Bwog presents low-grade smut in the first part of a slow-burn, Wattpad-worthy Roaree x Millie fanfiction. 


POV: Millie the Dancing Bear

I first saw him across the lecture hall in Intro to Women’s Studies. That tousled Chalamet-mane, the cool guy on campus, and he’s a feminist? I knew that I was about to fall, hard.

I avoided eye contact with him, even though I knew he wouldn’t be looking at me anyway. Me, a shy bear. Roaree was on the football team and that’s prime cultural currency, even if the team sucks. 

That Friday night, a few friends and I put on our crop tops and Docs, glued a little glitter to our faces, and headed to the Beta steps. While we were waiting, I turned around and jumped when I saw who was behind me. Roaree. Shit.

I considered just ducking out of line and going to JJ’s for some sad mozzarella sticks instead, but I stopped myself. That night, after a couple of shots, I was nothing if not bold and beautiful. I took a deep breath and turned around again.

“Oh my god, wait, aren’t you in my women’s studies class? I swear I’ve seen you before!” I could feel the quiver rising up my throat as I spoke, and maybe I was too loud, but I needed him to see me looking so good and nonchalant. I needed my name on his lips, and I needed his uproarious laugh chasing my words, and then maybe, just maybe, I needed my paws running through his wild mane.

“Oh, hey! You’re Millie, right? I’m Roaree. What’s up?”

“You know me??” He knows me. I try not to sound too excited. It’s just a stupid crush, and there are a million lions with those wise glassy eyes on campus…

“Of course I know you, you’re like, a Barnard icon.” He chuckles, and I didn’t even know lions could chuckle. But it’s not enough. I want him to laugh for me.

“So, how long have you been into feminism?” It’s a joke. Please, let him understand that it’s a joke.

“Well, my mom raised me right. I love women; I think they’re great! I’m a very passionate person, you know.” Oh, I knew.

Maybe it was the vodka, or maybe it was my internalized misogyny, but in that moment, I felt an irrational desire for him to poorly explain feminist theory to me in that gravelly voice. 

I was about to ask Roaree more about his mother when, suddenly, the door of Beta opened. It was a blur of chaos from there, but, you know, sexy chaos. Roaree grabbed my hand consensually and linked paw in paw, we surged forward together through the crowd and into the frat house.

Once we were inside, I finally had a good excuse to be near him. In the crammed, steamy-in-a-bad-way basement, I had no choice but to dance right next to him. Somewhere along the way, I draped my arms over his broad football shoulders, and he wrapped his around my waist. We couldn’t hear each other speak, but we didn’t need to. Feeling the warmth of each other’s bodies made the frat house heat seem less gross, and we could guess each other’s drinks from our breath, which soon mixed as we drew even closer. I hadn’t thought closer was even possible. We couldn’t hear each other, but in that sweaty frat house basement, it didn’t matter at all to me.

That night, staring into Roaree the Lion’s black eyes as the rest of Columbia moved around us, I felt like I had become Millie the Dancing Queen.

POV: Roaree the Lion

Waking up with her next to me in my twin-XL bed, my first thought was that I hoped she had fallen asleep easily after. I hoped I didn’t hog the blanket, and I hoped that she wasn’t disturbed because I snore, lion, snore. In one night with Millie, I had gone from a big, untameable cat to a simp sandwich.

But it’s casual, right? Like discussion posts, or my everyday attire of Columbia merch. The problem was that, when I was about to leave my dorm room to bring her back a waffle from Ferris, I saw her cute round ears and the way her body moved softly with her breath, and nothing in me felt casual. 

On my way to Ferris, I wondered what Millie stood for. Milstein? Milbank? I just didn’t have a clue, but I wished I did. I thought that maybe we should skip our women’s studies class, because there was only one woman that I wanted to study now. I wanted to know everything about her, like what her major was, or Why Barnard, or what she thought of me.

I needed to take a deep breath. By the time I came back to my dorm, the waffle was probably cold, and I’d worried that I’d ruined everything, that she wouldn’t be in my room anymore and I would never see her again. But when I opened the door, she was there, and I didn’t know what to say but, like last night, I didn’t feel the need to say anything. Her deep eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, we just looked at each other.

“Good morning.” She still had some sleep in her voice, and I blushed as I wondered if she even liked waffles. Looking at her, mascara smeared around her eyes yet still so piercing, I didn’t just want to learn about her. I wanted to learn from her. She could teach me everything, like how to love, or what her full name was. We’d never need to leave this bed, and we would only ever know each other, and that would be enough.

I hoped that we could spend the next night together again, and the next day, and I hoped we wouldn’t bother my roommate as I roared with delight.

millie + roaree 5eva via true love