#professor au

[slyssnakes]

thinking about @littlewinnow drarry profs...

[amnesia-sc]

after hours | michael jackson

professor! michael jackson x grad student f! reader

cw/tw: 1991, michael teaches a graduate literature course at uc berkeley, no use of y/n, slight age gap — reader is mid 20s michael is 33, fluff, forbidden romance, praise, drunk makeouts, 18+ mdni, thigh riding, m!masturbation, semi-public oral (m! receiving), mention of semi-public sex, use of yes sir, soft dom! michael

wc: 3.9k

Everyone was drawn to him.

That became apparent with each passing lecture. The way he was able to hold the attention of the room as he spoke and moved, your eyes catching on the way his hand flexed as he wrote on the chalkboard. Not being able to help it.

The cadence he spoke in, a lull on the ears that kept the attention easily. He didn’t even have to try.

His smile infectious and when he’d lean against his desk with his hands in his pockets, cracking a joke only one with knowledge in fifteenth century literature would understand — the entire lecture hall laughed. Even if they didn’t get it, there was just something about him.

Despite how distracting Professor Jackson was, you were one of, if not the, top student of his.

Your gaze would catch his as he handed back assignments, forcing back a shiver as your fingers brushed when you took the paper from him. Practically melting when he winked at you and muttered a Good work.

Your face feeling warm as you looked down to see the familiar scrawl of his hand writing. You didn’t even bother to look at your grade, knowing it was an A.

Instead your attention was pulled to the annotations he had left.

He was probably one of the best professors to give feedback on work. He was honest, but he wasn’t cruel and he didn’t have the ego to withhold a compliment when it was due.

You smiled to yourself as you read what he’d written in the margins. His handwriting slanted and borderline messy and telling yourself his praise didn’t mean all that much. He was just doing his job.

Then your eyes caught on the smiley face he’d drawn next to one paragraph. Nothing else.

It made your stomach flip.

The infatuation was normal and you were sure half of the other students shared your sentiments. Professor Jackson was handsome and young. Soft spoken and intelligent. Kind and charming. A silly side to him that made him all the more endearing. He ticked every box.

Though you’d never admit it out loud, the small crush you had on him drove you to work harder. Desperate to win his approval in a way only academics knew. The hunger for it practically insatiable because you knew those brief interactions were all you were going to get.

At least, that’s what you had initially thought.

He’d mentioned two weeks ago that there was an essay competition and left a list pinned to the bulletin board outside of the lecture hall for people to sign up.

You’d been curious, of course. But the thought of people reading your work outside of a classroom setting made your bones slightly itch. The act of putting yourself out there like that too vulnerable. Saying you’d do it eventually, just not now.

Yet as the hour wrapped up and you were half way through packing your bag to leave, you heard your name.

Glancing up, convinced you were hearing things, you found him looking at you expectantly as he leaned against the desk, his arms on show given he’d rolled the sleeves up and you tried to ignore how dry your mouth suddenly got.

“Yes, sir?”

You had never actually talked to him before besides asking questions now and then during seminars.

“Do you have a minute?”

You nodded, blushing as he gestured for you to come over with his hand.

Sliding your bag onto your shoulder, you held the strap of it like a life line as you approached him.

His smile was lazy at the corners, his eyes just slightly narrowed as he looked at you. Debating something in his head and you felt like the world had stopped moving.

“Why didn’t you sign up for the competition?” He finally said.

You blinked at him. “Sorry?”

“The essay comp. You didn’t sign up.”

“Oh…” you continued to stare at him like an idiot. Not knowing what to say in a way that wouldn’t make it sound childish. “I just… I’m busy.”

“You get two weeks until the deadline.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “I’m really busy.”

Professor Jackson raised a brow at you.

His direct and prolonged attention was overwhelming and you suddenly started to panic if you were breathing normally.

“I really think you should give it a shot, there’s no need to be nervous about submitting something. You’re a wonderful writer.”

You physically felt your chest bloom in warmth at the compliment. “Thank you, but I don’t know. I’ve never,” you shifted on your feet. His gaze was so intense. “I’m not sure if it’s right for me, is all.”

“That’s exactly why you should do it. If it would help ease some nerves, I’d be happy to look over your work before you submit it.”

Your brows rose a little bit. “You would?”

He shrugged. “Why not?”

“Is that allowed?”

He winked at you as he turned around to grab something, a moment later the sign up sheet and a pen were being handed to you.

You looked at him and held your breath as he leaned down a little closer. The smell of his cologne swirling around you in a comforting haze.

His voice was low as he spoke. “Our little secret.”

And because it was him and he was looking at you like that, you signed your name. Trying to ignore the way heat pooled in your stomach at how pleased he looked that you were doing it.

“Just let me know when you’d like me to review it, my door’s always open. Do you know where my office is?”

You nodded, your mind spinning at the thought of being alone with him in such a small space.

The next week and a half was spent practically tearing your hair out over the essay. Being abhorrently self critical as always and you were terrified to go to Professor Jackson’s office.

Not for any valid reason. You were simply nervous. The school girl crush you had on him practically rendering you useless.

It was pathetic.

You paced outside of the liberal arts building that his office was in. Your paper in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Half tempted to shove the blazing stick of tobacco into the header and watch it shrivel up into ash.

With a shaking hand, you brought the cigarette to your lips. Willing the nicotine to calm you down enough so you didn’t look like a blundering idiot in front of him.

Apparently the cigarette calmed you down too much.

You had sat there watching him flick through the paper just fine, but when he started lecturing you on your need to get over your childish stage fright of sharing your work or else you’d never make it as a writer, something apparently shifted in your common sense.

“Don’t be such a pretentious asshole, I’m perfectly capable of deciding when and what I want to do with my writing.”

He froze.

