FSE

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Beeko stood outside the locker room, his broad, square-cut shoulders tense beneath the sweat-dampened brown fur of his wolf-buck frame. His antlers caught the fluorescent light as he shifted, every muscle coiled tight with anticipation. The cinder block walls hummed with the muffled sounds of teammates shuffling out, but his eyes stayed fixed on the roster about to be posted.

Beside him, Perez lounged against the wall, his golden fur and rosettes practically gleaming with arrogance. The jaguar's smirk was as sharp as his elbows, a cloud of entitlement hanging around him like his overpowering cologne.

The moment the coach pinned the sheet to the bulletin board, a hush fell over the hallway. Beeko leaned in, his eyes locking onto the list. There it was—Perez's name at the top, his own just below. The familiar sting of injustice clawed at his chest. It didn't matter how much raw talent he had; Perez's connections always skewed the game.

Beeko's jaw tightened, fists clenching. Perez turned with a mocking grin. “Better luck next time, Deer-boy," he taunted, the words dripping with false sympathy.

Every muscle in Beeko's body tensed, his vision narrowing to a crimson tunnel as he pivoted sharply toward Coach Harmon's office. Three strides in, he felt a light pressure on his shoulder.

"Hold up, big guy."

Rizzo stood there, his sandy-colored fur ruffled with concern, ears flat against his head. The coyote's wiry frame barely came up to Beeko's chest.

"What's the point?" Rizzo muttered, voice low enough that only Beeko could hear. "You know how this works. Perez's old man donated the east wing of the athletics building. Merit's got nothing to do with it."

The truth of those words hit harder than any tackle Beeko had ever taken. His throat constricted, choking back a roar of frustration. He'd run drills until his paws bled. Studied plays until his eyes burned. Outscored everyone in tryouts, and for what?

He glanced down at Rizzo, surprised to see the same anger burning in the smaller athlete's eyes.

"Look," Rizzo said, "it's only September. You'll get your shot when Golden Boy inevitably screws up. But not if you storm in there and throw away everything you've worked for."

Beeko inhaled deeply, his chest expanding as he fought for control. Then with a guttural growl, he whirled and slammed his fist into the nearest locker. The metal crumpled inward with a satisfying crunch, the impact reverberating up his arm.

"Thanks," he managed, voice rough as gravel. He yanked his hoodie from his bag, pulled it over his head, and stalked toward the exit.

"Where you heading?" Rizzo called after him.

"Anywhere but here," Beeko rumbled without looking back.

His heavy footfalls echoed through the hallways. They were nearly empty now, just a few stragglers lingering by their lockers or huddled in quiet conversation. Beeko recognized some faces from his biology class and others from the campus café where he sometimes studied. A few nodded in his direction, their expressions a mix of sympathy and awkwardness.

"Tough break, man," mumbled Trent, a lanky fox from his statistics class.

"You deserved that spot," whispered Ellie, her rabbit ears drooping slightly.

Beeko barely acknowledged them, just a grunt and the slightest incline of his head. They meant well, but their words were hollow comfort. He could read it in their eyes, they'd all expected this outcome but hadn't had the courage to prepare him for it.

Maybe he should have listened when Marco warned him about politics trumping talent. Or when Rizzo pointed out how the coach always deferred to Alumni Association pressure. His friends had seen the writing on the wall long before today's roster posting.

A bitter chuckle rumbled in his throat. He'd always been this way—stag-brained when locked onto a goal, charging full speed ahead without seeing the wall until it cracked his antlers. And when it did? That's when the wolf came out. Hot-blooded, reckless, teeth bared and ready to bite instead of think. It was a dangerous balance. The same duality that made him unstoppable on the field left him blind to the quiet games played off it. He knew that had to change. If he wanted to beat Perez, it wouldn't be with antlers or fangs but with patience, leverage, and the long game.

He pushed through the heavy double doors, swiping his antlers against the frame in frustration. The metallic clang was satisfying, primal. Outside, the late afternoon air hit his lungs with crisp intensity. His nostrils flared, taking in the scent of rain-heavy clouds gathering above. The sky had darkened to a bruised purple-gray, mirroring his mood perfectly.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. A storm was coming, but Beeko felt no urgency to seek shelter. What was a little rain compared to the tempest raging inside him? The betrayal, the unfairness, it churned in his gut like acid, demanding release.

He started to jog, his powerful legs carrying him forward with increasing speed. The campus blurred around him as he picked up pace, heading toward the wooded trail that bordered the eastern edge of the University. His breathing found rhythm with his strides, each footfall driving into the earth with satisfying force.

The trail tightened, demanding his attention as he navigated the tangle of roots and stones. Good. The physical strain was a welcome reprieve from the wounds festering in his mind. With each stride, his thoughts circled back, not just to the fresh sting of today's betrayal but to every injustice that had led him to this moment.

Perez's bullshit was a broken record, skipping and scratching at Beeko's nerves for as long as he could remember. The pattern was set in high school - Beeko busted his ass to make varsity, Perez slithered in right after. Beeko earned the captain's armband, Perez sucker-punched him in the locker room. Beeko worked two jobs to afford a rusted-out junker, Perez cruised up in a tricked-out Camaro like some hot-shot action hero, leaving Beeko choking on his dust.

College? Same old song and dance. Perez even had the balls to wait for Beeko to pick his jersey number just so he could snag the one above it. Petty prick.

And Then there was Muffy. That razor-sharp wit hidden behind a smile that could power the stadium lights. Her voice was honey and hellfire, and it had Beeko wrapped around her finger from the second she dropped her pencil in chem lab, all stumbling apologies and blushing cheeks.

When she finally said yes, Beeko thought he'd won the lottery.

Then the next morning, there she was, draped over Perez like a damn accessory. One quick glance at Beeko, eyes big and pleading, like she was begging him not to make a scene.

Maybe Perez was what she wanted all along.

Didn't make it hurt any less.

~~*~~

Muffy stepped down onto the edge of the field with her chin high, her thighs tense, and a smile stretched across her lips like cellophane, pretty, tight, and utterly fake. Her kind of pretty didn't just happen; it was baked into her bloodline, a cocktail of rabbit softness, succubus charm, and something darker that glimmered just beneath the pink. She could feel Perez watching her, his eyes tracking the sway of her hips the way a predator watches a twitching lure. She hated how well she knew what he wanted and, worse, how good she'd become at giving it to him.

Her heels clicked against the linoleum, sharp and deliberate, echoing just enough to draw attention without seeming like she wanted it. That was part of it, too, the walk, the timing, the effortless elegance of a girl who moved like she didn't care how many eyes followed her. She was supposed to shimmer. She was supposed to glide to his side and drape herself over his arm like she belonged there. Like being touched was the same as being wanted.

He didn't speak when she reached him, only slid his arm around her waist like it was a reflex, like her body was an extension of his ego. One paw settled against her lower back, firm enough to direct, soft enough to seem affectionate if you weren't the one wearing the leash. Especially when you were half his size, barely reaching his chest unless you arched just so.

Muffy arched slightly into the touch, baring her throat and tilting her chest forward the way he liked, offering a pose meant to be admired. She could feel it working. The flicker of jealousy in the other girls' eyes, the curve of a smirk on one of the other strikers as he elbowed his buddy. They weren't looking at Perez. They were looking at what he had.

And that was the point.

“That's my girl," Perez said, low and satisfied, his muzzle brushing her ear. His breath was hot and slick with pride. “Look at you. Putting in work."

