Sincerely, Your Favorite Student - Professor! Nanami x Fem Student! Reader
Summary: You’re a student at an all-girls private university where every girl thinks your teacher, Nanami Kento, is hot—but they fail to catch his attention. Except you. Front row, heels clicking, skirt short enough to ride up at the right time, making him look twice, you drop subtle signals—lingering glances, teasing smiles, tiny gestures that make it clear you want him. Being one of his best students, you purposely fail your midterm, knowing it’ll get him alone with you. And it does. Suddenly, he’s inviting you to his office hours for “extra credit, Who knew that “extra credit opportunity” would leave you bent over Mr. Nanami’s desk?
warnings: 18+ MDNI, Professor! Nanami, Fem Student! Reader, JJK College Au, legal age gap, swearing, kissing, bondage play, riding, cream pie, throat fucking, fingering, pet names, cervix kissing, praise kink, desk sex, overstimulation, spanking, tight ripping, squirting, dirty talk, aftercare? (I need him so bad)
author's note: This story is complete fiction, please don't ever sleep with your professors....unless they’re hot JK >_< (art credits: thatsallitchief)
⋆˚✿˖° not proofread!! ⋆˚✿˖°
You’re in your final year at an all-girls university, and somehow your political economics professor turns out to be quite attractive. All the other girls thought the same. Some girls would lean toward one another, whispering and giggling, fixing lip gloss in the reflective screens of their phones before class started. Even some of the female professors found him very attractive.
Every day, before he even steps into the class, the energy shifts—without him needing to say a word.
Nanami Kento arrives at every lecture right on time: ironed suit, sleeves rolled just enough to show how big his hands really are, expression calm and unreadable. He doesn’t try to command attention. He doesn’t need to. The room does it for him.
Some girls are always asking questions they already know the answer to, just to hear him speak. Others linger after class on purpose, notebooks clutched to their chests, hoping he’ll notice them. But he never does.
You take your seat in the front, close enough that he has to look at you when he turns from the board, far enough that it doesn’t seem intentional. Your heels always click softly against the floor as you walk into class, a sound that announces you before you even sit down. You cross your legs, posture effortless, skirt settling neatly as you open your notebook like any other lecture.
You don’t giggle, you don’t whisper with your classmates, that’s what separates you from the rest of the girls. You mostly kept to yourself because it felt like some of the girls resented you.
Nanami always begins his lecture, voice even and controlled, eyes scanning the room. He pauses briefly when his gaze reaches you—not enough for anyone else to notice, but long enough for you to feel it.
When he asks a question, you raise your hand calmly.
“Yes, Miss, Y/n?” he says. Focusing his attention on you.
You meet his eyes when you answer. Your voice is steady, confident.
He nods once. “That is right.” His gaze lingered a second longer.
Around you, chairs shift. One girl sighs. You feel the weight of attention settle on your back, sharp and curious. A few girls glance at you openly now, brows drawn together—not in admiration, in envy.
You keep your focus on the board, pen moving neatly across the page. When Nanami passes down the aisle, his presence is close enough to feel; you don’t look up right away. You wait until he’s walking right beside you—then you cross your legs slowly, and your skirt rides up just enough to reveal more than intended.
The movement catches him off guard. You notice it immediately—the brief pause, the way his gaze flicks away a second too late. When your eyes meet, you give him a small, teasing smile, as if it was an accident… even though you both know it wasn’t.
For the first time, Nanami loses his rhythm. But just for a moment. He straightens, jaw tightening as he forces his attention back to the room, reminding himself where he is, and what he’s supposed to be doing. But the image of your smile lingers in his head far longer than it should.
But that was just one of the things that you would do to try to catch Nanami’s attention.
As your heels click softly against the floor when you walk into class, bag resting on your shoulder, conversations stop when you pass by. A few girls glance up, then quickly awa,y whispering to one another. But you didn’t care about what they had to say about you. That was the last thing you were worrying about. Taking a seat where you always sat quietly, taking out your notebook and pens.
Nanami enters the classroom, the energy shifts as girls quickly touch up their makeup and swipe another layer of lip gloss. You sit up straight like always, Nanami begins lecturing, just as he always does. His voice is even and controlled, now familiar. You’ve learned the way he pauses before emphasising a point, the way he adjusts his cuff when he’s thinking. You write notes neatly, the pen moving across the page, as if this is just another day.
But it hasn’t been just another day for a while.
You don’t look up when he turns from the board. You’ve learned better than that. Waiting is more effective. When you finally lift your gaze, his eyes are already on you.
He straightens slightly, jaw tight, voice steady but clipped as he moves on with the lecture. You don’t react.
And for the first time, you realise that it’s no longer about being noticed. It’s about control. Every look, every pause, every deliberate gesture—all calculated. And he’s responding, whether he admits it or not.
By the time class ends, you’ve already won the attention that every girl is still desperately chasing. And you know you’ll keep winning it—every single time. The thought of it makes you smile.
As the days pass, you notice the way his gaze drifting toward the front of the room more often than it should. How he doesn’t scan the class like he usually does, attention narrowing without him realizing it. When questions are asked, his eyes find you before your hand is even raised.
Sometimes, he calls on you anyway, not because he needs the answer, but because he knows you’ll give it—and because he likes the way your eyes light up when he calls your name.
“Yes, Miss Y/N, would you like to answer this question?” he says, pointing to the board.
You never rush your answers. You speak clearly, like you’re already used to being heard. You don’t look around to see who’s watching. You don’t soften your tone to seem agreeable. You answer because you already know the answers.
“Correct,” he says again. Always calm. Always professional. But his gaze lingers again.
Until the other students begin to notice the pattern.