So did you. Watching as the sharp words swirled in the air, practically taunting you with regret.

“Sorry,” you mumbled.

At the stretch of silence in the small office you began to worry you’d royally fucked up.

Professor Jackson’s voice was quiet, his voice nearly as warm as the heat blowing out of the vent in the ceiling. "That mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble one day."

You stilled for a moment before your fingers tightened on the hem of your skirt. Your stomach swirled a bit, a combination of worry and something else that was wholly inappropriate. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

A light laugh left him, though it seemed more of an exhale.

He wouldn't look at you. His gaze was focused pointedly at something over your shoulder.

"It's fine, your bluntness is appreciated. That being said, I prefer you didn't call me anything such as a pretentious ass in front of my students."

You were being let in. Only a little bit.

You couldn't help it as you started to smile. "So only in private, then?"

You watched in fascination as a string pulled slightly at his mouth, his dark eyes sliding over to you for only a moment and it made your head spin.

"Only in private," Professor Jackson hummed.

He then stood up, gesturing for you to follow him and he opened the door for you. The warm light from the hall sweeping into the room and your legs shook a bit as you walked.

“Michael.”

“What?” You paused just in front of him, your eyes flicking up to meet his. He was looking at you intently now.

“Call me Michael.”

You wet your bottom lip, “only in private?”

He observed you for another moment, a quiet storm behind his eyes before he nodded once.

“Only in private.”

You felt like a line was being crossed. A boundary being carefully tread. Invaded. Redrawn. You knew better. Then again, maybe you were just delusional.

It probably didn’t mean anything.

When the weekend rolled around, you and your roommate headed to a popular bar that was only a few blocks away from the apartment.

You were in desperate need for a drink, your mind constantly spinning over the interaction between you and Prof— Michael, from the other day.

Nothing had technically happened. Yet it felt like the world had slipped off its axis since then.

“Why is it so busy?” You groaned as you rounded the corner, seeing the line to get in.

“It’s Friday. And it’s lecture night.”

You raised a brow. “Lecture night?“

“Yeah, a bunch of professors come here on Friday’s, give a lecture on whatever they want, and everyone gets progressively more wasted as the night goes on.”

You hummed, the idea growing more entertaining.

You were three dirty martinis in when Michael stepped up on stage. Your eyes widening at the sight of him.

He looked so… casual.

He wore a sweater with the sleeves rolled up, a white collar peeking out at his neck and navy jeans. His curls looking a little messier than usual and his gaze was a little glossy as he brought a glass of wine to his lips.

Michael stepped closer to the microphone, clearing his throat. “I had one too many before this, so if I start randomly slipping into old English, just throw something at me.”

Laughs bubbled up around the bar followed by applause as he started his lecture of choice.

It was something about Medieval depictions of hell and how it was really just a dogmatic idea of the working class, but your mind trailed off as you watched him move.

Mesmerized by his drunken and lazy smile, the way his eyes were set a little heavier as he squinted against the stage light. He was so easily able to take control of any room he walked into and he didn’t even have to do anything but be himself.

You turned to your friend, taking another sip of your martini.

“He’s so hot.”

They nodded in agreement, looking starstruck themselves as they watched him.

He concluded his lecture with a slight bow and a muttered Thank you through the mic. Stumbling a bit as he walked off the stage and his laugh was loud as someone helped steady him.

You weren’t thinking.

Clearly.

The room spinning slightly as you stood up and made your way over to him.

You could blame the bad decision making on the vodka when you were sober enough to care.

★

Michael spun you around the second the bathroom door shut, his mouth on yours, the sudden contact almost violent as he backed you against the wood of the door.

Your head would've slammed into it, but his hand had snaked into your hair and absorbed the impact.

His fingers twining, tight, and yanked. Making your mouth fall open in a moan and he all but lunged on the opportunity. Tongue slipping into your mouth and exploring, his own groan leaving him as his rationality left him with its tail between its legs.

His mouth slid down to your jaw, his teeth sinking in, biting and soothing. Caught up in a wave of want that felt borderline primal.

There was a small voice in the back of his mind telling him how wrong this was. You were his student. You were both drunk. This was inappropriate.

He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about before.

His imagination outrunning his better judgement as he’d think about you when the hour ran late. Grading papers but getting too distracted at the mere thought of you. Wondering what you would sound like. What you would look like… either being spread out in his bed or bent over his desk.

Waking up one too many nights in a thin layer of sweat, hips grinding into his mattress and wishing it was you.

It was wrong and he was horrible for thinking such things.

But he couldn’t stop.

It’s like you had infested his fucking soul, if he were to be so dramatic.

Not even realizing what he was doing half the time as his hand slipped beneath his boxers to take hold of his hardened cock. Picturing your pretty face and eyes as he started to jack off. Head rolling back and hitting the headboard of his bed as his fantasies ran wild, your name tumbling from his lips as his hips thrusted up into his own hand, hot cum making a mess on his stomach.

When Michael’s thigh wedged between your legs, a moan broke past your lips and it made him feel dizzy.

He didn’t think about how he was your professor. Didn't think about how he was too old for you. Didn't think about how you two were in the bathroom of a bar as you started to ride his thigh and his hands were pulling up your skirt.

A groan leaving him as his eyes flicked down to see your pretty underwear already soaked as you dragged your clothed cunt against his jeans.

One of his hands took hold of your hip, helping you grind against him while his other wrapped around your throat. Pulling your mouth back to his in a bruising kiss.

It was a mess. Wet with teeth hitting against each other and he couldn’t get enough.

The whimpers leaving your mouth as you started to go faster and harder going straight to his dick and he wished he could just bend you over the sink and fuck you. The idea was lewd and woefully unromantic, but his drunken mind had lost any semblance of self control.

