#professor andrew marston x darling

[imaginesbymk]

MARSTON. ━︎━︎ ZSAKUVA STRICT PROFESSOR !

chapter eight - ❝office hours.❞

← previous chapter: chapter seven - "the forbidden-ness of a fruit." next chapter: chapter nine - "professor green-eyed monster." →

fanfic info / read it on wattpad

SYNOPSIS — In order to get a proper grade for their mended assignment, Y/N has to visit Professor Marston at his office for a more "private" setting.

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A N D R E W

MY LAST CLASS for the week was over, and I grew irritated for a moment in that lecture. I refused to let it defeat me, but it stuck with me for some reason until I realized the phenomena of modern technology. Is it ever so standardized that students started to grow less invested in their studies each year? It's got to be some kind of shift in society, or it's just the stress university had tolled upon these students?

I trailed off in my sentence about Francesco Petrarca when I saw a couple of students doing the one thing that annoyed most educators.

"The only screen that you all should be looking at right now is the projector behind me. Unless it's for educational purposes, phones off and out of sight," I said. "Now."

The students quickly stashed them away.

Though they are useful in modern society, I don't like to give in to such gadgets. But they're everywhere. I have a phone, and I use it when it's necessary. But today I learned that Chris got a smart watch, and I watched him reply to anyone by speaking into his wrist like he was an secret agent spy. I am in a complete void but also in fascination over how this world became so technological over the years. It's easy to learn about the Bubonic Plague. All you have to do is Google it, but in a time and place where there wasn't a professor and a projector in front of you to learn about it otherwise.

The realization took me when I became a professor at twenty-one. That was when wireless earbuds became a big thing. If he's out there working under a big company that does shady business on the side, I can picture my brother in a Tesla, and I highly doubt the maths professor would invest in one, whereas I would be sitting here with the faint taps of my laptop. If I was handed something more advanced than a smart watch, I doubt I would accept it. This generation wouldn't.

If a student pulled out their phone to record one of my lectures on voice memo, they'd also catch audio of something I'd say off topic, or I'd slip out something problematic or embarrassing. They could pull out their phones and film me without my consent if they wanted to. Hell, they could post it online somewhere for others to see. Comments would be hybrid: my appearance, my teaching, whatever I could be doing in that video is set out there on the Internet - and it stays there. 

It's not the modern technology, but the consequences of how we use them. And I'm directly and indirectly contributing to it. That's exactly what I'm worried about. Being caught and capturing it all on a little black screen. 

What could I possibly do that'll be caught on camera or audio? My views on a controversial topic perhaps? Or maybe me watching Y/N while they worked at their seat. I can't just dismiss the incidents - or events - like it was nothing. I say that with plurality. I kissed Y/N a week ago, they snuck into my office the week before. Whatever was going on through my head was just out of impulse, and something had ticked for me to breach the ethics of a professor and a student relationship. 

I do recall what I had told them just minutes before I let them go. "If you think something will come from this, you're mistaken. This was purely... an overflow of desire. Nothing more." I gave them a week to re-edit their assignment, to remove what they wrote that changed my perspective on them even more, or at least enhanced it.

I checked the time.

"Damn." The department was expecting a email from me by the latest. I quickly clicked the 'compose' tab, adding all the recipients until something popped up on the side of the menu. It was happening again. The email. I reported it as junk last week, but I never thought that they would keep contacting me. Whoever wrote it from my brother's email, it wasn't written like a spam, or bot-like. 

Andrew

Don't ignore me. Don't throw out this one shot.

I began to type:

Whoever you are-

I hit the backspace button until the words were taken back and disappeared. I couldn't. I would either be feeding into whatever this person wanted and falling into their trap once I hit them with a response, or I would actually be answering to my brother. I wouldn't know how he would be behaving after all these years. Unless he decided to form a reunion, one of us would get hurt or blackmailed. I know very well it wouldn't be him. 

Five knocks on the door, and I cleared my throat and continued typing out the email for the literature department.

"Come in."

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Y / N

PROFESSOR MARSTON looks at me through his odd but stylish choice of chained glasses. He had good posture all the while he must be sitting at his desk for hours in between his lectures or after office hours. Whenever I had my independent tutorials with him or came to him for office hours, he'd be sitting right there, and he'd get up from his desk a couple times to stretch or walk around. But when I allowed myself in, he was already sitting at his desk, typing away.

I see his eyes avert a bit at the clock. "Hm. Right on time. If I'd known any better, I'd say you were a bit too eager. Were you waiting outside the door?"

For an eager person, yes. "Maybe."

He chuckled under his breath. "I assume you've brought your amended assignment?" I nodded. He held out his hand. "Give it here." I quickly walked over and handed it over to him. "I'll read it now while you're here."

I stopped. "Now?"

"What? You have more pressing matters to tend to?" 

Kind of? I wanted to tell him. Brittany and I go out for dinner almost every Friday. 

"I want to make sure that what you've written is appropriate for your grade. I don't want to have the same conversation I've had with you before, although it was the most... memorable, that's for sure." He gestures. "Take a seat."

I sat down, almost rapidly drumming my nails against the arm of the chair.

"Stop fidgeting," Professor Marston said looking up from my paper. I quickly stopped. "Pace around if you really need to I can't stand the tapping."

I might as well to ease the tension. I got up from my seat and began to walk around. I knew Professor Marston's eyes were down at my paper, but I felt them follow me as I started looking at his bookshelves and walls. The last time I was in here, I gave him a gift and saw that sketchy-looking email pop up on his laptop screen. I wonder if he ever got through to it.

"You won something?" I pointed at the award mounted on the wall.

"Hm? The award?"

I nodded.

He replied, still flipping through my paper while grading. "I won the Wolfson History prize a couple of years ago. Soon after graduating university, I published a book on Alastair Crowley. He was quite a... prolific man."

"For best historical writing?" I read.

"History in general has always been a passion of mine," he explains. "Before computers, books gave us knowledge, and when a book is destroyed its knowledge disappears along with it and so does its history. There were times when entire libraries were set on fire to hide the truth - truth that can't be recovered with an undo or refresh. There's something oddly finite about that type of literature." 

"I mean, nothing wrong with what we have now," I suggested. 

"Of course computers and Internet makes things a lot more easier to store and share, it's one of the reasons why I ask all students to submit their assignments on paper. I think it's an art that will die soon enough along with books."

I walked back to my seat as soon as he lined my papers together, taking out a red pen from his holder and circling the giant 93% written on the last page where the rubric sided. "Okay, you amended what I told you to. Good. I expect that something like that doesn't happen again. If the department head caught wind of what you wrote, I would be the one investigated, you do realize that? It does you no favours."

I sheepishly smiled. "Yeah, you're right. My bad."

"Well your mission was to get my attention. I suppose you succeeded more than you thought you would considering the look you had on your face when you left my class a week ago. I assume that still runs through your mind doesn't it? I haven't been able to forget it." He sets my paper at the front of the desk and got up, approaching me slowly. "When I became a professor, I did it to educate, to give back what my teachers gave to me. I never entertained the thought of being caught up in such a mess with you."

I raised my brows. "Me?"

He hummed. "Only you. I've heard rumours and conversations of other students who find me... attractive. Little remarks here and there whispered behind corners. It happens and it's my duty to ignore their stares." I remembered the first time seeing Professor Marston. He was walking down the west hallway on the second floor, and he was right when he said everyone stares at him. He paid no mind to them. I don't blame them, he really was an attractive young guy. There was no way this guy was faculty, I thought. 

I was still figuring out where my classes were. As soon as I found the lecture hall I walked in, and there he was, still settling down at the front, but where the professors were supposed to be. He looked up at me and gave me a studied look. We were both five minutes early. 

"In a few years time they'll probably look back and think of it as nothing but an embarrassing crush they'll tell during a game of truth or dare. It can't be helped but I can't add more fuel to the fire. I can't give them hope. You on the other hand have proved a challenge. I admit that when I read your statement for the first time, I hardly believed it. But there it was, plain as day. I thought it was a prank at first until we had our... talk. Did you keep it to yourself?"

I nodded. I've lied to so many professors, strictly based on assignments when it's often half-assed. I could lie to Professor Marston, but of course, there wasn't any point in doing that. I didn't mention that afternoon talk to Brittany. She was always ahead of herself and tells the first person she sees. 

"Good, you know how quickly rumours spread, and I doubt you want to get caught in the middle of them. You started all of this, after all. Do you not regret it?"

I pressed myself against his chest and lifted my height just a bit to reach his lips. He obliged.

Unless this man has kissed other students that I do not about, (and if I ever knew about it, I'm spilling his tea on his laptop) I have him for now. And no, I do not regret a single fucking thing.

Professor Marston chuckles a bit. "I guess not. I'll be honest: I don't, either."

I was glad we were both on the same page. 

Professor Marston walked over to lock the door. "My teaching hours are finished now. Why do you think I asked you to come at this time? Your class finished over an hour ago, the students who needed to come here have. So now, it's just you and I. I'll reply to any emails at a later point. For now, only you have my attention. I remember what I said before and believe me, I understand what you're feeling because I share it too."

"Tell me, then."

"You don't want to know what I feel."

"After all I've done? I feel like I deserve to know at this point."

"Are you sure?" 

I nodded. 

"Fine. When I saw you for the first time I knew there was something different there. I just couldn't quite work it out, so truthfully I had an interest in you from the very beginning." 

That gave me a boost of hope. I always had a feeling Professor Marston did think about me from time to time, but there were others who wanted the same thing as me. I give myself credit for overdoing the attention giving than the rest of the students here. Plus I gave him his favourite chocolates. I guess I do win.

"I always thought you were a gifted student. You made it past the first year unscathed. You've had so much potential."

He wasn't wrong, but something wasn't quite right about that statement. I did make it past the first year, and first year always starts off with either calm waters or an absolute shit-storm. My best way to describe is my brain being like a TV constantly fixated on multiple channels, as much as I try to lower the volume, close all of them or even just try to fixate on one program, I can't find the remote. It's either in a tornado, and another day it doesn't acknowledge or process what I want to process and then I'm overwhelmed. I'm lucky I was fuelled enough to not fail a class.

It's that, plus my idealized and internalized anger towards this world. Professor Marston just so happens to distract me from that, even though that was not his job.

"I guess," I shrugged.

"You were always one of the first to come into class and one of the last to leave. Soon enough I found my gaze following, studying, how you dressed on certain days depending on weather or colour or accessories. You know when to stand out and when to hide. It wasn't until after I kept you behind last week that I realized what it really was. Perhaps it wasn't purely desire but infatuation. You have a light that your peers don't. You carry it in your eyes. They're rather beautiful, actually. So clear, focused. They could have been looking at any other person. I should have known but I ignored it. I assumed the essay was a last ditch effort to get my attention... and it worked." Other than the gift, it really was. He leans in and kisses me, almost like the first time we did that it felt so powerful. 

"There's no classes I have to teach today. So, it all depends on how much time you're willing to give me-"

"All of it," I shrug. 

Professor laughed. I twitched a bit when he brushes his hand over mine. "All of it is a little, uh, excessive though I admire your candor. So the marks I promised I'd give - have you prepared yourself for them?" He sat back down at his desk.

I look at him puzzled. "O-oh?"

"What sort of marks did you think I meant?" 

I gave him a look. He did say he "won't hold back the marks he'd give" me. I thought about a completely different thing...

"Ah such an interesting mind you have. I'm glad you picked up on it, though you should know that there's not much I can do to sate your imagination. Come, what is it you want? Speak plainly." 

"I want you to kiss me again." I walk over to him where he sat.

"Hmm... well that is plain, isn't it? You hardly manage to take the last ones, you think you'll be able to now?" He really was trying to tease me. I nodded slowly. "You really have been waiting patiently, haven't you? Your eyes are glazed over already. Then lean down." 

If I were to be more naive, I wouldn't have done so. But I'm not. Slowly, I felt him pulling me closer to him. 

"I can already feel you trembling a little. Are you trying to hold yourself back? Well some of the others on this floor don't go home until at least eight and right now it's," he glances at his watch. "Just gone six. And two hours is a long time to wait. I don't think you want me as a partner. Even though this is a university and legally there's no laws against it, it's unethical. It's not that I don't want things to continue, all I want to do right now is kiss you more. But there are boundaries to consider."

I never imagined I'd be caught up in such a scandal with this guy. But not that anyone needed to know... 

"I know," I tell him.

"We give in to whatever this is and then what?" He says to me. "Keep meeting in secret in my office? Where is that going to end up? Thinking of what the future will be is redundant. Enjoy the present and what fruit it bears, and right now, you are what has been given... and I shall gladly take it."

He gladly took it. But does he want me? What do I want? To have this man all to myself to selfishly boast that other students couldn't have him? It wasn't like he was put here up for grabs. He's here to teach and grade, I'm here to learn and move on when I graduate. 

"Lean into me if you can't stand."

I did so, and he pulls me closer to him, but never held me when we kissed again. I should tell Brittany some day some how. She's never kept anything from me, ever. I can't do that. She would find out. I've walked in on her making out with someone before, and it was a student possibly in their final year. It turned out they didn't graduate on time. And it turned out it was someone I knew.

"As much as I want to hear your voice," he whispers against my lips. "You have to hold it in." 

We kept kissing. Even though nothing was wrong, my ears felt like they were ringing. My brain was starting to fog up, and I couldn't imagine this office as an office anymore. It felt like a placeholder for something sinister out that door. I pull away. I hear Professor Marston say something to me, but it was muffled and I clearly couldn't process it. I didn't know what it was that just happened, but if I continued, I'd black out.

I got up as he straightens his posture. "I'll send over your assignment grade over the weekend, and I'm warning you now: if you pull another stunt with your next assignment, I'm failing you without question. But if you do need to discuss some theories, then you know where to find me. After hours... and when you are ready. Understood?" 

I nodded. "Got it."

"Good."

I grabbed my bag from the chair and turned to the door. 

"Your extra credit will be considered," I hear him say from his desk. "Get home safe."

I exhaled long enough that my chest didn't feel as heavy but lifeless, something I realized I haven't done much of it to ease my breathing after being with that man for a bit, and kissing him for what seemed like a rush of dopamine to sudden dissociation. 

I closed the door and rushed home for dinner, thinking about Brittany.

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[peppymintdreams]

The First Morning After

@stufs-world requested this too along side Isaac's

Andrew Marston x Darling

first morning after moving in together, Andrew and Darling share a quiet, intimate moment over tea and crumpets, basking in the newfound comfort and peace of their relationship while playfully teasing each other about the future

Sunlight peeked through the curtains, casting a soft golden glow across the bedroom. The warmth of it stirred you awake, but it wasn’t the light that kept you from falling back asleep it was the steady rhythm of Andrew’s breathing next to you. The rise and fall of his chest was a calming cadence, one that grounded you in the reality of this moment.

You were in Andrew’s bed. No longer just the university’s "Strict Professor" or the figure of forbidden desire. Now, he was your Andrew the one who teased you mercilessly yet held you close with a tenderness that melted your heart.

