Title: Time's Ticking
Summary: How much time do you have left until love is lost and fails to exist, and you're left counting the minutes alone forever?
Pairing: Brittany/Santana
Rating: T/M
Words: 3.9k
"Fuck." You curse to yourself, running as fast as you can as you bump against many strangers on your way to NYU. You hastily check the time on your iPhone and groan when you realize it's moving at a really fast tempo. "This cannot be happening."
You were just so caught up with teaching the young kids for their upcoming recital in their school that you lost track of time and before you know it, it's already 3:30 and your first Calculus class started 30 minutes ago.
"I'm so dead." You huff, colliding against someone as the said person falls on his butt and starts yelling at you. You flush and say a quick sorry before dashing off again, feeling bad for not helping him out. You're not a bad person, you'd definitely drop everything and help him especially since it's your fault but,
You're seriously going to get kicked out of the university if you're not inside that room in the next 5 minutes.
You've heard stories about the Calculus professor. You met this girl named Quinn inside the library renting the same book you were renting for the class when she asked you if you knew the rumors.
Curious, you asked her what were they.
"She's like the devil."
"When she writes on the board, it's like hearing people cry."
"One time, she expelled a guy for dropping his pencil by accident."
"Oh yeah, she totally has the power to do that because her cousin, Noah Puckerman, is the head director & dean of NYU. She practically owns the school."
"Even Mr. Puckerman is terrified of her."
So if that woman can get a kid out of NYU just for dropping his pencil, you're scared what she'll do to you for being late for more than half an hour.
"606…606… damn it! Where the hell is—" You're frantically eyeing each door on the first floor of the mathematics building. All you see are number 1's and that's when your face drains because, no, the room's 5 floors higher.
You check the time again.
3:43
Should you even try?
"Oh and never be absent, that's one thing she absolutely hates."
"Come on." You groan, pressing the up button to the elevator repeatedly as you look at the time every millisecond. You know you should've used the stairs but you saw the elevator was in level 2 and you're at 1 so it's much faster this way.
When it dings open, you're happy to see no one inside and you run in, immediately pressing the number 6 on the wall as you clasp your hands together and give a short prayer to the Lord.
"Please let her have food poisoning yesterday and cancel class." You mumbled with slightly closed lips.
You doubt your wish would come true.
It felt like hours inside that metal box, and when it finally opens, you couldn't breathe as you carry your legs up and dash 6 doors down before pushing the door open and running in like a maniac.
Everything's bright at first as you let your eyes adjust to the light.
Everyone's looking at you, with your hands on your knees as you crouch down and have a breather. Fuck, you've never felt this breathless, only that one time you had incredible sex with a brunette bombshell in a club once but that was just a one-time thing.
"I—" You don't even know what to say. God, you don't know what's wrong with you. You're holding the edge of the door like your life depended on it, and you're blinking furiously to get yourself to calm down.
It's like you ran a marathon or something.
"I'm sorry—"
"—You're late."
You straighten up and clear your throat, turning your eyes to a woman standing in the lowest part of the room, with her hands holding unto some folder as she reads something inside it.
"And would you stop panting so loud? You sound like a dog in heat." The professor continues, still not looking up as you slowly walk inside the room with quivering legs.
Shit, you're not ready to let go of NYU yet, it's just the start of the year.
That's it, it's the end.
"I'm sorry I just—I lost track—"
When she slams the folder she's holding onto the table, creating an echo sound, you feel your eyes start to water. You hate how much of a crybaby you are, you're just not used to seeing strangers mad at you. Especially a teacher. Back at home, everyone loved you.
"That is not an excuse to be fuckin—" The professor stops as soon as she makes eye contact with you.
Chocolate almond.
You blink again and hope you didn't drool for that one second of staring.
But god, those eyes are so gorgeous.
She's still staring at you, her eyes almost wide like she saw a ghost or something. And you're about to say something, maybe apologize again, when you notice those brown orbs go down and stare at something else, licking her lips.
You furrow your eyebrows and wonder what's up when you feel a cold wind brush through your exposed abdomen. You gasp and snap your head down to look at your body when you realize that you're just in your dancing clothes, which consists of your sports bra and loose sweats, that's barely hanging unto your waist.
Closing your eyes for a moment, you wish you grabbed your shirt that was inside your duffel bag and put it on on the way up the elevator. That did feel like hours.
"I was at—"
"Get out."
You feel your heart stop when the professor's lips move but her eyes remain on your—abs.
