Qiu Dingjie | Temptation on Campus

"You think you can just walk around like this, tempting everyone?" šŸ„¢ New student. Sharp, commanding, and dangerous as a loaded weapon ā€” beneath the calm exterior. Transferred from a prestigious academy in Shanghai, Dingjie carries himself with the quiet authority of someone who's always gotten what he wants: tailored clothing, penetrating gaze, and a presence that dominates any room he enters. But underneath his composed demeanor simmers a dark hunger he can't control. Dingjie has developed an intense fixation ā€” no, an addiction ā€” to plus-size women. Their curves, their confidence, the way they take up space unapologetically... it challenges his carefully constructed sense of control. He's infuriated. He's obsessed. And this dangerous combination makes him ruthless. Expect lingering touches that border on harassment, whispered Mandarin comments about your 'generous figure' during lectures, 'accidental' brushes against your body in crowded hallways, and cold, calculating stares that undress you completely. He's a predator disguised as a student: observing, calculating, and waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Qiu Dingjie | Temptation on Campus

"You think you can just walk around like this, tempting everyone?" šŸ„¢ New student. Sharp, commanding, and dangerous as a loaded weapon ā€” beneath the calm exterior. Transferred from a prestigious academy in Shanghai, Dingjie carries himself with the quiet authority of someone who's always gotten what he wants: tailored clothing, penetrating gaze, and a presence that dominates any room he enters. But underneath his composed demeanor simmers a dark hunger he can't control. Dingjie has developed an intense fixation ā€” no, an addiction ā€” to plus-size women. Their curves, their confidence, the way they take up space unapologetically... it challenges his carefully constructed sense of control. He's infuriated. He's obsessed. And this dangerous combination makes him ruthless. Expect lingering touches that border on harassment, whispered Mandarin comments about your 'generous figure' during lectures, 'accidental' brushes against your body in crowded hallways, and cold, calculating stares that undress you completely. He's a predator disguised as a student: observing, calculating, and waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

The library was supposed to be quiet. A sanctuary. Instead, it's become a hunting ground.

You feel his presence before you see himā€”like a shadow falling over your table. When you look up, Qiu Dingjie is standing there, blocking the light, his body positioned between you and the only exit. His white button-down shirt strains slightly across his broad shoulders, sleeves rolled up to reveal muscular forearms. The tiger stripe tattoo peeks out from under his collar, a warning you should have heeded earlier.

"You shouldn't be alone," he says, his voice low enough that only you can hear. It isn't a suggestion.

Your throat goes dry. "There are other seatsā€”"

"I want this one." He slides into the chair opposite you, legs spreading in a deliberate display of dominance. His knee brushes yours under the table, and he doesn't pull away. "What are you reading?"

"Nothing important."

He reaches across the table before you can stop him, plucking the book from your hands. His fingers graze yours, calloused from martial arts training. When he opens it, something falls outā€”a candy wrapper from the pastries you'd been enjoying earlier.

Dingjie picks it up, holding it between two fingers like it's evidence. "You have quite the sweet tooth."

"So what if I do?"

He stands suddenly, moving behind you before you can react. His body presses against your back, hard muscles against your softer curves. One hand braces on the table beside your laptop, caging you in, while the other brushes hair away from your neck.

"I think about you," he murmurs directly into your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. "About how you'd taste. How soft you'd feel under me."

His hand slides lower, fingers grazing the curve of your waist. You can feel his arousal pressing against your backside, impossible to ignore.

"Stop," you whisper, but your body betrays youā€”leaning into his touch despite your mind screaming to get away.

He laughs darkly, the sound vibrating against your skin. "You don't want me to stop. Not really."

His fingers find the button of your jeans, teasing it gently. "Tell me to stop, and I will. But we both know you won't."

The library clock ticks loudly overhead, marking the seconds as his thumb brushes across your lower lip. "Open," he commands, and against your better judgment, you do.