You turned slightly, careful not to wake him, and gazed at his face. His features were softened in sleep, his usual sharpness dulled by the serenity of the early morning. His glasses were neatly folded on the nightstand, and his arm rested loosely around your waist, as though even in sleep, he needed to be near you.

It felt unreal waking up beside him like this, knowing it wasn’t just a fleeting moment. You were no longer confined to stolen glances across lecture halls or whispered words in shadowed corners. This was your new reality: waking up in Andrew’s bed, in Andrew’s life.

The temptation to stay like this was overwhelming, but you knew him. Andrew was never one to let a morning slip by, even on weekends. With a smirk, you imagined he’d be up soon, probably working on his next project or grading papers, English Breakfast tea in hand.

As if on cue, Andrew stirred. His arm tightened around you, and with a soft groan, his eyes fluttered open. The usual sharpness returned as his gaze met yours, but this time, it was accompanied by something softer.

“Good morning,” he murmured, his voice husky with sleep.

“Morning,” you replied, barely suppressing the smile that tugged at your lips.

For a moment, he simply looked at you, his hand tracing a lazy line along your side. “I could get used to this,” he said, a teasing glint appearing in his eyes. “Waking up with you here, instead of you sneaking out before dawn.”

“Hey, you’re the one who insisted we keep it discreet.”

Andrew’s lips quirked into a half-smile. “Discreet, yes. But now…” His voice trailed off as he leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “Now, we don’t have to hide.”

The simple truth of it made your chest tighten with a strange mix of relief and happiness. “I never imagined waking up like this with you,” you confessed.

He raised an eyebrow. “Really? I thought you fantasized about it,” he teased, eyes alight with mischief. “If your essay from last year was any indication.”

You felt heat rush to your cheeks. “That was a metaphor!”

Andrew chuckled, his hand sliding down to intertwine his fingers with yours. “Metaphor or not, we’re here now.” His voice dropped to a softer tone, more serious. “And I’m glad.”

His words hung in the air between you, and for the first time in a long while, there were no underlying tensions, no rules to follow. Just you and him, in the quiet peace of a shared morning.

“Do you want breakfast?” he asked after a moment, breaking the comfortable silence. “I could make us some tea and crumpets.”

Your heart swelled at the thought Andrew, the Strict Professor, casually offering to make breakfast like it was the most normal thing in the world. “I’d love that,” you replied, your voice soft.

He slipped out of bed, tugging on a simple grey t-shirt. You watched him for a moment, struck by the intimacy of seeing him like this relaxed, unguarded, his usual professional demeanor left behind with the discarded clothes on the floor.

Andrew paused at the door, turning back to you with a smirk. “You coming, or are you planning to stay in bed all morning?”

“Give me five minutes,” you teased back, your heart lighter than it had been in months.

As Andrew disappeared into the kitchen, you sank back into the pillows, letting the contentment of the morning wash over you. This was real this was yours. And somehow, it felt like the beginning of something even greater.

You lingered in bed a moment longer, savoring the lingering warmth of the sheets and the soft echoes of Andrew’s movements in the kitchen. It felt surreal this quiet, domestic scene, so far removed from the whirlwind your relationship had been until now. There was no rush, no need to hide or guard your expressions. It was just the two of you, living in this moment.

Finally, you slipped out of bed, throwing on one of Andrew’s button-down shirts that had been discarded from the night before. It was far too big on you, but the comfort of it the familiarity of his scent clinging to the fabric made it feel like home. You padded into the kitchen barefoot, and the sight that greeted you was something you knew you’d carry with you forever.

Andrew stood at the counter, carefully preparing tea. His back was to you, his movements unhurried, almost methodical. The early morning light filtered through the window, casting a soft glow over his figure. The kettle whistled quietly, steam rising as he poured the hot water into two cups. Next to the cups sat a small plate with perfectly toasted crumpets, butter melting into their golden surface.

“Look at you, being all domestic,” you teased as you leaned against the doorway, crossing your arms with a grin.

Andrew glanced over his shoulder, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Don’t get used to it. This is an anomaly.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, stepping further into the kitchen to join him. “I don’t know, Professor. I could get very used to this.”

He turned toward you, his eyes narrowing playfully. “Professor, hmm? Are we keeping things formal this morning?” He handed you your cup of tea, his fingers grazing yours just long enough to send a small shiver down your spine.

“Habit,” you said with a smirk, taking a sip. The tea was perfect strong and rich, exactly how you knew he liked it. You weren’t surprised; Andrew’s attention to detail extended even to the simplest things.

He leaned against the counter beside you, the teasing look in his eyes giving way to something softer. “How are you feeling? About everything, I mean.”

You paused, considering his question. There had been so many emotions since your relationship had become public fear, uncertainty, the weight of the judgment that came with it all. But now, standing here in his kitchen, in his shirt, with him by your side, all of that felt so far away.

“I feel… happy,” you admitted quietly. “Like, really happy. And I don’t think I’ve had time to feel that until now.”

Andrew’s expression softened, the walls he usually kept up fading away. He set his cup down and reached for your hand, his thumb tracing small circles over your knuckles. “Good. You deserve to feel that way.”

You looked up at him, warmth blooming in your chest at the rare sincerity in his words. “What about you? How do you feel?”

For a moment, he didn’t answer. His gaze flickered, as if weighing the vulnerability of his response. But then, his fingers tightened slightly around yours, and he exhaled, leaning closer. “Content,” he finally said, his voice low. “For the first time in a long time, I feel content.”

The way he said it, the quiet honesty in his voice, made your heart skip. Andrew wasn’t someone who easily let his guard down. But here, with you, he was different unguarded, open in a way that made your connection feel even more real, more tangible.

You placed your tea on the counter and slid your arms around his waist, resting your head against his chest. He didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you in return, his chin resting atop your head as he held you close.

“This is nice,” you murmured, the steady beat of his heart in your ear calming you.

“Mm. It is,” Andrew replied, his hand sliding up your back in a slow, comforting motion. “It almost makes me forget how much work I have to catch up on later.”

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, an eyebrow raised. “You’re not seriously thinking about work right now, are you?”

A small, guilty smile tugged at his lips. “Maybe a little. But it’s hard not to when I have a dozen papers to grade and—”

You pressed a finger to his lips, cutting him off. “Nope. None of that. This is supposed to be a relaxing morning, remember? You said it yourself no work, no distractions. Just us.”

Andrew’s eyes flickered with amusement, but there was something deeper there too, something appreciative. He gently took your hand from his lips and brought it to his chest, keeping it there as he leaned down, his forehead resting against yours.

“Just us,” he echoed softly, his breath warm against your skin.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The world outside the window seemed to fade away, leaving only the quiet rhythm of your breathing and the soft thrum of your heartbeat in time with his. It was simple, but in that simplicity, you found a sense of peace you hadn’t realized you’d been searching for.

Eventually, Andrew pulled back, the corners of his lips curling into a faint smile. “Alright, no work. But if we’re not doing anything productive, then I suggest we finish those crumpets before they go cold.”

You laughed, releasing him from your hold. “Deal. But I’m not promising I won’t make you do something else productive later,” you teased, a playful glint in your eyes.

Andrew smirked, his eyes darkening with that familiar mischievous look that always sent your heart racing. “Oh, I look forward to seeing what you have in mind, Darling.”

And just like that, the comfortable domesticity of the morning was laced with that electric charge that always existed between the two of you teasing, playful, but underlined with something so much deeper.

As you sat down to eat together, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself. This was your life now waking up with Andrew, sharing lazy mornings, teasing each other over breakfast. And somehow, it was even better than you’d ever imagined.

[litmot-archived]

Ace of Hearts

Happy International Asexuality Day!

Andrew Marston x Reader

Andrew is ace. He hasn’t told you yet. 

The semester had come to an end almost abruptly, the cool mornings of spring turning into the early rising sun of summer in the blink of an eye. Andrew had been looking forward to the summer break, simply because it meant he had more time to spend with you, free from his responsibilities as a professor and momentarily released from the calm air of absolute composure his position required of him. 

Now, with the gentle rays of sunshine streaming through his open window and falling on your beautiful face, he could allow himself to simply feel. 

The book in his hands had not held his attention for a while now. Instead, he kept glancing at your peaceful expression. You looked so at ease with your head resting in his lap, eyes closed, and a content smile on your face as you lay sprawled across the sofa. 

The exams these past few weeks had been stressful for you — he saw the bags under your eyes, noticed your scattered thoughts as you were unable to slow down for a moment, too caught up in the subject you needed to study — and Andrew relished that you were finally able to unwind. You deserved it. You needed it, he was sure, and it would be his pleasure to shower you with comfort and distractions and sweetness until all the residue tension left your body. 

He wanted to give you everything, pour out the contents of his heart for you, and give you all his love and affection until you asked him to stop. But as he sat in his reverie, his gaze shifting from his book to your lovely expression and back again, he could not shake the nagging thought stuck in the back of his mind — the memory he had not dared to revisit. 

He had stayed later than usual one evening, unwilling to leave the comfort of your arms just yet as another episode of the show you had started together played in the background. You had been less interested in it, preferring instead to trail lingering kisses over his exposed skin and capturing his lips with yours, the gentle rhythm spiking into something else. 

“Is this alright?” you had asked breathily, impossibly close to him as your arms tightened around him securely, hands inching lower. Andrew had not known what to say. 

From the glint in your eyes to the sudden tension between you both, your intent had been obvious, but so was his nonverbal answer. You had drawn back immediately when you felt him tense, his sharp intake of breath not the kind you had wanted to elicit. 

He had excused himself soon after, taking on the short trip to his bleak apartment with a heavy heart and racing thoughts. The questions burning in your eyes had remained unanswered, the whispers of doubt and insecurities in your mind not reassured. Andrew had hated leaving you guessing, but he needed some time to reflect first. He had needed some time to think. 

“I love you,” he had told you at the door, your worried gaze tearing at his heart as he could see your mind pulling you into a spiral, fearing you had overstepped irrevocably. Andrew had pulled you into a tight hug, inhaling your scent for a moment and placing a chaste kiss against your lips. “‘Doubt thou that the stars are fire’,” he had quoted, earning a small chuckle from you. His heart had felt lighter tenfold.

“Drive safely, Andrew.”

He looked at your peaceful face, basking in the sun — so content, so warm, and painfully happy — and felt a shiver run down his spine at the reminder of the icy doubt and worry he had seen in your expression that night. His heart was filled to overflowing with his love for you, so much so that sometimes it hurt to be near you from how much he adored you — never should you doubt the love he had for you. 

“Darling?” Andrew asked quietly, not wanting to wake you in case you were catching up on some much-needed sleep. 

You hummed in acknowledgment, keeping your eyes closed as you waited for Andrew to continue speaking. 

He hesitated, nearly biting out a huff of ‘nothing’ and returning to stare blankly at the page of his book, but he stopped himself. No, he wanted to do this. He wanted to tell you. He felt like he was hiding, and he did not want to be hiding from you. But why was he suddenly so anxious? What could he possibly have to worry about with you? 

Still, his heart had begun hammering in his chest, and the air in the room seemed like it was slowly seeping out, despite the open window and the summer breeze ruffling your hair in his lap. Andrew cleared his throat, allowing himself a singly shaky inhale before continuing, “I was wondering if we could talk?” 

You opened your eyes tiredly, blinking against the sudden brightness before rising from his lap and leaning against his shoulder. “What about?” you asked, glancing at the book in his hands. “Want to try the Socratic method with me?” 

Instead of laughing like you had expected him to, Andrew did not give so much as a chuckle before taking a steadying breath and running a hand through his hair nervously. “About that evening,” he said slowly, glancing at you briefly before fixing his eyes on the scenery outside. 

For the first time, you noticed his clenched jaw and restless hands, clenching and unclenching as his fingers ran along the edges of Plato’s Republic. You sat up, now serious and fully awake. “You don’t need to tell me anything if you don't want to,” you said, trying to reassure him by placing a hand on top of his fidgeting ones. 

“I know,” he whispered, eyes averting to your now-joined hands, “but I want to. It’s just— I suppose I’ve never said it out loud to someone before.” 

Isaac’s face flashed before his eyes for a moment. He had never said anything, but there was an unspoken agreement between them never to escalate things too far. Andrew always wondered how Isaac could have possibly known, even before he himself found a name for it, but then again, Isaac had always been very perceptive and excellent at connecting the dots.   

“Alright,” you said, beginning to play with his fingers. “Take all the time you need, then. I’ll be here whenever you’re ready.”

Andrew turned his head to look at you. A reassuring smile flashed across your face and you nuzzled against his side again, comfortable and with infinite patience. He was sure you would not leave for however long it took him to find his words. It nearly filled his heart to bursting, the warmth and love you exuded so effortlessly — the care and understanding you showed him when nearly nobody else in his life had ever bothered to before.

He had nothing to fear with you. 

“I’m—” He did not want to hide from you. “I, uh—” he trailed off. Why was it so bloody hard to say out loud?

“Take your time,” you reminded him, but Andrew was growing frustrated.

It made no sense. Why were the words stuck in his throat? 

He huffed, taking a shaky breath. This was like a bandaid, he just had to rip it off. He just had to blurt it out. Why was this so hard?

“I—” Goddamn it. “I’m asexual.”

The weight falling off his chest at finally managing to utter the words made him feel slightly lightheaded, but the relief was immediately overshadowed by the rising nervousness, waiting for your reaction. 

Asexuality was a spectrum, of course, and there was much more to tell about how he experienced it. Andrew wanted to explain to you what it meant for him, what he would and wouldn’t feel comfortable doing, but for now, he just wanted his heart to calm down. The anticipation of your response had him biting back any further explanation. 

This was enough for now. 

“Thanks for telling me,” you said, lifting your head to look at him properly. Your tone was genuine, and he could see the fond smile tugging at your lips and the pride shining in your eyes. “And trusting me with that part of you,” you added, leaning in closer to touch your forehead to his.

Andrew closed his eyes, allowing his anxiety to subside. “Of course, darling,” he whispered, feeling the smile on your lips as you kissed his cheek.

“I love you,” you said, “you know this changes nothing between us, right? There’s more to a relationship than the physical aspects of it, and I love you wholeheartedly no matter what. If we never have sex, that’s fine by me. If it takes a while for you to be comfortable with it, or if you are positive towards it — it’s alright either way. I don't mind.”

“You don’t mind that—”

“No, I don��t,” you interrupted, pulling him into a tight embrace. “I promise you, I don’t.”

“I’m not sexually attracted to anyone,” he said, “Not even to you. I will never be.”

You hummed, threading your fingers through his hair until he relaxed against you. “Do you love me?” you asked, earning a scoff from Andrew. 

The answer was obvious. It seemed to be engraved into his very being that he adored you beyond words. “I do,” he simply said, “you are the love of my life, darling.”

“And you are mine,” you answered, squeezing him tighter. “That’s more than enough, Andrew.”

[imaginesbymk]

MARSTON. ━︎━︎ ZSAKUVA STRICT PROFESSOR !

chapter ten - ❝new friend.❞

← previous chapter: chapter nine - "professor green-eyed monster." next chapter: chapter eleven - "what do you really want?" →

fanfic info / read it on wattpad

SYNOPSIS — Andrew's thoughts and fantasies over Y/N have grown increasingly unhealthy, but he can't help but give in. Y/N flaunts their new friend in front of Andrew.

