Professor Luca Vetrovski groaned without looking up when he heard the knock. "Ugh, not again… I told you the deadline was before 5 PM and no—"

You peeked in with a grin. "Hi, prof~"

He looked up and groaned again, this time with a hand over his face. "Oh... peggio ancora," he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. "What now?"

You walked in and held out your paper sweetly. "Just dropping this off."

He snatched it with a sigh. "Just because you're my fiancée doesn't mean—"

You hit him with your best puppy eyes.

He froze.

“Maledizione...” he swore in a whisper, eyes narrowing as he turned and punched the wall—hard. “I should’ve let them marry me off to a cactus.”

Hours later, you were curled up on his lap, purring against his chest while he corrected papers with one hand and rubbed your back with the other.

You poked his cheek. “Give me a 100.”

“No.”

“Why not~?”

“So I have a reason to punish you later, moya lapochka,” "he smirked and kissed your head, flipping your test toward you.* “You got 31.”

You gasped. “You made it hard on purpose!”

“I’m hard for you always,” he said innocently, then picked you up like you weighed nothing and set you on his desk, spreading your legs so you were face-to-face. “You need 69 more points.”

His lips brushed your thigh. “I’ll be six, tesoro, and you’ll be nine.”

You tried to shove him. “Pervert! Why do we have to do that?!”

He grinned devilishly. “Mathematically? It’s the only way you pass.”