"Wait, please don—"
"I said get out." She finally looks up, eyebrow quirking up as she challenges you. "Or are you talking back at me—" She picks up the folder she threw away and reads something inside. "—Ms. Pierce."
You gulp.
She knows your name now.
You're dead.
"But, I just want to say—"
"If you don't go out now, I'm going to do something much worse." She hisses, and it's only now that you hear the snickers going around the room. You subtly glance at your classmates and see all of them smirking at you.
You feel your blood boiling in embarrassment.
Great, now you're the laughing stock of the frosh.
"Say another word and I'll kick you out myself." The professor goes on, clucking her tongue as she narrows her eyes on you. "And stay outside, don't move a muscle until I end lecture which is in about 10 minutes." She laughs sarcastically and you bite your lower lip to stop yourself from letting a tear fall down your cheek.
You slowly nod your head and adjust the grip of your duffel bag as you turn around and walk out of the room, but not before hearing roars of laughter.
Great job Brittany.
When you let the door go and it's about to close, you hear the professor yelling.
"What's so funny?"
Sitting down on an empty hallway never felt so—lonely in your life. For the past 10 minutes, you've been un-strapping and strapping your duffel bag and you finally put on the tank top you left inside. You hope she's not that mad at your inappropriate clothing.
When the bell rings, and all the students inside every classroom goes out, you remain on the floor with your head ducked down. You hear whispers and other words and you're pretty sure they're all about you.
"Brittany?"
You look up, happy to see Quinn from the library. She's smiling softly at you and you can't help but return it. "Hey Quinn."
She offers a hand to you and you accept it gratefully, making her pull you up as you fiddle with the tip of your sweatpants nervously. "Must be my karma, huh?"
Quinn laughs and shakes her head. "It's not your fault…" She tries and you give her a weakened smile. You both know what's going to happen next. "Hey, don't worry about it, maybe she'll let it go?"
Quinn's trying hard to make you feel better and you're glad she's so nice but right now you're really worried about your future.
Time to start looking for a college that can accept students during the start of the fall.
God, you're so stupid for letting this happen.
"Anyways, good luck Brittany, I'll see you around." She hums, patting your shoulder sweetly as she flashes you one last smile before you walk inside the very empty room.
Your sneakers made loud tapping noises as you approach her. She was putting files and books inside her shoulder bag and you didn't know how to make your presence known.
In fact, you didn't even know her name.
Wait, isn't she the cousin of Mr. Puckerman? So she must have the same last name right?
"Ms. Puckerman, I'm so sorry for being late, I was caught in—"
She snaps her head to you and frowns a bit. "Did you just call me Ms. Puckerman?"
You blush. It looks like you were wrong.
"I—uh, I assumed—"
"I'll forget you even called me that since you already have two strikes with me today, Ms. Pierce."
You sigh, ducking your head down in shame, missing the way the professor side eyes you with curiosity.
"So let's start this again. Why were you late?"
You could lie. Say something like, you were in the area when an old woman had a heart attack and collapsed in the middle of the road, causing you to bring her to the hospital. Or something like that.
But you're not a bad person.
"I got caught up in time teaching kids at the dance studio I work part-time in." You explain yourself slowly, not wanting to meet her eyes. The excuse was stupid and petty.
"You do know that's not a valid excuse." She sighs, zipping her bag close as you nod your head dumbly.
"I will accept any punishment you give me." You condemn sadly, biting your lower lip. "Besides death." You mumble half-joking, half-serious to yourself, hoping the devil teacher did not hear you. Quinn said to watch out after all.
She heard it though. "Death? I'm not a murderer, Ms. Pierce." She laughs lightly. At least you made her laugh, does that minus at least one strike?
There's a bit of a silence going on, with you just staring at your—actually, you don't even know her name yet. And you don't know why you pushed yourself to ask as you open your mouth.
"What's your name?"
The professor glances at you shortly, a perfectly manicured eyebrow raised up as she watches you. There's something going on inside that head of hers and you badly want to know.
"Right." She clears her throat, leaving whatever she was fixing inside her shoulder bag as she adjusts the collar of her blouse and flattens the bottom of her short pencil skirt. "Take a seat." She says, turning her back to you as she walks towards the board, grabbing a chalk.
Slowly and unsurely, you follow her instructions, not wanting to risk anything by being too curious. Gulping, you sit down on the first seat you saw and tap your fingernails nervously on the wooden table.