A girl two rows back raises her hand higher than necessary, voice overly sweet when she speaks. Nanami answers her question politely, then moves on without hesitation. Another girl lingers after class one afternoon, laughing at nothing. He nods once, and just by the look on his face, it’s clear he’s uncomfortable. You watch as he gathers his papers, politely excuses himself, and leaves her standing there—completely dumbfounded.
They try harder, but it only makes it worse for themselves.
One afternoon, you purposely arrive five minutes late to his class. The door opens quietly, heels clicking against the floor as you step inside. The room is already settled, attention fixed forward—until you appear in the doorway, causing every girl to look.
Nanami stops mid-sentence before looking up.
His gaze drops before he can stop it. Not staring—but a quick, involuntary assessment. Your cute heels, the lining of your skirt. The way your blouse fits. The confidence with which you stand there, completely unbothered by his attention. For a fraction of a second, he’s caught off guard.
You see it in the way his eyes flick back up too quickly, in the pause that follows before he speaks again. He adjusts his stance, clears his throat,
“You’re late,” he says calmly, adjusting his glasses.
“I’m sorry, Professor,” you reply, eyes looking up at him, lips curving faintly.
“It’s fine, just please take a seat,” he says, sighing softly.
As you walked towards your desk, the sound of your heels feels louder than it should. you felt his eyes linger on you, it was with a focus that was sharper than before the moment you walked in.
You open your notebook, preparing yourself to write your usual notes. His lecture continues as if nothing happened.
A few girls exchange looks. Someone exhales sharply. Another taps her pen too hard against her notebook. You can feel it—the irritation, the way your presence unsettles them more than they’d ever admit.
“Y/n,” he says, already looking at you. “Would you like to answer the question on the board?”
You pause as you look at the board, then meet his gaze, calm and composed, and answer. A few heads turn back toward the front. One girl scoffs under their breath.
“Correct,” Nanami says. Nothing more. No praise. No edge. Just that single word,
The rest of the lecture passes in a haze. You catch the looks from the other girls when they think you’re not watching. Tight smiles. Narrowed eyes. Annoyance. You don’t respond. You simply roll your eyes, rest your chin against your hand, and let your attention settle back on Nanami.
For a moment, you zone out; everything he’s discussing is going in one ear and leaving the other. When all of a sudden you feel a flush of heat in your body, your gaze has drifted—caught on his arms as he moves, the way muscle shifts beneath rolled sleeves with each gesture. Every flex is deliberate, unassuming, and you find yourself wondering—what else those hands can do.
Nanami notices your sudden gaze, but not on him, on his arms.
He doesn’t stop speaking. Doesn’t call your name. But his eyes flick to you— just a second. At the same time, it's long enough for you to feel exposed. Long enough to know he’s caught the way your attention has drifted.
You quickly look away before the thoughts can linger, thighs squeezing together as you force your attention back to your page of notes.
When class finally ends, chairs scrape loudly as everyone gathers their things. You take your time. By the time you stand, the room has mostly emptied.
“Can you stay for a moment, Y/n?” Nanami says, looking at you.
You pause, heart, skipping just slightly. Forcing yourself to turn back, posture calm and composed as always. You try to ignore the quickening of your pulse.
He organises his papers, stacking them once, then again, as if buying himself time. The silence stretches—not awkward, just heavy.
“You were late today,” he says finally.
“I know,” you say. Not daring to look at his face, as if your mind is screaming the words for you, your face calm, but inside, your pulse is telling a very different story.
“Just…” he pauses. “Don’t make a habit of it,” he adds.
“I‘m sorry, I won’t let it happen again,” you reply.
Another pause. He looks down at you. “And you seemed distracted today.” His tone is measured, professional—but his attention is unreadable.
You shrug lightly. “Just been a little tired lately.”
He studies you for a moment longer than necessary.
“With the midterm coming up in a few weeks,” he continues, “I want to make sure you’re prepared.”
God—he looks so good, you think, cutting through your composure before you can stop it.
“You’ve consistently been one of my best students,” he says. “I’d hate to see that change because you didn’t ask for help when you needed it,” he says, voice carrying a quiet note of concern as his gaze settles on you.
“You’re always welcome to visit me during office hours,” he says. “If you ever need help, we can review the material together.”
You don’t hesitate. “Thank you, Mr Nanami, I really appreciate you wanting to help,” you say.
He nods once, stepping aside to give you space.
Give him a small smile as you pass him, close enough for him to catch the sweetness of your perfume. Heels clicking against the floor before closing the door behind you.
You take your usual seat in the front row, crossing your legs with deliberate calm. The skirt rides up a fraction, enough to be noticed if someone is already looking. Your posture is perfect. Your expression is neutral. Unbothered.
When someone behind you scoffs.
“She thinks she’s sooo special,” a girl murmurs to her friend, not quite quietly enough.
Another laughs. “Please. As if—”
Nanami enters before the sentence can finish.
The room shifts instantly. It always does. Conversations die, spines straighten, faces soften into something eager. He sets his briefcase down with the same precise care he always does, adjusting his tie once before turning to the board.
You don’t look up at him right away.
Today, one of your classmates decides to get Nanami’s attention. Her name is Samantha. She sits two rows back, usually forgettable, usually quiet. Today, she leans forward the moment Nanami asks if anyone completed the reading he assigned the day before, hand shooting up so fast it nearly knocks her pen to the floor.
“Professor Nanami,” she says, voice sweet, breathless. “I actually did extra reading on the section of the book you assigned.”
She smiles when she speaks, batting her lashes like she’s onstage.
Nanami nods politely. “Go on.”
She answers—overexplains, really—adding unnecessary details, glancing at him after every sentence like she’s waiting for approval. The room watches. You can feel it. The tension coils tight, expectant.
Nanami listens patiently. When she finishes, he pauses.
“That’s great that you did some extra reading on the book”, he says. “But next time, stick to the section that I assigned to the class.”
No praise. No encouragement. He turns back to the board without another glance.
