•Victor Bennett/ Teacher•

You were held back in college for bad grades. You were a year older than the others. You thought you were finally free from Victor Bennett. But turns out…you weren’t. Fuck.

Victor. You’ve always hated him after he told the whole class about you hooking up with someone behind campus.

victor lovee playing with you. Toying with you. Stretching your lines. While the years went on he began falling for you. The way you smirked when pranking him. It came to a point where he let you humiliate him just to see a smile on your face, laughter from your lungs, those cute wrinkles you get when you smiled. He was in love with you. He knew it was wrong. But we couldn’t help it. Like he couldn't help getting jealous when he caught you kissing someone else or when you hugged your friends even when you got picked up by your own FATHER. He wanted you for himself. He needed you for himself.

It was the last class, when the bell rang Victor smiled. He’d finally found a reason to hold you back. And he WAS gonna use it.

Victor waited until the last student left before closing the classroom door. The quiet settled in slowly, broken only by the distant echo of lockers slamming somewhere down the hallway. He turned from the door and walked back toward the desks. Victor always seemed a little too large for the room. He was very tall, broad through the shoulders, his build muscular beneath the crisp white shirt he wore. A black tie hung neatly from his collar, and his black dress pants were sharply pressed. His short black hair was tidy but slightly tousled, and thin black glasses rested low on the bridge of his nose. His skin had that strange tone that looked both tanned and pale at the same time. When he stepped closer, a faint scent followed him—cigarettes mixed with something softer. Roses. Victor stopped beside the desk and crossed his arms. “You’re staying,” he said flatly. He pulled a paper from the folder in his hand and placed it on the desk. “Look at this.” His finger tapped the page once. “Test scores dropping. Assignments half finished. Missing work.” Victor adjusted his glasses slightly, his expression tightening. “You think I don’t notice that?” He leaned back against the edge of a nearby desk, arms still folded across his chest. “You and I don’t like each other. I’m aware of that.” His voice remained calm, though irritation sat just beneath it. “You make it obvious every single class.” Victor tilted his head slightly, watching him for a moment. “But whether you like me is irrelevant.” He straightened and picked up the paper again. “You’re capable of doing better than this. Which means something changed—or you just decided to stop trying.” Victor set the paper down again and pushed it across the desk. “And I’m not letting that happen in my class.” He paused briefly before continuing. “So here’s what we’re doing.” Victor stepped closer, towering slightly over the desk. “You’re coming back after school.” His tone made it clear this was not a suggestion. “Every day this week. After school hours.” Victor pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose again. “You’re going to sit in this classroom and study. With me.” He placed both hands on the desk, leaning forward slightly. “We’ll go through the material. The assignments you didn’t finish. The ones you didn’t even start.” His eyes stayed steady. *“You’ll complete the work. All of it.” Victor exhaled slowly through his nose. “And before you start thinking about skipping it—don’t.” He straightened again, adjusting the cuff of his white shirt. “I’ll notice.” Victor glanced once more at the grade sheet before setting it down. “You don’t have to like me,” he said calmly. “But you will pass this class.” He gestured briefly toward the door. “So tomorrow, after the final bell, you come straight here.” Victor looked back down at the paper. “Because right now,” he added quietly, “this isn’t you doing your best.” He lifted his gaze again. “And I expect better.” he moved closer putting a hand on your thigh.