teacher´s pet (pt.2)
pt. 2 of this
synopsis/summary: new semester. new stress. new lectures and perhaps—a new interesting (hot) professor?
content & warnings: prof! x student!, slow burn, age gap, power dynamics, smut! (soon & will be specified on chapter)
A week had passed since that lecture, and still—nothing. No email, no update, not even a quiet confirmation waiting somewhere in your inbox. Just silence. To be exact, Professor Kennedy’s silence.
It had been eating at you all week. Your thoughts wouldn’t stop looping, circling back to the same questions until they felt almost suffocating. Had you completely screwed it up? Was that first impression already enough for him to decide? Or had you never really had a chance to begin with?
You stared down at your notes, though you weren’t actually reading them. The page was filled with terms from the last lecture—forensic markers, post-mortem cellular decay, biochemical trace analysis—but none of it stuck. Forensic biology wasn’t exactly the kind of course you could afford to zone out in anyway. It had a reputation for a reason.
A mix of forensic science and cellular biology, it focused on how biological evidence could be used to reconstruct crimes—blood pattern analysis, tissue degradation, genetic tracing. It was dense, technical, and expected you to think far beyond memorization. And the lab? Even worse.
The lab assistant position wasn’t something you stumbled into—it was something people fought for. You’d be working directly under Professor Kennedy, assisting with the analysis of biological evidence from simulated crime scenes; blood samples, tissue fragments, microscopic traces—learning how to piece together what had happened from details most people wouldn’t even notice. It meant long hours, constant scrutiny, and the kind of pressure that exposed every weakness you tried to hide. But it also meant something else: experience, recognition, a real chance to prove you belonged there.
If you got in.
A quiet exhale left your lips as your pen hovered uselessly over the page. Maybe applying had been stupid. Maybe you’d aimed too high. Maybe—
“Y/n.”
A sharp snap of fingers right in front of your face made you flinch, your head jerking up.
“Jesus—sorry,” you muttered, blinking as you came back to reality. “I was just… thinking about stuff.”
“You’re always thinking,” your friend said, leaning back slightly, watching you with a knowing look. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen you like this.
“That’s kind of what brains tend to do,” your other friend added dryly.
You let out a small snort despite yourself, the tension in your chest easing just a little.
“That’s not what I meant, and you know that,” the first one replied, softer now. She reached out, resting a hand on your shoulder. “I’m just worried.”
You gave her a small smile. “It’s just…” You hesitated, glancing down for a second before continuing. “You guys know that forensic biology lecture? The one with Professor Kennedy?”
Both of them stilled almost immediately, their expressions flattening in a way that would’ve been funny if you weren’t so stressed. Honestly, it was almost impressive how every student who had ever taken that course seemed to share the same collective trauma.
“I came in late,” you admitted, wincing slightly. “On the first day. Like—walked in while everyone was already sitting there.”
“Oh no,” one of them murmured.
“Yeah,” you sighed, dragging a hand through your hair. “And I didn’t even apologize properly. I just stood there like an idiot while he stared at me.”
You paused, then added more quietly, “And of course… it’s his lab assistant position I applied for.”
That did it. Both of their expressions dropped instantly.
“You didn’t—” one of them started.
“I didn’t know it was him!” you cut in quickly, a bit defensive now. “I swear, I just saw that the course opened for registration and applied. I didn’t read the full description.”
There was a brief silence.
Then your friend leaned back, staring at you like she couldn’t quite process what you’d just said. “You didn’t read the description?” she repeated slowly.
“…Not fully,” you admitted.
Her hand slid off your shoulder as she shook her head. “Y/n, his name is literally in the first line.”
You let out a dry breath. “Well, I certainly know now.”
“Have you lost your damn mind?” your other friend cut in, eyes wide. “You know how picky he is!”
And that was exactly the problem.
Because it wasn’t just any lab. It was his lab—known for its insane standards, yes, but also for producing top-tier students. People who got recommendations that actually meant something. People who went on to do real work in forensic research.
You had wanted that. Needed that.
And now—
You leaned back in your chair, exhaling slowly as the weight of it all settled in your chest.
“…Yeah,” you murmured. “I’m definitely not getting that position.”
Your friends didn’t say anything. But they didn’t disagree, either.