The disappointment on her face is almost painful.
Later, during group discussion, she and her group decided to sit close to the front. Gossiping and laughing loudly with each other. When she purposely drops her pen, but instead of simply picking it up, she slides out of her chair and ducks beneath the table, movements exaggerated. You notice Nanami approaching the front of the room at the same time.
Nanami stops short, taking a step back almost immediately. The shift is subtle, but unmistakable. The room catches it—the sudden eagerness in her movements, the way the moment hangs awkwardly in the air, it almost makes you want to laugh.
A few students exchange looks. Someone clears their throat.
Nanami waits, expression neutral, until she resurfaces and the distraction passes. Then he continues as if nothing happened. But the message is clear. Trying too hard has never been the same as being noticed.
By the time class ends, the whispers have sharpened into something colder.
You gather your things at an unhurried pace, aware of eyes on your back. As you stand, a girl brushes past you, shoulder colliding into yours.
“Careful, teacher’s pet,” she says, lips curling.
You meet her eyes, scoff under your breath, and walk away like she isn’t worth the effort.
Outside the lecture hall, the air buzzes with tension. A group of girls stands near the doors, voices hushed until you approach. They quietened instantly.
“Must be nice,” she says casually. “Getting special treatment.”
You smile, turning slowly. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Oh, come on,” another adds. “ Always calling on you. Giving you his attention.”
You tilt your head. “Well, you could try a thing called studying, then maybe he’ll give you attention too.”
The first girl’s jaw tightens. “You think you’re better than us bitch?”
“No, because I already know I am,” you say, turning your back on them walking away before they can respond, heels clicking against the floor.
Things begin to change after that confrontation. It’s no longer just whispers. It’s glares. Notes passed with your name circled. One girl bumps your chair during the next lecture hard enough to jostle your desk. Another girl laughs when Nanami calls on you—then goes quiet when you answer correctly as always.
The sudden change in the atmosphere makes Nanami notice. Not the gossip itself, perhaps, but the way the room stiffens when you speak. The tension that coils whenever his attention is on you for too long.
Once, a girl interrupted you mid-answer, causing Nanami to cut her sentence short.
“Miss Y/n is speaking, let her finish, and then you can add onto her answer,” he says, irritated.
You swear your heart skipped a beat when he said that, quickly finished your point. Nanami nods in approval.
You don’t look at Nanami for the rest of the lecture. As soon as class ends, you gather your things, leaving the lecture hall the same way you always do—head held high, perfect posture, unbothered by the eyes burning into the back of your skull.
Later, in your apartment, you kick off your heels, take a seat at your desk, and open your assignments like always. Pages fill the screen. Notes spread neatly in front of you.
As you are doing your work, your mind can’t help but think about Nanami. The way his face is calm, unreadable, eyes sharp beneath that restraint he wears so effortlessly. His strong arms beneath those rolled sleeves, the way muscle shifts when he moves. The way his hands seem to be almost as big as your head.
You imagine his voice lowered, closer, saying your name like it means something more. A sudden and unwelcome flush of heat rushes over your body. You shift in your chair, thighs pressing together as you force yourself back to the screen.
“Focus,” you tell yourself.
But the image of himself lingers, the way he says your voice in that low tone every time you answer his questions, the way that he shut that girl down without hesitation during class today. Why can’t all men be just like him? The thought lingers longer than it should, settling warm in your chest.
You swallow, biting the end of your pen.
Nanami Kento, your Professor is driving you insane. And you’ll do whatever it takes to get his affection.
It was the day of the midterm, and you had a plan—one you’d settled on without hesitation. You were going to fail. Purposefully. It was the only way to get him alone, to carve out time that no eager hand-raising or lingering smiles could interrupt. You knew the material. Every definition, every answer sat comfortably in your head. But that almost made it easier.
When you make it to class, you slip into your seat and straighten your back, smoothing your skirt as you settle in. Calm. Composed. Prepared to lose on purpose. You already know everything this class could test you on, but none of that matters. Not the grade, not the exam. The reward waiting on the other side is the only thing you care about.
The papers are passed out with quiet efficiency. The scrape of chairs, the rustle of pages. When Nanami reaches your desk, his hand pauses for half a second longer than necessary before setting the exam down in front of you.
“Begin,” he says, voice even.
You don’t look up, instead you skim the first question—easy. Your pen hovers, then deliberately moves to the wrong answer. The second question follows. You hesitate just long enough to make it believable, then miss it too. Just… off. Enough to raise concern. Enough to make him notice.
You feel his presence before you see him. The subtle shift of attention as he moves through the rows, the weight of his gaze lingering each time he passes your desk. Once, you risk a glance upward. He’s already looking at you. His expression doesn’t change. But his brow tightens, just slightly.
When time is called, you hand in the exam without a word, heart beating far faster than it should. You don’t rush out with the others. You gather your things slowly, deliberately, and walking out his classroom faster than you’ve ever had before.
Long enough for the midterm to fade into background noise. Long enough for you to pretendthat you’ve moved on. You sit through lectures, take notes, raise your hand just often enough to seem normal.
When Nanami enters the room that morning, there’s a stack of papers tucked under his arm.
“Your midterms have been graded,” he says, voice steady, professional. “I’ll hand them back now.”
Your pulse kicks up anyway. He moves through the rows, placing each exam facedown on the desks. A few quiet reactions ripple through the room—relief, disappointment, muted satisfaction. When he reaches you, he hesitates. Just a fraction of a second. Enough that you notice.
He sets the paper down without a word. You wait until he’s moved on before turning it over. The grade stares back at you. Lower than anything you’ve ever received in his class. On the top right corner he wrote a note, “ See me after class”. Your heart drops.
Nanami gathers a few papers from his desk, more out of habit than necessity, then turns to face you. The room feels smaller without the others—too quiet, the air thick with unspoken attention.
