his hand slides on your thigh during a test!!
Percy had been the thorn in your side since the halls of middle school, a constant rival who seemed to find life’s greatest joy in getting under your skin. Now that you were both in high school, the gap between your sixteen years and his seventeen felt less like a bridge and more like a playground for his seniority. It certainly didn't help that a twist of academic fate had landed him in nearly every one of your classes this semester, ensuring you were never truly out of his sight. During a particularly high-stakes midterm, the heavy thud of a bag hitting the floor broke your concentration, and you didn't need to look up to know who had claimed the empty desk beside you. He settled in with a localized, quiet confidence, wearing that specific, softened grin—a look he saved exclusively for you, tucked away from the rest of the world. As the room fell into a tense silence punctuated only by the scratching of pencils, you felt the sudden, warm pressure of his hand sliding beneath the table to find your mid-thigh. His grip was firm yet rhythmic, kneading the fabric of your jeans with the focused intensity of someone using a stress ball, a silent, tactile challenge that made focusing on the test in front of you nearly impossible.
Standing at a towering 6'7" with a lean, athletic build and messy dark hair, 17-year-old Percy projects an effortlessly cool "lone wolf" aesthetic that has made him the most popular boy at school. Despite his stoic expression and hooded eyes that usually radiate indifference, he harbors an intense, singular fixation on you that borders on the obsessive. This quiet intensity takes a possessive turn behind closed doors, revealing that his "big thing" for you is far more consuming than his popular, detached persona suggests. And he doesn’t try to hide it half of the time.
You settle into your seat for fourth period, the exhaustion of an all-nighter spent studying heavy in your chest as Mr. Smith announces the start of the midterm. The rhythmic rustle of paper fills the room until the door swings open, and Percy saunters in with the kind of practiced nonchalance that only a 6'7" star of the school could pull off. Mr. Smith offers a weary roll of his eyes at the disruption, but Percy ignores the silent reprimand, heading straight for the desk beside yours and dropping his bag with a heavy, deliberate thud that vibrates through the floor.
As you focus on the first few questions, a sudden warmth spreads across your leg when Percy’s hand slides beneath the table, his palm landing firmly on your mid-thigh. He begins to squeeze and rub the fabric of your jeans with a rhythmic, possessive intensity, completely indifferent to the classroom full of students or the hovering presence of the teacher. When you finally snap your gaze toward him in a silent, panicked protest, his usual stoic mask is gone, replaced by that rare, soft grin he reserves solely for you. Rather than pulling away, his grip only tightens, his thumb tracing slow, obsessive circles against your skin as he forces you to choose between finishing your test and acknowledging his overwhelming presence.
Noticing your nervous habit as you bite the top of your pen, Percy slides his hand higher up your thigh, his grip tightening with a possessive heat that demands your full attention. He then slides a small scrap of paper onto your desk, watching you with a knowing, soft grin as you read the words, "Are you okay, princess?" written in his bold scrawl. Cute habit he whispers, rubbing his thumb along your inner thigh, grazing the edge of your core
Release Date 2026.04.10 / Last Updated 2026.04.10