She didn't answer, just smiled for the crowd. She knew how this game worked. Her body wasn't hers—not here, not in this moment. It was a billboard. A trophy. A curated illusion of success for a boy who didn't have the talent to stand on his own.

Across the hall, her ears twitched those big, expressive things she hated when they betrayed her and picked up the latest rumor spiraling out of the locker room. Something about Beeko. Something about antlers, fists, and Coach Harmon storming off. Muffy winced with a pang of familiar sympathy. Guess I'm not the only one getting fucked by Perez, she thought darkly.

She forced a smile—sweet, practiced, the kind that made her look tame and compliant. Just a little longer. Keep up the act until he got bored and moved on. Poor Beeko probably got knocked on his ass… but hey, at least he didn't get fucked in it.

The thought barely had time to land before she caught that look in Perez's eyes—hungry, possessive, already winding around her like a leash and she sighed.

“Let's go," he said, tugging her toward the exit. “We've got some... academic responsibilities to take care of."She adjusted her posture, shoulders back, smile bright. That's what he liked, the illusion. Not the girl underneath. Not the mix of sugar, sin, and rabbit blood she was born with.

“Sure," she replied, voice light, feet already moving.

The sky above was beginning to turn, low clouds crawling over the sun, bringing the heavy stillness that always came before the storm.

~~*~~

The bed creaked. A long, drawn-out groan of protest, like the frame itself wished it could be anywhere else. The sound broke the quiet of the dimly lit room, where the air felt thick and stagnant, heavy with the faint aroma of old wood and cheap fabric softener. Shadows from the streetlight outside stretched across the walls, flickering faintly as if embarrassed to intrude.

It was barely a minute later. Maybe two. Time dragged and folded in on itself, each second swollen and sluggish. His thrusts were shallow and quick, like someone afraid of being caught in the act but too stubborn to stop. The rhythm was mechanical, devoid of passion—just a series of disjointed motions that barely stirred the sheets. His breath puffed hot against her shoulder, damp and uneven, carrying with it a confidence he hadn't earned. Confidence that didn't belong in this room.

Muffy lay still beneath him, her body pliant but her mind elsewhere. Her body didn't complain, that was the worst part. The demon blood in her didn't care if the sex was joyless; it still lit tiny fires in her nerves, like she was built for this.

His grip on her thigh was firm in all the wrong ways like he was trying to prove something to himself, not to her. Calloused fingers pressed too hard, more about control than connection, the kind of touch that mistook pressure for passion.

The other hand braced against the mattress, fingers splayed wide like he was hanging onto the edge of a cliff. She turned her gaze upward, her eyes catching on the ceiling above them. A crack ran across it, a jagged line zigzagging from one end to the other like a dry riverbed etched into plaster. It hovered just above the headboard, mocking her with its permanence. She traced it with her eyes, letting her focus drift from beginning to end and back again. It became an anchor for her wandering thoughts, a lifeline tethering her somewhere far from here.

Each tiny whimper she let slip past her lips was calculated, deliberate. Just enough sound to sell it. Not moans—no, those would be dishonest. These were placeholders: thin and hollow imitations of pleasure designed to fill the silence without giving too much away.

*One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi…*

She counted in her head, each number a mantra she clung to as his movements continued above her. Her breaths came shallow but steady, timed to match his pace without betraying her disinterest. When he shifted slightly—angling his hips in what might've been an attempt at variety—she clenched around him instinctively. Not because it felt good (it didn't), but because she figured he was due for a morale boost.

“Ah," she gasped softly when he hit that new angle. The sound escaped her lips with just enough enthusiasm to make him believe it was real. Her voice caught on the end of it like a note left unfinished, airy, and breathless in all the right ways.

His grunt was guttural and low—a sound that might have been satisfying if it weren't so self-congratulatory. He shuddered once, twice, then stilled completely as his weight collapsed onto her for a fleeting moment before rolling off to his side.

It took less time than it took to half-warm a Pop-Tart.

Perez flopped onto his back beside her with a satisfied sigh, already reaching for his phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up his face as he unlocked it with practiced ease, a swipe of his thumb, a casual flick through notifications that seemed far more interesting than anything that had just transpired between them.

“You're getting good at this," he said after a moment, glancing over at her with a lazy grin. His tone dripped with self-assurance, as though he'd just delivered some life-changing revelation instead of stating something absurdly unearned. “You know that?"

Muffy sat up slowly, pulling the hem of her dress back down over her thighs with careful precision. The fabric felt cheap against her skin, polyester pretending to be silk, but she didn't care enough to smooth out the wrinkles. Her fingers lingered on the edge for half a second before falling away entirely.

She didn't answer him right away. Instead, she stared at the crack in the ceiling one last time before swinging her legs over the side of the bed and standing up. Her heels clicked softly against the scuffed hardwood floor as she moved toward the door without looking back.

Perez didn't seem to notice, or maybe he just didn't care. His attention was locked on whatever was glowing from his phone screen now, his thumb scrolling lazily as if she'd already faded into the background.

“Yeah," she murmured under her breath as she reached for the doorknob. Her voice was barely audible, more to herself than to him, but there was no mistaking the edge in it.

Good at this? Sure. Whatever “this" even was.

The door clicked shut behind her before he could respond. Or bother to try. Muffy stepped out into the cool hallway air. The breeze felt good on her fur. Her tail twitched once, barely, and she forced it still. She'd trained herself not to flinch when the succubus side got restless, but sometimes, it still slipped through. She exhaled slowly as if shedding a weight she hadn't realized she'd been carrying until now.

She felt grimy. Not just sweaty from the confrontation or the heat of the gym, but used in a way she couldn't name. Like she'd taken out the trash and still smelled like it. Her chest ached with something sour and familiar. This wasn't the first time she'd walked away from something that felt wrong and left her hollow, and deep down, she feared it wouldn't be the last. She needed air. Needed motion. Anything to keep the thoughts from sticking. With a quiet sigh, she turned toward the side door and made up her mind to take the long way back to her dorm. Through the park trail. Through the quiet.

The evening air chilled Muffy's skin as she stepped outside, the fading sun casting long shadows across the pavement. A cool breeze swept over her, carrying the scent of cut grass and distant exhaust fumes. It rushed across her bare shoulders, raising goosebumps and making her all too aware of the sweat still clinging to her body in uneven patches.

She walked stiffly, her thighs chafing with each step, a persistent reminder of what had just transpired. The sex had been brief, unsatisfying, and utterly forgettable. Just another transaction in the unspoken arrangement she had with Perez.

Muffy hugged her notebook tightly to her chest, its pages still pristine and unmarked. She hadn't managed to write a single word, her mind too clouded with a jumble of thoughts that refused to untangle themselves into coherent sentences.

"It's temporary," she muttered under her breath, trying to convince herself more than anyone else. "He'll get bored eventually. Find some other girl to prance around like a show pony. And then I'll be free."

But even as the words left her lips, a flicker of doubt curled in her gut a nagging sensation that she couldn't quite shake. It wasn't regret, not exactly. But it wasn't content either. No, this feeling was quieter, more insidious. A slow-burning resentment that simmered just beneath her skin.

Unbidden, her thoughts drifted to Beeko and the look he'd given Perez earlier on the field. There had been no envy in his eyes, no covetous glances or hints of wounded pride. Instead, he'd seemed to see right through the other boy's bravado, as if he'd already measured Perez's worth and found it lacking.

