Head Chef on the SS Diarrhea

it had been over a month since he started “dating” y/n in order to capture the attention of a certain someone. she’d been bent over backwards for some oaf in ravenclaw ever since he could remember. but james had regarded her recent proposal as the perfect opportunity.

“you know all about flirting and dating! you could teach me. you could date me! oh merlin, that would surely make him jealous enough to say something!”

this was the chance he needed and he seized it with such ferocity he was worried he’d scare her away before it had even begun. but, he composed himself, and reminded himself that this opportunity may never come again and he needed to tread carefully.

of course, blatantly cupping her arse in the hogwarts corridors was not treading carefully, per se. but he had built this fake relationship brick by brick over the past six weeks or so, and y/n had been warming to him, he was sure.

this was true of course. she had found herself unravelling before him as each day passed, each week. she worried everyday now that they would succeed in their quest but could not bring herself to call it off in case james didn’t feel the same about her and that when it ended, that would be it. it would simply end.

james had taught her many things over the past weeks, but one of the most important was that she should be sure of a man’s intentions and that he should be clear and honest. on this, she should trust her gut, he had said. well she wasn’t at all sure of james’ intentions—of whether they were simply to help her attain her crush or if there was something deeper lying beneath the surface.

“so, are we still on for tonight?” james asked with an easy grin.

y/n hesitated, for a moment forgetting this wasn’t the way it was supposed to be. “uh- yeah.”

his brows furrowed slightly as he took a step closer to her. he cupped her cheek gently and asked- “are you okay, love?”

she looked away from the intense gaze that had almost hypnotised her into revealing her deepest secret. “yeah, just…nervous.”

he looked at her with even more intensity, if that were possible. “no, there’s something else.”

“there’s not.”

“but i say there is. isn’t there?”

she could never lie to him. never from the moment she met him. he always knew. always saw through her, no matter what. for years she’d tried to get him to reveal her tell, but he never relented.

“i don’t get how you do that.” y/n shook her head.

“you don’t have a tell, y/n. i just know you. better than anyone. maybe better than myself. that’s why i’ve never been able to tell you what it is.”

y/n could only listen.

“i’ve taken the time to learn you, y/n. and i’ve never learned anything that’s made me want to turn away from you. i’ve only felt closer to you as every year passes.”

james took her face in his hands and brought her closer to him, looking her in the eyes so she knew he was in earnest.

“and if you would have me, i would be honoured to be yours.”

y/n couldn’t utter a word. for six weeks (longer if she dared to admit it) she had been falling in love with james potter and everything was about to be perfect. for once, she was about to get everything she wanted. she felt a buzz of energy encasing her whole body as james leaned in agonisingly slow.

as his eyes closed, she followed suit and waited for the feeling of his lips on hers. james wasted no time, enveloping her in a passionate embrace that threatened to unleash everything thought he’d ever had about her. but he pulled away before he could get carried away.

y/n smiled and laughed, pulling his head down to her shoulder and held him there. simply held him.

“we have time for all that.”

You slow your pace down after reaching his door – the plaque above it, gold lettering set in mahogany, displaying his name in a harsh, brutalist font.

It read:  

DR. JACK ABBOT, MD.

PROFESSOR OF ANATOMY.

Outside of rationality, it was stupid to fear your professor. Especially when he liked you so much – passing you back exams with a slight smile on his face and a whispered “good job” under his breath before he walked past you to another student. Comments on margins, red ink on white, of your essays grew linearly; where he would make a great observation or note on a niche source you found, it grew into Jack praising you for your writing, even urging you to submit one for a professional medical journal.

It was normal given the circumstances. Except for the fact that your stomach jumped every time his eyes found yours in a sea of people, his eyes tethered you to his words as he gave his lectures.

Totally normal.