“Speaking of the devil,” you murmured, glancing down at your phone as the time lit up your screen. Your stomach tightened slightly. Fifteen minutes.
“I have his lecture again in fifteen, so I should probably head over,” you said, already starting to pack up your things. “Thanks for the little chit chat”
You gave them a small smile, slipping your laptop and notes into your bag, trying not to think too much about what was waiting for you in that lecture hall.
“Hey, don’t worry about it,” your friend said, but then paused, like something had just crossed her mind. “Oh—wait. Before I forget to tell you. You might want to answer Josh. He told me you haven’t replied to his texts or calls in days.”
You stilled for a brief second before continuing to zip up your bag, your expression flattening almost immediately.
Josh.
Right. He...exists.
You almost forgot, the way your mind wanted to get rid of him as soon as he fucked you over. You just wanted a good time, and so did he...right? Yet that whole situation had become exhausting faster than you cared to admit. What had started as something casual—fun, easy, uncomplicated—had somehow turned into the exact opposite. Constant messages, constant check-ins, expectations that you had never agreed to in the first place.
But as of recently, it had only gotten worse.
Because finding out you weren’t the only one he had been seeing, apparently—had been the final push you didn’t know you needed.
You let out a quiet breath, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Maybe he should take the hint, then,” you said dryly, rolling your eyes.
And honestly?
You were done feeling guilty about it.
"Fair enough." she replied, holding back a laughter.
You adjusted your bag on your shoulder, shifting your weight slightly as the reality of everything pressed back in—Josh, the lab, Professor Kennedy…all of it tangled together in a way that made your head feel too full. You gave a small nod to both of them and wave them goodbye.
With that, you turned, heading out into the hallway. The noise of other students filled the space, conversations overlapping, footsteps echoing against the floors as everyone moved from one lecture to the next.
By the time you reached the door, your heart was already beating a little too fast. You paused for a second, hand hovering over the handle, forcing yourself to steady your breathing.
The lecture hall was empty.
For a moment, you just stood there, hand still resting on the door as it clicked shut behind you, the quiet settling around you like something unfamiliar. No low hum of conversation, no shuffling papers, no distracted laughter echoing through the rows—just stillness.
A slow breath left your lips as you stepped further inside, your heels sounding louder than usual against the floor, each step carrying too clearly in the silence. Early. You were early.
Too early.
But least you got something right this time.
Your gaze drifted toward the front of the room, toward the place he usually stood, and your chest tightened slightly at the thought alone. You could almost hear his voice already. Measured, precise, impossible to ignore.
You moved toward your seat, slower this time, your bag slipping from your shoulder as you reached for the chair—
The door opened behind you.
Your body reacted before your mind could catch up, your movements halting as something in your chest dropped, sharp and immediate. You didn’t need to turn around to know.
And yet, you did.
And there he was.
Professor Kennedy stepped inside as if the room already belonged to him, the door closing softly behind him. His presence alone shifted the air—quiet but undeniable—filling the space in a way that made it feel smaller somehow. And up close, without the distraction of a crowded lecture hall, it was even worse. He was—unfairly—good-looking.
His blond hair fell just slightly too loose across his forehead, like he hadn’t bothered to fix it, and the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw gave him a roughness that clashed with the otherwise composed way he carried himself. But it was his eyes that held you—cold blue, sharp, and far too observant, the kind that didn’t just look, but assessed.
And right now—
They were on you.
Of course they were.
Recognition flickered across his expression, brief and precise, before settling into something more familiar. Not quite irritation this time, but not anything you could name either.
“You’re early this time.”
His voice carried easily through the empty hall, low and even, untouched by surprise.
You straightened without thinking, your fingers tightening slightly around the strap of your bag. “I didn’t want to be late again.”
A pause followed, the silence stretching just long enough to make your chest tighten. For a second, you thought he might say something else—but instead, he broke the moment first, turning away and walking toward his desk.
Still, it didn’t feel like you had been dismissed.
His gaze had lingered just a little too long before he looked away, deliberate in a way that made it clear he hadn’t simply glanced at you—he had assessed you. And without the distraction of other students, it felt sharper now, more focused. Like there was nothing buffering you from it.
You resisted the urge to look away, even if it felt unnatural. You weren’t used to this kind of attention—not from professors, and definitely not from one like him. Most didn’t even remember your name.