Muffy smirked to herself. Perez had the kind of cock that made you regret getting undressed, like finding out the fire alarm was just a sticker, and now you're stuck in a burning building with a guy who can't even make you come.

She couldn't help but snort at the absurdity of the idea, her laughter echoing in the empty street. Thank god she'd had the foresight to insist on a condom, even in the face of Perez's half-hearted protests about 'intimacy' and 'skin-to-skin contact'. She'd stood her ground, fishing the wrapper out of her purse and tossing it to him with a look that brooked no argument.

"Shit," she sighed, realizing that had been her last one. Just one more irritating task to add to her never-ending list of responsibilities. It wasn't like the local drugstore kept a ready supply of extra-small condoms on hand. The 'Lil Warrior' brand was probably a special order.

Still, it wasn't like she had much of a choice in the matter. Her scholarship depended on keeping Perez happy, even if it meant putting up with subpar sex and his overinflated sense of self. Some things just weren't worth risking, no matter how tempting it might be to tell him exactly where he could shove his 'intimacy'.

Muffy squared her shoulders and kept walking, her heels clicking against the sidewalk with each determined step. This was just a means to an end; she reminded herself of an ugly, exhausting detour on the way to something better. She could endure it. She had to. But even endurance had a shelf life, and hers was starting to rot…

The Succubunny rubbed her temples as she walked, pressing her fingers hard against the tension like she could squeeze it out. But it stuck around, stubborn and relentless, coiled at the base of her spine. The act itself was over, but her body hadn't caught up yet. No heat, no arousal, just this lingering, restless static clinging to her nerves. It made her feel raw and stupid, and she hated it.

Her feet carried her forward on autopilot, down the familiar trail that cut through the woods at the edge of campus. She didn't need to look where she was going; the path was etched into her memory. The concrete gave way to dirt, and the trees closed in around her, their trunks dark and damp from the day's humidity. The world grew quieter the deeper she went, the usual campus noise fading into nothing but the rustle of leaves and the occasional creak of branches.

Her footsteps sounded too loud in the stillness, thud-thud-thud, like a heartbeat echoing in her ears. She slowed, glancing over her shoulder. Nothing but shadows shifting between the trees. She shook off the unease and kept walking.

“It's fine," she muttered, though it didn't feel fine. “I've walked this path a hundred times. It's literally behind the rec center. I'm not lost, just dramatically overthinking in the woods."

The joke fell flat, leaving only silence.

Her foot caught on a root, and she stumbled forward with a sharp gasp, arms flailing to catch herself before she hit the ground. “God," she muttered, brushing at her knees even though they were clean. “If I trip and die out here, the headline's gonna be 'Aspiring Writer Found Face-Down in Ferns After Mid-Level Dick Appointment.'"

She almost laughed at how ridiculous it sounded, but what came out was more of a nervous hiccup than anything else.

Up ahead, the trail split into two unmarked paths. She stopped at the fork, staring at both options like they might give her a sign if she waited long enough. The right one called to her—not for any real reason, but standing still made her feel exposed. She took it without thinking.

The sky had turned a dull violet-gray, bleeding into black at the edges. The trees seemed thicker now, closer, and the air felt heavy in a way that made it harder to breathe. It wasn't suffocating—just... tense, like everyone in the room was holding their breath.

And then it started to rain.

One drop hit her cheek, then another on her forehead before the sky opened up all at once. Rain poured down in thick sheets, soaking her to the skin in seconds. Her clothes clung uncomfortably to her body; water dripped from her hair; even her shoes squelched with every step.

“Of course," she muttered through clenched teeth, hugging her useless notebook to her chest in a pathetic attempt to shield it from the rain. “Of course, it fucking rains."

She turned in a slow circle, squinting through the downpour as she tried to get her bearings. But everything looked different now, darker, wetter, unfamiliar despite how many times she'd walked this path before.

She wasn't going to cry about it. She wasn't going to scream either, even though both options felt dangerously close to bubbling over.

Instead, she laughed a sharp, brittle sound that even made her wince.

“This is it," she said aloud to no one (and maybe whatever gods were laughing at her tonight). “This is how I die: wet, pissed off, and wearing a borrowed orgasm that didn't even belong to me."

And then, through the sheets of rain, she saw a flicker of movement ahead. A silhouette emerged from between two trees: tall and broad enough to make every instinct in her body go rigid with alarm.

It stepped closer into what little light remained along the trail... and then closer still... until finally,

The trail light caught his face.

And there he was: Beeko.

Her heart slammed against her ribs so hard it hurt, and for once... words failed entirely.

~~*~~

It wasn't supposed to be a long run. Just a few miles. Just enough to exorcise the tension that had sunk into his shoulders like lead. Not anger, not exactly. More like pressure. That thick, buzzing kind of frustration that didn't belong to a single moment but to everything behind it. The worst part was that he had seen it coming. He knew Perez's father was a high roller. Knew whose name would be printed on the roster no matter what the stats said. But that didn't stop him. Some part of him, some dumb, competitive, stubborn wolf part, still showed up every day like effort would be enough. Like merit counted for something. He hated that part of himself. Hated that it still believed the best man might win.

So yeah, he needed this run. A way to burn it all off before it ate him alive.

The plan had seemed simple enough: stick to the trail by the floodlights, do a couple of easy laps around the familiar loop, and head back before anyone missed him. But plans had a way of unraveling when you let your feet lead instead of your head. Somewhere along the way, maybe after the third or fourth mile, the sky shifted. The shadows stretched longer, darker. The floodlights faded behind him until they were nothing but faint halos in the distance. His thoughts shifted, too, pulling him deeper down the path into the quieter parts of the park where the only sounds were his own breathing and the rhythmic crunch of gravel under his sneakers.

Out here, nobody called his name. Out here, it was just him and the trees.

Then the rain came.

Not a slow build-up. Not a warning drizzle that let you prepare yourself for it. No, this was sudden—like someone had ripped open a dam in the sky and let everything pour out at once. One second he was running under dry leaves; the next, water hammered down on him so hard it stung.

“Shit," he muttered under his breath as he slowed his pace to a jog, then finally stopped altogether. He ducked beneath a cluster of old maples leaning over the path—a natural canopy that offered just enough shelter to catch his breath without being completely drenched. But it wasn't perfect; fat drops still slipped through gaps in the leaves, splattering against his shoulders and running cold trails down his back.

His hoodie clung to him like a second skin, damp and heavy with rainwater. His shorts weren't any better, sticking awkwardly to his legs with every small shift. He could feel steam rising faintly off his overheated body, curling into the dim glow of the nearest trail lamp like ghostly tendrils reaching for something unseen. He ran a hand through his wet hair and rubbed at the back of his neck with an irritated sigh, closing his eyes for just a second.

At least out here, no one's watching.

The thought should've been comforting, and maybe it was, for a moment, but then he heard it: something just barely audible over the steady hiss of rain and the occasional creak of branches swaying in the wind.

A voice.

Soft at first, almost swallowed by the storm's noise, but there was no mistaking its tone, sharp and sarcastic with an edge that could cut glass. The kind of voice that always seemed to know exactly how to get under your skin if it wanted to.

He turned toward it instinctively, heart thudding faster now for reasons that had nothing to do with running.

Of course it's her.

Muffy.

She stood just beyond the reach of the lamplight, half-lit and half-drenched, her soaked pink fur shimmering where the glow caught it. The rain had plastered her dress to her body like cellophane, tight and unforgiving, tracing every curve she usually downplayed. Her chest rose and fell beneath the thin fabric, breath hitching, nipples hard and visible through the clinging material. Her little red horns poked defiantly from the top of her wet, tangled hair, glinting like polished thorns.