You turned sharply on your heel and walked fast to the end of the hallway, desperate to create any kind of distance between you and his office. You’d only got about halfway through before that nagging voice you were so certain you'd blocked out told you all of this was too stupid. You were a grown woman, for Christ's sake. A grown woman who could control her silly little crush on her own professor.

With a reluctant sigh and a rub of your temples, you slowly walked over to his office door, desperate to try and at least drag it out for a few more minutes. As soon as you were back face-to-face with that stupid, taunting name sign, you brought up your hand to knock on the door.

Once.

Twice.

Please don’t be in there.

Please don’t open the door.

Please–

The sound of papers rustling behind the door and the muttered string of curses jolts you out of your thoughts. A few moments pass with you standing at the door, the weight of your bag slipping down your shoulder, before Jack shouts a muffled “come in” behind the door.

Stepping into his office, Jack glances over the rim of his glasses to you as you cross the threshold, closing the door behind you with a small thud. He wraps up the conversation on the phone, the telephone cord wrapping around the expanse of his fingers.

You sit down in front of his desk, eyes sweeping the walls plastered in anatomy diagrams and his many, many accolades – the room suddenly feeling very small.

“So, what did you come into my office for?” Jack asks, finally putting the phone back onto its receiver and looking up at you.  

Licking your dry lips, you tried to clear your throat. You stare at Jack, words caught in your throat for a moment before ripping your gaze away from him.  

“I wanted to ask if there’s anything I can do to raise my grade. You know, like extra credit.”  

Jack doesn’t respond.  

Blinks once. Twice.  

“Extra credit,” he echoes.

You frown. “Yeah. Well, I just want to do something more–”  

“You do know that you have multiple high-scoring exam results in my class, don’t you?”

“Yeah, but–”  

“No,” Jack exhales, biting his lower lip in an attempt to bite back a smile. He glances over your shoulder to the door before returning his eyes to you. “You’re not getting any extra work.”

When he sees that you show no sign of relenting, he shakes his head. He stands up, groaning slightly as the sound of his chair scraping against wood fills the room. Jack rounds the desk to lean on it, his gait languid.  

“You are at the top of the class. consistently,” he starts, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants as he looks down at you. “You’re young; you need to go out and have fun; you don’t need all this stress.”  

You fidget in your seat as he pins you under his gaze.  

“I guess I can’t relax,” you chuckle slightly, a slight smile playing at the corner of your mouth. “Maybe I just need someone to show me how to relax.”

“Yeah. You do.”

A second passes. Maybe a minute. Between the silence of the office and the feeling of your heart pulsing in your ears, it’s too hard to tell the invisible stalemate growing with each passing moment.  

Jack breaks the silence with a sigh, pushing himself off the desk. He walks up to the door, latching it shut with a loud thud.

“What’s going on?” You chuckle nervously, shifting your head to get a better look at him – eyes tracking the way he unbuttons the buttons on his sleeves, rolling them up out of the way.  

“You want someone to show you how to de-stress?”  

Jack smiles at your insistent nod, biting the inside of his cheek.

He gestures in a ‘come hither’ motion – his hand meeting the small of your back as he lightly grasps your forearm to pull you up from the chair, setting you down on the edge of his desk.

Jack rakes his eyes over you, lingering on the soft of your chest whilst he plays with the hem of your shirt.

“Is this okay?” he whispers, searching for any sign of reluctance from your part. When he doesn’t find any, he pulls the shirt over your head. He takes a second to look at you, studying the lines and the curves of your body as an anatomist would a skeleton, slow and reverently.

Jack reaches around to unclasps your bra, discarding it the same way as he did the shirt, somewhere on the floor behind him. His hand cups your breast, his thumb flicking your nipple momentarily before snaking his hand down the sides of your chest.

You lift your hips slightly, allowing him to shimmy your jeans off before he suddenly flips you over, ass in the air, as he takes a second to admire how pretty you look – your hair already rumpled, flyaways threatening to escape your ponytail, and he hasn’t even touched you properly.

