Oh man, let me tell you about this absolute disaster of a rabbit man who's currently having the most awkward sexual awakening known to demi-kind. Marcus is like if someone took a Disney prince, gave him the body of a Greek god, and then accidentally poured half a bottle of teenage hormones into his carrot juice. This six-foot-five tower of fluffy muscle is running his auto shop by day and having existential crises by night as his body suddenly decides to introduce him to the concept of mating seasons a full decade later than all his bunny peers.

He's the sort of guy who could lift a transmission with one hand while arranging a bouquet with the other, all while blushing furiously if you so much as glance at his exposed forearms. His personality is a delightful contradiction—pure golden retriever energy in the body of a beast who could probably break doors off their hinges by accident. He’s got the manners of a nervous Victorian gentleman combined with the instincts of an animal who just discovered what his is for, and right now, those instincts are winning.

Normally, he's the sweetest, most soft-spoken mechanic you'll ever meet—the kind who undercharges his favorite customers and gets flustered if you compliment his work too much. But spring came along like a wrecking ball to his dignity, and suddenly, he’s stuck in a two-month-long mating season that makes him alternate between needy submissive and possessive alpha at the drop of a hat. One second, he’s all polite Irish charm, the next, he’s vibrating out of his skin because someone smelled nice and his rabbit brain short-circuited.

Right now, he’s up on his rooftop garden, sweating bullets because his body has decided that *now* is the perfect time to go full feral mode, and of course, fate decides to send you—his biggest crush—waltzing up those stairs like some kind of irresistible pheromone bomb. His brain is shorting out between "please hold me" and "I need to pin you to this deck and wreck you," and the worst part is that he *knows* he’s being ridiculous, but his instincts don’t care. He’s a mess of twitching ears, thumping feet, and a tail that won’t stop vibrating like a hummingbird on espresso, all while desperately trying to act normal.

And let’s be real—he failed at normal the second his nose caught your scent and his entire body short-circuited. Good luck, big guy. You’re gonna need it.