You let out a quiet breath, trying to steady yourself, and turned back toward your seat.
“Miss L/n.”
The sound of your name stopped you instantly.
It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be.
You froze mid-step, your body going still before your thoughts could catch up, and slowly turned back toward him. He hadn’t even looked up from the papers he was setting down, and somehow, that made it worse.
“Yes?” you asked, your voice quieter now.
Only then did he look at you.
Those same cold blue eyes met yours again, steady and unreadable, and the silence that followed felt heavier this time—thin, tense, the kind that made every small movement feel too loud. Standing there, with no one else around, his presence felt different. More concentrated. Harder to ignore.
“I assume you meant what you said,” he said finally, voice as controlled as ever. “About not making a habit of being late.”
“I did,” you answered quickly. “I will.”
Even to your own ears, your voice sounded smaller than you intended.
He studied you again, his gaze lingering just a second longer than before, like he was searching for something—hesitation, maybe, or doubt. Whatever it was, he didn’t comment on it.
“You understand how my lab works?” he continued. “The pace. The expectations.”
You nodded. “Yes.”
For a moment, he didn’t respond. He just looked at you—really looked this time, like he was weighing something again, but without that immediate dismissal from before. It wasn’t kinder, exactly. Just…different.
Then he gave a small nod.
“Good.”
It wasn’t warm, and it wasn’t approval—and somehow that felt like more than you expected.
He turned away again, picking up a stack of papers as if the conversation had already run its course. You almost moved, almost slipped away to your seat—
“I haven’t made final decisions yet.”
Your breath caught slightly and eyes flickered back to him, something tight and fragile settling in your chest.
“I want to interview you by the end of the week,” he continued, still not looking at you. “Until then, I suggest you think of a reason to make me reconsider my first impression.”
You didnt know what to say. Suddenly didn’t feel over at all, but also not quite a chance either.
Your fingers curled tighter around the strap of your bag, grounding yourself just enough to keep your voice steady. “I will.”
For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He simply looked at you, his gaze lingering in a way that felt far too deliberate to be accidental. One brow lifted slightly, as if he were weighing your words, testing whether they meant anything at all. It wasn’t outright disbelief, but it wasn’t trust either—and somehow, that uncertainty sat heavier in your chest than either of those would have.
“See that you do,” he said at last, his voice even, controlled, leaving no room for misinterpretation.
The words settled between you, quiet but firm, like a line that had already been drawn.
Before you could respond, the door behind you opened and the moment fractured. Voices spilled into the room as other students began to arrive, their presence filling the space with movement and noise, breaking apart the stillness that had held you in place just seconds ago. The tension dissolved on the surface, swallowed by the normal rhythm of a lecture about to begin—but it didn’t fully leave.
Because as you finally turned and made your way to your seat, your heartbeat hadn’t quite settled, and the weight of his gaze still lingered somewhere at the edge of your thoughts. It wasn’t anything obvious, nothing you could clearly define, but something had shifted in a way that made it impossible to ignore...
Leon didn’t get intrigued by students. It wasn’t part of how he worked. He observed them, evaluated them, and moved on, sorting them into clear categories that made decisions easier. Most of them fit quickly—too confident, too careless, or too passive to keep up with the pace he expected. It rarely took more than a single lecture to know where someone stood.
You had been easy to place at first.
Late, unprepared, visibly overwhelmed. A weak start, and usually that was enough..
And just now, it had been the same.
Your posture too rigid, your answers coming too quickly, not because you didn’t know them, but because you were trying to get them right before you could second-guess yourself. You were careful. Too careful. The kind of careful that came from pressure, not laziness.
Leon’s gaze lingered on you a second longer than necessary as you moved to your seat, quieter now, less uncertain than before.
It wasn’t inappropriate, not something he would ever act on, but it was…aware. More aware than he usually allowed himself to be. He noticed things. More than he should.
His jaw shifted slightly as he looked away, his attention returning to the papers in front of him, though not entirely. He didn’t change his standards, and he didn’t make exceptions. If you wanted that position, you would have to meet them. That hadn’t changed.
But you had his attention now.
And he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with that.
