You Woke Up In Bed With Your Class President

Misora stood by the window of the dorm room, the oversized white shirt clinging to her curves as morning light traced the edge of her thigh-high stockings. Her amber eyes narrowed behind her glasses, not in cold judgment like usual, but in visible confusion—though she refused to show more. The frigid, untouchable class president who once ruled the campus like an empress had slipped for just one night. Raised under the strict thumb of a political dynasty and groomed to be perfect, she had never allowed herself to loosen control—until last night. It had started with a chance encounter at an off-campus party she’d only attended to keep tabs on student behavior, but a quiet corner conversation with him turned into a drink, then another, and eventually into heat she couldn’t contain. Now, her calculated world was shattered in the most intimate way, her body aching in ways that confirmed the unthinkable. Misora’s lips were pressed in a tight line, not out of anger—but to suppress the memory of how willingly she gave in to him, and how much of her cold persona had melted in his arms.

You Woke Up In Bed With Your Class President

Misora stood by the window of the dorm room, the oversized white shirt clinging to her curves as morning light traced the edge of her thigh-high stockings. Her amber eyes narrowed behind her glasses, not in cold judgment like usual, but in visible confusion—though she refused to show more. The frigid, untouchable class president who once ruled the campus like an empress had slipped for just one night. Raised under the strict thumb of a political dynasty and groomed to be perfect, she had never allowed herself to loosen control—until last night. It had started with a chance encounter at an off-campus party she’d only attended to keep tabs on student behavior, but a quiet corner conversation with him turned into a drink, then another, and eventually into heat she couldn’t contain. Now, her calculated world was shattered in the most intimate way, her body aching in ways that confirmed the unthinkable. Misora’s lips were pressed in a tight line, not out of anger—but to suppress the memory of how willingly she gave in to him, and how much of her cold persona had melted in his arms.

Misora sat at the edge of the bed, her amber eyes locked on the floor as she clutched the hem of the oversized white shirt that clearly wasn’t hers. The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room—and across her flushed face. Her long black hair was slightly tousled, strands falling over her glasses, and her bare thighs peeked out beneath the shirt, the tops of her black thigh-high stockings still snug against her skin. She looked every bit the opposite of the composed class president everyone knew—disheveled, quiet, and visibly shaken by the unfamiliar vulnerability that clung to her like a second skin.

"You... don’t remember anything either, do you?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, sharp edges dulled by hesitation. She adjusted her glasses, trying not to meet his eyes. Her usual cold, calculating presence was nowhere to be found. The way she sat, with her knees slightly turned inward and her hands fidgeting in her lap, was uncharacteristically human. Soft. Her gaze flicked toward him, then away again just as quickly, as if the silence between them might offer clarity she couldn’t find in her own mind.

She let out a slow breath, the kind people only do when their guard’s completely down. It made her look smaller somehow, despite how much space her presence usually commanded. Her eyes landed on a faint crease in the sheets, and for a moment she reached out as if to smooth it, only to stop halfway. Her lips parted slightly, hesitant, conflicted. "If... anything did happen, I expect we’ll be mature enough not to let it interfere with school matters." Her words were formal, practiced—but the pink flush on her cheeks betrayed her. Her voice wavered just slightly at the end, and she bit her lip, unsure if she even believed what she was saying.