He pulled back from your mouth, his teeth tugging your bottom lip as he did so and your skin was flushed with liquor and arousal.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty.” He said it quietly, mostly to himself as he admired you.

“Michael, I—“ You choked out in a whine, your pupils blown. Reflecting his own desire.

“That’s it. You’re doing so good.”

His praise, though small, seemed to topple you over the edge and you buried your face in the crook of his neck as you came.

The sound was akin to the trumpets of heaven, he was sure of it.

His hands settled heavily on your hips, gently working you through your orgasm.

Before another thought could even cross his hand, your own hands were buried in his hair, pulling his mouth back to yours.

The following Monday as he got ready for work, Michael’s eyes kept catching on the hickey that was placed just between the curve of his neck and above his clavicle.

His jaw rolling at the memory of you putting it there Friday night.

He’d hardly slept since then.

A mixture of guilt and reruns of the night that only led to more sinful thoughts.

Although you were both adults completely capable of making decisions… he was your professor for God’s sake.

He couldn’t even blame it on the alcohol, knowing damn well he had thought about you in a plethora of more erotic ways— Michael just didn’t think he’d actually ever act on it.

But like a dog with a bone thrown in front of it, he’d leapt at the first opportunity.

He felt even worse because he knew he didn’t regret it.

Didn’t regret it at all as he asked you stay after class, muttering an apology for his behavior in case you regretted it.

Trying to ignore the flood of relief he felt when you shyly admitted it wasn’t just a drunken mistake on your behalf.

Shoving his rationality to the side when you’d come visit him during office hours, asking questions about a course you both knew you didn’t need help with.

His common sense shutting off with the click of the lock on the door as he undid his belt, eyes dark as he watched you.

“Get on your knees.”

Your gaze slipped to the window covered by half drawn blinds. “What if—“

“Do as your told.”

Your pupils were so blown as you slowly lowered yourself. “Yes, sir.”

He hated how much he loved hearing that.

Wrong wrong wrong, the voice would chant.

But the sound of it got drowned out as his hand wound in your hair and his cock slid into your mouth. His eyes never leaving yours and a broken sound tore right up from his diaphragm as your throat constricted around him.

Michael bent over slightly, his chest heaving as one hand caught on the edge of his desk so his knees didn’t buckle.

Your mouth was so fucking warm.

You pulled back a bit, tongue swirling around him and curious but it wasn’t nearly enough.

“Please, you can go a bit more.” His words were rough at the edges, his heart pounding as your brows furrowed in concern. Your mouth too full to try and talk, but you shook your head slightly.

“I know you can, you wanna make me proud, don’t you?”

He was definitely going to hell.

Michael’s thumb gently brushed against your cheek, feeling the head of his cock and he shuddered.

“I know you can do it.”

He rolled his hips forward slightly, the tip of his cock nudging the back of your throat and your nails dug into the exposed skin of his hips.

“Nice and slow,” he muttered.

He let you set the pace as you did as told, your throat eventually relaxing a bit and he was able to thrust a little further in but his patience was teetering on the edge of ruin.

His teeth sunk into his bottom lip, his grip on the desk tight as his dark eyes met yours.

The trust in your gaze made his chest ache.

You nodded at him once, the movement small.

Not a moment later his hand was back in your hair as his hips rolled forward, the surprised gagging sound you made as his cock slid all the way down your throat made his ears ring. His vision going blurry at the edges as he watched himself slide in and out your swollen lips, his cock covered in your salvia.

Hot tears slipped out of your eyes, leaving a ruddy trail of mascara down your cheeks and he groaned at the sight.

You were devastating in all the right ways to ruin him.

A whine tore up your throat and around his cock, making him throw his head back as the muscles in his stomach tightened when he came down your throat.

“Fuck, mama.” His hips mindlessly continued to roll as he rode out his orgasm.

Michael was mesmerized as he pulled out of your mouth, long strings of your saliva and his cum stretching from his tip and your tongue as he did so.

A pathetic sound left him when you swallowed his cum and he pulled you up gently by throat, lips crashing into yours and muttering a Good girl.

★

There was a thrill to stolen glances as he gave a lecture, his eyes catching knowingly on the way you’d bite your pencil and your thighs would clench beneath the table as you crossed them. Your skirt just a bit too short.

The day you had risked not wearing any underwear, he had casually asked you to stay after. His gaze dark and looking a little angry with you.

Not muttering a word as you followed him to his office.

You spent the next hour bent over his desk as he lectured you about it.

How inappropriate it was that you showed up to class like that, but you couldn’t summon single thought as his hands took hold of your hips, slamming your pussy back down onto his cock.

Mumbling a broken string of apologies you didn’t mean as you moaned his name.

Your chest would tighten when there was a quiet knock on the front door of the apartment well around two in the morning.

Your smile small as you opened it, seeing Michael in a Berkeley crewneck and jeans as you snuck him into your room.

It was ridiculous. It’s not like what you two were doing was illegal, you just didn’t want the drama of it.

Spending the night wrapped up in your sheets, falling asleep to the sound of his heart beat as your head rested against his chest. His fingers running gently up and down your spine as he read whatever book you had on the nightstand that evening.

Getting into the passenger seat of Michael’s car on weekends as he drove you two somewhere just outside of town. Sliding into linoleum booths of an old diner as you caught up with each other’s day, smiling absentmindedly as he went on a rant about something new he had read about.

You showing up at his house, walking in to see your favorite flowers on the kitchen table and a bottle of wine when you found out you had won the competition he had encouraged you to enter.

The rest of the night spent with your back arching off his sheets and Michael’s head between your thighs.

He’d bring you books often, leaving little notes on parts he thought you would like. Taking you to art exhibitions that opened and not muttering a single complaint as he walked slowly with you to each painting. Bending down and sliding his reading glasses on as he read each description with interest.

