#strict professor

[des2dream]

Here's my Take....

Guys! The craziest thing happened on campus today! I was late to class & was about to speak to my professor, but the classroom door was locked & I SWEAR I heard kissing noises! My professor's getting BUSY!!!

(Thanks, c-t-r-l14!)

[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." 

──────── ✧ ────────

[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.

[stellarislune]

Andrew x Darling ; Rewind AU pt 1

your 'drunken' last ditch effort confession towards the literature professor was unsuccessful. about two years into the future, you end up as andrew's assistant. (featuring our beloved luca ⭐✨)

LISTENER's POV

Large crowds of students, the road buzzing with cars going around and about in and out of the parking lot, and the looming view of the university's main building, looks absolutely nostalgic from where you stand.

It has been two long years since you have last stepped inside the academy's grounds. The familiar warmth of the memories you have had bubbled within your chest. Your gaze can't help but linger at the view. It is still beautiful and majestic, like it has always been.

Two years. It has been two years since you have graduated with a bachelor's degree, and a bittersweet regret.

You clutch your folder containing your approved resumé and application forms before heading in.

Throughout the past twenty three months, you have had a hard time finding a job that suits your taste — and one that is nearer to your current apartment. Your parents have always been kind enough to fund your education, and that kindness has extended even after you have finished college. Still, you are ashamed to not have found a suitable job until now. And the said job is at your own alma mater that is!

Finally, Finally. You were able to get a slot as a teacher assistant to one of the departments in the academy. They posted a job advertisement on one of their main pages during the holidays, and you managed to get your entry in there during the last few days of the application process.

It was nerve-wracking to wait for an email from them since you were not confident that you can bag a job; but, here you are now. Ready to have the chance to showcase your skills after all those horrid months of unproductivity!

You do need to check which specific department you’re assigned to so you came in earlier than you should have. They did not specify which spots on each college department were open, so you’re hoping that you get lucky enough to be under someone who will be patient in showing you the ropes.

Your face warms up and your heart beats faster with each stride towards the main office. The door is still the same old mahogany wood with a glass window at the upper half. From outside, you can see the people hurrying to and fro. Your hands went cold as you contemplated whether to go in or not. It’s not like you’ll be reprimanded or something, right? Haha.

After what seemed like forever, you opened the door and was greeted by a swarm of cubicles past the lounge. There’s people answering telephones, holding papers, and typing down on their computers. It's a whole different thing now that you're no longer a student.

There you were, fidgeting, not knowing what to do or where to go next, when a familiar black-haired man passed right down the aisle with a phone attached to their ear.

You gasp silently.

While he looks a lot more mature in his stature and pose, you can never forget his adorably sweet voice that greets you whenever you get the chance to talk. There you go, turning your head to confirm your thought, and you knew it. It’s really him.

Luca.

The person whom you have gotten close with ever since you started passing all your requirements in your literature class in person in his assigned professor's office. He's one of the remarkable—skittish but cute—hardworking teacher assistants that you have had the pleasure of knowing. You overhear the conversation being something about reprinting old test papers before Luca turns the phone off and puts it in his pocket.

You were about to call him with a wave of your hand as a greeting, but it looks like he noticed you already. His face blooms into a warm, excited smile as he sees you.

"Oh my gosh, Listener! You're here!!!" Luca immediately clings to you, wrapping you in his arms and just lifting you off the ground by a few centimeters in a swift bear hug. His warmth creeped into your own. "I haven't seen you in so long. I couldn't believe it!"

You laugh softly, hugging him real tight in return. "I missed you too, Luca! By a huge amount!" You huff as you let go of his arms first. "How are you? You owe me a lot of detail, mister. And, before you complain, my phone got stolen and-my laptop is broken so I had to get a new one. I was incredibly unlucky, I know.”' You cross my arms, shaking your head with a sigh.

"Well, ask away then, Listener. But first, let's head over there”, he points at the lounge area. “You're in luck because it's my free time for the next two hours~ All that's left for me is to clean up and box all my things in Andrew's office. " Luca leads you over to one of the long, red sofas that highly contrast the beige walls and the cream floor.