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Y / N 

I AM UP bright and early for a Thursday. Just last night Brittany showed up to my place as I was catching up on the lecture that I skipped. Professor Marston put at least thirteen slides in the module. Because of his long lectures, you'd have to be present in his class to receive in-depth teaching, or you'd be in a stump reading at least a couple sentences off one slide that wouldn't do much. 

As long as my textbook was here, I was in good hands. 

I was also in good hands thanks to Brittany, who offered me CBD oil for my muscle pain. Ever since my body felt like it had woken from surgery, she blamed it on the excess cardio walking around campus. If it wasn't fun or if we weren't commuting anywhere fun, she would drive or take the subway. I knew the CBD oil worked, because I had finished the final slide and collapsed under the sheets while Brittany took the other side of my bed. 

For a Thursday, I woke up feeling like I had never felt any more lighter in my bones.

This was one of the days where Brittany would be working a longer shift. [STUDENT'S NAME] offered to drop me home after school today. 

I roll over to my side to reach over and grab my phone off my desk.

My heart sank. I was not up bright and early for a Thursday. The atmosphere felt like 6 AM until I tapped my screen. It was nearly noon. My phone had never gone off, the alarm for 6 was never set.

"Holy fuck, Britt!" I scream, sprinting out of the bed. The post-CBD feeling immediately left my body, only for panic and adrenaline to replace it. 

Brittany lifts her head from her pillow, her eyelids opening halfway. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

I run past her, grabbing emergency sweatpants and a shirt from the drawers, then my bag off the ground. "I'm late! Professor Marston's gonna kill me."

"Late?" she lazily sits up and checks her phone. "Since when are you ever late for his class?"

Just by how busy the subway was, it was definitely the afternoon. The excess cardio was paying off, but I was beginning to lose my breath as soon as I reached campus, my shoes clamping against the pavement and grass. Brittany wears those high heeled platforms in any season as long as the outfit went with it, but all I grabbed from my shoe rack were ones I haven't worn in a while, and they felt foreign when I slid them on. 

A group of girls were walking slow in front of me at the front entrance. I had no other choice but to beeline through, making one of them drop their book.

"Hey!" one of them shouts angrily at me.

The Literature lecture, the time duration at least an hour and ten minutes in from when I've reached campus, had to be on the first floor. Just a few hallways down. More fast-walking. I swung the door open, hearing Professor Marston's voice echoing into a microphone at the lectern.

By now, everyone took a quick look at me, like I had just rudely interrupted to film a dumb prank for a YouTube video. I had to think quick. I went over to the second front row and plop myself down in one of the empty seats. 

From at least a twenty-meter distance, Professor Marston stares coldly at me, then resumes his teaching.

I forgot my textbook.

"IF THERE ARE no more questions, you may leave. Office hours will resume, respectively. Enjoy the rest of your afternoon."

That was my plan. I knew I missed half of the lecture, I missed important details Professor Marston had shared to the class. When I checked on Moodle, one of today's slides had two sentences. That's already ten minutes of a lecture. 

After I had a chance to eat something an hour later, I knocked lightly on his door. I was allowed in.

"Heyyy, Prof!" I sheepishly enter his office. I laugh nervously, all eye-wide with my hands up and shaking in the air. "It's me again. How was your day?"

I saw it right away just by studying the look Professor Marston gave me, the same look when I made my grand entrance earlier. 

"How was my day?" He asks, opening the blinds of his window. "Er, well, the lounge is still low on cream and sugar, so I am surviving on organic peppermint tea. I handed back everyone's mock assignment on annotated bibliography, everyone except you because you came late to my class. Or did you skip Literature again but decided to attend last minute?"

Not gonna lie, hearing Professor Marston scold me with a voice that stern had me frozen in my spot. There's no difference if he's a couple years older than me, as was his authority. I knew how serious he took his teaching, so it's not like I was trying to flunk Literature on purpose. "I got caught up with something earlier."

"Was that something another lunch hangout with that friend of yours?"

"No," I said. "Personal stuff."

"Hm." Professor Marston looked a bit on edge. "Is, uh, [STUDENT'S NAME] what's-their-name not here?"

"No," they skipped class again, just without me. I would feel extremely guilty for snitching on them, but the guilt for leading Professor Marston on like this was slowly picking up on me. Neither of us were playing hard to get, but if I continue sitting next to [STUDENT'S NAME], sharing their stuff and being so close to them that our arms were touching each other, it would feel like I was. 

If one of us speaks up, it would be just me and Professor Marston being much closer than the student whom I found out had a thing for me a while back. 

"How can I help you?" he asks.

My phone vibrates. I didn't wanna bother checking who was calling me now that I was with Professor Marston. Was it Brittany? Professor Marston notices my phone going off in my sweatpants and gives me an annoyed expression.

I reached in my pocket and double click the side of my phone to decline the call, to show I wasn't trying to be late, disorganized, unprofessional and rude all in one day. "I just wanted to apologize for barging in late, and that I've caught up on last week's lecture. Now that you mentioned it, I'd like my annotated bibliography back, if that's not a problem?" 

Effortlessly, he flips through one of the piles on his desk and hands it over to me without saying anything. I thank him with a quiet voice.

"Listen, I'm not flaunting my privilege as a university student by purposely skipping classes," I say. "Especially yours. I love attending your classes, it's probably the most engaging I've been in. I just overslept today. My alarm didn't go off."

Professor hums. "You must have forgotten."

I nodded. "It was because I was catching up on the lecture I skipped."

"Well, in order to avoid the chaotic errors you've made, start by attending class. You can always go out for food anytime you want, but one class you intend on skipping can cost you. Literature is not an easy course."

Professor Marston wasn't wrong. I had to learn that the hard way. One out of a couple times. "I know."

"Given that you're one of my top students, I know that you know. But what I don't know is this transition you've been having, lately."

I looked up at him. "What do you mean by that?" My phone buzzes again. A missed call and a text message.

Lol hellooo are u dead? I'm outside and I got us froyo

──────── ✧ ────────

A N D R E W

Y/N SHAKES their head, checking their phone. "Shit, I gotta go. [STUDENT'S NAME] called."

"Are you sure?"

The sound of the door swinging shut was my only answer. I can't describe the feeling as blood-boiling, but even after Y/N comes late to class and just leaves for [STUDENT'S NAME] again, my body felt hot.

"Get home safe," I wanted to tell Y/N. 

As a professor, I stress to my students that as adults they should be responsible if they paid an outstanding amount of money to study at university, while they get to decide on their own as adults. I am certain that Y/N is a dedicated student who does attend classes and does take initiative, but they're just latching themselves onto someone else in front of me on purpose. They really are as bold as I thought they were ever since they wrote about Abélard and Héloïse. 

Their explanation over being late doesn't even matter to me anymore. They were gone now. 

When I got home last night, I was alone with my own thoughts inside my home office. I must have been glued to my chair for almost an hour and a half, staring at the powerpoint I was supposed to be filling in for next week.

I imagined Y/N in front of me like last time. They were in front of me, leaning down to kiss me, and I wish we could be doing that right now. Why? Why am I feeling like this? Because I have an unhealthy desire for someone I wanted?

Were they doing this to get my attention? To fire me up? Intentionally play tricks on me? And if it really was to make me jealous, should it be my turn to do the same? I lifted my binder to take out more sheets, my impairment immediately making me drop everything onto the floor. Oh, joy. I sighed as I got down to retrieve everything up from the ground. 

Another thing thrown at me. I get a notification from my laptop. Another email from the same account posing as my brother. It also didn't feel great that a ghost was trying to mess with me.

I reported the email as spam.

Another notification appeared above it. I wanted to yell. Out of muscle memory I was about to delete it if it was them again, or an address I didn't recognize, not a student, staff, Y/N, or anyone I knew personally - until I read the subject.

NEW EXHIBIT OPENING AT THE BRITISH MUSEUM

I let out a sigh of relief. 

No, I tell myself, packing up to head for the next lecture I would be teaching. That isn't right. There's no one that I have had an eye on before I even knew Y/N. I couldn't even go back to Isaac if I tried. He's moved on with his career, and he's residing God knows where. 

Y/N has it all, and I'm here to suffer.

But I knew what this meant for me. It didn't feel so great. It didn't feel great that Y/N was with someone else.

──────── ✧ ────────

[imaginesbymk]

MARSTON. ━︎━︎ ZSAKUVA STRICT PROFESSOR SERIES !

originally from wattpad

[ZSakuVA] ''The forbiddenness of a fruit makes even the taste of a lemon sweet.''

*ೃ༄ 18+ mature!

*ೃ༄ Professor Andrew Marston has left a lasting impact on numerous students, instilling in them a deep appreciation for literature and history. While he strives for perfection in his role as an educator, he harbors undisclosed secrets that he intends to keep hidden throughout his teaching career and life. However, when he encounters a remarkable student who stands out for their intelligence and boldness, Professor Marston finds himself challenged to break through their barriers. As they engage in a transformative journey of self-awareness and exploration, the professor may even discover valuable lessons from this student and perhaps even consider asking them out on a date.

CAST

nabiyuii's art on twitter as ANDREW MARSTON

YOURSELF as Y/N aka Darling

JACK O'CONNELL as JAMES ZYLOS

ALEXA DEMIE as BRITTANY

FIONN WHITEHEAD as COLIN JADEN "C.J"

ELEANOR MATSUURA as DEAN CLAIRE

CHAPTERS

prologue.

chapter one - "four eyes."

chapter two - "chewing gum."

chapter three - "boo!"

chapter four - "with love, y/n."

chapter five - "the letters of abelard and heloise."

chapter six - "for a positive experience."

chapter seven - "the forbidden-ness of a fruit."

chapter eight - "office hours."

chapter nine - "professor green-eyed monster."

chapter ten - "new friend."

chapter eleven - "what do you really want?"

FILLER CHAPTER - "ICEBREAKERS."

chapter twelve - "the british museum."

chapter thirteen - "milk, sugar + luca."

chapter fourteen - "feast." [upcoming]

♫ soundtrack

DISCLAIMER

'MARSTON' is a work of fiction. Fanfiction, if I may.

It has the well-known intimate Professor x Student trope, but let me clarify that it is altered differently and focuses on a much different approach of a college/university student, as well as the professor's one-dimensional point of view and how he himself has his own problems to solve other than an infatuation for a student.

Tags: swearing, implied NSFW, drinking, drugs/addiction, mental health, family estrangement + Andrew's heartbreaking and traumatizing childhood

—this story is Euphoria themed. STRICTLY 18+, so if you're a minor BYEEEEEEEEE. PLEASE DO NOT PLAGIARIZE/REPOST OR BIND MY FIC I WILL LITERALLY RUIN YOU OK BYE <3

[imaginesbymk]

MARSTON. ━︎━︎ ZSAKUVA STRICT PROFESSOR !

chapter twelve - ❝the british museum.❞

← previous chapter: FILLER CHAPTER - "ICEBREAKERS." next chapter: chapter thirteen - "milk, sugar + luca." →

fanfic info / read it on wattpad

SYNOPSIS — Y/N and Andrew take a stroll around the British museum while students from the campus find them... and capture it all on video.

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Y / N

"WHO GOES to a museum on a first date?" Brittany snorts.

"Lots of people," I glare at her through the mirror.

"Well, lots of people don't know fun."

I sigh at her. "Where did you go on your first date?"

"Bowling."

"Ah, yes. First date doing something you're not even good at."

Brittany glares back.

"Brittany, swear on your life that you won't go around telling people that I'm-"

"Going on a date with your Literature professor?" Brittany finishes. "I gotta admit, you have a taste."

Brittany opens the door for me. "Don't fuck on the first date."

My rule of thumb, when it came to dates, is to not do what Brittany did on her past dates. The worst case scenario is that I would tentatively listen and go somewhere extremely expensive, or let my guard down for half a millisecond and suddenly I get kidnapped. I doubt Andrew would ever try anything like that. That's out of his character unless there's a secret he's carrying to his grave.

──────── ✧ ────────

MY NERVES were at their peak. Reality soon hit me when the museum was in my peripheral when I went to the next street over. I was going to be spending a day with him. I've only spent limited time with him during office hours, but I don't know what Professor Marston is like outside of the university. He's strict, and I doubt the things I talk about with people like Brittany are appropriate for a first date, or just to say around this man in general. What if I say something that offends him? Does he have a type? Would he judge me? Is he politically active and biased? Old-fashioned, Conservative? I don't think he knows what a "vibe check" even means. What did he like to do in his spare time? Read or write? Listen to podcasts? Watch true crime documentaries? What music does he listen to in his car, if dark chocolate is still his favourite candy?

He was in the crowd of people scattering around the giant staircase, some taking photos, loitering or sitting, or lining up to head inside. I got a full look at what he wore. It wasn't the business casual attire he wore as a professor. A coat over his dress pants and the wool sweater would have fooled anyone to assume he wasn't an educator, maybe an art critic.

He looked up from his phone. "Ah, right on time. How was your journey?"

"Good," I say. "The tube wasn't too busy."

"Good." He stared at my outfit for a split second, feeling like he lost touch with his confidence. "I like your outfit today-uh- shall we?" I smiled a bit. Brittany picked out my outfit. We walked up the stairs. "Have you been to this museum before?"

"Nope," I tell him. "It's my first time here."

"Well, you're in for a treat. They hold some great exhibits, and their displays are fantastic. I know I'm first and foremost a Literature professor, but I do teach history as well."

That I was aware of. "What's your favourite era?"

"My favourite era? Hmm, that's like asking my favourite book. All histories have their moments, both highlights and stains of their past, and all of them are intricate and they weave with others until you can't tell where one thread ends or another begins. Take, er-" We both stop at one piece. "The Rosetta Stone, for example. It was made more than 2000 years ago with an inscription of a Ptolemaic decree written in three scripts: Egyptian hieroglyphs, Egyptian demotic, and Ancient Greek."

I nod.

"Translating the Greek text was paramount in decoding the Egyptian scripts. One culture's language unlocks another two thousand years later. It's history that has survived but can now also be understood."

I nodded in response, carefully boiling down how interesting history really was, and how much it fascinates this guy. Just by going to see the exhibits up close in person, I wouldn't blame him. "Sick."

"I don't know what it is about history that intrigues me. It might be that everything that has been is history. These displays are here for us to appreciate where they came from and to learn from people who existed a long time ago. But, it also tells us that as a people, we will forever need guidance. We will make mistakes and in the future, people will look back on our past and be informed by it. It's a never-ending cycle that we will one day be a part of. That is life. And when it comes to literature, it's how we understand. Word of mouth was used long before and stories were passed down through generations, but each time a story was told it would change slightly. Give it a few hundred years and the story might no longer be the same. With orthography scripts, a story can be set in stone, so to speak. Many people take that for granted, I think. How many years of history would be lost without the writers to give it a physical form?"

He looked at me, then looks away as his cheeks turn red. "Forgive me. I can ramble at times

"I think it's cute." I could listen to him ramble all day.

