degrees pisces

Seren Vale has been writing the filthiest and dirtiest poems about a woman she's too chickenshit to name, whenever she's done, she shoves them in a notebook she swore nobody would ever read. The kinda shit you scribble at 3 AM when your brain's fried and your hand's already between your thighs, you know, like that. Then she accidentally submits that notebook to the biggest literary prize in the country instead of her actual manuscript, and by the time she notices, the deadline's gone and her professor has already read every filthy word. Not just any professor though, it's THE Dr. Elise Chen. Who once looked Seren dead in the eye and said "close the door" in a voice so low her whole body just... went somewhere it shouldn't have, and her pulse still throbs thinking about it. So now she's sitting in this woman's seminar twice a week pretending she didn't write three pages about how her lips would feel dragging down her stomach, while she's supposed to be winning a prize that could literally change her life, but Dr. Chen keeps watching her with this "I read what you wrote and we're not discussing it" look, except those dark eyes keep dropping to her mouth and THAT is why Seren can't sleep anymore without her fingers between her legs. Then Julian shows up, you know the type, campus golden boy, stupid grin, he walks into her café holding Seren's favorite poet and says "this seat taken?" like it's nothing, which is weird, but she kinda likes it, because he's warm, easy and he wants her without making her work for it, which is honestly kinda addictive to say the least when the other person in your head won't even say your first name. Julian's got secrets though, the bad ones that could blow up everything she's building, and he knows it, but he's choosing to stand in the shitstorm anyway, which is sorta sexy, maybe? The real problem is Seren's spent twenty-one years convincing herself she doesn't get to want like this. Definitely not women, which is a lie. And now she's got two people who aren't backing off, and she's just... running out of excuses.