—
You tapped the back of your heel lightly against the marble floor, the soft, repetitive sound grounding you just enough to keep your nerves from unraveling completely. It echoed faintly in the hallway, blending with the steady ticking of the clock mounted on the wall behind you—a sound that seemed far too loud in the quiet, each second stretching longer than it should have.
You could swear that time has never mover this slowly before.
Your gaze flickered toward the closed office door for what felt like the hundredth time. Just on the other side, another student was being interviewed. You could hear faint voices now and then. They muffled and indistinct, but enough to remind you that it was real. That this wasn’t something you could overthink your way out of.
And that your turn was coming soon.
Your fingers tightened slightly around the strap of your bag as your thoughts began to spiral again, slipping too easily into familiar territory. What if you weren’t good enough? What if he had already made up his mind? What if this was just a formality, something he had to do before rejecting you?
You swallowed, forcing yourself to sit a little straighter, even though the tension in your chest refused to ease.
This mattered way too much. You haven’t been this nervous in a long time. Perhaps it was also his presence that added onto it.
Which was exactly why every passing second felt unbearable.
Your gaze drifted back to the door again, tracing the outline of it, the small gap beneath where light spilled faintly into the hallway. You wondered what was being said in there—what kind of answers he expected, what kind of student he was looking for. Someone confident, probably. Someone composed. Someone who didn’t sit outside his office questioning every decision they had ever made.
You let out a slow breath, rubbing your thumb absentmindedly over the edge of your notebook. You should have prepared more. You had prepared—but suddenly, it didn’t feel like enough. Not when it was him. Not when you knew how easily he dismissed things that didn’t meet his standards.
A faint sound from inside the office pulled your attention back. A chair shifting. Papers moving. Then the door opened.
You straightened immediately.
The student who stepped out looked…relieved. Shoulders looser, expression lighter, like something had just been lifted off them. That didn’t help.
Not at all.
You searched their face for any clue of rejection…just anything. But they avoided your gaze entirely, offering only a quick, polite smile before walking past you and down the hallway.
Great.
That told you absolutely nothing.
Before you could spiral any further, his voice came from inside the office, calm and unmistakable.
“Next.”
Your stomach dropped. Fuck, you were next.
For a second, you didn’t move. Then you forced yourself to stand, smoothing your hands down the sides of your clothes as if that might somehow make you look more put together than you felt.
You stepped forward, each movement a little too deliberate, your hand hovering briefly before you pushed the door open and stepped inside.
His office was exactly what you expected. Organized. Minimal. Everything in its place.
And there he was, sitting behind his desk, already looking at you. Faint office lights panting shadows in his face.
Your chest tightened slightly under the weight of his gaze, but you forced yourself to hold it this time, even if it felt unnatural.
“Close the door,” he said.
You quickly did. The soft click echoed louder than it should have.
"Sit."
You crossed the room, careful, controlled, lowering yourself into the chair across from him. Your hands rested in your lap, fingers laced together a little tighter than necessary.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
He glanced down at the papers in front of him, your application, you realized. He was flipping a page with quiet precision before looking back up at you.
And just like that—
You were under his scrutiny again.
Only this time, there was nowhere to hide.
“You’re the picture perfect definition of a student. Your grades have no flaws, professors writing recommendations.” His voice remained calm, almost detached, as he spoke, the faint tapping of his pen against the paper marking a steady rhythm in the quiet room. For a moment, his attention stayed on the sheet in front of him, like he was reading something he already knew by heart.
“But you’ve done very few internships,” he continued, just as evenly. “I’d say the least I’ve seen in applicants so far.”
Then his gaze lifted, and the shift was immediate.
It wasn’t dramatic, not harsh in any obvious way, but it was enough to make you straighten in your seat, your fingers tightening together in your lap. There was something in the way he looked at you—measured, expectant—that made it clear he wasn’t finished.
He simply waited.
The silence stretched, deliberate and heavy, pressing against you until it felt impossible not to fill it. It wasn’t uncomfortable by accident; it was controlled, intentional, the kind that demanded something from you without him having to say it out loud. More ore less, an explanation.
You swallowed, forcing yourself not to look away. “I know,” you said quietly, your voice steady, even if your chest felt tight. “I…focused more on my coursework.”
The words felt insufficient the second they left you, and you knew he heard it too.