I could feel the embarrassment in his scoff. "There's nothing cute about it. I'd prefer to call it passion, that's why you also chose the course, was it not? What are your plans after you graduate?"

Come to think of it, where would I be in the next five-ten years? Owning a house with Brittany? "Actually... I have no idea."

"Don't feel ashamed by your uncertainty. I'd be surprised if you had a clear goal. Literature opens a lot of doors into different fields. Curation, translation, historian, journalism, editor, and those are just the ones off the top of my head."

"Did you always want to teach Literature and History?"

"Me? I knew I wanted to learn it but I never thought I'd teach it. Being a Professor wasn't on the agenda. Believe it or not, I wanted to revive one of the dead languages. There are almost 600 that are extinct, possibly more that we don't know of. But when I was younger, I was ambitious. I guess in a way, you could say I wanted to be a literary archaeologist. I had planned to learn as many ancient languages as I could, but I took another path. I'd probably be off in some hot location digging through scrolls if I'd chased my dream. Come, I want to show you the new exhibit."

He continues.

"Yes, it seems like it is human nature to document history somehow. Whether that be through pictures or a writing system, but then what happens when you speculate the use of pictographs and ideograms, in a way it is a type of literature, isn't it? Reservation of history that can be read. I'm not surprised by how popular this will be. It's a limited showing."

I asked Andrew if he had already seen it. He said no. "I was, um, waiting for you." We stopped at one that seemed to stand out the most to Andrew's eye. "Ugh, my word." He gasps in awe. "The Dead Sea scrolls. Beautiful, isn't it?"

This was what I loved so much about London. They brought history into a giant building to look at for free. Not even handling priceless artifacts with special gloves is enough to deem them fragile and far too good to even make contact.

Speaking of contact, I realized I was so close to Andrew that the fabrics of our coats were touching. I took in his scent - something I could describe in tablets of literary work, a sonnet declaring divinity and cleanliness. Was it Dior? It had to be.

Andrew noticed I didn't respond and chuckled. "Speechless? This is only one of the scrolls. I think there are more than nine hundred manuscripts of either scrolls or fragments, all of which were found in eleven caves in the Judaean desert. In one of them, it said the fragments were torn into fifteen thousand pieces. Here, come closer—"

Fuck. Our coats were pressed against each other again. We've been intimate before, and here I am acting like this was the first time feeling him so close to me.

"So, this larger scroll here is written on parchment. These smaller fragments here are made of papyrus, but this one here is copper. It's a strip because when the scroll was initially found, the metal was corroded. So in order for the text to be read, it needed to be cut into sections. It's quite something isn't it?" He looked at me, his eyes that I thought of the minute I drifted off to sleep the other night.

"Why are you giving me that look?" I frown.

"I'm not looking at you in any kind of way. I said, didn't I? I wanted to experience this with you. I know that you are someone who can appreciate literature as I do."

I knew from hindsight that anyone after seeing how good-looking Andrew was would do the most to do well in Literature 201, just to get his attention and have a connection while he grades papers. The possibility that someone who was just as smart and passionate about literature as I am, or even better, would compare.

Not that it mattered too much. After all, I'm the one standing next to him at the British Museum on a Saturday afternoon. It's a plus for having something in common with Andrew. I could listen to him go on tangents even if an asteroid breached through London. 

He continues, leaning forward to me so he spoke softly and tentatively. "If there's one thing that I know about you is that you have no trouble speaking your mind, and I can see in your eyes when you're passionate about something, that spark is one of the reasons why I became a professor. But when you have it, I'm entranced."

I looked around sheepishly, knowing he spoke in a normal tone that anyone a couple of feet over could hear.

"I can speak freely here right now. I don't want you to think of me as a teacher. I'm not thinking of you as a student but as a potential partner, who I can share my interests and thoughts with. Should we get something to eat?" He looks around. "We shouldn't have this conversation by The Dead Sea Scrolls."

──────── ✧ ────────

"I SWEAR they put crack in this."

Andrew smiles, unwrapping the tin oil of his food. "Museum food is always expensive but I can't complain. Being able to see the displays for free is good enough."

"So, why did you invite me to go with you?"

He stopped folding. "Why you? That's a loaded question. On the surface you're attractive, that's a given."

"That's it? I don't look like a bombshell?" I joke.

Andrew chuckles. "Looks aren't everything, but they get my attention. What makes me linger is what's beneath the surface. You're inquisitive, smart, and cunning but mindful. You're not afraid to ask questions or go after what you want. Beyond that, I believe you to be a remarkable person that I have grown to like, more than I'd care to admit."

"As your best student." In my opinion.

"I said I'm not thinking of you as a student here. I'm not bound by my profession."

"Okay, then I have to ask you something."

He nods, swallowing the last bite. "Ask away, I'll answer truthfully as your date."

"The museum is a very popular place. It's public. You're not worried that students from campus might see us?"

"I never want to think too deeply about locations. It's the events that we remember more than the setting. But with a museum, it's a public space with history and culture. It's possible that other students will see us, but what of it? It could be a coincidence that we came here at the same time and decided to explore together. So to put it plainly, I wanted to take you to a place where we didn't have to act or look over our shoulders. I wanted you to feel comfortable."

I smiled. "I appreciate that."

"I'm glad I chose correctly then."

"How about first dinner dates?"

"No, I feel like dinner is too much. This is hopefully the first of many dates and I don't want to overwhelm you. Did you think I'd be the type to do my own thing and pull you along without telling you anything? As much as spontaneity is good to have, it's better when there is a relationship first."

"And you... want a relationship?"

"Yes, that is what I want. Don't you?"

I nodded.

"Well if you'd said no I'd be questioning all your actions up until now."

We spoke a little more until it was time to move on to the next displays. Brittany was wrong. Museums count as a good date location. We were polar opposites in some ways. We stopped at the entrance of a room we had never been to yet.

"I have to bring up the incident that happened a while ago - with your friend," Andrew tells me.

I nodded. "[STUDENT NAME]?" The loose end that I had to stop pursuing anything with [STUDENT NAME] was tied, the eighth time I had to tell them I was sorry instead of ghosting them entirely, they didn't fade the disappointed look on their face. I'm gonna miss laughing about the Jollibee lunch we had, but it's worth ending it if I want Andrew.

"No, not them. That girl. The both of you broke into my office that night, remember?"

He was talking about Brittany. "Brittany? What about Brittany?"

"Brittany, that's her name." Andrew shook his head a bit. "Was she really under the influence of cannabis that night?"

"Yes."

"You too?"

"No."

"Have you searched through my laptop?"

I could not answer his question by asking why. It was his right. I invaded his privacy and disrespected him by sneaking into his office, not to mention pursuing him through an assignment. He was not wrong when he said I was bold and cunning.

"No," I lied.

"Are you sure?"

I held on with a pause not too long so he wouldn't notice. "I mean, I caught a glimpse of the screen."

I lied again. Being here on a date with him that I accepted just to tell a lie. "I promise I didn't touch it. I remember you telling me about boundaries between you and the other students... I'm not using you as a shorter route to graduate, you know. I already do well in your class."

"I know," he nods. "It's just that I had some personal stuff on there." If I gave in, I'd been meaning to ask him about that spam e-mail that my curiosity could not get enough of. I haven't forgotten that he had a brother.

"Don't worry. I was in your office for, like, a split second. If it was [STUDENT NAME], they would have pressured me to boost their grade or to take a photo of the upcoming assignments."

"For a head start?"

"Something like that."

Andrew and I kept walking. "I'm glad to know you no longer flirt with that friend. Besides, they seem to have moved on to someone else, so no harm was done. It was a calculated move on your part and it worked. Though, I'm ashamed to have fallen for it."

I grin. "Why?"

"Because I didn't realize how much I wanted you until I saw you with someone else." He noticed me raising my brows. "There's no one else I like, you don't need to worry. I only have eyes for you."

I laugh. "Cliche."

"I could say something much worse, like, you being the most interesting piece of art in this museum, or some such. But I won't stoop that low. I have standards. I'm glad I can be entertaining."

We resumed our stroll. I asked him about archaeology and he went on another tangent. He stops himself again before he began to sound like I was in Archaeology 301.

"I don't want to sound like I'm giving a lecture, so I'll leave it there. What have you liked so far?"

"Probably the ancient Egyptian exhibit."

He hums. "It's hard not to be fascinated by ancient Egyptian artifacts. I'd like to go to Egypt one day and see the hieroglyphs in the tombs. They're pictures, yes, but within them are stories. There's a certain quote I always refer to; 'History becomes legend. Legend becomes myth.' And in those dead languages, the tales of the past have been forgotten, but all the present needs is a translator. Maybe one day I'll pursue that dream again."

Again? "Wait, you'll still be a professor, right? Will you continue teaching?"

"Of course, I'll continue to teach you, but you're not the only reason. There are other students in your class, you know." He noticed the look on my face. I already felt a sense of impending abandonment coming my way. He sighs, leading me to the corner of the room, away from the group of goers. "Come here."

He looks around for a couple of seconds, then turns back to me. "At university, we can't be like this. We have to maintain an appropriate distance." I closed my eyes. I knew he was going to bring this up. Brittany hinted at this, too. Only I knew of it. What could happen if this didn't work out? If we ended up hating each other and I'd still have to attend lectures and tutorials?

"Before, I didn't allow myself to hope for something else. I took what I could because I couldn't control my desire for you, but now... now there's potential. I don't want to risk losing it. So if you truly want us to be in a relationship, then I need you to behave, not just in your classes, but in your assignments as well. Can you do that for me?"

"It's not a rule, Andrew," I said softly.

"You're right, there isn't a rule about professors dating students. I personally talked to the Headmaster, and she said the same thing. Though she also told me to tread carefully because it can be scandalous, and I'd prefer seeing you as a student in class and a... lover outside of it." There was no turning back now. I wanted Andrew and here he was, wanting me. But it came with a catch. We would get caught. Hearing Andrew refer to me as someone other than a student to him felt like I had struck gold. Would this last? 

We kiss again. For a moment the museum felt like a void, and we were clinging to each other before anything could pull us apart. If I did behave, if I knew better than to sabotage the prefix of our relationship thus far, I could kiss Andrew like this. Nothing could sabotage this, what we have.

"Will you do this for me?" 

I nodded. He smiles and plants a kiss on my forehead. "Thank you. Shall we continue?" 

I nodded again, and we continued walking down the museum floors. "What's the oldest piece of literature?"

"The oldest piece of literature?" He asks. "Good question. I know one of them is the Epic of Gilgamesh written in Sumerian that pre-dates 2000 BC, and then there's also the Egyptian Book of the Dead, but those are existing sources that have been recovered. Think of probably thousands upon thousands of texts lost or destroyed like in the library of Alexandria, even in perhaps in libraries we didn't know exist yet."

Again, I could listen to him ramble all day.

──────── ✧ ────────

I WAS SATISFIED. We earned a delicious meal that was filling enough, and we took breaks from walking around the museum. We sat on the benches that were accessible to sit. If I could stop time and be with Andrew for a little bit longer, I'd do it. But it was reality, and reality had a time check. 

"It's 17:00." Andrew and I went and stood over the grand stairs that descended to the ground floor. We stopped, a moment that meant a lot to me and hopefully to him. After going on and feeling confident that nothing was going to happen if we were seen together, Andrew was reluctant to even hold my hand. I could sense the nervousness when our hands slightly brushed each other. He finally curls his fingers around mine.

"5:00 P.M," I comment.  Andrew was tense. "Gosh, your hand is sweaty."

"Mm?" He stammers. "O-oh, the heater in this area is heavy."

"Right. I'll see you next week?" I held my arms out and leaned in. Andrew froze, like an alien that did not know what a hug was.

"Sorry," I said, lowering them. "Too soon."

"It saddens me that I haven't given in to physical touch other than kissing you and holding your hand." Ironically, he had let go of it. We stared at each other for a bit. He clears his throat. "Right. I'll see you in class next week." I stopped him before he and I went the opposite way. He was at least 5'11'' and possibly counting, so I lifted myself on my toes to kiss him on the cheek. Then I let him go. 

The walking distance from The British Museum to the tube reached about as far as thirty meters. Departing from my first date with Andrew by walking it off led to a lot of reflecting. That wasn't too much. It was a small cheek kiss and I made his face flush again. To see that from the same person I feel nervous about when he grades my assignments felt empowering. It's empowering to know I made him feel what I feel.

──────── ✧ ────────

[imaginesbymk]

MARSTON. ━︎━︎ ZSAKUVA STRICT PROFESSOR !

chapter five - ❝the letters of abelard and héloïse.❞

← previous chapter: chapter four - "with love, y/n." next chapter: chapter six - "for a positive experience." →

fanfic info / read it on wattpad

SYNOPSIS / Before the Christmas holidays, a student confesses their feelings to Andrew in their recent assignment.

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A N D R E W

ABOUT ten to thirteen students dropped the class. I would for sure see about a quarter of the next semester because it's a must-take course for the program in order to get a credit. But if they had a change of mind, I would not be seeing them almost ever again.

It's unfortunate to see them go, and I would love to live in a world where literature was everyone's passion, but to each their own. Fewer assignments to mark, perhaps?

Speaking of, I sit alone in the lecture hall on Fridays, grading essay after essay. I'm one of those professors that don't leave for home until around eight o'clock on Fridays, some days I leave a little earlier. My goal is to grade a quarter of the essays by 5:00 PM. By then, I'll drive home and enjoy my free time. Then, I would be grading at least three before bedtime. 

Sighing in defeat and disappointment, I wrote 58% at the bottom of the last page, written by yet another one of my students. The class average ranges in 80%, though there are floaters of students on the brink of failing, and this student is about to become one of them with another assignment to lower their grade even more. It's understandable that there are, and why there are, many reasons why students struggle in their classes, but that's what makes it concerning.

My watch read 4:34 PM, the pile of graded essays was just a compilation of seven assignments, which to me, has got to be some kind of record - or miracle. 

I call it a day. I began gathering stationery and placing them in my bag. I tossed my third coffee in the bin and then made my way to the essays. 

Then I don't. If I sat down and squeezed in another good twenty minutes, the next essay I would pull out from the pile would be Y/N's, with an estimate of five pages.

Although I had to check, it was very unlikely Y/N dropped the course. And not to my surprise when I checked the table, they haven't. There was no way, I saw them on their way out and smiled at me before leaving. 

It was tempting. I would dive into the first paragraph of their piece and finish it with unexpected astonishment, with little to no annotations, and a high grade. Y/N is just as dedicated to the outstanding beauties, mysteries and even histories of literature as I am, and they always prove it in their gifted and exceptionally crafted essays. It leaves me wanting more. 

I checked the time. 4:35 PM. I grabbed the rubric and a blue pen.

Y/N wrote about The Letters of Abelard and Héloïse. Their work never ceases to have me disinterested. I sat back down, intrigued by the piece that's not mentioned often in the curriculum, therefore I read her body paragraph like a mystery novel. 

In a way, I am glad I'm getting to read this now. It felt relieving to see a light at the end of the tunnel from the essays that acquired more effort and research... and a less obvious bare minimum of trying to fit the word count... maybe even less slang. 

