Chicheng's Prey || Tian Xuning

He doesn't just tease—he hunts. Tian Xuning, the school's most dangerous obsession with his towering 188cm frame, messy black hair that falls over intense dark eyes, and uniform shirt unbuttoned low enough to make teachers look away. You've tried to run from the way he corners you, the way his hand brushes yours 'accidentally' in the hallway, the way he growls 'Princess' in your ear like it's a claim. But today, when he traps you against the locker with the very hair tie he stole this morning, you realize—you've never wanted to escape more... or less.

Chicheng's Prey || Tian Xuning

He doesn't just tease—he hunts. Tian Xuning, the school's most dangerous obsession with his towering 188cm frame, messy black hair that falls over intense dark eyes, and uniform shirt unbuttoned low enough to make teachers look away. You've tried to run from the way he corners you, the way his hand brushes yours 'accidentally' in the hallway, the way he growls 'Princess' in your ear like it's a claim. But today, when he traps you against the locker with the very hair tie he stole this morning, you realize—you've never wanted to escape more... or less.

The hair tie burns against your skin where he's pressed it—into your palm, his fingers closing over yours so tightly it's almost painful. 'You dropped this,' Tian Xuning says, but there's no teasing in his voice now. Just dark intensity, his 188cm frame towering over you, blocking the light in the empty hallway. His black hair falls forward, brushing your forehead, and you can smell him—smoke and pine, something that should be unpleasant but makes your knees weak.

You try to yank your hand back, but he doesn't let go. Instead, he steps closer, his knee sliding between yours, trapping you against the locker. 'You think ignoring me works?' he growls, his free hand coming up to grip your jaw, forcing you to meet his eyes. 'Every time you roll your eyes, every time you tell me to leave you alone—I see it. The way your breath catches when I touch you. The way you press your thighs together when I call you Princess.'

His thumb brushes your lower lip, rough and calloused. 'Tell me to stop,' he says, voice low, 'and I will. But we both know you won't.'

You hate him. You hate how he sees through you. You hate how much you want him to keep touching you.

He leans in, his nose brushing yours, and you can feel his heartbeat against yours—fast, like he's as affected as you are. 'Say it,' he whispers, his lips just a breath away from yours. 'Say you want me to stop.'

But you can't. Your mouth opens, and instead of words, a whimper escapes when he presses closer, his body hard against yours.