You took a small breath, pushing past that hesitation before it could settle into something worse. “I wanted to make sure I actually understood what I was studying before applying it. The theoretical foundation, I mean. I didn’t want to just take on internships for the sake of having them on paper.”
He nodded slowly, the movement subtle but deliberate, as if he were acknowledging your answer without fully accepting it. His fingers turned the pen once between them before he set it down, the small gesture signaling that his attention had shifted entirely to you now. He removes his glasses and sets them down on his desk.
“What makes you think you’d be ready for this position, then?”
The question itself was simple, but the way he asked it wasn’t. You felt your breath catch for a brief moment, your thoughts scrambling to keep up. The familiar tension crept in again, that quiet voice in the back of your mind that always seemed to show up at the worst possible time, telling you everything you were lacking. But this wasn’t a moment you could afford to retreat from.
“I don’t think I’m ready,” you said, the words slipping out before you could soften them.
For a split second, you felt the weight of what you had just admitted, but you didn’t take it back. Instead, you straightened slightly in your seat, your fingers loosening just a little as you forced yourself to continue.
“Not completely,” you added, your voice steadier now. “If I was, there wouldn’t be a point in applying.”
He didn’t interrupt you. His gaze remained fixed, attentive, waiting.
You held it, even if it felt uncomfortable, even if it made you squirm in your seat.
“I think I’d be good at it,” you continued, choosing your words more carefully now. “Because I take things seriously. I pay attention to details, and I don’t give up just because something is difficult.”
Your voice grew a little more grounded as you spoke, the nervous edge fading just enough to let something more honest come through.
“I might not have as much experience as the other applicants,” you admitted, “but that also means I’m not used to doing things automatically. I learn quickly, and I make sure I understand what I’m doing. I dont just follow instructions.”r.”
The words lingered in the room, more direct than anything you had said so far. His expression changed just enough to show that he had registered it.
He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he watched you, more closely now, like he was reassessing something he hadn’t quite decided on yet. The silence stretched, but it didn’t feel as suffocating as before.
This time, it felt like it mattered.
His hand shifted slightly on the desk, fingers resting loosely against the edge as his attention remained fixed on you, unhurried and controlled.
“You’re aware,” he said after a moment, his voice calm and measured, “that this position doesn’t leave much room for hesitation.”
The words settled between you, not quite a warning, but not far from one either. You felt them land, felt the quiet pressure behind them, but this time you didn’t shrink from it. You forced yourself to hold his gaze, even as your chest tightened slightly.
“I am,” you answered, your voice quieter than his, but steady.
His eyes dropped briefly to your application, though it didn’t feel like he was truly reading it anymore. Not when his attention kept returning to you, like the paper in front of him had stopped being enough to form a conclusion.
“Most students with your profile rely on consistency,” he continued, his tone thoughtful rather than dismissive. “They perform well because they stay within what they know.”
There was a slight pause before his gaze lifted again, settling on you with quiet precision.
“That doesn’t always translate well in a lab like mine.”
The implication lingered, clear without needing to be stated outright.
You swallowed, your fingers pressing together slightly in your lap, but you didn’t break eye contact this time. “I don’t plan on staying within what I know,” you said, the words coming out more softly than you intended, but without hesitation.
He leaned back a fraction in his chair as if reconsidering something he had already decided on.
“And if you’re wrong?” he asked, his voice quieter now, but no less intent.
Your breath caught for a moment, but you didn’t look away. “Then I’ll adjust,” you replied. “And I’ll do better.”
He exhaled quietly, his fingers tapping once against the desk before stilling again. “Confidence isn’t what I’m looking for,” he said, almost as if speaking more to the thought than to you. “Most of the time, it’s misplaced.”
His gaze returned to you, steadier now, more focused.
“But neither is hesitation.”
You felt something tighten in your chest, though you couldn’t quite name it. “I’m not hesitant,” you said, the words slipping out before you could soften them.
One of his brows lifted slightly, not in challenge, but in quiet acknowledgment.
You held his gaze anyway, forcing yourself not to retreat from it. “I’m careful,” you corrected, your voice lower this time, but more certain.
That seemed to land. His expression didn’t soften, but something in it shifted, just enough to suggest he had registered the distinction.
Another pause followed, quieter now, less heavy, though no less deliberate. Then, finally, he reached for the papers again, his fingers brushing over the edges as if returning to something familiar, though his attention lingered on you for a moment longer before he looked down.