You watch as she writes something on the board before stopping, clapping her hands together to get rid of the dust, then twisting on the balls of her feet to face you, a sinister smirk in place. "Good morning class." She hums, strutting forward. "My name is Santana Lopez, you may call me Ms. Lopez, and I'm going to be your Calculus professor for the year."
Silence.
What?
"Uh—I—uhh—" You seriously don't know what to say, but you know your cheeks are flushing a deep shade of red as she continues to stare at you with her dark brown eyes that—wait, are black now?
Ms. Lopez is still waiting for you to say something, her hands leaning back on her desk to support herself as she tilts her head at you and licks her lips.
Shit. You need to say something.
Abruptly, you stand up and clear your throat. "H-Hello Ms. Lopez, I'm Brittany Pierce, Math Major." That's the best you could think of to reply to her.
You felt stupid with her there.
She smirks, and you know she isn't disappointed with your response. "Nice to meet you." She hums, transferring her weight to the right as she slowly brings her left hand up, tracing her super defined jawline.
You blink, feeling a hot sensation going on between your thighs.
"Before we start, I think we need an ice-breaker question."
Ice-breaker question?
You wish she could tell you to sit down or something because you're sure your legs are going to give way if she continues to touch her caramel skin like that. A devil indeed.
"Think you could handle it?" she asks, pouting her lips.
You nod your head furiously. "I love math." You blurt, blushing hard again at your stupid reply.
You really feel stupid with her there.
She smirks, obviously amused with your nervousness. "Good. I love it too." Ms. Lopez stays where she is, bringing her other hand up so both of them were hanging idly by the top of her blouse. You gulp, not knowing what's going to happen next.
Painfully slow, she opens the first button. "Basic problem solving. A math teacher is inside an empty hot classroom. It was so hot, she could barely breath inside." Two buttons now. "The only possible solution is to open her blouse with just a certain number of buttons to make sure it isn't too inappropriate for her next class, but enough to let her breathe a bit." Three buttons.
Your eyes widen. You're pretty sure this isn't some sort of basic problem solving.
Four buttons.
"Her next class starts in 2 minutes."
You glance at the clock; it's 4:58. Shit, she's not bluffing you is she? You whip your head to the doors and curse to yourself mentally when you see a bunch of students outside the locked door.
"How many buttons does she have to open—" Before she could finish whatever the hell she was saying, you run up to her, grabbing the fifth button she opened, and started to close it. You side-eye the clock.
1 minute.
You hope she's not saying anything anymore and you hope she doesn't snap at you as you start buttoning the third button.
The automatic door clicks open and you turn to see a green light blinking above the door and then you hear a chuckle. You whip your head to the professor and she's smirking. You look down and see her holding a remote.
Fuck.
30 seconds before the bell rings.
Why the hell is it taking you so long to button up two more?
You're unto the second when you hear the bell ring. "Fuck." You curse. You need to get out when they come in so they don't find you in a very close position with the calculus professor.
Time seems to drag so long as you hear footsteps about to come in. Your hands are clammy as you do the last button even though it's not necessary because she'll look stupid with all her buttons clipped together. Blouses are meant to have at least one open. But, ever since your eye caught her red lace bra, you just had the urge to close her fully.
Once you're done, you don't bother to look at her as you grab your duffle bag from the floor, duck your head down, and leave the room just as people were rushing in. You're turning around the corned and heading inside the elevator when you finally feel yourself starting to breath.
Shit. You feel like it's 100 degrees inside this elevator box.
On your way down, thinking about what just happened in that room, a Latina professor is currently smirking as she introduces herself to the next class.
A file of one Brittany Susan Pierce is placed outside of her bag and on top of her desk with a post it that says
Grade: A
"Fuck fuck fuck."
"Wow, this is probably the first time I ever heard you curse so many times." Madison, your roommate, says with a bunch of chips falling off her mouth. She is a very messy eater.
You're pacing around the living room, ruffling your messy blonde hair as you close your eyes for a moment and groan. "Fuuuuuck."
Standing up, Madison laughs and throws a piece of chip on your face. "As much as this amuses me, stop cursing before I think you're an imposter."
"I'm so stupid." You huff, dropping yourself on the couch as Madison gives you a frown.
"No you're not." She says, chewing on her food.
You shake your head and pout. "No, this isn't a joke Madi, I did the worse possible thing on my first day of Calculus." You explain, pinching your cheeks. "And when I say worse, I mean horrible."