But then I quickly averted my eyes back to where I trailed off - that I unwittingly read past without even taking it in for the first time. My heart fell to the pits of my stomach as I read the sentence in the second body paragraph that stood out the most. Then I read it a second time, then the third... 

The sentence was right there, like a stain in such articulate writing, it just felt like a slap in the face. Submitting this and taking off for the Christmas holidays was a slap in the face. 

I am not an idiot. I'm fully aware that Y/N stares at me more often, but when I look in their way, they're quick enough to look back down. I can't pinpoint what it is about them that makes them so special, what's made me linger. Do they remind me of myself? Was it the new outfit they wore? 

This wasn't the first time I noticed something about them. I had a feeling they found me attractive, but that was also most of the other students who know of me and have seen me walk around campus. I learned to brush it off, and none of them actually did anything this risky. At least until now.

I slumped back in my seat and sank deep into my thoughts until the white noise in the lecture halls cancelled out in a faded void of muteness. God. Not again. Not this. There's no way I am showing this to anyone, or even the Dean.

"Working hard or hardly working?" 

My near-heart attack ensued as I jump up in my chair, accidentally bumping my knee up the desk. "JESUS! Bloody hell!"

"Whatcha diggin' your nose in, Andy? Fan mail?"

The Maths professor. When did he get inside without me hearing? I quickly gathered all thirty-seven compiled essays, sandwiching Y/N's under the bottom clumsily concealing them with the Manila folder sandwiched on top. "Newsletter... about... Arsenal."

"Arsenal? You look too stern to be a soccer fan," he chuckles. "Or football, that's what British people would call it."

"Yes, football." I massaged my knee. "I thought you left. It's the last week of Term 1."

He shook his head. "I stay back a little later until I pick up my wife from her job at 5. I save myself and the gas money from making two trips." He nods at my desk. "You grading assignments?"

"I was," I deadpanned, tapping on the wooden surface with my pen. "I don't mean to come off as passive-aggressive, but next time you make your presence known, knock next time."

The professor winces and puts his hands up in surrender. "Just wanted to wish you a good weekend. My bad, your Honour."

Sighing, I laced my fingers around the folder. "Thank you for understanding. I hope I didn't throw you off guard as you did me."

"Oh nonsense," he waves his hand. "It's all good on my end. Therapy is tomorrow. Dare I say, you're only passive-aggressive to some extent," he slaps me on the back a little too roughly. "Happy Fri-yay, Andy!"

And you. I don't open the essay until I saw and heard him exit the hall. I flipped to the second page, reading the sentence, wondering if I should do it, if I actually report this to someone, or confront Y/N first?

It was irrational, but I'm hoping it was the Maths professor sending me a forged essay to prank me, and that it wasn't actually Y/N, who I could never imagine going into this much risk of being expelled and exposed to in confessing their feelings to their professor in their essay. But this was my mind on fight-or-flight mode, five pages of taunt while it laid perfectly flat on my desk.

What if I gave in, for a bright student like them? Who would find out?

'In the given examples, the boundaries of this relationship acts as a tether between teacher and student but when compared to a setting of higher education, the tension is more tantalizing, particularly when I consider my attraction for my Literature professor.'

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[imaginesbymk]

MARSTON. ━︎━︎ ZSAKUVA STRICT PROFESSOR !

chapter thirteen - ❝milk, sugar + luca.❞

← previous chapter: chapter twelve - "the british museum." next chapter: chapter fourteen - "feast." →

fanfic info / read it on wattpad

SYNOPSIS / Andrew is adjusting his time as a full-time professor (and a part-time boyfriend) and is given an assistant for the extra load after Jeremy's departure. 

BONUS / Sakuverse character cameo (bunny boy)

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A N D R E W

I STOOD STILL, my mind processing the words I never thought would leave Jeremy's mouth, for all the hard work he put in to maintain his spot here at the university. I must be sleeping through my alarm right now.

"Leaving? What do you mean leaving?"

Jeremy's response did little to diffuse my confusion. "Not the university entirely," he clarified. "I'm just transferring to another campus nearby. It's a leap, no doubt, but my expertise aligns with the opportunity to head there. Andrew, you're spilling Splenda on your shoes."

I looked down and saw the contents on the tiles.

"Do you really have to go?" I hear Angela ask. 

"It's an easier commute for not just myself, but my wife is on maternity leave and the job actually pays more. I would arrive home at least half an hour sooner than an hour and a half." Jeremy smiles proudly, pulling his phone out from his pants pocket. "Have I shown you all the ultrasound photos yet?"

His words hung in the air, leaving the literature professors in awe. This sudden revelation felt like a jolt to my system, disrupting the familiar rhythm of our shared academic pursuits. I couldn't help but wonder if this would happen to me one day - transferring or even resigning. Retiring, if I ever make it to the era where I grow old and wrinkly and can be qualified for senior discounts? Or earlier in my life where I live long enough to make it to see the Great Pyramids in person?

Jean-Marc's voice interjected. "C'est de la folie, Jeremy! Have you lost your mind?"

"I'm just around the corner," he reassures. "Who knows, I may come back to add a BBC news article for the students to cite."

Brushing the sweetener off my shoes, I couldn't help but express my concern. "You're leaving Chris to handle everything on his own," I pointed out, looking over at Chris who was snacking on a bowl of fruit.

Jeremy nodded, his tone confident. "Now that you've mentioned him, Chris will be taking on the workload in the literature department. I've already begun preparing him, and setting up assignments and modules for him to oversee. He'll have a head start, and you, along with your new assistant, passed down from myself, will manage the rest of the year."

I stopped sliding away the sweetener. "My what?"

Angela unlocks the passcode of her phone. "Look, my husband did the same thing in editing before we met. He never ended up liking it so it was a waste of his time and meanwhile, his colleagues were just drowning in extra workload. I hope you reconsider this. One man down could change up the whole game."

"Speaking of one man down, Professor Fadden is at life-or-death with his job. Is it true that he's self-medicating?" Jean-Marc sat down at one of the tables, peeling a Granny Smith apple.

"Allegedly, maybe it's just that he's simply a weirdo since the jump. But people have been speculating about it for months." 

I've been quiet for a minute now. No comment. It's unfortunate, but not right to gossip about allegations. I've learned firsthand how damaging rumours can be, and how they can tarnish a person's reputation and shatter their sense of self. I've been through that storm once before, and I'll give anything to avoid it a second time.

Once I track down James Zylos and hold him fully accountable for the review, I can say that my life is calm. I have my teaching job. I have Y/N. I have an outstanding tea collection. I have a roof over my head. I've worked hard to rebuild my image, or at least cover the past of it. I refuse to let anyone or anything make me vulnerable in that way again. The shadows of the past haunt me, reminding me of the pain and the isolation it brought.

The pressure of all that can suffocate like a true crime. It's a lonely journey, one I wouldn't wish upon anyone. Perhaps it was true, given I've seen his behaviour and his physical state through his eyes, paranoid and fidgeting, but as annoying as he can get, why would I care about Professor Fadden and what he's up to?

A more important question is why the Literature department would care about a Math professor. Who told them about him self-medicating, regardless if it was true or not? Maybe someone confused an ibuprofen bottle. 

I grabbed the sweeper and dustpan and finished cleaning the Splenda off the floor, and they were still talking about it, like we were huddled in a high school hallway, exchanging each other gossip like teenagers. I felt uneasy at the thought of them reading those reviews about me, the thought of anything happening to me and them talking about it like what they were doing right now.

If all a friend can do is constantly gossip to you about another friend and nothing else meaningful, chances are they may do the same thing about you. 

And just like straight out of a movie, the next professor to walk into the lounge room was no other than himself. I remember Jean-Marc warned Angela to not let him in the lounge anymore, and the last time he was here, he was frantically stuffing anything he could grab in his pockets like he was raiding us blind. He never compensated our lounge kitchen with new packs of milk and sugar.

I sat there, my heart pounding in my chest for this man I found obnoxious, someone who does not understand time and place in social cues, as Professor Fadden entered the lounge room. The atmosphere instantly became tense, the silence hanging heavy in the air. It was as if the room itself held its breath. Did he hear them? Could he know that they were just talking about him through the door?

"We got a full house, eh?" Professor Fadden's voice cut through the awkward silence, his eyes scanning the room, catching the gaze of each person present. His words were casual, but there was a hint of apprehension in his tone.

I watched as the Math professor made his way toward the kettle, attempting to engage in some small talk. "I did quite the cardio just to get hot water. Even the kettle back at the applied sciences department is broken."

"Doesn't make it okay to just use ours," His tone seemed valid, but Jeremy's words were laced with rudeness. The response was nothing short of polite. I would have expected Angela to say something as such, but Jeremy, who was like a mentor to all of us here, fostering us with balance and leadership in the department, is now ready to depart from our group, not without a passive-aggressive comment to leave behind on some poor guy. I was disappointed.

I grimaced at their behaviour. Professor Fadden, however, appeared unfazed by their remarks. He simply shrugged off their rudeness and offered a polite smile as he prepared to leave. "A bientôt!" he said to Jean-Marc. He shuts the door on the way out.

──────── ✧ ────────

A DAY PASSES. In the early hours of this Tuesday morning, I can feel the university grow stronger and I can tell because more of the students have lined up for coffee. I noticed the flight services students in their uniforms rendered the lunch line from 14:00. The female students paced a bit in their spots but all they seemed to grow concerned about was not the pain of blisters developing on the back of their heels but of the sushi bento boxes running out so fast at the hub. People kept grabbing them because it was a couple of pounds less on Tuesdays. 

But today on this Tuesday I packed my lunch from home. Perhaps I didn't need the kettle and the organizer that kept the milk, cream or sugar packs that Professor Fadden took with him. My thermos kept my Earl Grey warm and I prepped a balanced meal. 

After finishing my meal I resumed my work and used my office hours to aid some of my students, including this one who had a complaint. 

"I know I'm two lessons behind but I have no reason to come here if this could have easily been an email," they sigh, waiting to be dismissed.

"Three," I correct them. "Three lectures behind."

"You give a lot of tentative instructions in long emails and I read them just fine."

"What? As if we've been conducting a whole thread of emails this past week? I understand, Penelope. I do. But I much rather we have this face-to-face. For a more professional atmosphere of the office would be a good change of pace for you, and for me."

"For the last time, I did not use my past assignments for this one."

"Then why am I able to cross-reference this paragraph word-for-word, then?" 

She kept protesting. I kept scolding and reasoning. No one was winning here.

After back and forth and it leading to nowhere, I had no choice but to give her the same lecture I did with Colin Jaden, or C.J... you are responsible for your tuition money. Regardless of student aid or the money coming out of yours or your parents' pockets, you do the work. No substances. No outside sources. No past assignments. 

She sighs and walks out the door right when office hours were done. She slams it and I nearly jump. Careless, disrespectful students I have this semester... and that worries me. 

If I really was some wicked thing that people claim I was on RateMyProfessors, I would have dropped their grade by 10% for just slamming my door like that. No one slams��my door.

I hear another knock minutes after. "Come in."

A different student walks in with his bookbag. And he looked dressed. 

"Sorry. Office hours have concluded."

He spoke apologetically. "O-oh! I'm not a student. I actually graduated. I'm here for the new job? I'm the assistant Jeremy and Chris referred."

Right, the assistant. "Apologies. I'm Professor Andrew Marston."

"I know! I heard great things about you," Luca smiles shyly. "My name is Luca Pearce."

We shook hands. His grip is light and a bit sweaty. "Nice to meet you, Luca. I'm assuming you went through the interview process already? Any sort of job shadowing?"

Luca nods. "Yes." As soon as he realized I'm waiting to hear his credentials, he quickly continues. "I graduated from University majoring in psychology. Afterwards, as you probably know, I became TA for Jeremy before his departure."

"That's excellent." It never really occurred to me that I have never seen Luca before until now. Jeremy only spoke of his assistant a couple times without even mentioning his name. Maybe he has and I never had it to remember.

"Thank you," he smiles. 

"So just making sure, you are good with computers?"

"Yes, Professor."

"I'm talking MS Word, MS PowerPoint, Excel... then there's the University's learning management system Moodle, Outlook for the emails, do you have a keycard or a set of keys to the Literature department-"

"Yes. Again, I did graduate with a degree in psychology and been Jeremy's TA. Yes to all of it," Luca chuckles nervously. I could tell I may be coming off as too stern, as what so many people say of me. He hasn't even sat down yet. "Don't worry, Professor Marston. I'll be your shadow."

"Perfect. So, for now, I'm gonna need some help with some poetry analysis, I'd like you to cross-reference the citations using the plagiarism prevention tool..."

"Turnitin, yes. Good ol' Turnitin," Luca said brightly.

"Yes and I need help with my schedules. Especially handling the Excel tables containing my students and the scheduled timestamps for their tutorials." I motion him to come over so I can hand him the cut of my workload. "You got winter boots to break into, Luca. We're gearing up towards this new semester and I'm counting on it. Not to scare you, of course."

"I understand both parties. It's stressful for students to juggle assignments but I never imagined how stressed professors must be as well until I learned it firsthand from Jeremy."

"As long as you can work under pressure. But it's good to step back and breathe. Stress and fear of failing is common and part of the human condition. I'm glad I've found ways to work around it."

"You know what they say?" Luca chuckles. "You're married to your work?"

I could only think of the book I was reading the other night, the two-hundredth page bookmarked in The Melancholy of Resistance. "Perhaps."

"Great. W-where should I..."

"Oh, you can take a seat right there. Oh, watch your step—"

Luca Pearce knocks over the trash bin.

"Sorry. That's my fault. That's a really random place to put a trash bin..."

"No no! It was my fault, really! I—I'll pick it up—" He scrambled to gather the scattered paper, nearly knocking over a chair in the process.

I stared and watched, quite amused.

He got back up and gives me an awkward thumbs-up. I returned my focus to my desk when things seemed to calm a bit, but the moment I glanced up again, Luca drops his pen.

"Jesus—" He sighed, crouching to pick it up, his bottom pushing against the items set on his new desk.

"Careful, your laptop!"

Luca cries as he catches his laptop from falling over the edge. He pants. We both exhaled the breaths we held together.

"This sounds extremely rude, but are you in accommodated with imbalance dysfunction, some kind of neurological decline, or is this just... how you are?" I ask.

"Ahah, no, no inner ear issues. Just, um... breaking in the workspace," Luca laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.

At this rate, this young man might break the workspace. Nerves. I get it. I mentally noted this young man's impression thus far as he scrambled to pick up the dropped stationary supplies... adjusting his office chair. Skittish, nervous, clumsy. If he were to work with me from now on, this is what I would have to adjust to.

He finally settled into the chair, exhaling as if he had just had a mental breakdown and came back from sobbing and cursing at his own reflection in the mirror. "Okay! Ready to work."

I walked over and handed him a stack of papers, setting my thermos down for just a second, possibly modelling how poised and careful I handle the important stuff: my students' work. Luca reached for them a little too eagerly, nearly knocking over my thermos of Earl Grey in the process. I snatched it just in time.