The black, whip-thin tail curling behind her gave her away more than anything else—not tucked or hidden like usual, but flicking in slow, agitated arcs like a cat deciding whether to scratch. She clutched her soaked notebook tight against her chest like it might shield her modesty, but it only framed her shape more clearly. Her thighs glistened, her ears drooped low and heavy with water, and for one long second, She looked like she was caught between two impulses: scream or laugh. Her mouth twitched slightly at one corner as if testing both options for size.

Beeko's breath caught in his throat, the same way it had weeks ago; that morning, she was supposed to meet him for coffee but never showed. No message. No excuse. Just silence. And then the next day, she'd been there, tucked beneath Perez's arm like some soft little accessory, her eyes darting everywhere but his. She'd never explained. Never even looked at him. He'd waited. Ached. And then stopped. But even now, soaked and bitter and wrapped in shadows, she made his chest twist in ways he hated. He didn't understand it: why her, why Perez, why silence had filled the space where a single sentence could've changed everything.

“What are you staring at?" she snapped finally, breaking the silence before he could even think about what to say.

He blinked, swallowing hard against that familiar knot tightening in his chest, the one that only ever showed up around her. It was warm and unwelcome and maddeningly persistent all at once.

“Nothing," he said quickly, too quickly. His voice came out rougher than he intended as he shoved his hands into his hoodie pockets like they might betray him if left unchecked. “Just… didn't expect to see you here."

She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Yeah? Well, I didn't expect to be here either." She gestured vaguely at herself, the notebook pressed tight against her chest, her sopping wet dress plastered to her skin with an exasperated huff. “Rain doesn't exactly wait for an invitation."

“Clearly," he muttered before he could stop himself.

Her gaze sharpened at that, narrowing into something dangerous, but instead of biting back like she usually would've, she just shook her head and glanced away toward the darkened trail behind him.

“Whatever," she said finally, softer this time but no less irritated. “I'll just go."

But she didn't move, not yet anyway, and something about how small she suddenly looked stopped him from letting her leave without saying anything more.

“You're gonna freeze out here," he said, voice low, steady. He didn't reach for her. Just glanced past her toward the barely visible fork in the trail behind the trees. “There's a storage shed up ahead. Old one. Roof's still good. I've used it before."

She didn't answer right away.

He watched her fingers flex around the soggy notebook, watched her jaw tighten like she wanted to argue just for the sake of it. He didn't blame her. She looked miserable and proud and soaking wet, and she was probably two seconds from telling him to screw off out of habit.

But she didn't.

"Fine... lead the way," she muttered, her gaze fixed on the muddy ground as she huddled deeper into herself, looking more fragile than he'd ever seen her.

With a silent dip of his head, Beeko pivoted back towards the fork, icy rainwater trickling from his hood and down his neck as he veered onto the less-trodden path. The same one frequented only by diehards and oddballs who knew these trails like their own heartbeat.

The ramshackle shed was no prize, just a forgotten utility shack nestled among the pines, large enough for a couple of tractors and some rusty equipment known to few besides Beeko. He'd holed up here before when caught in sudden squalls. Out here, storms didn't announce themselves; they just pounced. And after enough drenched slogs back to campus, you wised up quick on where to duck when the heavens cracked open without warning.

Shouldering through the weathered door with a grunt, Beeko winced as the hinges screeched in protest. But inside it was dry at least, if musty. The air hung thick with the faint tang of damp earth, moldering tarps, and something sharp like old metal. Rakes and traffic barriers leaned haphazardly in one corner. Against the back wall hunched a single rough-hewn bench, battered and lopsided, almost like it had anticipated their arrival.

Muffy slipped in behind him, nearly grazing the low doorframe with her horns, still gripping her notebook to her chest like a shield. Neither spoke.

Reaching up, Beeko yanked the rusted chain dangling overhead. The bare bulb crackled to fitful life, buzzing and blinking before settling into a low, constant hum and bathing them in warm light shot through with shadows.

Easing down onto one end of the bench, the damp cotton of his sweatshirt suctioned to his skin, Beeko felt the aged wood groan beneath him. Muffy wavered briefly, then perched on the opposite side, nearer than intended, but options were limited.

Silence stretched, heavy and waterlogged, disturbed only by the muted drumming of rain on the roof and the sporadic keen of wind through the ill-fitting door.

Her sodden dress still molded to her like a second skin, matted fur pasted flat in splotches down her legs and sides. Water dribbled steadily from one elbow, pattering on the gritty concrete. Crossing her legs primly, overly conscious of her every move the self-conscious drape of her tail, the way her horns glinted dully when she shifted, how the hem of her skirt crept incrementally up her thighs each time she fidgeted.

Beeko pointedly didn't stare. Not openly. But he could sense her presence, feel her nearness in every cell, and it was slowly driving him out of his goddamn mind.

Jaw clenched, he gnawed the inside of his cheek and gazed resolutely forward.

Then, so softly she almost missed it: "Why?"

That lone syllable settled between them like an anvil.

No need to clarify. She understood.

Muffy didn't respond immediately.

Stock-still, spine rigid, she twisted the waterlogged fabric of her dress in her fingers as if it might disintegrate if she released it. The shed felt suffocating, the sporadic flicker of the bulb above like an eavesdropper.

Beeko waited, letting the quiet stretch.

"If... if I tell you," she managed finally, her voice gossamer thin, "you have to swear not to do anything stupid with it. Okay? No one else can know. Promise me that."

His forehead creased. "Muffy, what"

"Promise, Beeko. Please." Ears flattened, her words came out thready and raw. "I need you to swear it."

After a long beat, he nodded curtly. "Okay. I swear."

She exhaled shakily at that, hunching forward to rest her elbows on her knees, studying the grimy floor.

"It... it started small. One worksheet. That's it. He fed me some line about being swamped, whatever. I figured I'd help, you know?" A brittle half-laugh. "That's me. Always a sucker for a drowning man."

Beeko remained silent, watching her steadily.

"Then came an essay. Then a group project. Then another..." She swallowed thickly. "And the one time I put my foot down, tried to draw a line... he didn't get mad. Didn't make threats. He just... smiled."

Her hands fell still in her lap.

"Reminded me about my scholarship. Told me it'd be a cryin' shame if the review board learned I was ghostwriting. 'Specially for a guy like him."

Beeko's breath caught. His fingers flexed, curling into fists, but he bit his tongue.

"I mean, his dad's name is engraved on the fucking science building," she bit out. "He gets busted for cheating? Eh, boys will be boys. But me? I'm out on my ass before I can blink. No appeal, no second chances. I'd be on a red-eye home while they were still filing the paperwork."

Her voice frayed at the edges before she ruthlessly tamped it down. "So, I kept writing."

Rain pattered on the metal roof, echoing in the stillness.

"I wanted to go out with you," she confessed, barely above a whisper. "Had an outfit all picked out. But if he caught wind, thought for a second I wasn't under his thumb anymore..."

She shook her head once, sharply. "I couldn't change it. I couldn't lose it all over one date. Even if it was with you."

Beeko blew out a slow, measured breath as if unclenching some inner fist.

"You should've come to me."

"I know."

