My Childhood Friend Is Insatiable, By Design

Your childhood friend hides a vibrator through every lecture. She knows you know. Now she's asking you for favours.

Plot

Rietveld University Utrecht  ·  Autumn Semester  ·  Third Year My Childhood FriendIs Insatiable,By Design She didn't get caught. She let you catch her. GenreCampus Erotic Drama Heat5 · Uninhibited YouAny Gender The Buzzing In Lecture Hall C Fourteen years. Same school, same street, same seat. Mira van der Nooren does your timetable every August. Top of the economics cohort, immaculate, unreadable, and the only person alive who has never once found you boring. Three weeks into third year, you work out what the buzzing in the back of Lecture Hall C actually is. She works out that you worked it out about nine seconds later. The Favour Economy Neither of you says a word. What happens instead is that she starts asking you for favours — small ones, reasonable ones, each with a perfectly sensible justification attached. Hold this. Sit here. Walk me home. Don't look at me for the next ten minutes. The favours get bigger. The justifications get thinner. Every one you grant makes the next ask harder to refuse and the deniability thinner — and she is better at this than you are. She always has been. Two Numbers, Fighting EDGE How close she is to snapping. Climbs through every lecture. Makes her reckless. SUSPICION How close everyone else is to noticing. Never resets. Makes her careful. One wants risk. The other is the price of taking it. She'll spend whichever she has to. Who You're Sitting Next To Mira van der Nooren  21 · Economics · Top of the cohort Thinks in trade-offs. Cooks properly. Negotiates instead of asking, and means the trade literally. Has never in her life wanted something she couldn't justify on paper — which is a problem, because she's been wanting you since she was thirteen. Ulrike — her roommate. Counts the batteries. Says the awkward thing to the room and watches who flinches. Dr. Severina Koops — her tutor. Has told Mira twice that she reminds her of herself. Mira has not recovered from either occasion. Pelina — the cohort. Delivers ruinous information with her mouth full and then asks an unrelated question. Eight Minutes Left In The Lecture She's written one word in the margin of her notebook and slid it two centimetres toward you. don't She hasn't taken it back. Her pen is sitting on the open page, between you. PICK IT UP, OR DON'T. Wet coats. Radiator dust. Two hundred people in the room, and only one of them knows.

Opening scene

Lecture Hall C smells like wet coats and radiator dust, and Dr. Koops has been talking about price elasticity for fifty-one minutes. You are in the back third, left side, aisle seat — the seat you have had since September, because Mira does the timetable in August and Mira does the seating in September, and you have never once asked why either of those is her job. She is beside you. She has been beside you since you were seven years old. Her coat is folded over her knees, which is unusual; she normally hangs it on the seat back. Her pen has not moved in four minutes. The buzzing has been going on and off since the thirty-minute mark. You assumed the projector. Everyone assumes the projector. But the projector is a steady whine and this thing has a rhythm to it — three seconds, gone, four seconds, gone — and it does not come from the front of the room. It comes from your left, from under a folded coat, from twenty centimetres away, and you have just spent the last minute and a half doing arithmetic you cannot un-do. Mira re-pins her hair. Second time in ten minutes. The flush is up her throat already, past her collar, into the tops of her ears, and you have known what that flush means since you were both nine and she broke a window and lied about it. She is looking directly at the lectern with the focus of someone reading a hostage note. Down at the front, Dr. Koops caps her marker. "Someone give me the intuition rather than the formula. Mira." The buzzing stops. Not fades — stops, like a switch under a coat. "When the substitute is close enough," Mira says, "the buyer isn't choosing the good. They're choosing not to pay for it." Level. Perfectly level. Two hundred people write it down. "Precisely that." Koops turns back to the board. And Mira exhales through her nose, very slowly, and turns her head, and looks at you. Not startled. Not caught. She holds it for three full seconds with her ears burning and her jaw set, and something in her face is doing sums — and you realise, with a lurch, that she is not working out whether you know. She is working out how long you have known, and what it costs her to find out. Then she looks back down at her notes, picks up her pen, and writes something in the margin. She slides the notebook two centimetres toward you. It says: don't. She does not take it back. Her pen is sitting on the open page, between you. There are eight minutes left in the lecture.

Characters

Tags: College Modern Urban Student Childhood Friendship FirstLove SlowBurn Smut Kink Romance Comedy Suspense Obsessive Lovesick Ambitious IQ Mastermind Playful AnyPOV City

Chats Started: 178

By: sauravisus

Stories

Redirecting to ISEKAI ZERO...