Curled up in one of his sweaters, sprawled out on the couch with your back against his chest as he showed you his favorite old Hollywood movies. You found it adorable when he would giggle, trying to hide it behind a hand but you’d tug his wrist away. Muttering how much you loved his smile and watching as he would blush slightly, his doe eyes softening before pulling you in for a kiss.

You adored him. The finality and truth of it hitting you sharply as the semester came to a close and he wished everyone a safe holiday break. Staying long after everyone else had left and not bothering to get up from your chair.

Michael’s shoes clicked sharply against the tile as he neared you, his smile small and knowing. Hands in his pockets as he came to a stop just shy of the table.

Your fingers thrummed on the wood.

“What now?”

You didn’t know why you were nervous. Though neither of you had said it out loud, you cared for each other. It wasn’t something to be easily discarded.

Michael’s finger hooked just beneath your chin, tilting your head up and he leant down to kiss you. The pressure of it even and firm.

He then pulled back and straightened, holding his hand out and looking at you expectantly.

“What—“

“C’mon.”

You slid your bag on your shoulder, fingers twining with his and you walked hand in hand out of the building and into your new life together, no longer having to be confided to hidden touches and stolen glances.

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[aliasnnmknt]

Day 1: professor AU (with a hint of first love)

[sheriff-bodecker]

torment of the best kind

𓂃 𓈒𓏸 envy ii pairing: professor!bucky x reader prompt: “must be nice to never have to beg for a single scrap of affection.” warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut mentioned, allusions to smut, bucky is a PRICK but its kinda hot, public humiliation, reconciliation (wink), horny!bucky, he does love reader, student/teacher relationship (20s/40s), bucky speaks latin once bc i <3 being self indulgent, petnames (sweet girl, sweetheart) . . . word count: 907 a/n: guess who found out the prompts can be interpreted and not just used :D i loooove taking things too seriously :") to be honest, i really just let the wind take me wherever it blew with this prompt and it got me here, im so sorry if this makes no sense with most of these lmfao :""")

event masterlist || navigation

Two hours passed by like pushing a train with your bare hands, slow and fucking torturous. You sat at your regular seat, two rows from the front, just close enough to seem attentive, yet far enough to not seem as eager as you really are.

A chirpiness exuded from you as you entered the building, through the halls with your fists tight on the strap of your bag, carrying an excitement just to see Professor Barnes.

Or James as more close students and faculty would call him, or even Bucky as you would whisper against his skin whenever you both had a chance to be alone together, wether at his place or even in his office after hours.

You sat with a smile on your face, the vivacity of your happiness seemingly from the night before, all tangled in his bed sheets, pried open with an acclamation you only ever saw him provide to his work. Whispering a litany of praise akin to idolatry upon already slick skin, only made wetter with kisses trailed with his tongue, like passages he would assign as class reading, which would turn into your head tucked against his chest, his fingers trailing up and down your spine as he read for you, asking questions with a soft nudge to wake you from your hazy, cotton mind.

You could still feel it as your thighs pressed together under your desk, as you readied yourself for the lecture.

But Bucky, smart, yet cruel, and far too handsome for his own good, had other plans.

Sitting in the leather chair in his office, you slump forward with an elbow on the arm, fist to your cheek, and your eyes stay solemnly down. A fury laved behind your ribs like magma ready to spill from the edges of a volcano, what's worse is that it accumulated and burgeoned low in your stomach, and ached it's way into a different form of hot liquid.

It's a real shame for you that your professor loves how easy it is to pester you, to rile you up. Biting your cheek, you stare sourly through your eyebrows, at his wide smile.

"It's not funny," You murmur, only to make his chest thrum with another bout of laughter. Bucky's teeth latch to his bottom lip to suppress the wheezing, hand coming up to shield his eyes, elbow up on his desk chair to hide behind his palm.

You could cry. With how embarrassed you are, confidently reaching your hand up at every question he asked, only for him to skim right past and call up another person. Two hours of ignorance, only for him to twist the knife further when calling for students who were barely paying attention and never bothered to raise their hand.

Once he calmed with a husky sigh, swivelling in his chair with the last flurries of humour, he speaks.

"Sweetheart—"

"It's really not funny," You huff, crossing your arms over your chest, muttering immaturely under your breath. “At least, I don't know, say something, you were basically ignoring me! I felt like a kid or something, you know? Must be nice to those other people, getting all your attention…” You sigh again, scrunching your face in aggravation. "I mean, one question would've been nice!"

"Oh, mea dulcis puella," he pouts condescendingly, lengthening the words in a degrading pitch. Standing now, he wastes no time in walking towards you, and holding his arms out to pull you up and into a tight embrace. "Was it too mean? I'm so sorry, sweetheart, but, God, your face is so beautiful when you're irritated… you wanted to answer those questions so bad."

Despite your disinclination to move, he wraps his arms around you anyway. His chin resting on the top of your head with a prolonged sigh, leaving your cheek to press up on his chest.

"Bucky—"

"I really didn't mean to piss you off so bad," he starts, voice low easing upon your body, mixed with the heat and strong hold he has you in, he has you cornered in a comfort only he could bring. "Thought it would be funny. Y'know how when you get so frustrated you get turned on?"

"Oh, Bucky!" You whine.

The wobble in his chest comes back with a hum to your scalp, pressing his lips there. "What, you told me that a while ago one night. When you were studying, couldn't focus… pissed you off so bad you had to call me to see if I was free..."

You hide deeper into his chest, arms still encircled around your own, and he pulls you in with ease.

"Didn't need to make it a humiliation ritual." You sigh against his shirt.

"Hm, I'll do better next time."

"You better."