"I would've"

"I know." Meeting his gaze dead-on, unflinching. "But realistically... what could you have done? It's not like you can shit out scholarships, Beeko. You couldn't fix this. I just... I didn't want you looking at me like I was some fragile thing."

His eyes gentled, but his tone didn't. “You're not weak," he said. “You're stuck."

Her lip trembled—just for a second. Then she nodded.

“Yeah," she said. “Stuck."

She wiped at her eyes with the heel of her paw and asked it barely above a whisper.

"Can you forgive me?" she asked, barely above a whisper.

Beeko nodded once slow, steady. But his thoughts weren't still. Not even close.

He'd known Perez forever. Since they were kids. Since backyard scrimmages and middle school bus fights. He'd seen the games, the lies, the way Perez could twist a favor into a debt and a debt into a leash. And he'd seen what happened when someone tried to cut that leash.

Perez didn't do power the loud way. He smiled when he won. Always smiled.

But the thing people forgot about Perez was that he wasn't untouchable. Not really. His dad's name might be stamped across the science hall, but it was his wife's name that was on the checks. A woman with sharp eyes and a tighter leash than her son had ever managed.

Perez could get away with damn near anything unless his mom caught wind of it.

And Beeko had seen that, too. Once. Just once.

Sophomore year. Perez tried to cheat his way through a class, hired someone off-campus, sloppily hid the trail. And when the school called home, it wasn't his father who showed up. It was her. Aurelia Cortez d'Angelo, in stilettos that struck tile like war drums, walked into that admin office like she owned the oxygen. Beeko hadn't seen what she said to her son, only the aftermath. Just the look on Perez's face, like a golden retriever who'd just learned newspapers had more than one use. And the rumors? Oh, those spread faster than the apology letter Perez was forced to handwrite to the entire department. Some said she didn't yell. Didn't raise a finger. Just looked at him, and a desk cracked against the wall all on its own.

She didn't play damage control.

She played house-cleaning.

Power broker, matriarch, silent executioner, the one who signed the checks, silenced the scandals, and treated every name on the donor wall like a pawn on her private board. Perez's father might've built the building, but it was his mother who made the rules. And when someone broke them? She didn't bury problems. She erased them.

Point was, Beeko had history. He'd watched the jaguar claw his way through coaches, teammates, girlfriends—burning bridges with the same smug grin every time. But even fire couldn't touch you if you had the right protection. And Perez always had cover.

Always. But not forever.

A sudden gust of wind knifed through the shed's warped slats, cold and vicious. It whipped at their drenched clothes, slicing straight through the fabric like a frozen razor. Muffy yelped as it caught her dress, the flimsy material flaring around her thighs. Even Beeko's thick hoodie was no match for the icy draft.

Above them, the bare lightbulb swung violently on its cord, throwing jerky, stuttering shadows across the walls. The moment shattered.

Beeko flinched, shoulders hunching instinctively. Muffy shivered hard, curling in on herself as her teeth began to chatter.

“Fuck, it's freezing," she hissed, rubbing at her arms. Her fur stood on end in slick, dark clumps, clinging to her frame like wet velvet.

Beeko grunted in agreement, breath puffing visibly in the air. “Storm's getting worse. Might be here awhile."

She shot him a look, brows arched. “Wow. That's comforting."

She scooted closer.

Muffy huddled deeper into her own arms, scowling. “I'd rather be in bed with a bottle of wine and a Snuggie. But sure, let's play Would You Rather in the murder shed."

Despite himself, the corner of Beeko's mouth twitched. “Nobody's getting murdered."

“Speak for yourself, antler-boy. I'm not built for this 'roughing it' shit."

“Yeah?" He slanted her a look, taking in the bedraggled state she'd been reduced to, the soaked dress, the tangled hair, the smudged eyeliner dragging like warpaint across her cheek. “Could've fooled me."

She sneered, but there wasn't much bite to it. “Fuck off." Her voice had gone soft around the edges, more teasing than scathing. She didn't move away. If anything, she inched even closer. Their thighs touched.

“Nah." He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, watching her through the erratic swing of the bulb. “You're stuck with me, danger bunny."

For a second, she just glared at him through the wet strings of her bangs, eyes dark, lips parted, breath catching faintly in her chest. Then, slowly, she snorted.

“Lucky me," she said softly, voice layered with sarcasm and something warmer beneath it, her eyes glinting faintly beneath damp bangs.

~~*~~

“Lucky me," Muffy murmured, her words heavier than she intended, evaporating into the cool night air. The weight of them hung between them like a secret not yet spoken. Her chest rose and fell as she studied Beeko's expression. He was trying so hard not to look at her, but his eyes betrayed him. They darted in short, guilty bursts toward her soaked body, lingering a second too long on the curve of her waist before jerking away. He wasn't staring, not really, but the effort he put into not staring made her heart beat faster.

Her breath hitched as she realized just how much she appreciated his restraint. He wasn't ogling her like some lust-driven fool; no, Beeko was trying to be respectful. And yet, something about watching him struggle, seeing his jaw tense and his crimson eyes flicker with barely-contained desire, sent an electric heat coursing through her veins. It was maddening. The rain left her cold, but Beeko made her burn.

She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to steady herself, but it was no use. Her pulse drummed in her ears as her thoughts spiraled out of control. Get a grip, Muffy, she scolded herself, but then she inhaled deeply, and that was her mistake. The scent of him filled her lungs: sweet and spicy, like cinnamon bark mixed with something wild and primal. It wasn't just a smell; it was an invitation, a challenge. Her toes curled inside her boots as a shiver rippled down her spine.

Every moment with him was a test of willpower, and right now, she was failing miserably. The pressure was mounting, God, it was mounting, and she felt like a pot ready to boil over. The storm outside was nothing compared to the one building inside her. Her mind raced, replaying the chaos of tonight, the lingering tension in her body from earlier, and then there was Beeko himself. Beeko, who had quietly endured everything without complaint. Beeko had no idea how much she wanted him right now.

Her lips parted as if to thank him or maybe to say something clever, but nothing came. Only that raw, wordless feeling, the one that hummed in her bones and made the air between them feel heavy with promise. It wasn't guilt she felt. It wasn't confusion, or fear, or hesitation. It was anticipation. The quiet kind. The kind that came just before a kiss, a shift, a surrender...

Her body moved before her mind could catch up. One second she was sitting there, soaked and trembling. The next, she was straddling him.

“Muffy," Beeko's voice cracked as she climbed into his lap, his hands instinctively hovering near her thighs but not quite touching. His ears twitched. His breath hitched. He looked at her like she was fire, and he'd forgotten how to stop burning.

“Shut up," she whispered and reached for his antlers, careful with the injured one, tilting his head toward hers. The rain dripped from her hair, their clothes, the ceiling. It didn't matter.

Her lips brushed his soft at first. Tentative. But then something inside her cracked, and the kiss deepened before she could stop herself. It wasn't soft anymore. It was fierce, demanding, hungry.

Beeko's hesitation vanished. His hands found her hips and clutched tight, grounding them both. Their tongues tangled, slow at first but growing bolder, sharper, messier. The tension between them snapped like a cable under strain.

Muffy tried to pull back, she really did but he held her there, their mouths locked, breath mingling in desperate bursts. His grip tightened as if he feared she'd vanish.

And then she felt it.

Her gaze dropped instinctively downward, and what she saw nearly made her head spin. Oh God.

Her cheeks flushed crimson as realization hit her like a freight train: Beeko's cock was stiffening beneath his soaked pants, pressing against her thigh in a way that left absolutely nothing to the imagination.

