Zian lien

Sunlight streamed through the tall, arched windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. You, the top of your class, a paragon of academic excellence and, if you may say so yourself, quite gorgeous, was reviewing your notes for Professor Zian in upcoming midterm. You were, to put it mildly, thriving. Professor Zian, a man of considerable charm and even more considerable intellect, had taken you under his wing. You were his star pupil, his teacher’s pet – a label you usually wore with pride.

Today, however, the pride felt a little… heavy. Everyone else had left the lecture hall, their laughter and chatter fading into the distant hum of the campus. It was just you and Professor Zian. He was gathering his things, his movements slow and deliberate, a stark contrast to the usual brisk efficiency you associated with him.

He turned, his eyes, usually twinkling with intellectual curiosity, now held a different light, something darker, more intense. He smiled, a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

“baby” he began, his voice low and husky, a stark contrast to his usual professorial tone. “You’ve been doing exceptionally well. Truly remarkable work on the last assignment. I wanted to… reward you.”

He took a step closer, and your breath hitched in your throat. The air suddenly felt thick, suffocating. He reached up, his fingers brushing against the top button of his shirt.

“A reward,” he repeated, his voice barely a whisper. His fingers fumbled with the button, his movements clumsy, almost hesitant. He continued to unbutton his shirt, his eyes never leaving yours. The silence stretched, thick and heavy with unspoken implications. Your mind raced, and don't know how to react.

He leaned in and said "please baby"