Box all his things? What-

"So," he starts as he sits down, facing you with interest sparkling in his eyes, "what brings you here all of sudden? Surely not to visit me right cause I am taken and I—"

You smack him with one of the pillows on the sofa. Earning a snort from the other. He shielded himself with his arm so his face wasn't harmed at any point—not that pillows can do that much damage anyway.

"Shut up, I already know how gay you are." You groan and roll your eyes, followed with a burst of a giggle. "You're so annoying."

"Pft, only because you're my friend! It's a privilege~ And, you literally love me. I'm the cutest person in the world. Your own words, not mine." Luca sticks his tongue out at you.

He's right. Luca was quite shy at first but now that you have gotten to know him better, he's shown more than just those shallow observed qualities people usually stereotype him with.

You sighed and handed Luca your folder containing your approved letter of intent, resumé, and your portfolio of notable achievements. He flips through each page, his tongue sticking out the side of his mouth as he concentrates. You stifle a smile at how absolutely adorable he looks, and wait for him to speak.

"Uh, so.. you're the new teacher assistant who's gonna replace me." Luca’s lips form an ‘O’. You mirror his expression in surprise. Luca is quitting his job? But he loves this work… The pay is good, the environment is great, and the professors themselves don't look that bad. Specifically, someone from the literature department but—we don't want to talk about that.

Your face contorts into a frown.

"I know I missed a lot of things but, what the hell– Why are you quitting! Is someone here bullying you?" Your brows turn into a knot and you make a great show of pulling your sleeves up to your elbows, pretending to size up some invisible enemy and throwing punches at it. "I'll deal with them for you. Lemme at 'em!"

Luca shakes his head and smiles fondly. Raising his left hand and pointing out the ring on his fourth finger. You put a hand to your mouth as your eyes darted from Luca then to the ring on his finger. You silently squealed as you took his hands and began to squeeze them tight.

"Luca! Oh, holy fuck. I'm so happy for youuuuuu!" It's your turn to just jump on him and hug the life out of him. You held him for about two seconds then, you sat your ass back on the seat. "Your boyfriend—no—your fiancé, better treat you well or he's gonna get hell from me." You threatened jokingly.

His boyfriend sometimes visits at the same time that you pass requirements in your previous professor's office, so you kinda are familiar with him. That doesn't stop you from being overprotective of your possibly best, most precious friend in the world.

"He's spoiling me too much actually." Luca pouts. "He's quitting his gaming stuff when I get home. He always, ALWAYS has chocolates for me. And he gives me kisses all the time." Luca's face is flushed as he cups both his cheeks shyly.

You feign chest pain as I clutch my heart. "Right in front of my single ass, huh?" You giggle. "I'm kidding. I'm so, so, so happy for you. I will prepare my wedding gift in advance!"

Luca's face turns into vivid confusion. "I thought you have a boyf—"

From behind Luca, the sound of a door opens. Luca’s head turned to it, and so did yours. You could not believe it but it is another even more familiar face.. One you know so well.

With dark golden, brown hair, black rimmed glasses, and stern gaze, your—you mean—the literature professor, Andrew Marston, emerges in full view holding a bunch of folders in his left arm and his phone in his hand.

Professor Marston walked in long, elegant strides towards.. the both of you. Despite the months that have gone past, he still has an aura of intimidation, wit, and an absolutely handsome charm. His lips were pursed yet his eyes — his eyes were lit with curiosity.

"Well, well. If it isn't you, Listener. Of all things to expect today, I had not foreseen any circumstances that include you being here today." Despite his words, his tone is laced with a hint of amusement.

You fiddle your fingers. "Hello, Professor." You squeaked awkwardly. "Good morning to you."

"Andrew." Luca stands up. His face looks extra mischievous even if his face is still, criminally, looking too innocent. "Listener will be your new assistant. Have you heard that news already?"

Andrew hums and taps his foot. "No, actually." He turns to face you. "You applied as my assistant?"

Then, at that moment, it really dawned on you. It is indeed real. The fact that, You, Listener, is Professor Andrew's assigned assistant.

Fuck.

You look at Luca with wide eyes for a second, then back at Andrew.

"I suppose, yes?" You cleared your throat. "I mean. Yes, Sir."

You blush profusely. Resisting the urge to just run away and maybe melt like a snowman under the thick heat of the sun.

Andrew nods slowly, as if taking the information in. At the exact time, Luca taps his shoulder and says, "I'll finish up my cleaning so Listener right here–," Luca shoots a finger gun at you with a grin,"–can put their things in without a worry in the world." And with that, he left.

