He finished and then went on with a remark.

“Does the universe love us? Does it owe us?And if it does, why?” He opened up to the floor to discussion and debate.

Many responded, except for (y/n), who obviously was holding her tongue and trying to not make eye contact with anyone. Just focused in on writing and listening.

He could carve out a response from her.

“Miss (y/n’s surname)? What do you think, I think Braelynne made a fantastic point. Come, join us.”

(Y/n) spat out the chain and straightened up her posture. She had pen ink on her chin and looked, quite frankly like she’d leak tears.

She sniffled before speaking, a crack in her voice. “I think it’d be narcissistic to assume that the universe owes us anything. But does it love us? Maybe. It loves itself through us. Like, like, like, when we do tasks like help an elderly neighbor carry their groceries in. Or give a few coins to a homeless person. It’s the universe loving itself. Maybe it’s like when you drink something probiotic. To the germs in your gut…aren’t you the entire universe? I don’t know. I do think that thinking you, out of all creation, prioritizing yourself in the center of it….uhhh. Red flag!” She flustered, grabbing her pen and resuming the furious scratching she was making.

That gave the Doctor a world of insight to her brain, inner workings. Maybe she felt like she was owed something but held some remorse over these thoughts. It seemed conflicting in her punctuation and how hard she seemed to force the words out. Wise, beyond wise, but also leaving herself a tad bit shortsighted and a decided lack of grace.

Obviously she didn’t want to speak. Obviously she had plenty to occupy her mind with at that moment.

So he pursued via others, “Is it narcissistic to expect something when, by (y/n)’s standards, we’re bacteria and microbes in a greater gut system?”

Someone replied that it was reductive and put humans on the same levels as non-sentient life. That they had greater purposes. That the microbes’ lives were less vital than a human life. (Y/n) scrunched her nose in disgust at such a statement. Internal dissent.

Ah, he thought, very good. A measure of her morals.

He built on that. He opened up the topic, getting more opinions from the other student. Hoping she’d speak up…

He noticed (y/n) shoving her things into her bag and sniffling again. Maybe he did get what he earlier asked the universe for. Maybe she was sick. Maybe.

Ironic.

She made a beeline for the door, “Sorry. I have…an emergency.” She turned to him at the door. “I’ll get the notes from someone.” She promised. Her chest was beginning to visibly heave.

He nodded and she shot out of the room like a horse out of a gate.

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