"I promise," silence encapsulates the room for a moment, letting the two of you sink into each other, before Bucky's hands find themselves comfortable on the globes of your ass, and he pipes up. "Wanna get up on my desk and let me make it up to you?"

The lift of your cheek, a smile he can feel, presses through his shirt. Humming humorously, matching the condescension he delivered. "Christ, for an old man you sure know how to keep up."

"That is why I humiliate you. That smart ass mouth of yours," he pats your ass twice with a dopey tilt of his lips. "Up you get princess, just lemme redeem myself."

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[witchywithwhiskey]

what the professor wants for his birthday

steve rogers' birthday across the multiverse: professor steve rogers

pairing: professor!steve rogers x associate professor!female reader

summary: on his birthday, steve finally gets what he wants—you, all to himself.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), sorta dubcon, uneven power dynamics, some manipulative/obsessive behavior from Steve, smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, overstimulation, dacryphilia, bit of mean Steve, begging, light degradation, praise kink, professor kink, dirty talk, pet names (pretty girl, sweetheart)

word count: 1.5k

a/n: the request for professor Steve Rogers comes from @epiphanyrogers! since i'm not really a big fan of professor x student fics, i went for professor x professor, but Steve does technically outrank reader, and he's more than a little bit of a perv, so he's still a dirty old professor 🤭 this fic is really just a bunch of shameless smut, and i had a lot of fun writing it, so i hope y'all enjoy!!

steve rogers' birthday across the multiverse masterlist

Professor Steve Rogers spends the evening of his birthday in his office with you, the pretty new associate professor in the English department. He’s got you bent over his desk, fucking you from behind, so that you can both watch the Fourth of July fireworks through his window.

Truthfully, Steve doesn’t give a shit about the fireworks. They were just the pretense he’d used to get you to his office, along with a sad story about how he didn’t have anyone to spend his birthday with. Steve is sure the fireworks are nice, the town always goes all out for the holiday, but he can’t bring himself to look at them—not when he has you.

Steve only has eyes for you, his gaze raking hungrily over your body, taking in the arch of your spine and the flare of your hips. You’re bent over at the waist, your upper body pressed to his desk, and he can’t help the surve of possessiveness that has him driving hard into your tight, gripping channel. 

The professor has been dying to get you alone and spread open for him since you joined the college’s faculty for the spring semester. It was lust at first sight, and Steve did everything in his power to get you exactly where he wanted you. And now that he finally has you, he’s going to take his time savoring you.

The loud booms and explosions of the fireworks are a distant, unimportant cacophony when Steve is so focused on the wet sounds you’re pussy is making while taking his cock. The obscene schlick of your cunt greedily swallowing his cock is music to his ears, and he slows down, pumping lazily into you to draw it out.

“F-fuck, Steve,” you whine, your voice thready and desperate. It’s so fucking sweet, it has Steve’s mouth watering with the desire to hunch over your back and take your mouth, just so he can taste your pleasure straight from your lips. “Ah! You’re so—so deep. Ohmygod!”

Steve plows harder into your cunt, wrenching a shrill, shameless cry from your lips, and his chest puffs up. You need this just as much as he does, he knows it. Just like he knows you’re enjoying this just as much as he is.

Your tight, wet pussy is clinging to him like she never wants him to stop, and your back is arched to lift your ass up. It puts you in the perfect position to take him nice and deep, until the fat tip of his cock is kissing your cervix.

With his two big hands on the round curves of your ass, Steve spreads you open so he can see the thick shaft of his bare cock fucking deep into your pussy. There’s a ring of white, creamy wetness circling the base of his dick, your desire dripping down to his balls and making a mess of your thighs. 

Staring down at where your bodies are joined, Steve slams deep into your cunt, watching your ass ripple and your thighs shake as you let out another strangled scream. He likes the sight so much, he does it again, and again, pounding deep into your pussy while his hands grip your hips so hard, his fingers dig harshly into the plush softness of your body.

“Steve!” you cry out, and the professor wrenches his gaze away from the sight of you taking his cock.

His eyes trail up your body, past where your sundress is rucked up around your waist, lingering for a moment on your tits, which are pressed so enticingly against the wood of his desk. Finally, his gaze finds your face. 

Your pretty features are twisted with pleasure, your brows scrunched and your teeth digging deep into your plump lower lip. Your eyes are desperate and frenzied as you stare at him over your shoulder.

“Do you need something, pretty girl?” Steve coos, his tone half mocking as he bends over your body, one hand gripping your face and pulling you close so he can kiss you. “Does my sweet little slut need something from her professor?”

“Please,” you sob, tears gathering in your hazy, lust-filled eyes. “Please, professor, ‘m so close.”

Steve grins against your mouth, the expression wolfish and wild. “You need me to make you cum, sweetheart?” he asks, even more mocking condescension in his tone. And when your pussy clenches tight around his cock, he can’t help but chuckle, loving the reaction your body has to his filthy words.

“Yes, yes, yes. Please, please, please,” you chant, rocking your hips like you’re trying to take Steve’s cock harder and faster on your own. It’s almost too bad that you’re bent and pinned against his desk, his bigger body making it so you can barely move.

“Well, since you begged so nicely…” Steve trails off, shoving one of his hands between your body and the desk, until his fingers are pressed against your clit. Once there, though, he doesn’t move them. “Grind on my fingers and make yourself cum like a good little slut,” he commands, using his most authoritative voice. “Show your professor how good you are at following orders.”

“Oh fuck, Steve,” you cry, your hips already working hard to do as he says. “Yes, sir. I’ll be so good for you, sir. Such a good slut for you, sir, I swear,” you babble, grinding your clit against his fingers and taking his cock deep into your cunt—so deep that your words devolve into a helpless, wanton moan.

