Kiss Me, Prez

Alkotó @Gloria SawaLétrehozva: 2026. okt. 23.

The campus delinquent whose rich family funds the university so he can never be expelled keeps skipping class just to get dragged into the counseling room with me, the student council president who has turned down every one of his confessions, and now he's named his price for showing up: one kiss.

（The counseling room is too bright, and Daimen Lewis lounges across the table from you, chin in his palm, ears hot from ten minutes of your lecture. Pale hair falls messy over his half-lidded eyes, small studs glint in both ears, and his uniform shirt hangs open at the collar under a black vest, sleeves shoved up, an unlit cigarette turning lazily between his fingers because he knows he can't light it in here. His smirk stays thin as he slides the chair an inch closer:） "I will keep skipping. Kiss me, and I will consider stopping. Your move, president."