Lord, take me now.

Leaving you to Andrew's mercy, like a bunny rabbit in a lion's den. Or whatever. You’re just exaggerating.

"Hand me your resumé. I assume that you do have them in hand, yes? You were quite the perfectionist during your college days, so I believe you'd have them right with you." Andrew commands without missing a beat. Reaching his free hand out to you.

You picked up your folder off the table and handed it to him. He takes it and puts it above the stack he's currently holding in his left arm.

"I'll see you in two weeks. Preferably at an early time. Say, 7:30 AM in my office? And bring your laptop or mobile gadget, along with stationary if you'd like. As much as I'd be delighted to indulge in this conversation, I have some papers to grade."

You nod. Listing it all down on your phone. You watch Andrew walk away. Probably to his cubicle where his files are kept, or something similar. The main office is where they usually encode grades and scores so that's not far fetched.

As you stand up and leave, a faint memory of Andrew's lips lifting into a somewhat triumphant smirk stays for a second before fading away from your mind. It probably was just your imagination.

You opened the doors out of the office and breathed in and out.

“See you in two week's time, Professor.”

⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa what do you think is gonna happen next? isn't luca so cute and adorable??? I love him so much. see you on pt 2 !

[beeblelady]

No matter what happens I'm still going back to him

An Andrew Marston girlie for Life

💛💛💛

[ilovegureshin]

ANDREW!- COME BACK-

[thedivinevera]

Professor Marston

Professor Marston x reader, Andrew Marston x reader, Andrew Marston x FEM! AFAB!reader, professor x student, young professor x student, Zsakuva character x reader

Professor x adult!! student, forbidden love, smut, breeding, sex, p and v sex, mention of marriage and pregnancy, obsessive tendency, yandere tendency

Tw : Smut, p and v sex, yandere tendency, obsessive tendency, bad writing, bad grammar, please help!!, OCc Andrew

Sweet ramble for our professor

A/n : sorry for the OCc character

:( it's just very hard to wrote horny things when his literally a beige flag :)

Professor Marston is so mean :( so different from Andrew Marston, your boyfriend who cares you softly. Professor Marston manhandle you to his Shaft, not even letting you have a break, forcing you to jump on his hard cock with his hands on your waist, your poor pussy numbing and completely red from skin slapping and continue Cumming

When he's busy he will make you sit on his cock while he has doing his professor work :| so bored and itching for his dick to move but you don't want to be a bad girl so you completely stay still not wanting to disappoint your professor, after all you're a good girl, you love your professor Marston right? So stay still and wait until he fuck your slutty cunt and let him do his job so he can ruin you straight until the sun rise

He gets jealous when you talk to the other Young professor... A lot :,( asking you if his extra credit are not enough and you need another professor's cock to suck and pass your grade, sweetie you don't need them you only need him, make him feel good and he will pass you and even convince your other professor to do the same after all who wouldn't believe to the strict, young genius Professor Marston when he talk about a potential student so just worry your pretty head of yours on how to write your essay with his hard hot cock mushing your inside after all once you graduated you can be his pretty wife, he's already successful than does old hag so why don't he take a leap and marry his pretty girl 😍😍😍 you don't need to do anything other than to become his little pretty slutty wife ready to take his cock after he come back home, stress because of the stupid children that can't figure out how to live their Life.

He sometimes fantasize about you when you're at his class, imagining how pretty you would be once you are filled with his cum, his sperm try to fertilize your egg and making you pregnant with his pretty children. He promised to himself that once you're both married he would definitely breed you making sure that you will give him children boy and girl, he wants children of each gender and wouldn't stop until he completely have a girl and boy calling him papa. He want to have a big family full of happy children raising them not like how his parent does loving them equally not looking what achievement they can give for the family and that would only work once he breed you successfully. Once the bell ring his fantasy stop.