Jack hooks two fingers into the waistband of the flimsy fabric, pulling your panties down – abandoning them in the heap of clothes on his office floor, the white of your underwear stark bright against the dark wood.

“This all for me, sweetheart?”  he rasps, your thighs opening a fraction wider. Jack runs his ringed finger through your folds, the cool of the metal branding the inner of your legs.

You whine, hiding his face from him as he prods a finger at your entrance, gathering slick on the tip of his finger.

“You taste so sweet,” Jack hums, his voice muffled. You glance over at him, confused at the sudden volume change, only to see him swirling his tongue around the rough ridges of his index finger, spit trailing from his chin.

A sudden rush of embarrassment creeps up your skin, heat pooling in the lower part of your stomach as you quickly avert your gaze, suddenly aware that you’re stark naked in front of your professor, whom you practically idolise.

Jack tsks softly, hooking his still-wet finger under your chin, forcing you to meet his hazel eyes. “Don’t go all shy on me now, sweetheart.”

He pulls back, withdrawing his finger to make quick work of unbuttoning his dress shirt. His fingers work slowly to undo them one by one before shrugging it off with a quick upward movement of his shoulder, discarding the shirt somewhere on the floor beneath you.

Your eyes take one long look at him. He wasn’t jacked like the guys on the college football team – not skinny enough to pass for the nerdy guys who lived and breathed in the cadaver labs – Jack was just…perfect. Right in the middle. Deep, dark brown freckles on warm, olive skin that looked like he spent his day traversing out in the sun and not like he taught 20-something-year-olds in a windowless lecture hall.

Jack’s deep laugh pulls you out of your thoughts, forcing you to snap your gaze back up to his face. A small smile twitches at the corner of his mouth as you realise that you were staring at your professor for a good minute or two. “You like what you see?”

“Maybe,” you retort, biting your lip as you try to stifle a giggle.

“Ah.” Jack nods seriously. “Guess I’ll have to step my game up then.”

This time, you prop up your body with your elbow to get a better view of him as he undresses.

Jack slowly unbuckles his belt, the swoosh of the leather passing through the belt loops as he maintains eye contact, undoing the zip, revealing 

“‘Lucky you’?” you read the stitching, head tilted barely an inch as you tried to make sense of the embroidered flap.

“What? Does it make more sense at an angle?”

You open your mouth, your brain already midway to firing a rebuttal, but then your stare falls to the white of his boxers peeking against the blue of denim jeans, your teeth biting your lip, the taste of metal flooding your mouth. Jack pushes both of them down in one fell swoop, his cock springing free and hitting his stomach.

Once he steps out, he walks slowly to where you are still bent over the desk, his face glimmering with a heat and desire you’ve never seen with guys your own age.

He pushes your head down, forcing your forehead to meet the desk surface as he runs the tip of his cock through your folds, coating it in your dampness before pushing into you.

“That’s it,” Jack rasps, his rough, calloused hands falling to your hips as he slowly sinks into you, inch by agonising inch. You whimper beneath him, his girth stretching you out as your hands scramble to find purchase on his desk, fingers gripping the edge.

“You’re doing such a good job, just a little more.” As he bottoms out, flesh meeting flesh, Jack leans his head on the curve of your spine, lips pressing open-mouthed kisses down the bend to your ass before leaning back slightly on his heels to take a proper look at you, the taste of salt lingering on his lips.

You look beautiful like this, Jack thinks. All laid out for him, bent over his desk as he thrusts back into you roughly.

“It’s too much,” you cry out; your voice soft and saccharine as he slams back into you, the desk jerking with each snap of his hips.

“Aw,” Jack coos, his hand reaching up to tuck the pieces of hair that stuck to your damp forehead. He slows down his strokes, taking a second to catch his breath.

“Please, sir–”

“‘Please, sir’ what?” Jack mocks, punctuating each syllable with a snap of his cock. “I’m not a mind reader, kiddo, you’ve got to use your big girl words.”