You rise, smoothing your skirt as you cross the room, stopping a few feet from his desk. Close enough to feel the weight of his presence. Close enough to notice the faint crease between his brows.
“Your midterm grade.” His voice lowers just slightly. “It wasn’t like you.”
You glance up then, meeting his eyes for the first time. “I thought I understood the material,” you say lightly.
He studies you for a long moment. Too long for it to be casual.
“You usually do,” he replies. “Which is why I don’t believe that grade reflects your ability.”
“If you’re struggling,” he continues, measured, “we should address it properly.”
“I want you come see me during my office hours,” he says, gaze steady on yours. “I’ll offer you an extra credit opportunity. One that may help you pass my class.”
“I’d appreciate it,” you answer, softly with a smile
For a moment, neither of you moves. Then he nods once—sharp, controlled—stepping aside to give you space.
You pass him with a small smile, close enough for him to catch the faint sweetness of your perfume. Your heels click against the floor, steady and unhurried, before the door closes behind you.
You make your way toward Nanami’s office with unhurried steps, fingers lifting briefly to your collar as you walk. Two buttons come undone—nothing careless, nothing “obvious”. You loosen your tie next, tugging it down but not enough for it to be completely undone. The kind of adjustments you make before entering Nanami’s office looks accidental to anyone who doesn’t know better.
You straighten your posture, your expression calm as you lift your hand to knock, pulse steady despite the anticipation humming beneath your skin.
“Come in,” he says evenly.
You sofly open the door, the first thing you notice isn’t him—it’s the scent. Pinecones. Clean, dry, faintly warm, and the smell of books. Nanami’s office door closes softly behind you, the sound final in a way that makes your pulse tick up. The space is neat, deliberate—books aligned, papers stacked with intention—but the image of him sitting at his desk lingers strongest, it’s all you can think about.
His gaze moves automatically, taking in the loosened tie, the slightly open collar, the way your posture remains composed despite the subtle change, the way your blouse hugged your curves in the right places. Looking down on your tights—sheer, smooth, hugging your legs in a way that draws the eye upward despite his better judgment. They’re neat. Intentional. Paired with that short skirt.
As you step inside, the door closing behind you, he shifts his stance, adjusting the papers on his desk with unnecessary precision. It’s not discomfort—no, it’s awareness. Sharp, contained. His jaw tightens just enough to give it away.
He clears his throat once before meeting your eyes again, gaze steady but intent.
“Be Professional,” he reminds himself sharply.
But his gaze lingers anyway.
“Hello, Miss, Y/n, how are you?” he says quickly, taking his eyes off of you but instead to his computer.
“Hello, Mr. Nanami, I’m great, how about you?” you say with a warm smile on your face.
“I’m doing great, just finishing grading some assignments, please take a seat,” he says politely pointing to the seat across from him.
“So you understand why we are meeting today, right?” he says, looking at you.
“Yes, because I didn’t do so great on the midterm,” you say looking up at him.
“I’ve been wondering, did something happen in your life that caused you to fail your midterm?” he says with a hint of worry on his face.
"Yes, Professor," you say, taking a seat neatly. "I had some…personal issues that distracted me from my studies."
He nods, his expression softening with concern. "I see," he says, looking at you. "Is there anything you would like to talk about? I'm here to help, you know."
You shake your head, a small smile playing on your lips. "No, Professor," you say, looking up at him. "I just want to focus on my grades now. That's why I'm here,"
He smiles, a hint of admiration in his eyes. "Yes, that's why we're here," he says. "Talking about your midterm. Do you understand what you got wrong?"
You nod, your expression serious. "Yes, Professor," you say. "I didn't study as much as I should have, and I didn't understand some of the concepts as well as I thought I did."
He nods, a look of satisfaction on his face. "Good," he says. "Now, let's discuss how you can get that extra credit I promised you, ”But first, tell me, Y/n - what do you think you deserve for your... “extra credit” opportunity?"
You consider your response, a wicked gleam in your eyes. "Well, Professor," you say, your voice silky. "I think I deserve a chance to prove myself, to show you I’ll do whatever it takes to pass your class, Mr. Nanami,” looking up at him.
He raises an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "Whatever it takes, hmm?" he says, his voice low and dangerous. "And what exactly does 'whatever it takes' mean, Miss Y/n?"
"I want to show you that I'm not just any other student in your class, that I can take whatever you throw my way," you say, your voice steady and confident.
"You know, Y/n," he says, his voice low and dangerous as he stands up and walks over to you, "you've been driving me crazy since the first day of class. The way you tease me, look at me, the way you purposely showed up late to class that one time, it's all been playing on my mind." He stops in front of you, his eyes locked with yours.
"You've engraved in my thoughts, You’re all I ever think about,” And now, here you are, offering to do... whatever it takes to pass my class." He smirks, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "So, tell me, Miss Y/n - how much have you been enjoying tormenting me all this time?"
“Well, Professor,” you say, biting your lip to suppress a smile. “I may have… fantasized a few scenarios in my head about being alone here with…you.”
Nanami stands up from his desk, his chair scraping back loudly, as he walks over to you, his eyes never leaving yours.
He reached out, his hand cupping your cheek, his thumb tracing your lower lip, slowly, like he’s giving you a chance to pull away, "You're so beautiful, Y/n," he groaned, “You have no idea, how long I’ve wanted to do this.” he murmurs, voice low and rough,
Before you could respond, he leaned in, his lips crashing against yours in a passionate kiss. His tongue slides into your mouth, claiming it as his. He picks you up from the seat and places you carefully on his desk. His hands moving up, gripping your jaw, holding you in place. You moaned, your body melting into his, your hands clinging to his shirt, pulling him closer.