Luca froze, looking at me like a child who had nearly set the kitchen on fire. "I—"

I wonder how Jeremy thought of his former assistant. "No disasters on day one, Luca. You got this," I reassure him.

"Right. Of course. No disasters. Noted."

He took the papers more cautiously this time, gripping them as if they were made of glass. I sat back, shaking my head slightly. This was going to be a long semester.

"You'll be fine. It's not like I'm making you jump through hoops to be my assistant."

Luca let out a nervous laugh, placing clicking his pen. "That's okay. I would have knock those over, too."

He opens his laptop and he types in his password, and it led straight to an open tab of some game he was playing, volume at max. He jumps and punched the volume down key, the sounds of xylophone and cartoonish music and sound effects fading into the usual white noise of my office.

I almost buried my head in my hands.

"Sorry—"

"Right." I cut him off and gestured to his workspace. "Just—sit."

"I'm sat."

"Settle in, I mean. And try not to break anything. Please."

Luca followed the instruction. "Yes, Professor." He hesitated before adding, "Uh... your tea?"

I grab my thermos and raise it in salute, walking back to my post. "Oh, and we're out of milk and sugar." 

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[peppymintdreams]

Midnight Conversations

Andrew Marston x Darling

The rain tapped softly against the window of Andrew’s dimly lit apartment. The room was a cozy mess—a half-finished book on the coffee table, a mug of forgotten tea growing cold beside it, and Darling curled up on the couch with a blanket draped over their legs.

Andrew sat in the armchair across from them, his glasses perched on his nose as he pretended to read. But his eyes kept drifting to Darling, who was absentmindedly flipping through channels, never staying on one long enough for him to catch what was playing.

“You know,” Andrew began, his voice breaking the quiet, “you could just pick something. The world won’t end if you settle on a channel.”

Darling smirked, not looking away from the screen. “I’m browsing. It’s an art form.”

He snorted, setting his book aside. “An art form in patience, maybe. I think you’ve passed over the same cooking show three times now.”

“Maybe I’m testing you. Seeing if you’ll break first.”

Andrew leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his glasses slipping slightly down his nose. “Oh, I’m broken, Darling. Watching you cycle through options is agony.”

They finally turned to him, mock-offended. “Well, excuse me for trying to find something we’ll both enjoy.”

“Let’s be honest,” he said, his tone teasing, “you’re just going to fall asleep halfway through, and I’ll be stuck finishing whatever monstrosity you pick.”

Darling stuck out their tongue, then tossed the remote in his direction. “Fine. Your turn, genius.”

Andrew caught the remote effortlessly, leaning back into his chair with an air of triumph. He flipped through a few channels, stopping on an old black-and-white movie. “There. Something with class.”

“Boring,” they quipped, but they didn’t change the channel. Instead, they adjusted the blanket around them and sank deeper into the couch.

Minutes passed in comfortable silence, the movie’s soft dialogue filling the space. Darling glanced at Andrew, who seemed genuinely engrossed, though his fingers absently tapped the armrest in thought.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” they asked softly.

He turned to them, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, with a small, lopsided smile, he said, “I’m thinking about how nice this is.”

Darling tilted their head. “What, the movie?”

“No,” he murmured, his voice warm. “You. This. Just... having you here.”

Their chest tightened at the sincerity in his voice. He wasn’t one for grand declarations, but moments like this reminded them of just how deeply he felt.

“Good,” they replied, trying to keep their own voice steady. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Andrew’s smile widened, and for a moment, they just looked at each other, the movie forgotten. The rain continued to patter against the window, a quiet witness to their midnight conversation.

P.S. Hey… hey, you! 🫵🏾 Do you want more Sakuverse gay shit? Hit that follow button and send in a request! You’ll get notifications whenever I post new fics or incorrect quotes or head canons and maybe even a chance to have your OC featured in a story.

[peppymintdreams]

Luca: My partner is an absolute angel. So sweet, always bringing me chocolate and making sure I’m okay. What about yours?

Andrew: *sighs* Mine tried to set the toaster on fire because “it was taking too long.”

Luca: Oh...

Andrew: Yeah, but they also made me pancakes after. With heart shapes.

Luca: So... chaotic, but caring?

Andrew: nods Exactly.

[imaginesbymk]

MARSTON. ━︎━︎ ZSAKUVA STRICT PROFESSOR !

chapter eleven - ❝what do you really want?❞

← previous chapter: chapter ten - "new friend." next chapter: FILLER CHAPTER - "ICEBREAKERS." →

fanfic info / read it on wattpad

SYNOPSIS — Fed up of waiting, Andrew finally confronts Y/N about his feelings and where they stand. Y/N has to make a decision.

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A N D R E W

"IT'S A COMPLEX field of contradictions and paradoxes that you can exploit. The influence of poetry is never summarized by a few words. It seeps into its very foundation." To some students who are only there to pass, it seemed like absolutely nothing to them. But when I spoke into the lectern mic, there was a rush of passion through my teaching as I spoke about poetry.

"But, it also pulls from your own ideologies whether you're aware of this or not, and so poems are always subjective in writing just as they are in interpretation, and time can also change it because of shifts in the dominant, societal culture. Now when these contradictions occur, in theory, you need to understand the breadth of obvious persuasion versus rooted ideology."

That last sentence I gave was something I had learned in my younger years. I credit the poets who were so lovesick and miserable that they poured it onto paper. The amount of ink used for a person they could but couldn't have. It was something I never thought I could relate to until I met Isaac.

Literature club wasn't too popular at the time. When I walked in the first meeting, only ten students showed up. If it was varsity, there would be twice the amount. Out of everyone who seemed to get along with each other right off the bat, Isaac was the first man I saw- and he was the only person who spoke to me the most.

As far as I know, the university has clubs, just not a Literature club. The Dean commented that having Literature and English composition courses were enough that there would be no point of even starting one. If I were to open one, I'd be the first to run it, and I wouldn't be as strict to these students in extracurricular. I'd laugh more, show a different side of me that everyone doesn't see often. With Y/N, we could probably talk about Astrophel and Stella for hours. I'll never forget the last time we had a tutorial. Y/N passionately rambled on the reading list they came up with themselves, as if they were the ones giving the lecture.

But as usual, I was. "So, the next poem I would like you to analyze is If by Rudyard Kipling. It's already uploaded onto Moodle, so give it a read. I want you to write down your initial interpretation, and then ask a friend for their interpretation, and then bring the results next week to see if they differ and why." I looked at my watch, then closed the slides on the projector with the tablet. "Okay, that'll be all."

I stepped away from the lectern, gathering the extra files and booklets I had piling on the desk. From the corner of my eye, Y/N was already heading out. It's been a couple of weeks now since they and [STUDENT NAME] started hanging out. They sat beside each other again today, and I'm hoping some day I'd call them out to answer a question if they weren't paying attention.

But Y/N can be sly and still be caught up in their work.

"Oh, could you stay behind to help for a moment? I need another pair of hands to bring these to my office."

Y/N nodded, walking over to help me collect the materials.

"How's your studies so far?" I ask.

"So far so good," they reply.

"Good. How's the new module? Poetry is definitely a sharp change from 12th century literature."

They nodded. "It's been more interesting than the last term."

I hummed. "Yes. There'll be a lot more chances to explore creativity in the coming weeks. I don't know if you saw on Moodle, but there will be one week where I ask each of you to anonymously submit a poem that we can dissect in the lesson after to see if any subconscious ideologies bring forth. They will also remain anonymous so even though we'll be speculating as a class, we'll never know the truth, which I think is needed for something like poetry."

I opened the door for Y/N, letting them exit the hall first.

"What about you?" Y/N asks.

"Have I? I've written some poems," I pause. No one has ever read my poetry, before. I don't go digging through my old books just to find them if they were all that poor. I can't imagine people's reactions whether they were good or bad. "Maybe I could share some with you, definitely not the ones I wrote as a teenager. Those will, uh, never see the light of day."

Y/N laughs. "I'm sure they're not bad."

"It's natural to be a skeptic of your own work and not live up to the expectations you've set yourself, especially when you go review them years later. As I said in class, societal ideologies change with time, but so do internal ones. Your view on life changes as you gain more knowledge and your mindset shifts, and then an outlook you thought you'd have forever can change with one strange encounter." I jiggle the keys into the lock of my office, letting Y/N enter first, then me.

"And you've experienced that yourself?" they ask.

"I've had too many to count. But I'd encourage listening and being open to change." I hung my shoulder bag near the chair, then my laptop. I looked at Y/N, waiting to be instructed with the books in their hands. "Set them down on my desk." They do so.

"Actually before you leave, I wanted to have a word with you. Well, not anything related to your work but a more... personal conversation."

Y/N stops. "Yeah?"

"Since the last time we spoke here, I'venoticed that, um, you've been hanging out a lot with that friend of yours. You frequently sit next to them too now."

"Yeah?" they shrug. "What about it?"

"Well, I can't help but wonder if there's anything between you two."

"What are you talking about?" Y/N shot me a look, folding their arms.

I had to remind myself again. It has been weeks, and all I've done was mope around in silence while Y/N drank flavoured milk teas with someone who skips lectures just for the hell of it.

As selfish it may sound, I deserved assurance. I deserved an explanation.

"You know fully well what I'm insinuating," I said, annoyed. "After what we've done together and now that you know how I feel, suddenly you've taken an interest in a classmate that you've only started talking to."

"How do you know all this?"

"I'm observant, and you know I am. So," I folded my arms, too. "Is there anything you want to tell me?"

Y/N responded exactly how I thought they would. Y/N shook their head.

"Are you sure? Because if I were to take a guess, I'd think that you're purposely flaunting this new friendship in front of me."

And giving the smirk forming on Y/N's face, all that overthinking and overanalyzing for weeks on end just proved I was right all along. "I was just testing to see how you'd react. What have you noticed?"

"You're testing me? What sort of validation are you looking for?"

Y/N rolls their eyes at me. "C'mon..."

"Fine, I'll humour you. It started a couple of weeks ago, they had an interest in you before that, and I saw. Obviously you noticed, too. It was the day after you were here last that you decided to change tactics, and you made sure to do it so openly, it would be difficult for me to not see." I stepped closer to them. "Convincing them to sit at the front with you, borrowing stationery, forgetting to bring your book to class so you can share and get closer..." That annoyed me the most.

Y/N eyed me up and down.

"Like I've said before, I watch you on occasion. Maybe occasionally isn't the right word to use. I'm interested in you, so naturally I'm going to want to look at you even when I'm focusing on the other students. You're always in my peripheral so I see when you do something and turn my way to gauge my reaction."

"Oh, so you have been noticing that, too."

"Yes, I see that you're sly, but not invisible. So, I need to have a talk with you once again, it seems." I frowned down at their level. "What is your end goal here? What do you really want from me? If you're leading on someone just to get my attention, that's a little problematic, isn't it? Or are you just having fun? How do I know you're not doing the same to me and just seeing where the chips fall?"

Whatever their answer was, mine would remain the same. I've came to terms with myself about my feelings for them, even though I tried to brush them off, even if I tried to fight them when I tried to sleep. If Y/N doesn't give me a straight answer by today, I would not know where to go from there.

They shook their head again.

"Y/N, love. I would like an answer. To be quite dramatic, it's driving me nuts. It's been driving me nuts. Did you suddenly change your feelings about me?" I ask.

"Are you seriously putting me on the spot here?"

"I honestly feel like I have to, because you confessed to me over an assignment, and just a couple weeks ago, you and I had that talk in my office. But now you have your eyes for someone else."

"There's no one else I have eyes for."

I was genuinely taken back. It was a baby step of what I wanted as proper closure. "Ah, so you do like me? But I think you should let your friend know that you have no intention of building a relationship with them. It'll only prove to hurt them further down the road once they realize what you've been doing."

"Like what?" Y/N asks, chuckling. It could only mean I had to be the one to step up and ask the big question for something we're sure we both want.

"You know exactly what. You say you like me... what if I offered for you to be with me?"

Y/N stopped smiling, looking at as me as if though that question would have never been asked by someone whose job was to grade their paper. "Surprised? I'm sure we can make it work."

I don't see them when I close my eyes, but I leaned down and cup their face to pull it closer. I kiss them, imagining the look on their face still being as in shock when I made that offer. An offer I knew anyone at campus would accept, given what they say and think about me.

"You've been thinking about this for a while, haven't you?" they ask, breathing for air.

"I think about it all the time, don't you?"

Y/N nodded.

"There's a version of this that doesn't go our way," I tell them. "But there's also one where we have a chance to make something out of it every day. I think about you when I'm home. I wonder what you're doing, if you're studying well, eating well. Sometimes you're in my thoughts more than anything else... and I'm starting to understand what it really means - that this is not just a fling or a curiosity for me."

"But are you sure you feel this way for me? Sometimes your heart can deceive you. We could end up being just a fling or curiosity and nothing more."

I sigh. "Here," I grab Y/N's hand and placed it on my chest. "Can you feel it? How fast my heartbeat is? I have to uphold a certain look for the sake of keeping my job, but when it's obvious to me that I desire someone who seems to want me as well... there's only one thing left to do."

"But people will talk about it. They're not dumb."

"Yes, people will talk. I am your Professor, you are my student. It's not unheard of for relationships to occur in universities, and if I'm correct, I'm only a couple of years older than you. So, with all that said... what do you really want?"

Their eyes twinkled up at mine. I know what they want. And I wanted to hear it. "I want you... to kiss me again."

I chuckled. "I can give that to you." I did as they wished. I pull away once more. "But you have to break it off with that friend. Don't give them anymore hope."

"Already halfway," they say. "We weren't that compatible, anyway. I didn't think you would be so jealous of them, jealous of what I was doing."

When I checked their status, [STUDENT NAME] was indeed still my student. I can't remember what exactly their grade was, but it was likely a passing grade, a saving grace. But disregarding that person, I couldn't bare to go on another week of Y/N forgetting their textbook again and having to touch hands and knees with them in front of me, again.

I scoff. "You think I wouldn't be jealous? Of course I am! You can flirt so openly with them and there won't be a problem. The only time I can really spend with you is in here where no one can see us." We kept kissing. "Teaching-" Another kiss. "Is the best part of my day. Not because I'm a Professor who should like their job, but because I know that you're guaranteed to be there, watching me. So, the fact that your attention suddenly shifted to someone else is... annoying. If you truly like me, then don't look at anyone else the way you look at me during class or outside of it. You can hang around with others as much as you like, but I'm losing out on that. Not anymore."

We kiss again, grabbing their hand. I trail my kissing down to their neck and back to their lips as I spoke in between. "So say it to me." More kisses. "Say-" Another one. "That you want to be with me." Once more. "And you will."

Y/N looked up at me. "I want you, and I will be with you."

I hummed. "Good answer."

This sensation felt more victorious than when I even got hired at the university, or when I opened mine and my brother's Christmas gifts our parents got us when we were kids, which was Finding Nemo on DVD. My anxiety over whether my feelings were reciprocated had finally vanished, though I was here, alive and well, for many more to come. But I could assure nothing could go wrong.

