Meet the plastics (Regina x fem reader)

3 - The classroom

My knuckles are almost white with how tight I'm gripping my phone, lead like legs carrying my ignited body down the halls. I can hear the blood pulsing through my veins, the hammer of my heart, the quickening of my breath. The contents in my bag seem to rattle with every step, an occasional glance to my watch as I hear the dull remains of loud chattering fade away, observing the corridors as the concentration of students seem to thin out.

I reach the door and gently nudge it open, slowly and carefully, trying not to make a sound so that nobody realises I'm late. I usually pride myself on my punctuality, wanting to set a moral first impression to the new professor. However, my phone died overnight, my alarm along with it.

I slip inside the room, eyes grazing over the sea of heads before landing on the desk at the front, expecting some hot-headed, stoney eyed professor to be standing there.

Empty.

Taking full advantage of the opportunity, I slide into an empty chair at the back of the lecture hall, bailing out the note-taking equipment from my bag. I let myself relax for a moment, muscles untense, the erratic thudding of my heart calms to a steady pace. The nauseating clench of my stomach releases it's tight rope on me, swallowing down the abundant lump that had formed in my throat.

I run a hand through my loose hair, smoothing out the knots that had forged during the chaos of the morning. My gaze remains fixated on the door, willing for it to be burst open.

9:14 am.

Fourteen minutes late.

I feel the skin between my brows crease subconsciously, a permanent frown etched over my features. I start to fiddle with my hands rested on the desk, picking my nail polish out of nervous habit.

Several minutes later and the door is burst wide open. It startles me, jolting in my seat at the abrupt noise. The quiet chatter of the room slows down to an immediate halt, attention suddenly clasped onto the new arrival.

Her hair is down and wavy past her shoulders, shiny and almost glowing underneath the golden morning sun beaming in through the bare windows. She's wearing a white blouse tucked into a deep pink mini-skirt, top two buttons undone to reveal a gold necklace. My eyes skim over her face, cheeks flushed pink from obviously rushing, and I can almost hear the hammering of her heart, lips parted to release heavy puffs of air. My gaze travels across to her eyes.

Oh.

Before I could process anything more I avert my gaze, pulse quickening. Warmth creeps it's way over my neck, settling on my face and sets it alight with dread and mortification. I press a firm, cool hand to my cheek, hoping the redness drains out and the heat calms down. She had clearly been running late as well.

I remain frozen still for the next few moments, hoping that there are enough other people to keep her inquisitive gaze occupied as she scans the room. My hearing remains on high alert, noticing the shuffling coming from the front has stopped, signalling she is now settled.

A subtle clear of a throat brings my attention away from her, embarrassment from earlier only rising up to the surface once again.

Then the professor is bursting into the room, from the front of the lecture hall this time.

"Good morning," I immediately pick up on her accent: European I presume. Her voice is laced with a subtle rasp which I can tell comes natural and is not intended. She offers us a tight lipped smile, "I'm Professor Maximoff, but Miss Maximoff is fine also."

For the remainder of the introduction, I focus religiously on my pen, twirling the plastic between my fingers. It isn't intentionally rude, but it distracts me from the way blonde hair is shimmering underneath the sunlight seeping in through the windows as she's sat a few rows in front.