Asking you to stop by for a moment, bending you to the desk after he lock the door when he said he just want to speak to you :) realizing that he want to talk about your future with him with his dick all the way to your deep inside just waiting to paint your inside white and letting his spermy run for the egg :(

You after your fav professor ask for you to stay: ☺️

Realizing that he just want to breed you: ☹️

But of course you would like it right? After all you love him right? He can ask you to spread your leg wide and jump on his dick and you would do that right???? The only problem you have is how you will hide the dripping cum until you finish your class and finally going home to his place and letting him continue, after all you're to noisy to be breed multiple times in his office and also Luca or others might see you and he wouldn't let anyone to see how pretty your pussy is that's only for him ☺️☺️☺️ after that you can receive an aftercare from your sweet boyfriend Andrew Marston, can't wait for Andrew to be the one who breed you too, after all h professor or not he just want to have you

[cozymochi]

That one post with Nyoka’s exposed chest got me wondering if he gets his nails done elsewhere else, or if he does them by himself

(The horror in question.)

[hauntingsunshine14]

what the fuck is up with bitches created in the 60s who have differing philosophies and are also gay but nobody wants to say it outright even thou everyone knows. Also one of them is a telepath. Also they know a Dr. McCoy.

[des2dream]

Goodbye Strict Professor Andrew!👓🌹

He premiered in January 8, 2021 and he ended in November 16, 2024. You hate to see him go, but you love to see the impact he had on everyone! I made this art piece to honor him as his story and character are officially getting shelved. Thank you, Andrew and thank you, Saku for creating this character that was meant to be a one-shot. I guess it just goes to show how life works in mysterious ways. One minute you have a one-shot character, the next you've got a Number One popular character! I'm looking forward to more lovable characters in the future!

(I know this sketch doesn't look all that professional or digitally painted, but I did the best that I could, okay! Just to let you all know.)

[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.

──────── ✧ ────────

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."

──────── ✧ ────────

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.

──────── ✧ ────────

[stellarislune]

Andrew x Darling ; Rewind pt. 2

alternate universe where, two years after your failed confession towards andrew, you became his teacher assistant instead! 🤭

here's the link to part one! make sure to read it first.

YOUR POV

Two weeks after that day.

Here you are at Professor Andrew's office.

It's a neat workspace with his table and swivel chair at the far right of the office. It's a new one, it seems. Probably bought not far from a month ago. How do you know? Because you’re a psychic.

You snort to yourself and then you shake your head, feeling silly for distracting yourself from what you’re doing.

Right now, you’re sorting suspended files stacked and stored on his set of cabinets and shelves lined up against the left of the room. According to him, he did not let Luca touch the files since he filed for a one year leave prior to his engagement with his boyfriend—now fiancé.

Based on his words, you quote, "With him and those files around, he won't be able to leave at all. He's far from the skittish, clumsy assistant that I knew of when he first started. He's passionate and hardworking. He's dedicated to finishing on time. He's quite the perfectionist, .. it's almost an obsession for him to perform at best. Ah— I'm rambling. Just make sure to file them per year. I bought face masks to avoid inhaling dust, it's on my first drawer on the table. Use it."

Luca probably will be reluctant to leave with work unfinished, you agree with him. So, with a mask on and a ton (you’re exaggerating) of folders and files, you began to sort each into their subjective years. A few of the files were former submissions from students throughout the years and let's say you have had a good time reading through a few funny and profound reads in between filing.

“The forbiddenness of a fruit..” You trail off, squinting. The handwriting on the paper has been smudged. You can barely make out what the rest of the sentence was. You pulled the paper closer to your eyes in hopes that, by doing so, you can see the words clearly.

“-even makes the taste of a lemon sweet’, is what it says.” A voice continues. “By Mokokoma Mokhonoana.”

The room is suddenly filled with static energy. One spark and it’ll catch fire. You hadn't realized that you were too absorbed into your work that he was right behind you already; snapping you back into reality.

Oh, no. No, no, no.

The room is on fire and you’re the only one seeing it burning.

You lifted my eyes at him in an attempt to steal a glance, and then you resigned yourself back to work.

You cleared your throat and greeted, "Good afternoon, Professor."

"Ever so polite like always, aren't you?" Andrew jests.

“Uhm, Yes..?" You reply, not sure what to say. "I'm, uh, done sorting the files from the first cabinet and it's all of the 2019 ones, Sir." Might as well give your work report instead. You hurriedly dropped the paper you were reading. While the passage was interesting like most of the submitted works, they are still not yours to mess with.

“I see.”

“Yeah.” Awkward.

"So much work done in so little time. I commend that. Here, take this."

