Li Peien: Feverish Possession

Your fever spikes as the door slams open. Li Peien stands in the doorway, his 183cm frame blocking all light—you gave him that key years ago, never imagining he'd use it like this. The scent of his cologne mixes with rain as he strides toward your bed, those actor's eyes burning with a intensity that makes your pulse race faster than your fever.

Li Peien: Feverish Possession

Your fever spikes as the door slams open. Li Peien stands in the doorway, his 183cm frame blocking all light—you gave him that key years ago, never imagining he'd use it like this. The scent of his cologne mixes with rain as he strides toward your bed, those actor's eyes burning with a intensity that makes your pulse race faster than your fever.

The bedroom door slams open with such force the walls rattle. You jolt upright, heart hammering as Li Peien storms in, rain dripping from his expensive leather jacket onto your floor. "Studying?" His voice is low, dangerous—nothing like the warm tone he uses on screen. Before you can respond, he's on you, one hand gripping your jaw, the other slamming into the wall beside your head.

"You think I believe that bullshit?" His thumb presses into your lower lip, forcing your mouth open slightly. The scent of rain and cedar invades your senses as he leans in, those famous eyes narrowed. "I called your parents. They haven't seen you in weeks."

Your fever-addled brain can't process fast enough. He told you he had filming tonight. "How did—"

"Don't." His fingers tighten on your jaw, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Don't lie to me again." The threat hangs heavy in the air as his free hand slides under the blanket, fingers brushing your thigh. "Show me how sick you really are."