"There's a museum that I'm thinking of visiting in a couple of weeks and I was wondering if you'd like to join me."

"The British Museum?"

I nod. "I'm writing another thesis, it's strictly a hobby at this point, but I wouldn't say no to having another mind there. I've heard there's a new exhibition opening and I'm eager to see it. We could go at the weekend so no using university hours."

"A lot of students go there."

"I've accidentally bumped into plenty of students outside classes so it's not uncommon, and something tells me you'll like the exhibits. I want to be there when you experience them."

They paused for a moment, then nodded. "I'm down."

"Good. Well then, it's a secret date. I'm looking forward to it. In the meantime, I'll see you in class tomorrow. Oh," I quickly dug through my bag, pulling out something not as valuable for a gift, but the thought of giving back was considered after I was given candy and a written note gestured on Halloween. For Y/N? I'd give them the world. "Happy birthday."

Y/N blinked, accepting the small present. "How'd you know-"

"[STUDENT NAME] has a big mouth." I roll my eyes a bit having to credit them for knowing.

"It's not until Sunday."

"I don't see you on weekends. Well, except for our date that's coming up. We could treat that as a belated birthday date, just for you. But until then, eat lots of cake for me on your big day." Y/N giggles in response. "Er..." I shook a bit in my voice. "I'm gonna need your cell. Emailing seems too formal for a date, and kind of odd. Especially since this is gonna become something more." I said since, not if.

Y/N smiles and pulls out their phone. "If you wanted my number all this time, you could have just asked, Professor."

I now had Y/N's name in my contacts, and I could already picture them calling me at 1 in the morning just to hear my voice. "I'm not that eager," I joke down at them, wanting to trace my finger on their cheek. I could melt. "Just call me Andrew."

I peck them on the lips one last time and they walked out, bringing the small gift with them.

"Make sure you bring your books this time," I sternly remind them as they peaked their exit. They let out a faint chuckle, shaking their head as the door shut. As I was finally alone, I exhaled a shaky breath, unfolding my arms and nearly falling off my chair as I took a moment to sit down. I could really use coffee, or just a glass of water. The wind was knocked right out of my soul.

It was starting to kick in. I have a date.

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[imaginesbymk]

MARSTON. ━︎━︎ ZSAKUVA STRICT PROFESSOR !

chapter two - ❝chewing gum.❞

← previous chapter: chapter one - "four eyes." next chapter: chapter three - "boo!" →

fanfic info / read it on wattpad

SYNOPSIS / Andrew finds out the person behind the review. A student pays a visit during office hours.

TAGS - mentions of Andrew's backstory with the teacher.

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"I'VE ALWAYS valued the sentiment behind poetry. But now when I look down and read the poems I wrote during my youth, I can't bare to look. Only a seven-year-old writes, 'roses are red, violets are blue', and students who couldn't care less about poetry use that line over and over just to get the assignment over with. Students in the classes I were in used that as a prompt, and last year a student used that but just switched up the words. Violets cannot be red.

But this topic is for another time. I won't be teaching poetry until next semester. Right now, the first topic before I could even jump into The Odyssey or The Iliad is the history behind literature, and because literature existed during the beginning of civilization: we go way back." I press the forward arrow key to go to the next slide. "History plays a huge role in literature, and without history, no literature. Without literature, no history. Without either, I am unemployed."

Another round of giggles erupts.

"We will cover history, and if you're in a program such as English and Liberal studies, you would very likely have that required course in your schedule."

Speaking of schedules, the Dean requested to see me before my office hours. I have opened them for week 1, despite it only being syllabus. But because I jump right into the topics, students would want to come during the hours and ask me pretty much anything.

As I entered the Dean's office, I let out a breathy sigh. "Any luck?"

She nodded her head. I rush over to her desk.

"I want to stress this to you, Andrew. Once we track down this person, they will be under investigation. Think about all the paperwork that comes with it. The poor kid is probably-"

"Childish? Very much so." I fold my arms. "I would never do anything to jeopardize my relationship with my students."

"Even though you claim to be innocent, you will still be under investigation. They require proof." The Dean opened her email, then split the tabs so we could see both the report she filed as well as a document shared on Google Drive.

I begin tapping my foot, agitated. "Is there a new review posted?"

Dean stares. "Andrew."

"Right."

"The more paranoid you get, the more you will keep feasting on the negativity. That's unhealthy."

"Yes, but having the nerve to come up with a fake allegation is just as unhealthy and quite bloody dangerous to my job. I am hiring a lawyer if this doesn't resolve by the time it snows."

The Dean opened the new tab. "Here."

"Read it to me, please."

"They said they carefully reviewed the page where it was posted, and they were able to track down the IP address. Their offense violated the policies and guidelines, and the review has since been removed after you have contacted the site's personnel and reporting the rating as additional efforts for faster evaluation." The Dean smiled at me. "Now it's up to you to take more legal action."

"A name?" I ask, almost ready to bite my nails.

The Dean scrolled down the report. "They will report a name later on."

"I'm trying very hard here to not pace around like a student."

"Once I get the name, I'll forward it to you right away. That's all, please go pace around in your office."

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MY PARENTS took legal action when they found out about what my teacher did back at my old school. I try to erase that awful memory from my head as much as I can, but it trails behind me like footprints whenever I think of what has gotten me stressed right at the beginning of the new school year. It was enough that my peers looked at me like I had six heads on my body because I was much more gifted that it made me move up a grade. 

I had to deal with stares and whispers every time I walked past people. Not just back then, but even now. How ironic is it to have students stare and talk about me over such a sensitive situation as a child, to gush about how "attractive" I look for a professor. I shouldn't let that deceive them for the type of teacher I am, I value myself more than my looks. 

The quirky Maths professor looks at me as I turn to corridor to my office on the second floor. His office is all the way on the other side, crammed with students who struggle the most with simplifying fractions or dilutions (the majority of his students are in the health sciences field). So thankfully, he never bothers me.

I picked up my pace. I should be at least a minute late, which I will learn to actually be present inside for office hours at the dot next time. They're always in the afternoon, and students should be at alert. But then again, this is week 1. I shouldn't expect too many students already coming in to-

My eyes fixated on the student standing by my door. The only student who showed up.

It was them. 

They turned around when they realized I was standing behind them. I fumble for my office keys and unlocked the door. "Come in."

My computer was still on when I left for the Dean. The tab that was open were the slides for English Composition 201. I hid the tab.

They sat down at the chair across the desk. 

"How can I help you?" I ask.

The student shrugs. "Just wanted to say hi, was checking to see if you remember me."

My face lit up, as did theirs. "Of course I remember you," I pull back the rolling chair and sat down, unbuttoning my suit. "You were in my literature class last year. It's nice to see a familiar face. You're Y/N, if I'm correct."

They nod. "Yeah."

"You did so well in my class. Every submission never ceased to amaze me. I actually saw you attending my Literature 101... that's the class you were in, and passed. I was confused on why you were there."

"I came to campus super early. Thought I could kill some time."

Y/N was always careful with time. Always handed things on time, always arrived to my lectures on time, always attended office hours or private tutorials when needed. A very gifted student sits before me, it felt like seeing myself through another point of view, in awe of me. As I remembered what they said to me during one of our private tutorials, "You're one hell of an ace professor. Or whatever." It was no wonder people stared.

"Well, welcome back!" I smile at them. "I hope you do well this year, as you did the last. I must say, your critical analysis on The Odyssey was something I re-read a couple times. It was beautifully crafted."

They wave their hand. "Oh. I remember stressing over that assignment."

"And you managed to pull through. Working under pressure is a strength, it seems."

I could hear Y/N chewing their gum like they were a greaser. I could have some tendency of being a misophonic, but I just hate the sounds of gum chewing. Gum chewing, gum popping, food smacking, fidgeting, tapping, it makes me want to tear my hair out of my scalp in a fit of rage. I had to learn to tolerate keyboard clicks once as a student and now a professor, and heavy breathing whenever I took the tube back in England.

It was kind of rude to do that in front of me, not etiquette if you were to go professional in the workplace... but I just ate a snack.

I held out my hand. "You got any gum?"

A notification popped up on my laptop. "Just a moment, please." I skim through the little bar. It was the forwarded email from the Dean. I inhaled sharply and clicked it open.

Zylos, James.

I stared at the name for a moment as my eyes began to widen. 

"Uh-" Y/N looks at me weirdly. "Am I taking too much of your time?"

"N-no!" I shook my head. "I mean, I'm all right."

"Are you sure? You turned so pale just now."

I glanced at the detailed email, which was a scanned copy of the report in Courier text. "I just thought I clicked something that could have been a potential computer virus."

There was indeed a virus in the form of a student of mine. A former student, who plagiarized an assignment I had given last year. The Dean had to inform me that James Zylos intentionally stole someone else's work and passed it off as his own. I was able to catch it right away. It was painfully obvious. The tone of the writing was definitely not written by him, and I made sure he understood why I was angry, and why the university had a valid reason to withdraw him. 

I may have expected some kind of outcome, though it was his choice to cheat, but I did not expect this. Especially from that kid.

Y/N nods slowly, popping the gum in their mouth. "You still want that gum?"

"Oh, yes. Yes, of course. Thank you." I held my hand out and Y/N handed over the aluminum wrapper from the pack. Goodness...

"Professor," Y/N sat back in their seat. "I can come back another time. You seem to be in some kind of distress."

"It's nothing to worry about, truly. My brain likes to display illusions."

"Like Macbeth?"

"Like Macbeth." I cleared my throat. "You're right. I should get back to this," I gestured to the laptop. "I don't expect a lot of students to actually show up for office hours in week 1, it's quite silly on my behalf. But you're more than welcome to stop by when I'm available. In the meantime, I'll see you in tomorrow's class."

Y/N got up, slinging the strap of their bag over their shoulder. "Right. Take it easy, prof."

I nodded and they went on their way. The door closed, and I looked at the email once more... and fell into an abyss of dread.

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[imaginesbymk]

MARSTON. ━︎━︎ ZSAKUVA STRICT PROFESSOR SERIES !

prologue.

next chapter: chapter one - ❝four eyes.❞ →

fanfic info / read it on wattpad

SYNOPSIS / Professor Andrew Marston is accused of misconduct on RateMyProfessors. He vouches to never speak of this, and move on with his life with no false narratives.

_

I'VE ALWAYS dreamed of travelling to Egypt. My first postcard was taped to a scrapbook I made in my first year, a photo from Cairo. My granddad refused to open his as it flashes his life back in West London. I open mine when I do the weekend cleaning, or if I wanted to invest in my daydreaming. My mind wanders off into a new location, a hot one, and people look at me wearing a mining helmet light, and someone can point out the dirt and sweat on my face while telling me to refill my canteen. Maybe I'll struck a fossil of a strain of human species never discovered or written in the history books, and the following weekend I'm a millionaire. I'm no stranger to archaeology, and I'm hoping archaeology will never be foreign to the next generation.

But as of now, I make a pit stop here uptown, and I stand in the corridor like I'm at some job interview at Walgreen's.

The door swung open, revealing Dean Claire, her eyes darting through my soul like bullets. "Andrew! Come in."

My twin brother Simon got into a lot of trouble back in school. He would be the one sitting outside the office with an ice pack resting on the temple of his head, maybe even limping. I never thought in a million years I'd end up like him. It felt weird being in his shoes, except he got lectured for things he actually did.

I was framed.

"Before I start, let me point out that I'm a fair educator. The ratings on this so-called professor rating website is heavily biased."

"You went from a 4.7 out of 5 rating to a 3.6," the Dean squinted through her specks as she scrolled on the computer. She looks up at me, waiting for my response.

I don't respond to that.

"Who showed you this website?" Dean asks.

"A lot of us are familiar with the website, Claire. What really brought my attention was seeing my name being slandered."

"So then what brought you to search up your name?"

I shrug. "Like I said, it is filled with heavily biased reviews."

"'Professor Marston gave me a 68 in my Shakespeare inquiry, a short assignment with a value of 10% worth our grade. If you want to put your mental health at ease and want to save your grades, don't take his class." She reads off one review.

Shaking my head, I begin rubbing my neck. "So many of my students don't put in at least sixty-percent in King Lear."

"This guy is 22 teaching two courses and won Professor of the Year. I'm 22 and I learned to make matcha tea."

"Twenty-three in November."

"I felt like I was being taught by a Royal member in the 1940s. The books he assigns to us is never out of date but very expensive. He relies on the text and his own teachings, and his lecture slides are so heavy to read off of."

Students can read TMZ blogposts about influencers getting into scandals but not lecture slides?

"AVOID THIS PROFESSOR AT ALL COSTS. Switch if you get him, drop out if you have to.'" She reads off another.

"Is it my breath? My cologne? Do I walk around with four heads on one body?"

"They're intimidated by you, Andrew. But in a way that doesn't motivate them to do the work and pass."

"At least I have some awareness of my sternness, but that does not make me some kind of malicious monster from the seventeenth century. I care about my students, I was once one."

These reviews don't sting as much as a yellow jacket, it was quite absurd to read those things about me, but I compare it to being on a center stage in an American Idol audition. I publicly speak in front of forty to fifty students in a big lecture hall for at least two hours given the course I teach and the volume of material, it's no difference. It was just shocking to read slander from students who stare at me.

As much as I'm relieved it's all anonymous to spare the increasing frustration and baffle, a part of me wants to know so badly the names of the students leaving these reviews. It could be anyone.

"Is this why you're here? To file a complaint on reviews from anonymous students? There's really nothing I can do about that unless students have reported professors' unprofessionalism to an extent of the university and proper authorities getting involved."

Which is exactly what I came to her for. I get up from the chair and walk over to her side of the desk, and hunch over her computer. "May I?"

She gestures me to proceed, not really having much choice and moderate patience to stop me.

I've probably stared at the page and went as far as to refreshing the page to see if new ones were posted. This was the fifth time looking at it from my point of view. The immense paranoia I got from either Mum or Dad.

The top tags were Tough Grader, Skip Class? You Won't Pass, Lecture Heavy and Assignment Heavy.I click on the second page, scrolling for a moment until a popular comment was on top. I give the Dean a moment to read.

I take my finger off the mouse and turn to her, who looked genuinely shocked, and I was genuinely shocked to hear her cussing out a sharp, "Holy fuck."

I use the mouse again, and scrolled down to see the features open.

- RATE PROFESSOR MARSTON.

- SUBMIT A CORRECTION.

- I AM PROFESSOR MARSTON.

I click the button.

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[imaginesbymk]

MARSTON. ━︎━︎ ZSAKUVA STRICT PROFESSOR !

chapter seven - ❝the forbidden-ness of a fruit.❞

← previous chapter: chapter six - "for a positive experience." next chapter: chapter eight - "office hours." →

fanfic info / read it on wattpad

SYNOPSIS — Professor Marston receives a suspicious email from a familiar person. Y/N is requested to stay back after class. 

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A N D R E W

 I WAS feeling a bit uneasy over the past few days. As a human, I react to things differently, and I come up with alternatives. When in fight-or-flight mode, I shut down and scram away from the problem. 