Andrew reaches for his bag and retrieves a medium-sized can with a label named ‘Blended Brews’.

You turned to him and accepted it, seeing how it’ll be rude if you do reject it. It felt cold against your hand.

"—I was thinking of having it myself but I already picked up coffee from the main office. It's iced caramel macchiato. If you don't like it, just keep it there nonetheless. You might get thirsty." He adds, walking away to put his bag onto his desk. Stretching his arms before sitting down in his swivel chair.

You stare at the coffee he probably got from one of the vending machines for a while. Then, you responded, “Ah, y-yes. I’ll keep this for later.” You laugh sheepishly before setting it to your side. “Thank you, Sir.”

Silence follows.

If you remember correctly, he is a workaholic. Always in his office, never out, unless he has classes. While the usual professors may be glad to have their classes end, he always looks a tad bit sad whenever classes finish in your perspective.

You heave a sigh.

“You..”, Andrew began, making you glance at him. He clears his throat and continues,“-you don’t have to call me Sir or Professor, you know. We’re colleagues now, and you’re my assistant. That grants us both the privilege of calling each other by name, yes?”

That does make sense. Is it awkward for him perhaps to be called as such since you are no longer a student? Perhaps. Who knows? Another sigh follows.

“Very well,” you cleared your throat, "As you wish, Andrew.”

You did not know whether it was the way you said it but that garnered a hearty laugh from him. His eyes glistening as he shakes his head. His face is the epitome of amusement.

“With how you spoke, it almost catapults me back to the Medieval era,” His lips lifted a little to the side, forming a mischievous smile. “Are you gonna call me ‘My liege’ next, Listener?”

His gaze bore through yours, your eyes staring right into each other.

Your breath hitches.

Just like the first time your heart raced this fast. Being able to openly look at him without the fear of any other assumptions does something to you.

Andrew has always been beautiful in your eyes, and seeing him like this right now just hardens that thought in your head.

“I might?” You responded cheekily upon gathering yourself. “Or would you prefer ‘Your Royal Highness?’”

“That would be incongruent with how I am—I'd worry too much about taxes, security, and healthcare in my head, that I'll probably end up on the guillotine. Or—I'll be too strict that the commonfolk will initiate a coup against me.” Andrew chided.

“A royal advisor, then?” You grinned. You tried not to snort upon hearing the rather grim hypothesis that Andrew responded with.

“Hm, fitting. Did the option ‘troubadour’ never come to your mind?” (troubadours - lyric poet musicians who usually sing of courtly love in the 13th century). Andrew swings his chair to the left, the angle now facing towards you. He opens his mouth as if to continue further, but he closes it. Then, he says, “Nevermind. I'm interfering with your work now—”

“You'd make lovely pieces,” You interrupted as you sorted the last folders on your left. It contained nothing but old, unreadable papers so you’re keeping them for shredding later on. 

“Oh? And have you read any of my work for you to hypothesize such a statement?” His voice sounds.. intrigued. 

“You are a literature and history professor. Isn't that a natural assumption?”

“Touché.” Andrew chuckles, his eyes shining with interest. 

The atmosphere seemed lighter now. The worries you have running in your head are just melting like glaciers underneath the sun’s direct rays.

You thought working with Andrew might be too taxing for you. You fear disappointing him now, like how you feared disappointing him with mediocre submissions way, way back when he was your literature professor. 

However, thinking of it now..

It’s not so bad after all.

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ Watch out for part 3 SOON! 💖

[velvolktra]

𝙋𝙧𝙤𝙛𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙤𝙧 𝙎𝙯𝙖𝙧𝙧

[litmot-archived]

All The Loose Ends

Isaac Rhoades x Reader

Isaac is overworked and exhausted. You make it better.

The smoke curling up from the end of his cigarette looked eerily white in the moonlight. It seemed almost like a ghost, Isaac mused, tilting his head and letting his gaze wander over the slightly more unkempt part of the garden where the people he loved most lay buried. He tasted ash in his mouth, only in part caused by indulging in the habit he had meant to swear off long ago.

In truth, Isaac was so overwhelmingly exhausted that he could not muster the energy to get himself to care about it — about his health (not that he had ever particularly been concerned for it), about the smoke only partly making its way out of the opened kitchen window, about the headache torturing him for the better part of the week, about the feeling of suffocation rising in his chest when he thought about his work or as much as took a glance at his desk; even the person sleeping soundly a storey above him was nothing more than an afterthought now, another ghost to him. They would leave soon enough.

