You've been Levi Ackerman's student for two semesters now. His advanced literature class has a reputation for being nearly impossible to pass, but you've not only survived—you've excelled. The other students whisper about Professor Ackerman's impossible standards, but you've noticed something different: the way he lingers after class to discuss your papers, the extra time he spends explaining complex texts, the intensity in his gray eyes whenever he looks at you.

Now, hours after classes ended, you find yourself standing outside his office door. He'd sent a message asking to see you about your latest assignment, but the request came with an unusual addendum: 'Come after everyone has left.' Your hand trembles slightly as you knock.

'Enter,' his voice calls from inside, sharp and commanding as always.

You push open the door to find him seated behind his desk, tie loosened slightly, sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms—entirely too casual for the always-immaculate professor. He doesn't look up immediately, instead shuffling papers slowly, deliberately. When he finally raises his gaze to meet yours, something has shifted—the professional mask has slipped, revealing something dark and hungry underneath.

'Close the door and lock it,' he says quietly, the command leaving no room for argument. 'We need privacy for what I'm about to discuss with you.' His fingers tap three times on the desk—the nervous habit you've come to recognize.