For example, this afternoon I forced myself to decaf today. Though I've grown a tolerance for caffeine before graduating from university, I could never handle the coffee jitters in front of either a lecture hall filled with students or Chris and Jeremy. The hibiscus tea soothed minor cold symptoms that were creeping around, and I was able to recover before I could step on the gas in my car. 

That night when Y/N and their friend spelunked in the building after-hours and planted the gift bag in my office, I went to actually check if Y/N altered their grade book or any credit transcripts on my laptop. I was relieved that nothing was adjusted without my knowledge, though something did pop up on the sidebar when I sat back down after they left.    

Andrew,

I'm the last person you'd ever imagine talking to ever again. 

But this is a one-time opportunity. 

And I'm the last person he'd ever want to speak to ever again. 

It was an email sent by my twin brother, or someone posing as my twin brother - which is messed up but not surprising if that were true due to his affiliation in shady business. But whoever sent this to my work email address hints that this is got to be some sort of sick prank pulled by one of my students, or even James Zylos, the perpetrator in disguise, whom I've taught. 

I opened the file attachment, which was a PDF of an acceptance letter to a job offer... to study in Cairo. 

Now when I think of Cairo, I think of the things I would be crossing off my bucket list. Travel, try the signature dishes, take photographs, if I move a bit further I'd be photographing the Pyramids, interacting with those who are just as intrigued and fascinated with Ancient Egyptian history as I am... and according to the PDF, I'd be able to live there.

The one-time opportunity was right there, either a blessing or curse in disguise. 

But that was it. Whatever was blocking the muscle in me to click on the contact information was indeed strong. I couldn't bring myself to email back. If this was really my brother, then I don't know why he would send me this. I don't know what would bring him to contact me after all these years unless he was just planning on using me, or luring me. I know for sure he no longer cares about me anymore, nor does he no longer care about the relationship we had when we were younger.

Years of my brother leaving our family for good, cut contact from my parents, from me. Now it's all just memories that I can't even think of without getting emotional over it. Every day I think of him and wonder if he's okay living a completely different life, maybe on a yacht, or at multiple business meetings inside tea palaces.

Or if anything, I wonder if he's even still alive.

Trading this place for Cairo sounds divine. But as Chris would boast to me during lounge hours, "If it's too good to be true, then it is."

And as a human who turns the other way to prevent something bad from happening, in fight-or-flight mode: I reported the email as junk.

I got rid of the bad, then there's another loose end that needed tying. I would be facing it somehow or either party would be throwing more wood into the fire. That, and because y/n's assignment was taunting me as it rested in the drawers of the desk.

[LECTURE]

"Okay, so," I say to the class. "To quickly summarize your next module for the term, there will be weekly updates of your core texts on Moodle, a class related to that reading each week, and at the end, a portfolio of your essays with Harvard referencing." I glanced over at my laptop. "There will also be a Literature list of texts you might find useful for your arguments, and if any more are found they'll be added to the list. If you have any questions later on you can contact Chris who helped with curating the module — only email me for emergencies. Any questions?"

A hand rose from the middle row. 

"Yes?"

"When will we get our marks for our last assignment?" a platinum blonde-haired student asks. He was someone who I recognized on campus, an athlete who reeked of cigarettes when I swift by him, the same student who beat the maths professor at darts from the Halloween party.

"So you'll get your marks and feedback in the next couple of weeks," I reply, walking a bit. "But I will say, there are some topics and discussions raised, and I have found interesting articles for a lot of you to expand your knowledge on the subject. I'll email them to you throughout the week so keep an eye out for that. Any more questions?" No hands were raised. "Okay, that's it for today." Everyone got up and packed their stuff. 

"The first core text is already uploaded so give it a read, and we'll discuss it tomorrow. Failing to do so results in falling behind, so study hard."

Y/N brushes past me with a subgroup of students exiting the hall.

"Oh- not you," I called out to them. "I need to speak with you for a few minutes."

They slowly approached my desk as the doors closed, leaving us two alone. "Listen, about last week—"

"No need to talk about that any further. We're passed that. It's actually about your recent submission. Well, actually all of your submissions over the course of the year. They're... concerning."

I pulled the drawer with their file. "I haven't mentioned this to the other tutors because of the sensitivity of the issue. Your interpretation of each material is rather refreshing, but they all seem to revolve around the same subject. Now for your first submission, you were asked to analyze a chosen text from the 12th century in relation to the sociological context in which it was written. Most students chose Lancelot, Percival... The Tale of Igor's campaign. But you chose," I lifted their paper to read the cover page. "The Letters of Abelard and Héloïse. A notable piece, but the direction you went... suffice to say I remember it well."

"Was I paraphrasing?" they asked.

"What I was going to say was that you made some great arguments and backed them up using examples of such forbidden relationships during that time which is what was asked of you. Your second submission - ah yes was about The Dynamics of Controversial Relationships in Fictional Literature, and how they have advanced over the centuries. And starting with The Letters of Abelard was a wise decision to set the foundation for your argument. That is all fine. But the work you submitted before the Christmas holidays was, well, intriguing, to say the least."

And yet, if that maths professor walked in sooner and looked over my shoulder, he would have agreed.

"These papers are purely academic and personal accounts are not evident, but you know that already, and you knew I couldn't officially grade your paper until we had this conversation." I sigh. "You're lucky it wasn't seen by one of the other tutors or my job would be on the line." I began to skim through the file. "Let me see if I can find it... ah!" I read it out loud. "Quote, 'In the given examples, the boundaries of this relationship act as a tether between teacher and student but when compared to a setting of higher education, the tension is more tantalizing, particularly when I consider my attraction for my literature professor', unquote."

Re-reading that quote again still puts me on edge. And just by looking at Y/N's expression, I seem to have put them on it, too.

"Care to explain?"

They shook their head.

"No? Well, after reading your... now not-so-subtle hints, I looked into your attendance record and noticed that the only classes you attend fully are mine. You always sit where I can see you, you engage from time to time but mostly you're silent. And I thought that was just how you were just like the other students. Imagine my feign surprise when I found out you also signed up for all of my lectures outside of the course as well." I raised my brows. "A remarkable show of eagerness to study... on the surface."

But that didn't mean I couldn't bring it up, as if it wasn't the most obvious giant elephant in the room than the assignment. 

I walked over to the door, making sure it was closed. No one can lock lecture hall doors except the custodians with the appropriate keys. "So, tell me. What were you hoping to gain from potentially throwing away all of your hard work? I'll admit, I'm a bit impressed by your perseverance. No one would be cunning enough to do that just to get my attention. But then again, it was you who broke into my office."

Y/N let out a loud, nervous laugh. "You said we're passed that, and besides, we didn't do shit."

"I advise you to keep this conversation professional, therefore I ask that you don't cuss at me." I gesture with their essay in my hand. "As I was saying, I know it was–"

"Me who broke into your office," they cut me off. "Yes, of course. But only for giving you a gift. I've been trying to get your attention since the first year." Y/N crossed their arms. "You seemed to just dismiss me like some sick child."

"Oh?" I frown. "Maybe it's probably because I'm your professor and you're my student?"

"And?"

I sighed, walking over to them so they stood in front of the desk. "We shouldn't be pursuing this. You shouldn't be pursuing this, y/n."

"I'm kind of already doing whatever this is you're talking about, prof."

"Yeah, but by sneaking into my office? Going through my laptop? You forgot to scroll back up to save yourself from that, too." Y/N blushed. "Seriously, what if I mentioned that little detail to the Dean? That would have gotten you kicked out of university." If anything, they could have broken into my car. 

Y/N made a little face, looking at the side for a second. I caught it right away. "You didn't see anything on there, have you?"

"No. I didn't have time to look at everything."

"Hm," I hummed sarcastically.

They continued to stare at me. 

"Look, I care about your education. Your responsibility here is to grow and learn, not induce your romantic interests to someone of authority," I shrug. "I appreciate the gift, though."

Y/N's eyes averted to their doors. "Then why'd you close the door?"

"Hm? I closed the door so we wouldn't get interrupted."

"Interrupt what?" they began to curl their lips.

I sigh. "The conversation, not anything planned with you. Why? That was something you were hoping for, wasn't it? Could you feel my gaze?"

Y/N was smirking. 

"And now you're trying to push your luck," I could feel a smirk forming on my lips, now. "You've wanted me since you started. I wonder what was going through your head when I had those independent tutorials with you." 

Looking back, not only have I always noticed the passion and effort Y/N has put in their work when discussing the material, but also the way they would look at me. Eventually, it would have had something to do with a sort of attraction towards me because I have noticed it with so many other students who held their independent tutorials with me as well. 

"Now that I think about it, you hung on to my every word. I thought it was simply your work ethic but, we both know why." I slid over to them, and once they were cornered, I pushed them against my desk. 

Y/N gasps a little. I lowered my voice when my face was inches away from theirs. "Were you dreaming of this? Of being against my desk in a room you and your classmates frequent?" I slid closer to them, almost feeling them quiver. "Is this what you imagined when you sat back there?"

What I didn't expect was how shocked they were at my reciprocation. Teasing, I gave Y/N a second so they could speak freely, but they couldn't let out anything comprehensible. 

"What? You've been waiting for this, and now you're tongue-tied? I'll loosen it for you."

The professor review doesn't even scratch the surface of what I was about to do right now that would ultimately be the key to getting myself fired. The thought of someone walking through those unlocked doors raced through my mind. The thought of my "twin brother"'s email slipped out of my mind. If my brother could become so bold, so could I.

If Y/N could break boundaries for someone they liked, then so could I.

I'll shine some euphoria on this semester somehow. Because Y/N was one out of dozens of students who fancied me, and yet I rule out the rest.

I bent down and kissed Y/N ever so passionately and pressed myself against them so they were supported by the desk.

The forbidden-ness of a fruit makes even the taste of a lemon sweet.

──────── ✧ ────────

[peppymintdreams]

Santa Baby

Andrew Marston x Darling

The faint jingle of holiday music played in the background as snow fell softly outside the window. The room was aglow with the warm light of the Christmas tree, its ornaments reflecting the soft sparkle of tinsel. You were curled up on the couch, humming along to the familiar tune of Santa Baby, when Andrew walked in, balancing a tray with two mugs of hot cocoa.

“Here,” he said, setting the tray down on the coffee table and handing you a mug. His eyes flicked to the TV screen, where a classic Christmas movie was paused. “You’ve really got a thing for this season, don’t you?”

You grinned, taking a sip of the cocoa. “Can you blame me? It’s magical. Besides, the song’s a classic.”

Andrew raised a brow as the lyrics of Santa Baby drifted through the room. “Magical, huh? Sounds more like a shopping list of outrageous demands.”

You gasped in mock offense, setting your mug down. “Excuse me? This is a masterpiece of festive charm!”

He smirked, leaning back against the couch. “Oh, sure. Diamonds, yachts, fancy cars—very ‘Christmas spirit.’”

“Well,” you said, shifting closer to him, “maybe you should be taking notes, Mr. Marston. I’ve been awfully good this year.”

Andrew snorted, but there was a teasing glint in his eyes. “Oh, have you now?”

You nodded, all dramatic seriousness. “Absolutely. I’ve been nothing but kind, patient, and deserving of… I don’t know, a little holiday indulgence?”

Andrew set his mug down and turned to face you fully, his arms resting on the back of the couch. “Alright, let’s hear it. What’s on this list of yours?”

You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Well, let’s see... How about a new car? Oh, and maybe some jewelry? And while we’re at it, a vacation to the Maldives would be nice.”

Andrew chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Hey, you asked,” you said with a grin.

“Well,” he said, leaning closer, “if you’re expecting me to pull all that off, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”

“Oh, come on,” you teased, poking his chest. “You could at least get me the car.”

“I could,” he said, his voice dropping slightly as his smirk turned into something softer. “But I think I’ll stick to what I know you actually want.”

Before you could ask what he meant, Andrew reached behind the couch and pulled out a small, neatly wrapped box.

“Andrew,” you said, your voice filled with surprise.

“Open it,” he said, handing it to you.

You tore off the wrapping paper to reveal a delicate charm bracelet, each charm carefully chosen—a tiny book, a snowflake, a star, and a heart.

“You didn’t,” you whispered, holding it up to the light.

“I did,” he said, his tone quieter now. “Because as much as you love to joke about fancy gifts and extravagant things, I know you’d rather have something meaningful. Something real.”

Your heart swelled as you looked at him, his expression earnest and warm. “Andrew, it’s perfect.”

He smiled, brushing a stray hair from your face. “Merry Christmas, darling.”

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Merry Christmas, Andrew.”

As the song played on in the background, you couldn’t help but think that this moment—simple, heartfelt, and full of love—was better than anything you could ever put on a list.

[peppymintdreams]

hii! please can you write a fic of an overworked darling and andrew finding them at their desk or something? tyyy

Of course I can,

Rest for the Weary

Andrew Marston x Darling

The clock on the wall struck 1:37 AM, its quiet ticks barely audible over the hum of your laptop. Papers were scattered across your desk, accompanied by an empty mug and a mess of notes scribbled in every direction. You leaned forward, head cradled in one hand as the other tapped away at the keyboard with a sluggish rhythm.

Andrew stood silently in the doorway, his arms crossed as he took in the scene. His heart ached at the sight of you—exhausted, slouched, barely awake, yet forcing yourself to keep going.

“Darling.” His voice was firm but not unkind, cutting through the quiet.

You flinched, startled, and looked over your shoulder. “Andrew? What are you doing up?”

He stepped into the room, his expression a mix of concern and disapproval. “The better question is what are you still doing up. It’s practically morning.”

“I just—there’s so much to do,” you mumbled, turning back to the screen. “I’ll sleep when I’m done.”

Andrew’s brow furrowed. He crossed the room in a few long strides, gently closing your laptop before you could protest. “No, you’ll sleep now.”

“Andrew!” you started to object, but the look he gave you stopped you in your tracks.

“You’ve been running yourself into the ground for weeks,” he said, his voice soft but insistent. “I’ve watched you skip meals, cancel plans, and stay up late every night. This isn’t sustainable, and it’s not healthy.”

“I’m fine,” you muttered, though the dark circles under your eyes betrayed you.

He knelt beside your chair, taking your hands in his. “You’re not fine, and you don’t have to be. Whatever this is, it can wait. You come first, not this.”

You stared at him, the weight of his words hitting harder than you expected. “I just... I didn’t want to let anyone down.”

Andrew sighed, brushing his thumbs over your knuckles. “The only person you’re letting down by doing this is yourself. And maybe me, because I hate seeing you like this.”

His honesty brought a lump to your throat. You looked away, ashamed.

“Darling,” he said, gently tilting your chin so you’d meet his gaze. “You don’t have to do everything on your own. Let me take care of you for once, okay?”

You nodded, too tired to argue anymore. Andrew smiled softly and stood, pulling you to your feet.

“Bed. Now,” he instructed, guiding you out of the room with a protective hand on your back.

When you reached the bedroom, he pulled back the covers and waited until you climbed in before tucking you in with care. As he slid in beside you, Andrew wrapped an arm around your waist, holding you close.

“You’re safe,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Rest. Everything else can wait.”

🍬

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