He kissed you so well he took your breath away, his lips, tongue demanding and possessive. You could feel your body responding to his touch, your core aching for more.
Pulling away, you feel his big hands caressing your thighs, his eyes locked with yours. "These have to go," he said, his voice low, his fingers tracing the edge of your tights.
You looked down, realization dawning in your eyes. "But they're my favorite pair," you protested softly.
He smirked, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "I'll buy you new ones, princess," he promised, his fingers gripping the fabric.
Before you could protest further, he ripped the tights, the sound of fabric tearing filling the room. You gasped, your body responding to the sudden roughness, your core aching for more. He chuckled, his fingers tracing the edge of your panties, now exposed. He ran his hands over your curves, his fingers moving back on top of your panties, moaning softly, feeling exposed.
"Jesus," he groans. "Look at you, so fucking wet for me," he said, his voice a low growl.
"I have a question for you, sweetheart,” Nanami said, his voice low and satisfied.
"Yes, Professor?" you replied, your voice soft.
“Tell me, do you love the idea of being manhandled by your professor, hmm ?" he says, smirking at you, waiting for your response.
You bit your lip, your body squirming under his touch. "I don't know what you're talking about, Professor," you said, turning your head bitting your lip.
He chuckled, a sound that sent shivers down your spine. "Stop lying," he said, his voice. " I've seen the way you look at me in class. I know you've thought about this."
You feel his finger lift your chin, making you face him.
"Come on, baby," he said, his voice low and teasing, as he trailed his fingers along your panties, making you whine."Tell me, what goes through that pretty little head of yours during my lectures?”
"Well," you say, a smile on your lips. "During your lectures, I can't help but imagine what else those big hands of yours could do... to me." You bite your lip, holding his gaze.
“I’ve been imagining you touching me, everywhere,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper. “Your hands on my breasts, your fingers inside me, making me come over and over again.” You look up at him, your eyes filled with desire, slowly and teasingly unbuttoning your blouse until he can see your lace bra before unbuttoning it from behind.
"Fuck," he groans, "You're killing me, Y/n," he said, his voice rough as he watched you reveal more and more of your skin.
He leaned in, his lips trailing soft kisses down your neck, to your chest, feeling his cold hands tease your sensitive nipples.
“Fuck ah-,” you moan, squirming with anticipation as he trails kisses down your chest.
Feeling his lips move down to your stomach—and lower still—until he was kneeling in front of you, his breath hot on your clothed pussy.
"I've been dying to taste you, Y/n," he said, his voice low and hungry. "Let me make you feel as good as you've been making me feel."
He grabbed your panties, tearing them off in one swift motion, leaving you bare and exposed to him. He chuckled, a low, dark sound that sent shivers down your spine. "I've been wanting to do that for a while," he said, his voice low and dangerous. He ran his fingers up your thigh, teasing you.
"Oh yes- " you moaned, your body arching against him.
"I want to hear you beg," he said, his voice low and dominant. "Tell me what you want."
"Please, Professor Nanami," you whimpered, grinding your hips against him, desperate for his touch. "I need you to touch me. Please, I'm begging you."
“You’re such a good girl for me,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to your clit before running his cold fingers through your folds, making you gasp and arch your back.
He teased your clit with his tongue, licking and sucking, making you cry and tug his hair when he lifts your legs, placing them on his shoulders, giving him even deeper access. You gasp, the angle sending shockwaves of pleasure through you.
"Hah– feels soo good, " you mewl, your finger tugging on your nipple, his tongue deep inside you.
He pulls away suddenly, leaving you panting and desperate.
"Please, ngh- noo don't stop," you beg, your body aching to cum.
"Not yet," he says, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "But I have an idea. How about I make that fantasy of yours a reality? You want to cum all over my fingers, baby?"
"Yes, please," you beg, your eyes wide with desperation. "I need your fingers inside of me."
"Jesus Christ, didn't take you for such a slut, Y/n," he says, a wicked grin spreading across his face.
He slides one finger inside you, slowly at first, teasing you. You gasp, your body arching into his touch. His thumb finding your clit, rubbing in slow, steady circles. Your hips bucking against his hand. He chuckles, his fingers picking up speed, curling inside you, hitting that spot that makes you see stars.
“That’s it, just like that, doing so well for me,” He says, leaning down, his lips finding your nipple, sucking gently as he pumps his fingers faster and faster, bringing you closer and closer to the edge.
"I'm gonna... cum ngh-." Your words trail off as the wave crashes over you, your body shaking slightly, your walls clenching around his fingers.
"Cum for me, Y/n," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "I want to feel you cum all over my fingers." He leans down, his lips finding yours, kissing you deeply as you come undone, his tongue sliding into your mouth, swallowing your cries of pleasure. His fingers slowing, drawing out your orgasm, making you grind against his hand.
"Fuck, Y/n," he groans. "Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?" his voice low and satisfied.
“You did such a good job, sweetheart, but I’m just getting started,” he smirks, looking down at you.
You hear Nanami unbuckling his belt, the sound of his zipper lowering, and you see his hard cock straining against his underwear.
“Look at what you do to me, Y/n,” he groans, palming his hard cock through his underwear, his eyes locked with yours. You watch, stunned, as he rubs himself, your body aching with desire. "I fucking crave you, baby.”
Your eyes locked on his hand, palming his hard cock through his underwear. "Please I want to make you feel good too Professor”
You drop softly on your knees, your hands shaking slightly as you reach for his underwear, pulling it down. His hard cock springs free, hitting his abdomen. It was thick and throbbing. You look up at him, your eyes wide with desire, and he nods, his hand tangling in your hair.
Your hands wrap around his thick cock, stroking it slowly, teasingly. You look up at him, your tongue teasingly licking the tip, sucking just the head into your mouth.
"Y/n," he moans, his hips twitching. "Don't tease me like that."
