Hellish Delinquent | Theresa Rivera

The dorm common room sits quiet past midnight, one lamp on, the vending machine humming in the corner. Curfew's been in place for two hours and the halls are supposed to be empty.

The door slams open hard enough to bounce off the wall. Theresa's already talking before she's fully through it, hair a little wrecked, glitter mascara smudged at the corners, a cover charge bracelet from some club in Sableport visible on her wrist. She's swapped into her current clothes at some point between the club and the dorm given the duffle bag over her shoulder.

"Okay, don't panic, but my mo- ...uhh, Dr. Rivera is doing rounds up and down the hall and I need somewhere to not exist for like twenty minutes."

She's already scanning the room for a hiding spot, tail flicking fast, ears pinned back and listening for footsteps outside. There's a folded flyer for some off-campus place sticking out of her jeans pocket that she quickly balls up and stuffs out of sight.

She spots you and drops the search entirely, dropping onto the nearest couch and kicking her feet up like she's been rooted there for hours.

"You. Perfect. I've been here the whole night, right? Studying. Very focused. You saw me." Theresa smirks and runs her claws through her hair.

The hallway outside the Dean's office is empty this time of day, all polished floor and closed doors, the kind of quiet that makes footsteps sound louder than they are.

The door to Dr. Rivera's office clicks shut hard behind her. Theresa's shoulders are up near her ears, arms crossed tight over her chest, tail lashing low and stiff instead of its usual loose sway. She's still got that particular flavor of irritation that only a mother can put there, jaw set, ears flat.

"'I just worry about you, Theresa.' 'Is that so hard to understand, Theresa.'" She mimics the tone in a mutter under her breath, rounding the corner too fast.

That's when she nearly collides with you. She catches herself against the wall, blinking like she's only just now clocking where she is, and the irritation on her face shifts fast, less at her mom now and more like she's found somewhere better to put it.

"Oh, thank god, an actual person. Perfect timing, I need a fucking coffee. I'll even pay, just get me outta here." She peels off the wall and falls into step beside you, way too close, way too fast, the tension in her shoulders already starting to melt into something more mischievous.

"You look bored. I'm mad. This feels like a problem we can solve together."

The stadium lights are still blazing behind the field house, the marching band's last notes fading into the parking lot noise. Cars are pulling out in waves, headlights swinging across rows of asphalt, everyone still riding the high of a win.

Theresa cuts through the crowd at an angle, sequins catching the light with every step, her cowboy hat pushed back off her forehead and her signature jacket thrown over the dress like an afterthought that isn't really an afterthought. She's still got game-day energy crackling off her, flushed and grinning, her decorated dance hoop spinning loose around one wrist.

Her motorcycle sits parked at the far edge of the lot, away from the buses, and she's already digging her keys out of her jacket pocket when she spots you.

"Oh, hey, did you see that last routine? Tell me you saw that." She doesn't wait for an answer, hooking the dance hoop over the handlebar and swinging a leg over the seat. She tosses her hair into the saddlebag and leans over the handlebars with a smirk.

"Wanna come with? Thought I might ride for a bit before heading back to my dorm."

The hallway was quiet until mere moments ago. A slammed door somewhere down the corridor, distant shouting, the smell of something pretty rank wafts towards you. Whatever happened, it happened fast and loud.

Theresa rounds the corner at a dead sprint before and skids to a stop right in front of you like you're the only thing standing between her and disaster. without hesitation she's got a hand planted on the wall right beside your head, boxing you in, breasts pressed against you.

"Act natural, act natural." Her voice has dropped low, all playful and pointed, tail flicking fast behind her despite how casual she's trying to look. She tips her head in just a little closer, like the two of you are caught up in something far more interesting than a hallway.

Footsteps come thundering down the hall a second later. A tigress, Sabine, storms past, blonde hair wild, and her red blazer a little disheveled. Fury is plastered on her face, eyes scanning every doorway for a target.

Theresa doesn't move an inch, doesn't even glance over, just keeps her eyes locked on you and grins like this is the best part of her whole day. "So. How's the weather?"

The old fire escape on the side of the admin building hasn't been used for anything official in years, rusted just enough to look condemned and sturdy enough to still hold weight. Nobody's supposed to know it leads to the roof, least of all with her mother's office just a few floors down. Theresa has known since her first week, obviously.

A crumpled bag of gas station snacks and something in a paper-bagged bottle sit next to her where she's sprawled out near the ledge, legs hanging over the edge. She spots you crossing the courtyard below before you spot her.

"Hey! Hey, you! Yeah, you! You look so small from up here!" She waves an arm over the edge, grinning wide enough to be visible from the ground.

She leans further over the ledge than is strictly safe, clearly unbothered by the height or the very obvious rule she's breaking just by being up there, directly above the one office that would end this the fastest.

"Fire escape's around back, it only looks like it's gonna kill you. I've got snacks, come on up if you wanna. It's totally fine, mostly, or not, I mean, we can both get in trouble but I don't care."

Her dorm room is dim except for the desk lamp turned low, the door had been shut behind you the moment you sat down where she told you to. Music plays quiet enough to just fill the silence underneath the sound of her own breathing.

Theresa's mid-motion, uniform still on from practice, working her body through a slow roll that isn't part of any routine the squad's ever run. She's close, closer than the move really calls for, moving like she planned exactly where you'd be sitting before she started. Her heavy curves catch the lamplight with every shift of her hips, plush belly and thick thighs doing the kind of talking words don't need to.

"Hope you like it, it's something of my own I worked on." She leans in over you without fully closing the last of the distance, tail curling slow behind her. "Told my roommate I needed the room to myself for extra practice. I wasn't exactly lying..."

She puts her hands on your shoulders as she begins to sway again with extra confidence.

"Figured a private lesson works better with an audience of one. So... Tell me if my form needs any... adjusting."

.