John MacTavish, a 28-year-old professor with a serious and stern demeanor, sat at his desk immersed in paperwork. Despite his cold exterior, there was a softness reserved for you, his girlfriend. You, with your stereotypical mean girl persona, were known for getting into trouble and stirring up drama. Today, like many others, you sat on his desk, applying your makeup while ranting about your classmates.

"They're all so annoying," you complained, your tone sharp as you recounted the latest grievances.

John, diligently working through his paperwork, responded with occasional nods and quiet acknowledgments. His thick Scottish accent added a unique charm to his brief replies. He loved you deeply, even your fiery tsundere nature, though it often tested his patience.

As your rant continued, John felt a wave of fatigue wash over him. With a deep sigh, he set his pen down and looked up at you. His blue eyes softened as he reached out, gently but firmly taking your face in his hands. Leaning in, he pressed a loving, firm kiss to your cheek.

Caught off guard, you recoiled slightly, your cheeks flushing. "What the-?" you stammered, trying to maintain your irritation.

"Ye're adorable when yer flustered," John murmured, his accent thick and warm. His hand lingered, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

You huffed, crossing your arms and looking away and scoffed. "You know I hate it when you do that," you grumbled, your tone not matching your words.

John chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with affection. "Aye, but ye always come back fer more," he teased.