You ignore him, continuing to stroke his cock, sucking lightly. "I know you can do better than that; show me what that mouth can do," he murmurs.
You smirk up at him, finally taking more of him into your mouth, bobbing your head slowly at first, letting your saliva coat his length, your hand twisting gently at the base with each stroke. You hollow your cheeks, sucking harder, your tongue pressing against the underside as you take him deeper inch by inch. His groans grow louder, his thighs flexing under your grip.
"Fuck, yes, just like that," he moans, his grip tightening in your hair. "Keep going, baby, show me how much you want it."
Encouraged by his praise, you relax your throat, taking him all the way, gagging slightly until your nose brushes his pelvis, relaxing there for a moment before pulling back with a gasp. A string of saliva trailing from your lips to his cock. Before he can react, you shove him back down your throat, bobbing eagerly, your hands gripping his thighs.
"Fuck, Y/n," he groans, his head falling back as you deepthroat him again, his hips bucking involuntarily, before he starts to fuck your mouth. "Look at you, so pretty sucking my cock," he growls. His cock hitting the back of your throat. You gag slightly, tears pricking your eyes, but you love it, moaning around him. "That's it, baby," he praises, his voice rough. "You love it when I use your throat like this, don't you?"
His dirty talk sends heat pooling in your core, your thighs squeezing together as he uses your mouth relentlessly. "Oh? You’re really loving this, aren’t you? Love being face fucked like a good girl,” he smirks.
You nod eagerly around his cock, your moans vibrating through him, making him shudder. "That’s it," he groans, his thrusts growing sloppy. "I'm close, baby. Gonna fill that pretty throat,"
His cock twitches in your mouth, and with a final deep thrust, he comes hard, feeling him coat your throat. "Take it all," he growls, holding your head in place as you swallow greedily, milking him dry. He pulls out slowly, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip. He cups your chin, tilting your face up. "Good girl," he murmurs, wiping a tear from your mascara-stained cheek. "You did so well."
He helps you up gently at first, his hands steady on your arms, but then flips you around with effortless strength, bending you over his desk. Your upper body presses against the cool wood, ass pressed against his cock, as his large hands grip your hips possessively.” Now I’m going to tie these pretty wrists," he growls, loosening his tie before looping it around them.
The silk of his tie was cool and silky against your heated skin. He looped it with efficiency, securing your wrists together behind your back. The binding was firm but not too tight, leaving you bent over his desk. Your cheek was pressed to the wood, your pussy clenching around nothing, anticipating his next move.
"This is better," Nanami rumbled, his voice a low vibration you felt through the desk. One large, warm hand smoothed over the curve of your ass that made you shiver.
His finger moved, tracing between your wet folds. Teased your entrance, circling, applying just enough pressure to make you whimper and feel pleasure, pushing your ass back against his cock.
"You’re soaking wet, baby," he teased, "You took my cock so well, swallowing every last drop of me. I can't wait to fuck this wet pussy."
He positioned himself, the head of his cock nudging against you. He didn't push in. Not yet. He just rubbed himself through your slick folds, the slow, maddening friction making you tremble.
"Use your words. Tell me what you want me to do," his voice dropping to a whisper.
"Please," you gasped, whimpering slightly. "Nanami, please… I need you inside. I need to feel you."
"I need you to be a little more specific, sweetheart," he demanded, delivering a sharp, stinging slap to your ass. The sound cracked through the air in the office. You moaned, the slap making your pussy throb even more, SMACK!
"I need your cock!" you moaned, pushing back against him, desperate for contact. "I need you to fuck me, fill me up, please, I can't—" Feeling him land another slap, your knees nearly buckle against the desk.
“See, was that so hard?” he smirks. Satisfaction bled into his voice.
Finally, he gave you what you craved. Nanami slowly pushes his cock inside of you. The way that his cock stretched you out was unbelievable; you never had a cock this big before. He held there, buried deep, letting you feel every inch, every pulse of him inside you.
"Fuck," he hissed, "You're so tight like you were made for this. For me."
Then he began to move. His cock is moving close to that spot deep inside you. The desk creaked in protest with every drive of his hips. His hands were anchored on your hips, his grip bruising and sure, holding you in place to take his full, brutal length. The sound of skin slapping against skin, of his ragged grunts and your choked sobs of pleasure, was obscenely loud in the formal space.
"That's it," he growled, his rhythm becoming harder, deeper. " Isn’t this what you wanted, sweetheart?
The words were hot against the shell of your ear. You couldn't form a sentence, couldn't do anything but sob his name into the polished wood of the desk as he drove into you.
His words were filthy, but sounded like a beautiful confession, "Look at you, bent over your professor’s desk. Your pretty cunt is milking me so well. Greedy little thing, sucking me in deeper haa-.”
“You love this, don't you? Love being used like this?” Nanami smirked as he continued to fuck you.
You could only nod frantically, your words lost to the euphoric sensation. Each thrust jolted you forward, your bound hands useless, your breasts rubbing against the cool wood. The mixture of pain and pleasure from the spanking, the restraint of the tie, the fullness of his cock, and the degrading praise was pushing you toward’s you high.
Nanami knew you were getting close from how much you were squeezing around him, so he moved his hand from your hip and snaked between your legs. His fingers found your clit, already swollen and throbbing. He pressed the pad of his thumb right against your sensitive nub as he continued to fuck you.
Your back arching; A broken moan tore from your throat as you came, clenching around him, milking him, and pulling him deeper into your wave of pleasure.
With sudden ease, he reached for the knot of his tie, binding your wrists. A few tugs and the silk slithered free. Before you could even process the release, his strong hands were on you, gently flipping you onto your back atop the desk in one smooth, decisive motion. Papers scattered, and a pen clattered to the floor. The cool wood was against your shoulders again, and you were staring up at him, his expression looming full of lust.