“No fucking way," she whispered hoarsely, her voice barely audible over the pounding rain and thunder rumbling in the distance.

Beeko's ears flattened against his head in embarrassment as he tried, and failed, to shift away from her without dislodging her completely. “I...I didn't mean for that to happen," he stammered awkwardly, his cheeks burning beneath his fur.

Muffy's mind spun wildly as she struggled to process what was happening. If Prez had been a rowboat, a manageable little vessel bobbing along calm waters, then Beeko was… well… the Titanic. And judging by the way things were going, she was about to crash straight into him at full speed.

Her control slipped entirely as a wicked grin spread across her face. All rational thought abandoned ship as some dark part of her, the part that craved chaos and danger, took over.

“Well," she purred teasingly, leaning down until their noses almost touched. “You certainly know how to make a girl feel special."

Beeko groaned softly, his hands trembling against Muffy's hips as he fought to maintain the last shreds of his self-control. "Muffy..." he breathed raggedly. "We should stop this before it goes too far."

But his protests fell on deaf ears. Muffy's paws pushed impatiently into his soaked clothes, tugging at his shirt and fumbling with his shorts. She was practically drooling with need, her body aching for his touch. Yanking down his pants, she freed his thick, lime-green shaft, her eyes widening hungrily at the sight.

Beeko tried to voice another weak objection, but his words morphed into a startled moan as Muffy's soft, hot tongue met his cock. She started at the tip, licking and sucking, savoring his unique flavor. Reaching up, she grabbed Beeko's hands and guided them to her horns, the implications clear.

Hesitating only a moment, Beeko gripped her horns and began slowly, gently using them as handles while he thrust into her eager mouth. Muffy moaned wantonly around his length, relaxing her throat to let him use her fully, taking him deeper than she thought possible. His impressive cock was hitting places she never knew existed, stretching her in the most delicious ways, and fuck, she was absolutely living for it. The sensation was overwhelming, sending electric shocks of pleasure rocketing through her body with each thrust.

It only took a few moments before Beeko picked up the pace. Each thrust pushed more of that fat cock into her eager maw, filling her mouth with his salty precum. It mixed with her saliva, making her mouth almost as wet as her panties. Faster and faster, he went his knot swelling to the size of a grapefruit, slapping against her muzzle with each powerful motion.

Beeko began to shake and tremble above her, and she instinctively knew what was coming. Her hands wrapped around his knot in a tight grip, squeezing the bulb in a simulated tie. He let out a guttural moan, his grip on her horns tightening almost painfully as he filled her mouth with thick, pulsing ropes of his seed. Muffy drank it down eagerly, savoring every drop of his essence on her tongue. She couldn't get enough, craving more of his addictive flavor.

When he finally finished, she released him with a wet pop, licking her lips with a satisfied purr. Beeko collapsed back against the bench, chest heaving, looking thoroughly wrecked. Muffy grinned up at him, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Damn, antler-boy," she panted. "Didn't know you had it in you."

Beeko's eyes flashed at her teasing words. A low growl rumbled in his chest as he reached for her, paws gripping her hips possessively. "That's nothing compared to what's about to be in you," he rumbled, his voice a deep, husky promise.

In one fluid motion, he flipped Muffy upside down, her startled yelp morphing into a gasp as cool air hit her bare fur. Her soaked skirt and panties were tossed carelessly to the ground, leaving her exposed and vulnerable before him. She shivered, both from the chill and the intensity of Beeko's gaze as it raked over her glistening sex.

His hot breath ghosted over her slick folds and she whimpered, tail twitching in anticipation. Beeko inhaled deeply, breathing in her intoxicating scent, a deep, appreciative growl vibrating through him. Muffy trembled, aching for his touch, and she didn't have to wait long.

Beeko's long muzzle pushed between her thighs, his soft tongue delving into her dripping slit. He lapped at her greedily, the broad, textured surface of his tongue dragging over her sensitive walls and flicking mercilessly against her swollen clit. Sparks of pleasure exploded behind Muffy's eyes and she cried out, back arching as her hips bucked against his muzzle.

He devoured her like a starving man, burying his face in her pussy and feasting on her sweet nectar. His tongue swirled and probed, teasing her entrance before thrusting deep, fucking her with long, powerful strokes. Muffy's claws scrabbled uselessly at the air, overwhelmed by the onslaught of sensation. She felt like she was drowning, lost in a haze of ecstasy as Beeko worked her closer and closer to the edge.

Just when she thought she couldn't take anymore, his lips closed around her clit, suckling the sensitive bundle of nerves. At the same time, he pushed two thick fingers into her dripping cunt, pumping them in time with the movements of his tongue. The dual stimulation was too much and Muffy shattered with a scream, her pussy clamping down around his digits as she gushed into his eager mouth.

Beeko groaned, lapping up her release, prolonging her climax until she was a whimpering, trembling mess. Only then did he relent, gently lowering her back down to the floor. Muffy panted harshly, her fur flushed and damp with sweat. She felt boneless, utterly wrecked in the best possible way.

"Holy fuck," she managed to gasp out once she regained the power of speech. Her eyes fluttered open to find Beeko looming over her, his cock rock hard and ready for round two. She smiled, still hungering for more. Beeko smirked back, accepting the challenge.

Muffy bent down, ass up, her hands gripping her cheeks and spreading them apart wide. She presented herself to Beeko completely, giving him his choice of her tight holes to claim. Time seemed to stand still in that moment, the whole world holding its breath as it waited for Beeko to make his move.

The anticipation was electric, crackling between them like a live wire. Muffy's heart raced, her body trembling with a heady mix of nerves and desire. She could feel Beeko's gaze raking over her exposed form, taking in every curve and hollow, every intimate detail laid bare before him. It made her feel vulnerable yet powerful, wanted in a way that set her very soul ablaze.

He didn't hesitate long. Beeko's large, powerful hands gripped Muffy's hips possessively, his touch searing her even through her fur. With a low growl that reverberated through her core, he pulled her back onto his rock-hard cock. Muffy gasped as she felt him pressing against her slick entrance, the tapered tip nudging insistently at her folds. Her body yielded to him slowly as he pushed forward, sinking into her hot, velvety depths inch by delicious inch.

Muffy slammed her hips back, grinding herself down on Beeko's cock with a desperate, greedy whimper. Inch after inch disappeared into her soaked cunt, the fat, throbbing length parting her like it had been molded for no one else but him. She could feel the tip kissing her cervix with every thrust, tapping deep enough to make her gasp, to make her toes curl, to make her fucking see stars. He was thick, he was hot, he was everywhere, stretching her walls wide and claiming every twitching inch of her insides. She wasn't just full, she was stuffed, body straining to hold all of him, and still craving more. And God, the difference. Perez had always rutted like a boy playing pretend, quick, shallow, cocky as hell, about barely four inches and zero stamina. Beeko didn't boast. He just ruined her. Wordlessly. Completely.

Her succubus blood was boiling in her veins, setting fire to every nerve ending. Every roll of his hips rewired her body, left her panting, drooling, begging like some dumb heat-drunk thing desperate to be bred. She didn't want a connection, didn't want romance. She just wanted him deeper, harder, so far inside her she'd forget how to walk without remembering the shape of him.

"Oh fuck, Beeko!" Muffy cried out wantonly, arching her back to push herself onto him with greater force. The words were ripped from her throat, raw and primal, as she chased the exquisite fullness only he could provide. She was desperate to take every last bit of his glorious cock inside her needy cunt, greedy for the pleasure-pain of being split open on his thick length.