The thought made his heart seize painfully. Pickle — recalling the nickname brought a small smile to his tired face — was an inexhaustible source of life. They were a fresh breath of air, a reminder to cherish the time he had left instead of just going through the motions each day. They made him strive for more. They made him want to change. They made him want to live and break out of the void existence he had carved out for himself, and into which he had dragged them selfishly.

Isaac took another drag of his cigarette, narrowing his eyes to faintly make out his mother’s favorite flowers growing peacefully beside her grave; but alas, abandoning his grandfather’s legacy was impossible. 

“Can’t sleep?” 

The question made him choke on his exhale. Coughing, he turned to glance at you with furrowed brows.

“You should try, honestly,” you say, stepping up beside him and taking the low-burning cigarette from his fingers. “You remind me of a raccoon,” you add, contemplating only a moment before putting the cigarette out in the soil of one of the succulents placed carefully on the countertop under the window. The moonlight allowed you to see the ash discarded in the sink as you glance down and you throw a displeased look at Isaac.

The night was not dark enough to hide his blush. “A raccoon? How so?” he asked, clearing his throat, the strong and decisive voice you had grown used to uncharacteristically morphed into a tired rasp. “Is it my nocturnal activity?”

You chuckled, looking up at the moon. “I was thinking more about the bags under your eyes.” They had gotten more and more prominent in the preceding weeks and you were starting to worry. 

It was an open secret that Isaac did not settle down easily. You could hear him pacing in the middle of the night sometimes or saw the light streaming into the entrance hall from under the closed door of his study at some ungodly hour when your own troubled thoughts would not let you sleep. “What’s keeping you awake tonight?” you asked in a light tone as you closed the window, hoping it masked your worry.

A beat of silence passed between the two of you, as could have been expected. Isaac did not open up easily and it was a shot in the dark hoping he would answer your question truthfully, if at all. You grimaced, fearing you had overstepped. To break the tension rising steadily with the moments of quiet, you were about to change the subject and point out what you assumed was the constellation Orion in the night sky. The deep, heavy sigh escaping Isaac made you pause. 

You turned your head to look at him. It was almost unheard of that Isaac let his carefully constructed mask of stoic nonchalance slip, even for a moment. He was usually so desperate to keep control of both the world around him and himself, it was painful to watch him hold onto it sometimes and brush away sentimentality as if it was a weakness he could not dare to afford. 

The sigh was an admission of defeat. It was the tangible proof, along with the ash in the sink and the way his head was bowed, that Isaac had reached the end of his seemingly inexhaustible rope. 

“Just life,” he said quietly in response, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead. The headache had not subsided, and his usual self-destructive remedy of downing a few sleeping pills with a glass of whiskey seemed out of the question now that you were here. 

Isaac’s exhaustion made his head swim. It was hard to say when he had last taken a break when the past weeks blended into one long string of cases and files and meetings and work, work, work. There had never been much of a life for him outside of it, and while working gave his pitiful existence purpose, sometimes it wrung him dry.

The light touch of your hand on his arm made him startle. His eyes flew open and he turned, wincing at the sharp stab of pain it gave his head. Your eyes were fixed on him as if trying to solve a puzzle and Isaac quickly thought up a snide comment about your evident predisposition for a private eye, but it died on his tongue when he noticed the glass of water you were holding out for him to take. 

You smiled faintly at him when he took a few tentative sips of the cool water. “I have fought my fair share of battles with headaches. If there is anything I can do, let me know,” you spoke softly, “Regardless, might I propose getting some rest? Sleep is the most effective natural remedy for them, I have found.”

“I am fine,” Isaac answered weakly. It sounded unconvincing even to his own ears. You hummed, clearly not believing his lie. Perhaps you truly would make a good private investigator. 

“Let me—” you began hesitatingly, “Ah, that is to say, I would like to try something, if I may?” 

“What is it, Pickle?” Isaac asked, sighing again. There was no reason to hold onto pretense now and he was entirely too exhausted to care for it. His mask would be back in place by morning. 

