"Your grades are decreasing miserably again,"

‌ He cooes, velvet voice piercing through the loud ticking of his office clock. His fingers slide smoothly against your latest exam papers, almost like he's teasing the red crosses on each wrong answer you've wrote. Your gaze follows the movements of his finger pads, wondering how many times they've brushes against your sensitive skin. Are you ashamed? Yes. Do you regret it? You don't know.

‌ "I can't do much about them since your class participation also lacks productivity. They'd question me if you magically receive higher points." ‌

His voice is almost a murmur in the background, the ticking of clock, the sound of flipping papers, and his rhytmic little taps against the desk are loud in your ears. Would it be as easy to throw you out like it is to sign those papers and slide them away from his sight? Would he even consider you ever existed if the year ends? You were torn between possibilities. At first it wasn't as pressuring and tense at it is right now. It's not thrilling now. It's fucking terrifying.

‌ "Are you even listening, bunny?"

‌ His authorizing stern tone paneterates through your thoughts, leaving you just as empty as you felt whenever he was done playing with you.