He didn't fuck you immediately. Instead, he hooked his hands under your knees, pushing them on his shoulders, folding you nearly in half, causing you to yelp. The position was profoundly vulnerable, opening you to him completely.
You didn’t look up at him—you couldn’t, not with all the pleasure he was making you feel right now. He guided himself back to your slick folds, the head nudging against you so softly. Before pushing all of him inside you, this position made things feel different. Deep. Too deep. The sensation was unbearable, a stretching pressure that seemed to reach your cervix. He sank in slowly, relentlessly, watching your face contort with a mixture of shock and pleasure.
"There we go," he breathed, a note of savage triumph in his voice as he finally pushed himself fully. He wasn't just inside you; he was morphing you. In this position, with each rock of his hips, the throbbing head of his cock kissed your cervix, stealing your breath after every thrust.
“ngh- sooo deep -mph ” you gasp, your hands flying up to grip his forearms, your nails digging into the corded muscle. The overstimulation was immense, a building pressure that felt entirely new. It coiled low in your belly, different from the clenching need of your first orgasm.
He saw the frantic look in your eyes, the way your body began to tremble from the pleasure. He adjusted his angle minutely, bearing down, and increased the pace, his thrusts becoming relentless, fucking directly at your sweet spot.
“Gonna cum all over my cock again, baby?” he says, his voice a rough whisper against your lips as he leans over you. “Show me how well I’m fucking you,” he groans, placing his big hand on your lower belly and applying pressure.
A hot, gushing flood that burst from you with a force that made you cry out, a sound of pure shock and relief. You felt it rush out, soaking his lower abdomen, the desk beneath you, a warm torrent you had no control over. Your body is shaking slightly from the pleasure you never thought anyone could make you react this way, especially make you squirt.
His head snapped back up to look at you, his eyes blazing with a new, incendiary fire. The shock melted into something voracious, awestruck.
"Fuck," he breathed, the word dripping with reverence and a kind of frenzied delight. "You’re incredible… Look what you did."
The surprise didn't soften him; it ignited him. With a growl that seemed ripped from his soul, he began to move again, but now his movements were wilder, driven by this new, thrilling discovery. He fucked into you with a desperate, pounding rhythm, chasing the feeling of that hot release, wanting to feel it again.
"Do you think you can do that again, sweetheart? I need you to soak me again,” his voice breaking.
As the sensation broke you, a wave of liquid heat ready to burst, you managed to gasp out the words, your voice shattered and pleading, "I—I can't... It's too much, I—ah!"
"I know you can, c’mon, squirt on my cock again, baby," he growled, the words thick with triumph. He drove into you, deep and hard, riding out the last pulses of your release.
The intense, overwhelmed look on his face—the complete shattering of his usual composed demeanor—combined with the frantic, deep drilling of his cock, sent you spiraling once more. The pressure built again, faster this time. He drove into you, deep and hard, riding it out until you reached your release again. With a choked sob, you squirted once more, another hot gush spilling around him, less intense than the first.
The praise was a low, guttural rumble against your ear, soaked in the raw heat of the moment. It wasn't just words; it was a confession forced from him by the sight of you coming apart, by the feel of your release hot on his skin.
"Good job," he breathed, as he drove into you through the last fluttering pulses of your climax. His hips stuttered, his own control hanging by a thread. He pulled back just enough to look down at you, his eyes dark and blazing with a possessiveness that went far beyond the physical. His thumb brushed over your kiss-swollen bottom lip, smearing your saliva.
"You know," he continued, his voice dropping to a husky, intimate register that vibrated through your very bones, "you've always been my favorite student, sweetheart."
The admission hung in the air between your panting breaths. It wasn't just praise; it was the truth, finally voiced in the heat of utter abandon. He saw the way your eyes widened at the raw confession, the way your body seemed to soften even further around him in acceptance.
A broken moan tore from his throat. His rhythm, already frantic, became utterly feral. He drove into you with a series of deep, punishing thrusts that had no finesse, only a desperate, claiming hunger.
"You really are one of a kind, Y/n," he rasped, the word a hot brand against your lips.
He couldn't hold back another second. With a final thrust, his body stilled, his entire body locking rigid. A choked, shuddering groan was ripped from his chest as he came. Feeling his hot seed fill you up, making you full of him.
Slowly, he pushed himself up, his gaze finding yours. His eyes were dark. He leaned down and captured your lips in a slow, deep kiss.
The kiss lingered, a slow, wet tangle of exhaustion and profound satisfaction. Nanami finally pulled back, his breathing still uneven. He looked at the ruin of his desk, at your spent form splayed across it, and a low, contemplative hum resonated in his chest.
“I just want you to do one more thing for me, sweetheart. Do you think you can do it?” he stated, his voice regaining some of its measured cadence, though it remained gravelly with use.
You turned your head slowly on the wood to look up at him. Your vision was hazy, your mind floating in a warm, liquid haze of exhaustion and completion. A faint, wobbly smile touched your lips.
“Anything for you,” you say in a soft, wrecked whisper.
A low, approving hum vibrated in his chest. That was all the confirmation he needed.
“Good girl,” he smirks before his hands slide under you. With a grunt of effort, he lifted you from the slick surface of the desk. You clung to him as he took two steps backward and sank into his chair behind him. The chair groaned in protest as he settled you firmly onto his lap, straddling him once more.
You were facing him, your bodies intertwined, and he remained semi-hard and buried within you. The position was less frantic now, more lewd, feeling the cool leather chair against you, you can't help but whimper.
“Go on,” he said, his voice low, “I want you to use me. Ride this cock until you get yourself off again. Show me how greedy my favorite student can be.”
The command was a lewd invitation. You placed your hands on his hard chest, lifted yourself, grabbed Nanami’s cock, and sank onto him in one slow movement, taking all of him. A shared groan filled the space between you.
