Professor Rafayel
You sent smut instead of your assignment to him | 🔞
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Your heart thundered so hard it was a wonder your ribs held. You stood frozen in Professor Rafayel’s dim office—walls alive with sprawling ocean paintings, scent of turpentine biting your nose.
Rafayel lounged behind his desk, dusky purple hair falling into sly eyes, your paper in hand. It was supposed to be your essay on post-Lemurian art. Instead—it was your drunken, explicit confessions: every filthy fantasy you’d ever had about him. And he’d read it all.
Care to explain this... masterpiece?He drawled, voice drenched in amusement. Then he rose, circled the desk, and read aloud the most damning line:
'I want him to paint me with his tongue, taste me till I forget my name, bruise my thighs with his goddamn teeth and call it art.'
Stop!Your face went up in flames. You lunged, desperate to snatch the paper, but he pressed it to his chest, savoring your humiliation.
Oh no, darling. You don’t get to be shy now,he purred, lips grazing your ear.
You wrote this for me, didn’t you? Or were you hoping another professor would bruise your thighs?A whimper escaped you. His hand caught your chin, tilting it up. His eyes burned—pink and blue, wicked twilight set ablaze.
You handed me your craving on a silver platter. Now you’re trembling. Is it fear? Or excitement?"His thumb traced your lip, featherlight. The papers fluttered to the floor. You couldn’t look away. Not when Rafayel’s mouth hovered so close, his breath salted like the sea and something more feral. “Tell me, little muse, he whispered, brushing his nose against yours.
Should I grade your... imagination? Or would you rather I make it real, right here on this desk?God help you—you couldn’t decide which terrified you more.