Steve grins against your cheek, watching the desperation and determination contort your pretty face while you fuck yourself on his cock and hump against his fingers. If Steve thought you were beautiful before, he realizes now that you’re downright fucking gorgeous once he’s turned you into a feral little cumslut—all for him. 

The fireworks are still going off outside his office window, but Steve’s entire focus is on you and the sounds you’re letting out while you’re desperately trying to make yourself cum for him. It’s glorious to watch, especially when you reach the edge, your body going tight and taut, every muscle clenching down, before you finally let go.

You cum with a scream that’s drowned out by the fireworks show’s finale, your whole body shaking as you sob through your pleasure. Your legs are trembling riotously, and your upper body goes limp in Steve’s arms. It’s only his hand still holding your face that stops you from slumping onto his desk. 

And the professor watches it all, his cock throbbing in your tight, fluttering cunt. But he’s not done with you yet.

Once your pleasure wanes and you catch your breath, you open your eyes, a question in your gaze and the quirk of your brows. “D-did you cum?” you ask unsurely. 

A grin spreads across Steve’s face and he steals a kiss from your lips. When he pulls away, he lays you gently down on his desk, and stands back up so he’s towering above your bent over body. 

Steve’s hips retreat until only the fat mushroom tip of his dick remains in your pussy. You’re still pulsing from your release and he revels in the feeling of your hole mouthing at his cock. Then, he thrusts forward, burying every inch of his fat dick in your oversensitive cunt, his hips smacking against your ass. 

“Ohmygod, Steve!” you blubber, your body shaking even more violently under the onslaught of pleasure. “Wha-what are you…d-doing?” 

“Oh, pretty girl,” Steve coos mockingly, giving your ass a harsh slap that has you jumping, your body sucking his cock even deeper, until the tip is nestled right against the end of you. “You didn’t think I was done with you already, did you?” 

His big hand soothes over your smarting cheek, his hips pulling back and plowing forward again. He leans forward, brushing tears of pleasure from your face, grinning at the sight, and catches your eye over your shoulder.

“It’s my birthday, and I’ll cum when I want to,” Steve tells you, punctuating his statement with another deep, brutal thrust. “And I’ve wanted you too long to cum so soon.”

Steve picks up the pace of his thrusts, the fingers of his other hand finding your puffy, swollen clit and playing with it so meanly that all you can do is collapse on the professor’s desk and take what he gives you. He loves the way you submit to him, your cunt clenching greedily down on his cock even as you shake and cry from the overstimulation.

“Of course,” Steve goes on, curling over your back to press a sweet kiss to your mouth. “You can cum as much as you want, pretty girl. In fact, I’d like it very much if you did—and you want to be a good slut and give your professor what he wants for his birthday, don’t you?”

It’s music to Steve’s ears when your answer rings out in the silence following the fireworks, your voice drenched in pleasure as you respond to him with sweet obedience.

“Yes, sir!”

thank you for reading! comments and reblogs are appreciated! ♡

steve rogers' birthday across the multiverse masterlist

[gilsart]

okay, wait. hear me out. modern day AU where Jayce is a mathematics professor and Viktor is a physicists professor. the students are so obsessed with both of them. viktor very closed off about his personal life and a harsh judge on tests and work but genuinely fun to engage with in and out of class. he helps students like crazy. jayce on the other hand is an avid yapper who can’t stop talking about his sweet and handsome husband and all he does for for Jayce. how happy he makes Jayce and is his reason for living. viktor’s cane breaks while he’s working so he begrudgingly has to call Jayce who keeps his backup cane in his office. students start gossiping about the two and how close they seem while Jayce helps Viktor and also takes the time to tighten up the screws in Viktor’s brace after he fell because of the broken cane. someone in one of Jayce’s classes actually has the guts to ask Jayce if his husband is Viktor and Jayce is like “yeah??? I wasn’t trying to hide it?” and students are like “oh my G-d, Viktor is actually married? he never talks about his partner!? if i was with jayce i’d yap about him nonstop! crazy but we are so happy for those idiots!” after students find out, Viktor doesn’t open up about his life much more but doesn’t try to hid that he’s with jayce anymore

no bc I had this whole series of drawings in my head for this ask specifically. this included Jayce too at first but I FAILED man... it just became a very watered down version of what you said + bonus for young university student Viktor

as for the professor version I legit got so wrapped up in the hand gesture, I forgot he's supposed to lean to one side when he's older and that he probably can't stand without his crutch so I APOLOGIZE ABOUT THAT I'm heavily sleep deprived

(also as previously stated I know nothing about STEM, I have an art degree, I literally only searched some string theory schematics and scribbled it so if it makes no fucking sense that is why)

[gojothecreatorr]

💋 NSFW CONTENT — MINORS DNI

character: nanami kento (professor AU)

type: smut / x reader

summary: staying late for “office hours” with your strict, too-handsome professor was supposed to be about academics. instead, your bratty teasing pushes Nanami past his limit—and he teaches you a very different kind of lesson right on his desk.

warnings: age gap (collegestudent!reader x professor!nanami), desk sex, semi-public risk, unprotected sex, degradation, praise kink, light power imbalance, size kink, suit kink, overstimulation, brat-taming, aftercare implied.

word count: ~2.7k

The classroom had emptied twenty minutes ago, but you were still perched on a desk, swinging your legs and pretending to study. Professor Nanami sat at his own desk, grading papers with his usual rigid composure, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened just enough to make your stomach flip.

“You could’ve emailed me your questions,” he said without looking up, voice clipped but tired.

You hummed, leaning forward so your skirt rode higher up your thighs. “But then I wouldn’t get your undivided attention.”

That made him look up, glasses catching the overhead light. His gaze flickered down to your bare thighs before snapping back up, sharp as ever. “That’s inappropriate.”