You babble in response, jaw slack as drool collects at the corner of your mouth, staining the wood beneath you. His hands leave crescent indents from his nails, the shooting pain giving you a moment of reprieve.

“Look at the mess you're making,” he exhales. “God, you’re such a dumb girl for my cock, aren’t you? Already my air-headed girl for me.”

He keeps on hitting the same spongy spot over and over again, the tension in your stomach making you see white, hot flashes in the corner of your vision.

“Don’t even care that your professor is fucking you, God, fuck,” Jack croaks out, hands trembling on your sides as he looks down on you through half-lidded eyes. Sweat beads on your back, your hair unruly; taking and taking every single thing he gives you.

You should care.

You should care that your professor is deep inside of you, hitting your g-spot with every unmerciful thrust. That goes against everything you’ve ever even cared about. But with each slam of his hips inside of you, your own body completely surrenders to Jack.

Jack’s head tips back as he feels your walls clench down harder around him, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to gain any semblance of control.

“Jesus, fuck, I’m gonna cum.” you manage to breathe out, sobbing as he drives himself even deeper.

“I know, baby, I know–fuck–Please cum for me, baby.”

His hips give a final jerk, a final slap of his skin hitting yours, echoing. Hot breath near your ears as you both cum at the same time, the heat in your stomach finally dissipating.

The room is plunged into silence for a split second as you press your hot forehead on the desk, condensation from the temperature change leaving rings of water on the hardwood. Clothes rustle behind you, belt clicking shut as Jack makes himself decent. You try to dart your head towards the sudden break in silence, wincing as a sharp pang runs through the nape of your neck.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Jack frowns, picking you up carefully, hand cradling your head, carrying you bridal-style, sprawling you over his office chair. You pull your legs closer to your chest, smiling at him. He gives you a small, tender smile before pulling out a small towel from one of the drawers.

“What are you doing?” Your brows furrow in confusion.

Jack wets the cloth from a metal flask on his desk, looking up at you briefly. Setting the flask down, he rubs your knee in a small, circular motion, using his knee to nudge your thighs open. He wordlessly passes the damp cloth through the inner of your thigh, noting how sensitive you get when he presses with featherlight touches.

“You know I don’t mean anything I said during–”

“It’s fine,” you reassure him, stopping the small ministrations of the path he is tracking by lacing his fingers through yours. Jack snickers at your response, his cheek turning rosy.

He gives you a brief squeeze of your hand, letting go to dig for something in his pockets. You sit there, gathering your clothes from the floor, taking your time to drag them out – you knew it would end this way. Not the office visit, but the first time you both touched each other. An awkward dance of goodbyes and pleasantries.

Once dressed, you grab your backpack and make your way to the door – Jack’s hand brushing past yours when you walk past him. You reach the door and look back at him, Jack giving you a brief nod before turning away.

As soon as you leave, Jack collapses into his chair that you were just sitting in moments ago, his head trying to make any sense of how an innocent visit during office hours suddenly turned into showing his star student to accept pleasure.

A white piece of fabric catches his attention. He picks it up, studying it in his hand, letting out a large sigh of exasperation. He places it down on his desk, attempting to find anything to do with his idle hands. His hands flex and then unflex in a rapid motion, the white panties taunting him in his peripheral vision.

He picks it up again, fingers lingering on the gusset. Almost robotically, Jack brings it up to his nose. Taking a deep sniff, his eyes flutter close, the smell of you rushing through his nostrils – and it’s like being close to you for the first time.

Breaking out of his sudden reverie, Jack shoves the panties absentmindedly somewhere safe. A flash of guilt runs through him, but he shakes it off, wiping clammy palms on his pants, his brain working overtime to rationalise his actions.

He was just keeping you safe, right? God forbid it falls into the wrong hands.

Guess he’ll have to give it to you the next time you need extra credit.