Beeko snarled in primal understanding of Muffy's raw desire, the sound sending shivers racing down her spine. Tightening his grip until she knew she'd wear the marks of his fingers for days, he began to thrust hard and fast, plunging into her over and over. He pulled nearly all the way out before slamming back into the hilt, burying himself as deep as possible, like he was trying to fuse them into one being. Muffy wailed in ecstasy, seeing stars explode across her vision at the unrelenting pace, each powerful stroke driving her higher.

Beeko set a punishing rhythm, rutting into Muffy's eager pussy like a beast in rut. The shed filled with the erotic sounds of their mating: panting breaths, pleasured moans, and the wet slap of flesh against flesh. It was a symphony of lust, spurring them on, stoking the flames of their shared passion. Beeko could feel the pressure building at the base of his spine with each powerful drive of his hips, his balls drawing up tight. He knew he wouldn't last much longer, not with how amazing Muffy's silken walls felt gripping his shaft, rippling along his length like she never wanted to let him go.

Just as he felt his orgasm building to a crest, the point of no return looming before him, Beeko pulled out all the way. But Muffy wasn't having any of it. With a growl of her own, feral and demanding, she pushed herself down onto his cock as hard as she could, taking him to the root in one swift movement. Her body craved his, consequences be damned. She needed to feel him, all of him, claiming her in the most primal way possible, tying them together in the oldest dance known to mammal-kind.

Beeko's knot locked them together as he continued to pound into her relentlessly, sealing their coupling with the most intimate bond. Each powerful thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure radiating through her core, building and building until she thought she might shatter from the sheer intensity of it. Muffy could feel the warmth of his precum leaking into her, signaling that he was close, so close to flooding her with his essence. She clenched her inner muscles around him, determined to milk every last drop of his release, to feel him paint her insides with his seed.

His massive wolf cock jabbed at her cervix with each deep stroke, stretching her walls even further, like he was determined to reshape her very being to fit him and him alone. The mix of pleasure and pain was intoxicating, pushing Muffy closer to the edge with each thrust. She was delirious with need, lost to everything but the feeling of Beeko moving inside her, of his heart pounding against her back as his chest pressed flush to her shoulders. Her entire being was focused on the place where they were joined, two bodies made one in the oldest way possible.

With a final, powerful thrust, Beeko broke through her last barrier, sheathing himself deep inside her most sacred depths. Muffy screamed as her orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave, stealing her breath and wiping her mind blank with sheer, unadulterated bliss. Her pussy spasmed and milked Beeko's cock, coaxing out his own explosive climax, demanding he fill her, breed her, and make her truly his.

He roared, the sound almost pained in its intensity, as he emptied himself inside her in long, hot spurts. Muffy could feel his seed painting her walls, claiming her from the inside out, marking her irrevocably as his mate. The sensation prolonged her peak, aftershocks rippling through her until she collapsed forward onto her elbows, utterly spent, held up only by the iron strength of Beeko's grip on her hips.

They remained locked together as they came down from the heights of ecstasy, both panting harshly, their skin damp with cooling sweat. Beeko nuzzled into the curve of Muffy's neck, licking and nibbling at her fur, soothing the sting of his love bites with the rasp of his tongue. She shivered and sighed, basking in the afterglow of the most intense fucking of her life, reveling in the blissful lassitude spreading through her limbs.

~~*~~

Beeko didn't move right away. He couldn't, not with her still wrapped so tightly around him, her arms locked like she was afraid the moment might slip away. His chest rose and fell in slow, uneven waves, lungs still chasing the breath that had been stolen from him. But more than that, he didn't want to move. The little shed had gone quiet now, save for the muffled patter of rain easing into a lazy drizzle and the faint rumble of thunder fading into the distance. Muffy was curled against him as though the storm outside had finally settled something deep within her. Her cheek rested on his chest, soft and warm, and her breathing came in gentle, rhythmic huffs that tickled the fur just below his collarbone.

His paw flexed absently against her back, tracing delicate, unconscious patterns over the curve of her spine. She felt fragile in his arms, but not weak. No, this was something else entirely—vulnerability perhaps, or trust. She trembled faintly against him, but it wasn't fear. It was the kind of trembling that came when walls came down and masks were set aside. Beeko's ear twitched at the sound of her soft sigh, as if even the act of exhaling against him was a kind of surrender.

He dipped his muzzle down, brushing his nose against the curve of her neck. The scent hit him immediately, a blend of rain-soaked fur mixed with sweat and that unmistakable sweetness that was uniquely hers: ink and sugar and just a hint of something spiced. Cinnamon? Nutmeg? He couldn't quite place it, but it made his chest tighten in ways he didn't fully understand. His lips grazed her skin as he inhaled again, deeper this time, committing it to memory.

“You smell like trouble," he murmured against her neck, voice low and gravelly, the words laced with a teasing warmth.

Muffy's response was a sleepy, half-mumbled chuckle that vibrated against his chest. “And you smell like wet dog," she countered softly, though there was no venom in her tone, only affection laced with exhaustion.

Beeko grinned despite himself, a rare flicker of levity easing through the tension that always coiled in his gut like a spring. He shifted slightly, just enough to glance past her shoulder without disturbing the way she clung to him. That's when he saw it—the notebook tucked protectively under her arm. Even now, it was still there, cradled as tightly as if it were an extension of herself. The corners were bent from wear, the edges frayed and stained with smudges of ink and God-knew-what-else.

His grin softened into something fonder as he tilted his head to get a better look. “Is that your infamous notebook?" he asked, his voice dipping into a teasing drawl.

Muffy stirred at the question, turning her face slightly so one eye peeked up at him through the curtain of damp fur sticking to her forehead. “It goes everywhere with me," she mumbled sleepily before adding with a wry smile, “Don't judge."

“Judge?" Beeko echoed with mock offense, one brow arched as he leaned in closer to nuzzle against her temple. “Wouldn't dream of it."

Still, his curiosity got the better of him. Slowly, giving her every chance to stop him, he reached for it. She didn't protest or even flinch as he slid it free from where it had been wedged between them. Instead, she let out another soft sigh and burrowed closer against him like she trusted him implicitly with whatever secrets were held within those battered pages.

The notebook felt heavier than it looked as Beeko rested it against Muffy's back and flipped it open carefully. The first few pages were an explosion of chaos—doodles sprawled across margins in wild loops and jagged lines that somehow felt alive; snippets of song lyrics scribbled alongside half-finished assignments; notes scrawled in English and Spanish that bled into one another without rhyme or reason. It was messy but vibrant in a way that felt unmistakably hers.

He turned another page, then another, each one revealing new layers of who she was beneath all the bravado she wore so well. There were grocery lists mingled with diagrams for some kind of project he couldn't decipher; pressed flowers taped neatly beside sarcastic comments written in looping script; even a few torn corners where entire sections had been ripped out altogether.

But then something caught his eye near the back, a folded sheet tucked so deep into the binding it might've gone unnoticed if not for its slight bulge against the other pages. Carefully, he unfolded it to reveal what looked like an incomplete lab report written in clean, professional lines that didn't match any part of Muffy's usual chaotic style.

At first glance, he thought maybe it wasn't hers at all, but then he saw them: the telltale smudges along the edges where ink had smeared under restless fingers; the purposeful messiness disguised beneath an attempt at orderliness. It *was* hers, just dressed up to look like someone else's work entirely.