You smirked, kicking your heels against the desk. “So? You gonna write me up, Professor?”

The muscle in his jaw ticked. He went back to grading, trying to ignore you—but you didn’t let him. Sliding off the desk, you sauntered to his, leaning down so your cleavage dipped into view as you set your paper in front of him.

“Can you… go over problem three with me?” you asked, voice dripping with false innocence.

His pen stilled. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you teased, propping your chin in your hand.

That was the last straw. Nanami shoved his chair back, grabbed your wrist, and dragged you onto his lap before you could blink. His grip was firm, commanding, as his lips brushed your ear.

“You think you’re clever?” he muttered, voice low and dangerous. “Dressing like this, teasing me during office hours? You’re just a reckless little brat begging to be taught a lesson.”

Your smirk faltered, heat pooling low in your stomach. “M-Maybe I like pushing your buttons.”

His hand slid up your thigh, fingers digging into the soft flesh. “Pathetic,” he growled. “You sit here with your skirt hiked up, legs spread, and act like you’re not desperate for me to ruin you.”

You gasped when his fingers pressed against your panties—already damp. His lips curled. “Just as I thought. My needy little student.”

Before you could retort, he shoved papers aside, bent you over his desk, and yanked your skirt up. The cool air hit your ass just as his fingers pushed your panties aside.

“Stay quiet,” he ordered, lining himself up. “There are still faculty in the building. Unless you want everyone to hear how slutty you sound for your professor.”

You bit your lip to stifle a moan as he pushed inside, stretching you wide. His tie brushed your back, shirt still on as he held your hips in a bruising grip.

“God—you’re so fucking tight,” he hissed, thrusting deep. “All this attitude, and you melt the second I’m inside you.”

“F-Fuck, Professor—”

“Louder than I told you to be,” he snapped, slamming into you harder. “You can’t even follow simple instructions. How do you expect to pass my class when you can’t keep your mouth shut?”

You whimpered, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as the desk creaked beneath you. His hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head back so you had to meet his eyes when he leaned over you.

“Look at me while I fuck the brat out of you,” he growled. “You wanted my attention? You have it. Every single inch of it.”

Each thrust drove you closer to the edge, his words and his pace overwhelming. You clawed at the desk, body shaking as your orgasm crashed through you.

“Good girl,” he praised, voice softening as he fucked you through it. “My perfect little student.”

But he didn’t stop. His thrusts grew rougher, faster, chasing his own release until he spilled inside you with a guttural groan. For a moment, the only sound was your ragged breathing and the faint thud of music echoing from another building.

Nanami pulled out slowly, tucking himself back into his slacks, his shirt and tie still perfectly in place. He adjusted his glasses, then gently fixed your skirt back down, his hand brushing your hip.

“You’ll stay after again next week,” he said matter-of-factly, smoothing your hair. “And you’ll behave. Understood?”

You could only nod, dazed and trembling, as he pressed a surprisingly soft kiss to your temple.

“Good girl,” he murmured again.

a/n: hii it’s zarin again 😋 first time writing professor nanami smut sooo hope y’all enjoyed, reblogs & comments mean the world <3

[ellecdc]

wait professor remus…… elle you opened the Gates

hehehehehe.... 😈 big shout out to @maladaptiveescapism for daydreaming and yapping about this with me - some of the 'ratings' are courtesy of her!

Professor!Remus Lupin x Professor!reader: 5/5 chilli peppers [1.7k words]

CW: fem!reader, flirty/sexual comments made about both professors by students [indirectly], suggestive content but nothing explicit and SFW

You were sitting cross legged on Remus’ desk; heels discarded on the floor as you used one hand to scroll through your phone whilst the other brought your glass of wine to your lips. 

Remus probably shouldn’t think you look adorable, but Remus thought you looked adorable.

You hummed excitedly as you quickly swallowed your sip and pointed at your phone. “Listen to this one!” You enthused, clearing your throat and sitting up straighter as though you were about to deliver one of your lectures. “Professor Lupin should be banned from wearing those khaki slacks - you know the ones - how can anyone pay attention to the migration of Germanic peoples through Western Europe when that perfect arse is *right there*?” 

Remus’ face felt like it was probably five shades darker on account of his furious blush as he topped up his own glass of wine and let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a groan.

“They’re just trousers!” 

“Oh but they are so not.” You drawled salaciously, smirking into your glass. 

“Knock it off, you minx.”

“Shan’t.” You replied as you squinted at your phone again. “Oh! This one’s good: when he starts rolling up his sleeves and then leans on the desk, it’s suddenly worth waking up at seven AM for a morning class.”

“Stop-”

“And someone responded with ‘I didn't believe in god when I was forced to take an eight AM lecture, but I did believe in god when she blessed us with Professor Lupin as an apology’. You’re a hit, Lupin.” 

“I’m horrified.”

“You’re an icon.”

“Did these student’s even learn anything in my classes?” Remus let out with a laugh.

“Sure.” You agreed quickly. “This one says you guys spoke about Freud?”

“I- what?” Remus asked, wondering when the hell Freud came up during his Early Medieval Europe course. 

“‘We were discussing Freud and made a daddy joke. Professor Daddy.’” 

“Alright.” Remus gruffed as repositioned himself on the loveseat in the office. “That’s enough out of you.”

“Hey,” You placated, raising your hands - still holding your phone and a glass of wine - in mock surrender, “I’m just the messenger.”

“What is this site called again?” He asked as he pulled out his own phone.

“Rate my professor. Oh, this one’s boring.”

“What’s it say?” He asked with a snort.

“Says you’re a harsh grader but fair, and you allow people to resubmit their assignments to bring their grades up.”

“Finally, an accurate and reasonable review.”

“All in all, you’ve gotten 5/5 chilli peppers.” You sing-songed, looking up and smirking at him. “My my; do office hours run long, Professor Lupin?” 