You began to move, your hips grinding against his. His arm moving, placing it on the back of his head, lying against the chair, his eyes heavy-lidded and fixed on your face.
“That’s it,” he breathed, his voice thick with approval. “Just like that. Using me so well.”
As you found your pace, rising and falling with growing confidence, he leaned forward slightly, closing the small distance between your faces. His lips brushed yours—not a demanding kiss, but a soft, inviting touch.
“Don’t stop,” he murmured against your mouth.
You kept riding him, the motion becoming a sensual rock of your hips, and you kissed him back. It started slow, but as your movements grew more desperate, so did the kiss.
His tongue slipping into your mouth just as you sink down, moaning into him. The kiss became hungry, messy, a wet, open-mouthed tangle as you fucked yourself on him. You could feel the groan vibrating in his chest, swallowed by your own mouth. His hands finally moved from the chair, not to guide you, but to cradle your face, holding you right where he wanted you for the devouring kiss.
You rode him through the kiss, your rhythm becoming frantic, the wet slap of skin echoing in the room, and the feel of him hitting your cervix with every bounce. He broke the kiss only to gasp for air, throwing his head back, his breath hot and ragged.
Through the haze of pleasure, you gasped out the words, your voice broken and pleading, "Please... I need... I need you to—"
"Need me to what?" he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Need me to cum inside you again?"
“Yes please ha-” You whimper, your body trembling.
With that, he took over. His grip on your hips guided you almost entirely off him, then slammed you back down, with a fast pace. No more were you using him; he was now fucking up into you with deliberate, powerful thrusts, using your body for his own.
"Was this your plan this entire time, sweetheart?" he grunted, his voice strained with the effort of his punishing rhythm. "Fail the midterm exam to be alone with me? Hoping your professor would fuck you like this?"
You could only cling to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin, your head thrown back as he pounded into you. The pleasure was surreal.
"Answer me," he demanded, slapping your ass as he thrusted into you so deep it made you see stars.
“Yes!” you cried out, “God, yes. I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you, Nanami.”
“Every time I called on you and you gave that perfect, quiet answer…” He leaned down, his lips brushing your ear. “You were sitting there, thinking this? Dreaming of me fucking you? Filling you up with my cum?” he rasped, his thrusts becoming wild, uncontrolled, driven by lust.
“ahh- yes!” you cried, “Every time! I daydreamed of you during your lectures, wishing you could bend me over your desk!” rolling your hips against him gripping his strong biceps.
He captured your lips again, swallowing your cry as your orgasm ripped through you, your inner muscles clenching around him in desperate pulses. The feeling of you coming on his cock while your tongue tangled with his destroyed his last shred of control. With a final, deep thrust up into you, he tore his mouth from yours with a raw shout, and poured himself into you, his release a hot, endless flood as you milked him through the last of your shared, kiss-bruised climax.
You collapsed forward onto his chest, both of you panting, slick with sweat. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close. He pressed a kiss to your temple, his voice a slurred, satisfied rumble. He reached for a handkerchief from his desk’s drawer and wiped his cum off gently between your legs.
With a soft sigh, he helped you off his lap. Your legs were unsteady, but he held your elbow until you found your balance. The desk gleamed with moisture, chairs askew, clothes scattered. Wordlessly, you both began putting yourselves back together. You handed him his discarded tie; he knelt to retrieve your teared underwear, holding it out without a word. You dressed in the heavy, post-coital silence, the air thick with the smell of sex.
"Professor?" you said, your voice still a little rough.
He turned, his expression its usual mask of composed neutrality, though his eyes remained dark and warm. "Yes?"
"Do you... have a notepad that I could maybe borrow?” You smile at him.
A single, curious eyebrow arched. Without a word, he opened a drawer in his ruined desk and pulled out a small, leather-bound memo pad and a pen. He handed them to you.
You leaned against his desk, scribbling a few lines. You tore off the sheet, folded it neatly in half, and walked back to him. He watched, his gaze inscrutable.
"Here," you said softly, reaching out to slip the folded note directly into his hand. Your fingers lingering towards the warmth of his palm. "For you."
Before grabbing the piece of paper, his hand came up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb brushing your cheekbone. His gaze searched yours for a brief, intense moment—seeing the lingering haze, the soft vulnerability, the satisfied glow he had put there. Then he leaned in and kissed you.
It wasn't the desperate, consuming kiss from when he was buried inside you. Nor was it the slow, sealing kiss from moments ago. This was different. It was deep and loving. His lips moved against yours with a sure, deliberate pressure, his tongue sweeping in to taste you one last time, to remind you of the intimacy you now shared.
He pulled back slowly, his lips lingering just a breath from yours. His eyes were dark pools of promised intent. Grabbing the note from your hand.
You gave him one last, small smile turning away, heels clicking softly against the floor. The office door closed behind you.
Nanami stood motionless for a full ten seconds after the door clicked shut. The silence of the room was broken only by the faint hum of the overhead lights. Slowly, deliberately, he opened the note.
In the same neat handwriting he'd seen a million times, it read:
In case you have any other “extra credit” opportunities outside of office hours.
He stared at the note. A slow, deep breath expanded his chest. Then, a faint, genuine smile—one that would have stunned his colleagues—touched the corners of his mouth. He carefully refolded the paper and put it in his pocket.
He finished buttoning his shirt, tied his tie, and straightened his jacket. As he gathered his briefcase, as the loving moment you shared with him still lingered in the air even after you left.
"Jesus Christ," he said chuckled quietly running his hand through his face. Then he snapped off the light and left, the door locking securely behind him.
author's note: its like 2am right now so there're probably like a lot of grammar mistakes, so forgive me. Thank you guys so much for your support, like always hearts and reblogs are greatly appreciated <3
© mikasasgfs— please don’t copy or steal my work </3
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