Chapter Text
You heard horror stories about Professor Nashton. One of the two professors that taught advanced forensic accounting, a class that you needed to take for your major. Professor Ives was kind and very generous with extra credit. Unfortunately, the only class that you could take that fit into your schedule wasn’t with Professor Ives.
Most people complained about his lectures, usually long and boring and full of riddles that didn’t have much to do with the actual subject. He was strict about grading and the smallest error in a project might turn your A into a B. Unfortunately, you weren’t an exception to the normal borderline failing student that became the norm.
The thirty seconds that you stood outside of his room, too nervous to start your office hour session with him, felt like an eternity. It was common knowledge that nobody dared trying to go to his office hours. Students were too afraid to get on his bad side to even attempt to ask questions about the lecture. You were different, though. You were determined to get at least a B- in this class even if it meant spending an awkward few minutes with the man.
He didn’t look at you as you walked in and took your seat on the other side of the desk. You clutched your binder close to your chest, sheets upon sheets of printed-out homework and projects thickening it. You wrote your own notes over and around the notes that he gave you. You practiced everything that you wanted to talk to him about.
He wrote the grade with a large red marker on someone’s project. D. You hoped that it wasn’t yours. “I don’t offer extra credit if that’s what you came here for. And I will not be bribed by any means,” He flipped the stack of papers over, pushing them to the side and finally looking up at you. For a moment, you wondered what students might have tried to use to bribe him.
“That…That’s not what I’m here for, sir. I wanted to discuss the last project and what I could do better for the next time,” You opened your binder and nervously pulled the stapled stack of paper with a marked B- on the top out of the front fold. You offered the paper to him and he took it.
That project, in particular, getting a report from some made-up company and logging their accounts as well as any discrepancies, didn’t seem too difficult for you. You finished it with time to spare and found nothing wrong when you went over it, yet you barely passed. You began to wonder if you were doing everything wrong and you were in the wrong field.
He flipped through the pages faster than any person could possibly be looking at the content. You sat quietly, hoping that your breathing didn’t disturb his work. “While there aren’t many mistakes, the ones that you did make were those that should have been eradicated in basic accounting. It might be a problem with you rather than this individual project.” His facial features were soft, but that didn’t seem to translate to his harsh personality.
Your breathing halted, maybe you should have listened when you were told to avoid going to his office hours. Was he calling you stupid? “I’ve never had a problem before this class. Is there anything that I can do about that?” The voice in your head wanted to lean over the desk and slap the shit out of the man, but you knew that it would only make things worse for you. His words would get to you tonight when you were able to cry about it if you needed.
“I can’t fix what was broken from the start, I’m afraid,” he handed the stack of papers back to you and you took them with a shaky hand. At this point, you weren’t sure if the shaking came from anger or you fighting back the urge to cry. Your life’s passion, the one thing you were sure that you excelled at, he was telling you that you never had a chance. What an asshole.
You looked down at the papers in your lap, “Is there… any way to improve in this class? Even with my…problems?” You weren’t sure why this was such a blow to your self-confidence. You’ve had much worse said to you by your parents when you told them that you wanted to go into accounting. You nearly failed geometry and their hope for you fell down the drain.
He sighed as if this wasn’t literally the job that he signed up to do for a living. “Unless you want to dedicate your time to coming to my office hours every single time there’s an assignment to go over things, I suggest you drop the class before it affects your GPA too much,” He looked at someone else’s project and shook his head. It was like you weren’t even there.
And that’s exactly what you did for the rest of the semester. From the time that he started his office hours to when he kicked you out, you worked on your assignments. Maybe you were a bit delusional, but you started to wonder if he was finally warming up to you. Your grades definitely reflected a more positive relationship with the man. You were probably the only person in the class that had an A by December.
The final was in two days and you were still committing to your office hour sessions with Professor Nashton. “You intrigue me, Y/n,” He spoke out of the blue.
You looked up from your papers, “How so?”
He leaned back into his chair. It squeaked slightly, “Most students just give up after that first office hour visit. They…curse me out and then drop a shitty rate my professor review. But not you, Y/n.” He spoke along with his hands, “You never let me spend a class or office hour alone.”
“It definitely paid off. I think I’m one of the only people not either failing or borderline failing. Why do you grade like that?” You’ve been meaning to ask that question for so long, but it never seemed right. Now that you two felt like somewhat friends and he was getting personal, maybe he would find out.
He bit his lip, “This subject relies on precision. One mistake could jail an innocent person or let a guilty one roam free. Forensic accountants are crucial and perhaps the foundation of the justice system. Financially, that is. If I start my students with a work ethic that relies strongly on attention to detail and little mistakes, justice will be served in the future. Most of them just don’t want to work hard.”