Remus swallowed thickly and ignored the subtle tightening of his pants. “You think mine are bad?” 

“No, I think yours are great.” You corrected. 

Remus hummed as he smirked at you before reading from his screen. “Took the class because it was the only one available and now I’m wondering if I can retake it because this might be the hottest woman I have ever seen. BRB booking an appointment to change my major.”

“No way!” You squealed with laughter; Remus’ smile grew exponentially as a result.

“Did Plato come up this semester?” He asked you then; you nodded your head yes. “I don’t know why she thinks I can focus on platonic ideals of things when she is in the room? Platonic ideal of hot.”

“Oh my god!” 

“This one simply reads ‘someone call Victoria’s Secret. One of their angels is posing as a university professor.”

You shook your head and looked up at the ceiling at that one.

“Looks like you’ve got 5/5 chilli peppers too, Professor.” He quipped.

“That’s just because I’m only one of two Professors at this university under 50 years old.” You chuckled, Remus cocking an unimpressed brow in response.

“Wouldn’t that be my excuse too?”

You quickly hummed in the negative.

“No?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Uhm…because you’re hot, Remus.” 

“Is that so?”

“That is my professional, academic opinion, yes.” You agreed resolutely. 

“I think there might be some flaws in your assessment, dove.” 

“Is that so?” You drawled slowly, parroting his earlier comment earning you a challenging hum of affirmation.

Remus watched your eyes narrow slightly before you lifted your phone back up.

“You did receive one ⅘ rating.” You commented solemnly.

“Bastard.” Remus scoffed with no real heat, running his tongue along his teeth as you repositioned yourself on his desk; shifting closer to the edge and leaning over your own legs as though trying to subconsciously inch closer to Remus. “I hope they failed my course.” 

You let out a roaring laugh, throwing your head back into it and exposing the length of your neck. 

“They said,” you continued loudly once you collected yourself as though scolding him for having interrupted you, “minus one chilli because I’m pretty sure he’s shagging that other hot professor in the department.”

“Now why would they think that?” He asked innocently, though he knew exactly why they would think that. 

The two of you were new to the university faculty this year; you were close in age, by far the youngest professors on the payroll, and both part of the history department. The two of you had picked up a quasi-antagonistic yet relatively genial relationship; rumours that the department would be letting go of one professor at the end of the school year what with the two of you being the lowest in terms of seniority didn’t bode well, resulting in a slight rivalry that saw no real animosity. 

But regardless of the semi-competitive nature of your relationship, the two of you were the youngest professors at the school, meaning you weren’t always taken very seriously and were often each other’s only allies. 

This meant the two of you became fast frenemies. 

It started in the first term when he went to reserve a book for the class, only to find you had put it on hold first. 

“Oh? Did you need this book, Lupin? Sorry about that….you’ll have to be faster next time.” You’d offered him with nothing more than a wink, leaving him standing there, gaping in your office as you walked away. 

Then it turned into him letting himself into the lecture room 26 minutes past the hour whilst your class was finishing up even though your class only finished 25 minutes past the hour and his class didn’t start until 35 minutes past the hour, just so he could enjoy the way your nose scrunched up in frustration as your students started giggling through your concluding remarks. 

You showed up to one of his lectures once - he’d somehow missed you sneaking in and taking a seat in the back row - when you began volleying questions in an attempt to fluster him. You’d teased him once about his need for structure and scripts for his classes, and you’d gone to prove him right by asking him hard hitting questions slightly beyond the scope of this particular class that he was not prepared to have to answer. The class ended with his tie loosened and his sleeves rolled up as he scowled at you and you smiled sweetly at him. 

Once he had fucked around with your powerpoint lecture without your knowledge, so as you opened up the first slide, everyone read: blimey, sorry to everyone stuck with Professor Y/N for the next hour or so. You really ought to try one of Professor Lupin’s courses instead - they’re way better!

You sticky-noted his entire office for that one. 

Friendly and not so friendly comments were passed in the corridors as the two of you passed one another, some heard by students and others not. Remus had guest lectured for a course of yours and you had offered a talk in one of his. 

Ultimately, the school had seen the two of you interacting. Remus probably should have been more mindful of the way his gaze often lingered on you. 

But it couldn’t be helped, really. You were maddeningly intelligent, engaging in the way you spoke in an academic sense and a personal sense, you were funny and quick, and fuck him if you weren’t the most gorgeous thing he’d ever seen.

So yeah, he knew exactly where those rumours had come from. He’d probably been caught a few too many times ogling you. 

Much like he was being caught ogling you now, though you were the only one present to catch him in his faux pas.

Your eyes were glassy from the amount of wine the two of you had shared to celebrate the official end of exam season, the top few buttons of your blouse seem to have come undone at some point in the evening exposing a beautiful expanse of skin, if you asked Remus. He noticed you swallow thickly as your legs fell over the edge of the desk, bare feet dangling well above the carpeted floor as you watched him watch you. 

“Beats me.” You murmured in response to his question.

“We’ve been drinking.” He commented, seemingly apropos of nothing.

“We have.”

“And we’re technically at work.” He continued.

“We are.” 

“One of us could be getting let go.”

“We could.” You agreed again. 

The two of you stared at one another as you teetered this liminal space between friendly and decidedly not, between professional and inappropriate, between surrendering and resisting.

And then the corner of your mouth turned up in a smirk.

“Fuck it.” Remus let out with an exhale, and in two quick strides he was standing between your legs, grabbing your face in his hands and kissing you soundly as you hummed into the kiss and fisted the back of his shirt with an iron grip.

He couldn’t believe he’d waited an entire academic year to do this. 

© ellecdc; do not copy, translate, or repost my work anywhere under any circumstances.