You moved to stand behind him, placing your hands on his tense shoulders. Isaac stiffened immediately, his posture straightening into the usual way he carried himself, always on high alert. He did not move, either to brush your hands off of him or to step away from your touch. You took it as a small encouragement to continue.

“Relax,” you soothed, starting to massage small circles in the place between his shoulder blades with your thumbs. You heard Isaac inhale shakily, but he stayed still, letting you work. Gradually, he started to ease into the touch. 

“You’re—” Isaac rasped dreamily, clearing his throat a moment later for propriety’s sake, “You’re quite good at this.” His voice was nothing more than a whisper, his eyes falling shut of their own accord to drift in the feeling of being touched — kindly and without an underlying agenda to exploit him.

Smiling quietly to yourself at how a few simple touches made Isaac pliable in your hands, you merely hummed in answer. “The tension you carry right here” — you said, moving your fingers to work on the muscles of his lower neck, earning a soft sigh from Isaac — “is responsible for your headache, as far as I can tell. If I had to guess, it comes from sitting at your desk, hunched over casefiles for the better part of the month. Perhaps you could stop overworking and spare yourself this pain? True, now I can—” ease it. Help you. Make sure you’re alright. Take care of you. 

You cut yourself off before revealing too much, your hands still working on Isaac’s shoulders and neck. They were becoming less and less tense under your gentle ministrations. 

When Isaac opened his eyes again, to his horror, his vision was blurry with tears. He wiped at them discreetly. “Thank you,” he said, hoping you chose to ignore how strained his voice sounded. “I have never, I think— Well, it’s been a while since someone,” he hesitated, unsure of how to continue, “did this for me.”

“Anytime, really,” you said, dropping your hands from his shoulders and allowing him to turn and face you. “Although I meant what I said: I would appreciate it if you toned down on burning the candle at both ends, Isaac.” 

Slowly, giving you sufficient time to draw back, he leaned into you, placing his arms around you in a tight embrace. You exhaled, surprised, but wrung your arms around him in return, treading your fingers through the hair at the base of his head. Isaac shivered, holding you tighter. “Thank you,” he said again, voice rough from the lump in his throat, “and I will, I promise.”

[evolvingsidekick]

I got the best possible grade for my bachelor thesis💕 so happy rn

[des2dream]

Something To Note on The Professor Series💕👓🖊

Alert: Slight Spoilers Ahead

Those who are familiar with ZSakuVA's Strict Professor (Andrew Marston) series may remember the infamous scene in Season 2, Episode 5 where a dinner date outing between Andrew and Listener went horribly wrong! A student from the university barges into the restaurant (and likely didn't even book a table), antagonizes the couple, and throws a drink all over Andrew as a last resort once she's gained enough attention from bystanders. Her actions were WILD and how she could've known where Andrew and Listener were going out that night is beyond me, but I have a few speculations on why she did what she did.

(This one might be the most out of nowhere) She was probably paid by someone from the university (maybe the person who filmed Andrew and Listener back from Season 1, Episode 4) to "terrorize" the couple so that it would make for more drama and views (they could've been filming in the background at the scene of the event) seeing as though after the first incident Kayson said, "The amount of views it got is crazy!" and they're looking for clout.

2. She discovered the news about Andrew and Listener from the video, rumors, etc. and was absolutely disgusted. A handful of university students take their work seriously and look to their professors to guide them. She likely had the same mindset that Andrew's colleagues had in knowledge of this and decided to take matters in her own hands by playing "the hero" even though it resulted in nothing but BS.

3. I'm gonna go on a limb here and say that the poor girl is jealous! From the first couple of episodes in Season 1, Andrew has said that he was aware some of his students found him attractive and said that, "I can't add any fuel to that fire. I can't give them hope." and in Season 2, Episode 4, (when everyone already knew about what happened by now) Luca mentions that quite a handful of students wished that they had confessed to Andrew beforehand. She could've been one of them! She learned that Listener was able to gain Andrew's attention when she had wanted it just as much. She WISHES she could be in Listener's place and now she can't. Her actions of antagonizing the couple at the restaurant was probably her way of saying, "if I can't have him, let me at least make him feel like sh@t" sort of deal or something. Some people can behave rather "out of bounds" when it comes to not getting what they want.

I guess we don't need a full reason on why she did it, but it's just something I thought about looking back...