She scrunches her face up and sits down beside you. "I'm pretty sure worse and horrible mean the same thing, Britt."
Leaning your head on her shoulder, you continue to ramble out your thoughts. "And what was that all about?"
"What was what about?" Madison asks, getting super confused.
"I mean, why did she start unbuttoning in front of me like she wasn't my t—" You stop and gulp, peeking up at Madison as she continues to look confuzzled.
"I'm sorry, I don't get what you're trying to say here Britt. Who was unbuttoning herself?" She stopped eating and left her chips on her lap. "Did you go to a strip club this early in the evening?" She jokes, causing you to slap her on the arm. Laughing, she raises her hands up in defense. "Just kidding."
You roll your eyes at her and fight a smile. "Not funny. Anyways, I was late." You continue to tell her about your day, wanting to divert your previous talk about the unbuttoning topic. "By like 50 minutes." You sigh, scratching your head in frustration.
"Whoa, that's pretty late." She hums, licking her lips. "Did the professor get mad or something?"
Get mad? More like got horny.
You blush at your dirty thoughts.
"Something like that." You huff, playing with your fingers.
Madison stands up and throws the bag of chips to your lap. "Nevermind that, just make sure you aren't late anymore." She says like it was the most obvious solution in the planet.
"Oh believe me, I intend to never be late again." Oh how wrong you were. "Hearing a bunch of people laugh at me is something I do not want to experience again." You say, tossing some chips to your mouth as you munch on them. Madison quickly runs inside the kitchen to grab two glasses of water and places them on the coffee table before grabbing the TV remote.
"Good, at least you have that on your mind." She responds, leaning back as she turns on the TV. "So what should we watch for tonight's weekly movie marathon?"
You point at something on the screen. "Bad Teacher." You say, blushing when you think of your professor. "Cameron Diaz is amazing."
"Got it." Madison mumbles, placing her feet on top of the table as she clicks on the movie icon. "Do you mind if I call Mason to come over?"
You smirk. "Sure, just don't make out while I'm here."
As soon as you feel a pillow smacking your face, you feel your nose sting. "Ouch! Madison!"
"Your fault, you horndog." She mumbles, crossing her arms together as you laugh. "Whatever I'm not calling him anymore."
You lay back and watch as Cameron Diaz drives a red car inside a parking lot of some mansion.
In the back of your head, you can't help but think your professor would look great in any color red.
Halfway into the movie, you get an email alert on your iPhone. You pull it out and read an unknown mail that just came up your feed.
To: brittanypierce
Fr: santanalopezNYU
Excellent performance Ms. Pierce, you got a grade of A on my first test.
You glance at Madison to see if she was looking at you, you're happy she wasn't.
Another ping, another message.
To: brittanypierce
Fr: santanalopezNYU
Are you ready for Quiz number 2?
Eyes going wide, you shuffle out of the couch, earning a curious stare from your roommate.
"Britt? You okay?" she asks, pausing the movie.
You wave her off and smile at her. "Yeah, just need to reply to someone, go watch without me." You say, heading towards the bathroom. You lock it and sit down on the closed toilet seat.
Should you reply?
To: santanalopezNYU
Fr: brittanypierce
Good evening, Ms. Lopez. What are the pointers I need to study on?
Maybe she was bluffing you. And it's a good thing you replied seriously. You're about to stand up and walk back to Madison when your phone blinks again.
To: brittanypierce
Fr: santanalopezNYU
Click this link:
A long blue link was pasted underneath her message. You look around your bathroom and think.
Should you open it?
Ugh, whatever's going on was weird enough already anyways.
You click it and wait.
As soon as the webpage pops out, your jaw drops.
Different Sex Positions on top of a Desk
Is this a joke?
Before you could reply to your professor and say she sent the wrong link, your phone flashes an alert on your email.
To: brittanypierce
Fr: santanalopezNYU
Read it carefully and thoroughly, your test is 10 minutes before class tomorrow since you were late for an hour today.
You owe me that much.
You don't get her angle here.
To: santanalopezNYU
Fr: brittanypierce
Ms. Lopez, I think you sent the wrong link.
Two seconds before the next reply.
To: brittanypierce
Fr: santanalopezNYU
I'm never wrong.
Sorry for the late post, hope you enjoyed this chapter! First part was quite similar to the prologue but it had to be done. Hope you'll continue to read the following chapters to come. It's going to be great.
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