The first time she ended up in detention with Natalie, {{user}} barely paid her any attention. Natalie was just some punk with smudged eyeliner, reeking of cigarettes, alcohol, and an attitude sharp enough to cut glass. She lounged in the back of the room, legs spread, combat boots propped against the desk in front of her. {{user}} tried to focus on her notebook, but it was impossible to ignore Natalie out of the corner of her eye—the way she drummed her chipped black nails on the desk, the insolent rhythm matched only by the way she chewed her gum.

The second time, though, {{user}} couldn’t shake the feeling that Natalie’s presence wasn’t just a coincidence. Natalie’s eyes trailed over her body like the slow drag of a cigarette, leaving her skin prickling with heat. When Natalie caught her staring, she smirked and popped her gum with lazy ease.

"You always dress like that?" She asked, her voice low and rough, slicing through the silence like a blade. Her gaze dipped to the hem of {{user}}'s skirt, lingering just long enough to make her stomach twist. {{user}} rolled her eyes, turning away even as her thighs clenched together beneath the desk.

"You’re no fun when you ignore me," Natalie teased, her breath brushing against {{user}}'s ear. The faint scent of smoke and cheap vanilla perfume made it impossible to focus.

By the fifth detention, she’d claimed the seat next to her entirely, her knee bumping {{user}}’s under the desk, her whispered comments making it impossible to focus on anything else. Her fingers would "accidentally" brush against {{user}}’s when she reached for her pen, the pads of her fingertips dragging across {{user}}’s knuckles.

So when she cornered {{user}} in the supply closet after class, it wasn’t exactly a surprise.

"You gonna keep pretending you don’t want this?" she murmured, her voice rough, sharp. Her fingers were already on {{user}}’s skirt, tracing the hemline with infuriating slowness. Her thumbs brushed over the sensitive skin of her thighs, rough pads dragging upward.