You nodded along. You agreed with him to a point but thought that he should have been a bit less harsh in the way that he conducts this message. “That…actually makes a lot of sense. Maybe you should say that at the beginning of the semester,” You suggested.
He shook his head, “If they didn’t try before, it’s not going to make them suddenly start. Most people at this school are privileged little fucks that’ll go into their daddy’s firm once they graduate. Pardon my French. People like us work for our success.”
He wasn’t wrong there. Gotham University was built on nepotism and will always be that way, it seemed.
~~~
The final wasn’t bad, just as you had expected. It was exactly what you studied and discussed with the professor, so you were pretty sure that you got a decent grade. The other students filtered out of the classroom as soon as they wrote down their final number and rejoiced in their winter break starting. Once the last person left, you took the opportunity to talk to Professor Nashton one last time.
“How was it?” He asked, sorting through the stacks of finished tests all over his desk.
You shrugged, “It was good. Not to brag, but I think I got an almost perfect score.” This earned you a smile from him. You took a deep breath and adjusted your bag on your shoulder, “Now that we’re not technically student and teacher anymore, I wanted to let you know that I really enjoy talking with you. I work at this little diner by the Iceberg Lounge and if you’re ever in the area, you’re free to stop by. I’ll even throw in a free coffee and slice of pumpkin pie.”
“That’s very generous of you, Y/n. I’ll keep that in mind,” You had your suspicions that he was only saying that to be polite, but a small part of you wanted to see him again. Seeing him in a less professional setting and without the big label of instructor might do him some good.
Your winter break was uneventful. You worked, occasionally spent time with your friends, and avoided your family’s judgment throughout the holiday season. It wasn’t until the second week of January that things got interesting again.
Working at a 24-hour diner meant that you had to be available for work at all times of the day. You drew the short straw and found yourself behind the counter, completely void of co-workers and customers, at 2 in the morning on a Wednesday. You were halfway through Pride and Prejudice when you were startled by the doorbell.
Standing in the doorway was him. Your former professor in a large raincoat and informal wear. “What are you doing here so late?” You asked, smirking. You were relieved to have someone to talk to other than yourself and that he wasn’t some random creep.
“I could ask you the same thing. I couldn’t sleep,” He sat on one of the barstools and you turned on the coffee machine. If it were anyone else, you would’ve served the stale, hours-old coffee.
“What does your spouse think of your late-night diner runs?” You took a relatively hot slice of pie and placed it in front of him with a fork.
He took a bite of the pie, “Not married.”
You raised a brow, “I can’t imagine why not. You’re smart, attractive, and literally a tenured professor at an esteemed university.” You turned to grab a cup for the coffee.
Edward paused and looked up from his pie, “You of all people should not be saying that I’m attractive.”
“Why? Because you’re older than me?” You snorted.
“Because you’re beautiful. And frankly, I feel guilty even saying that.”
You poured the coffee in silence and placed it in front of him. He found you attractive. Now that there was no formal rule that could get him fired, you had all the opportunity in the world to mess with him. And by mess with him, you really just want to jump his arrogant bones.
“Are you sure that pie’s the only thing in here you wanna eat?” You put on your best seductive voice, making him slightly choke on his coffee. He glared at you, “Oh, come on. We’re not limited to roles anymore. We’re just two adults that know each other from university.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to, trust me, I’ve shamefully thought about it before. It’s just-”
“Just nothing! I’m offering to get on this counter, lift my skirt up, and let you eat me out. Yes or no?”
He sat in silence for a second, staring. The gears in his brain were turning. He grabbed the plate and the cup and pushed them to the side, “Get up.”
This was a first for you. Sex with a professor and doing it at work. Despite it all, you sat up on the counter and showed yourself to him. He stared for a moment, nervous, before hooking his arms under your legs and diving in.
Other than the buzzing of the various machines in the diner, the only noises in the room were of Edward licking and the moans that you held back. You didn’t expect him to be that good, no man ever was when it came to oral. He found your clit after a few seconds and began to suck on it, not giving you a chance to register the sudden rush of pleasure.
“Fuck!” You moved your hand on the counter, accidentally swiping the coffee cup off. It shattered, but Edward didn’t look up or stop. It wasn’t like you were going to stop and clean it up now, anyway.
“Y/n, you taste so good,” He whispered into your pussy. You grabbed his hair and twirled it with your fingers.
He pushed two fingers into you and you felt the pleasure fully begin to coil in your stomach. You moaned and tugged on his hair. That only made him go faster.
With Edward relentlessly pleasuring you, it took not long for you to see stars. The walls were not soundproof and you had forgotten if they had security cameras or not, but that didn’t stop you from calling out his name as you came around his fingers.
He finally looked up at you with a goofy smile on his face. Your face was flushed and your chest noticeably rose and fell. Now, you were more confused that he wasn’t married. “How was that?”