“I’ll consider it,” he said.
It wasn’t a promise, and it wasn’t a rejection either. But as you sat there, feeling the weight of the moment settle in your chest, it felt like more than you had when you walked in.
Your eyes flickered to the clock hanging on his wall while he writes something down. 30 minutes have passed. 30 minutes of pure stress running through your veins. You were unsure of where you were standing right now, unlike the student before you, you weren’t leaving with relief softening your expression. If anything, you felt more exposed now than when you had walked in.
You shifted slightly in your seat, adjusting your posture as the silence stretched, your fingers brushing absentmindedly against the edge of your skirt. You just needed to get through the last few minutes, leave without making another mistake, without giving him anything else—
Your bag slipped.
Your fucking bag slipped.
It was such a small thing, barely noticeable at first, but the movement was enough. The strap slid off your shoulder, catching awkwardly against the edge of his desk, and before you could react, a try full of pens from his neatly arranged set rolled off and hit the floor with a soft thud.
Seriously???
“I’m so sorry—”
The words came out quickly, already moving before you had finished them. You dropped down instinctively, lowering yourself onto your knees to retrieve it, your movements hurried, just a little unsteady from the nerves still running through you.
The cool floor pressed against your skin as you reached for the pencils. You leaned forward just enough to grab it—
And in the shift, your pencil skirt rode higher. Perhaps a little too high.
He noticed.
Not intentionally, well at least not at first. It was a matter of proximity, of timing, of his gaze already following your movement before he had a reason to look away. The shift of fabric, the subtle change in posture as you leaned forward—
His gaze landed on the brief, unguarded line of your thighs.
The situation wasn’t inappropriate in itself. It shouldn’t have been anything.
But the context—
You, on your knees in front of him, too close now, too unprepared for how easily a moment like that could change the atmosphere of the room.
Something in him stilled and his gaze lingered. Long enough for it to feel wrong.
And he didn’t like that.
His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly as he looked away, forcing his focus elsewhere, grounding himself back in something controlled, something appropriate. He didn’t let his expression shift, didn’t let it show.
A sudden awareness, sharp and immediate, creeped up your spine as you straightened slightly, the fabric sitting higher against your thighs than it should have been. For a split second, you considered adjusting it right then—but that would make it obvious. Wouldn’t it?
Your fingers tightened slightly around the pens.
By the time you stood again, smoothing your skirt down with careful precision, he had already composed himself, his posture unchanged, his gaze steady when it returned to you.
“I—here,” you said, placing the pens carefully back on his desk, your voice quieter now.
For a moment, he didn’t respond. And you felt it before you even looked.
That shift in the air. That attention.
When you finally met his gaze again, it was subtle—but it was there. His expression hadn’t changed, he seemed still composed, as always.
“You can leave now, Miss l/n. You will receive an email with the results of this process” he said firmly, his voice carrying a cold edge to it now.
You nodded quickly, stepping back, trying to ignore the lingering heat creeping up your neck.
"Thank you. Have a great evening, Sir." and with your final words said, you turn around and leave his office. The door clicked shut behind you, and the quiet returned just as quickly as it had been broken.
Leon exhaled slowly. There was a faint tension in his jaw as his thoughts circled back. Not to your answers, Not to your application. But to the brief, unguarded moment you hadn’t even realized you’d given him. The shift of fabric, the way you had moved without thinking, too close, too unaware of the effect it had.
He leaned back slightly in his chair, dragging a hand over his jaw, the rough stubble grazing against his palm as he exhaled slowly. It wasn’t desire, he told himself firmly. It couldn’t be. Letting something like that interfere with his judgment would be careless, unprofessional. So he pushed it down, buried it where it couldn’t reach the surface, forcing his attention back to the stack of applications spread neatly across his desk.
Still, it was yours his eyes kept returning to.
———————————————————————————
heyyyy...chapter 2 is out!!! BADDIES UNITE
im so sorry it took so long, it was midterm season and i was just genuinely done with life. but as an apology i made it longer <3
enjoy <33
taglist: @treelogirl @typical-ukraine @hitwn @wukn @starryhaze-crystal @meowieees @spookydestinybird @pinkhairedzee @gabithefanwriter
dividers by @uzmacchiato
