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TEARSER FOR NEW SERIES
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You messed up. Your very sleep-deprived Self attached the wrong document when emailing a professor and sent him one of the stories you wrote instead of an assignment. It should be embarrassing, really, but it wasn't. It was worse.
Why did it have to be the smutty one? Why did it have to be the one starring his best friend, Professor Rogers? You were so screwed.
Aka the 'you send the wrong attachment to hot professor A that just happens to be about his friend hot professor B and now professor A is then unable to look at professor B without wheezing in laughter anymore and you are unable to look at either of them' AU
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1) Words of Doom
Warnings: swearing, literally one mention of a possible daddy kink, double entendre, adult themes
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Your eyes felt like on fire, burning hotter than the sun above Sahara Desert; the metaphor your sleep-deprived mind came up with was only perfected by the huge dunes of the bags under your eyes.
You were running on disgustingly strong coffee and three energy drinks, but you summoned the rest of your strength and clicked on 'send', slumping so heavily into your chair that when your back hit the backrest, it almost toppled over—but never mind, you made it!
Penny, your gracious roommate, would inform you that had you started earlier and were writing the actual essay instead of wasting words on steamy stories that somehow filled the desired wordcount with considerably less effort, you wouldn't have been turning into a zombie sending assignments several minutes before eight a.m., the actual deadline.
Yeah, well, sue me, I prefer romance to the World War II., no matter how important history is.
You were certain Professor Barnes would understand if you told him that anyway – he was a pretty easy-going guy for a scholar after all. Then again, you sure as hell didn't want to test the theory out and so you tended to hand in your homework perhaps 'minute to midnight', but still in time.
You grinned as you checked the sent e-mail, proudly reading it had been sent at 7:56. You mentally patted your back, not having the energy to actually move to do that.
And then your Sahara-dry eyeballs fell lower on the screen and you let out a shriek of horror.
Your heart stopped in your chest before kicking in faster than it had been pumping after three Red Bulls.
The attachment.
Oh no.
OH FUCK, the attachment!
Now, it happened on occasion that people forgot to attach the files they spoke of in an e-mail, right? Sometimes shit like that happened.
But this... this was so, so much worse.
"Oh no," you uttered under your breath, shooting up and suddenly sitting with back straight as a ruler just to look at the screen from shorter distance to-- nope, still there. "Oh fuck."
You quickly scrambled to send another e-mail with similar text but the right file, along with a swift apology.
Sent 7:59.
YOU ARE READING
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