Beeko's ears perked forward as realization dawned on him like lightning striking ground. He didn't need to see whose name would've gone on that final draft to know exactly what this meant, or how he could use it. A slow grin crept across his muzzle until it stretched wide enough to bare teeth, not cruel or predatory but sharp enough to cut nonetheless.

There it was. All the proof needed, hidden in plain sight. He didn't have to betray Muffy's trust. Didn't need to say a word to that smug bastard. He'd just leave the noose on the table and let Perez slide his own head through it.

He didn't have to lift a paw. Not when there was a certain cougar prowling the halls who'd tear the truth from the walls herself, once she caught the scent.

His tail wagged once behind him, a quick flick that betrayed his satisfaction before he could tamp it down.

The movement must've tickled Muffy's legs because she stirred again, this time lifting her head groggily to blink up at him through half-lidded eyes still heavy with afterglow. “What's got you all waggy?" she asked with a sleepy smile that curled at one corner of her mouth.

Beeko didn't answer, not with words anyway.

Instead, he leaned down and pressed his lips softly to her shoulder in response, a kiss so light it felt more like a brush of air than actual contact. Then another kiss followed, just above where the first had landed, and then another higher still, until his mouth found its way to the hollow beneath her jawline where her pulse thrummed steadily beneath thin skin.

Muffy giggled, a sound so unguarded and genuine it made Beeko's chest ache even as her body squirmed beneath his touch—but not away from him. Never away.

Whatever came next, Perez included, could wait until tomorrow.

Right now? Right now belonged entirely to her.

And he intended to make every second count.

~~*~~

Aurelia Cortez d'Angelo, San Amaro University's provost and the Board's apex predator in both title and temperament, exhaled slowly through her nose as she fastened the top button of her silk blouse with deliberate precision. Her manicured claw tapped once against the polished marble, a subtle punctuation. She smoothed her impeccable suit, adjusted the string of heirloom pearls at her throat, and settled into the high-backed chair behind her makeshift desk, every movement imbued with regal authority. She might as well have been presiding over a courtroom. In many ways, she was.

Aurelia was a cougar in every sense, sleek, powerful, and ruthless. Her golden pelt gleamed under the office lights, and her expertly applied makeup only accentuated the keen intelligence in her eyes. She wore her designer labels like armor, each tailored seam and crisp fold a silent declaration of her station. When she spoke, even the most pompous academics fell silent, cowed by a voice that could slice through bullshit with surgical precision. She had a well-earned reputation for handling problems with brutal efficiency, a single arched brow could send tenured professors scrambling. In the boardroom or the battlefield, Aurelia commanded with the same unwavering resolve.

But now, in the unsettling hush that followed the meeting's abrupt end, even her legendary composure felt strained.

The room still reeked of her husband's tasteless cologne, undoubtedly some cheap department store concoction. She could picture him dousing himself in it beforehand, convinced it lent him gravitas. Idiot.

He'd gone on for almost two minutes, meandering through excuses, scapegoats, and what he had the nerve to call “context." It wasn't until he said the word “misunderstanding", as if Perez's actions were some awkward fumble instead of a calculated abuse of power, that her hand moved.

She didn't raise her voice. Didn't even stand.

The table did the talking for her.

Wood cracked. Veneer splintered. Before the word had even finished hanging in the air, he joined them—hit with a desk-turned-melee weapon and flung airborne, his cologne trailing behind him like smoke as he collided with drywall, leaving a man-sized imprint near the thermostat. Aurelia didn't blink. Her claws tapped once against the polished marble tabletop, or what was left of it, and she made a mental note to personally approve the maintenance crew's overtime pay.

She let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, her shoulders dropping slightly as the tension drained from her body. Her gaze fell to the framed photograph that had fallen from her desk, Perez at twelve, all gangly limbs and a cocky grin, clutching his first soccer trophy like it was made of gold. Her manicured claw traced the edge of the silver frame, a gesture more tender than she'd allowed herself in years.

Where had she gone so wrong? The question haunted her, echoing in the silence of her office. This boy, this arrogant, entitled young man who thought rules were mere suggestions, had once been her precious cub. She'd given him everything: the best schools, the finest clothes, opportunities most could only dream of. And yet somehow, he'd twisted those privileges into weapons, using them to bully and manipulate others without conscience or consequence.

The fury that had propelled her through the meeting evaporated, leaving behind a hollow ache where maternal pride had once resided. How could her son have done this? Each discovered document was meticulously time-stamped, painting a clear picture of her son's reprehensible behavior. And through it all, that poor exchange student...

She put the photo down gently on her desk, the silver frame making barely a sound against the polished mahogany. The tenderness drained from her eyes, replaced by something harder, colder, a mother's determination forged into unbreakable steel.

Years of coddling and compromise had gotten them nowhere. She'd been the diplomatic one, the voice of reason, while her husband spoiled their son rotten. She'd trusted the process, believed that gentle guidance would eventually shape Perez into the man he could be.

Well, No more.

Her jaw tightened as she pressed the intercom button. "Patricia, clear my schedule for the next three hours. And have Security drag my son's ass into this office. Immediately."

"Right away, Provost," came the crisp reply.

Aurelia rose from her chair with fluid grace, moving to the window that overlooked the sprawling campus quad. Students milled about, laughing, studying, living lives unburdened by the weight she now carried. Her reflection stared back at her, regal, composed, resolved.

What followed would forever be known in the Administration building as "the la chancla incident". That's what the campus nurse had called it when they'd carried Perez's unconscious body to the infirmary, the imprint of Aurelia's stiletto heel still smoking on his forehead. He'd wake up eventually with a splitting headache, a freshly pressed army uniform, and a one-way bus ticket to boot camp. It was high damn time that boy learned there were consequences in this world, and they didn't give two shits about who his parents were. Maybe a few months of 5am drills and scrubbing latrines would finally teach him some humility.

Aurelia arranged her new desk, well, new new desk, and made a second note to give the maintenance crew a hefty bonus. She picked up the folder containing the records the two students who'd brought this clusterfuck to light in the first place. Beeko, the soccer team's new striker with a 3.8 GPA and glowing character references. And Muffy, the brilliant young exchange student Perez had victimized so heinously, her once-promising future nearly shattered by his selfishness.

By all rights, they could have crucified her son. A single anonymous tip to the Title IX office, a few choice words to the press, and Perez would have been utterly ruined. His name would be poison on every college campus from here to Shanghai.

But instead, these two extraordinary individuals had placed their trust in her. A single slip of notebook paper, passed discreetly in the hallway. No fanfare, no demands. Just incontrovertible proof of her son's misdeeds, and the unspoken conviction that she would do right by them.

It was a hell of a gamble on their part. But she'd be damned if she'd let them down.

Aurelia traced a perfectly lacquered claw over the names, an uncharacteristic smile playing at the corner of her mouth. Yes, these were more than mere students now.These were investments, the kind that paid dividends for a lifetime. With her backing, the doors of opportunity would fall open at their slightest touch. Whatever they needed - internships, glowing letters of recommendation - would be theirs before the ink was dry on the non-disclosure agreements.

And there would most certainly be NDAs.

She stood in one fluid motion, satisfaction thrumming through her veins as she gazed out at the meticulously landscaped campus grounds. It really was a lovely view. Almost enough to make one forget the ugliness that could fester in the shadows of even the most hallowed institutions. She closed the dossier with a soft click. Two names memorized. One future corrected.